University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
THE THREE ORPHANS.

We have already announced Lucy Blakeney, and
if what has been said, does not give a competent idea
of her character, we must leave it to time to develope;
as to her person, it was of the middle size, perfectly
well proportioned, and her figure and limbs had that
roundness, which, in the eye of an artist, constitutes
beauty. Her complexion was rather fair than dark,
her eyes open, large, full hazel, her hair light brown,
and her face animated with the glow of health and
the smile of good humour.

Lady Mary Lumly had lost her mother a few years
previous to the commencement of our story. She
was an only child and had been indulged to a degree
of criminality by this doatingly fond but weak mother,
so that she had reached her sixteenth year without
having had one idea impressed upon either head or
heart that could in the least qualify her for rational
society, or indeed for any society, but such as her
fancy had created, from an indiscriminate perusal of
every work of fiction that issued from the press.

Her father died when she was an infant; his estates
which had never been adequate to his expenses, passed
with the title to a male branch of the family, her
mother retired to her jointure house in Lancashire.
Ill health secluded her from company, and finding
her dear Mary averse from study, she sought in a
governess for her daughter, more an easy companion
for herself, than a conscientious able instructress for
her child. The common elements of education, reading,
writing, and English grammar, a little dancing,
a little music, and a trifling knowledge of the French
language constituted the whole of her accomplishments;
when at the death of her mother, the guardian
to whom the care of her little fortune had been
intrusted, entreated Mrs. Matthews to receive her into
her family. There was some relationship in the case,
and Mrs. Cavendish thinking, that with her romantic
ideas, and uninformed mind, a boarding school,
such as her income could afford, would not be a
proper asylum for her, prevailed on her sister to
accede to the proposal.

When scarcely past the age of childhood or indeed
infancy, she had been allowed to sit beside her
mother, while the tale of misfortune, of love or folly,
was read aloud by the governess, and being possessed
of a quick apprehension, strong sensibility, and a
fertile imagination, she peopled the world, to which
she was in effect a stranger, with lords and ladies,
distressed beauties, and adoring lovers, to the absolute
exclusion of every natural character, every
rational idea, and truly moral or christian like feeling.
Wealth and titles, which were sure to be heaped

on the hero or heroine of the tale at last, she considered
as the ultimatum of all sublunary good. Her
mother had been a woman of high rank, but small
fortune; she had therefore amongst other weak prejudices
imbided a strong predilection in favour of
ancient nobility, and not to have a particle of noble
blood flowing through one's veins was, in her opinion,
to be quite insignificant.

This orphan of quality was as handsome as flaxen
hair, light eyebrows, fair skin, blooming cheeks, and
large glossy blue eyes could make her. The features
of her face were perfectly regular but there was no
expression in them, her smile was the smile of innocence,
but it was also the smile of vacancy. She was
tall, her limbs were long and her figure flat and
lean; yet she thought herself a perfect model for a
statuary. Her temper was naturally good, but the
overweening pride and morbid sensibility, which
were the fruits of the imprudent system of her education,
rendered her quick to take offence where no
offence was meant, and not unfrequently bathed her
in tears, without any real cause. At the period when
we introduced her to our readers, she was nearly
seventeen years old, and had been under the care of
Mr. Matthews, for the last four years.

Aura Melville completed the trio of fair orphans.
Aura was the only child of a poor clergyman to
whom Mr. Matthews had been, during a long and
painful illness, an undeviating friend; she was ten
years old, when death released her father from a state
of suffering—her mother had been dead several years
previous to this event.

It was an evening towards the end of July, the
pale light of a moon just entered on its second quarter
shone faintly into the chamber of the feeble invalid,
a chamber to which he had been confined for more
than eight months; the casement was open and the
evening breeze passing through the blooming jessamine,
that climbed the thatch of the humble cottage,
wafted its refreshing perfume to cool the hectic cheek
of the almost expiring Melville. He was seated in
an easy chair, Mr. Matthews by his side, and the
little Aura on a cushion at his feet, “Look, my own
papa,” said she, “how beautifully the moon shines;
does not this cool breeze make you feel better? I
love to look at the moon when it is new,” continued
she, “I do not know why, but it makes me feel so
pleasantly, and yet sometimes I feel as if I could
cry; and I say to myself what a good God our God
is, to give us such a beautiful light to make our nights
pleasant and cheerful, that, without it, are so dark
and gloomy. Oh! my own dear papa, if it would
but please our good God to make you well!” Melville
pressed her hand, Mr. Matthews felt the drop
of sensibility rise to his eye; but neither of them
spoke.

The child, finding both remain silent, continued.
“I hope you will be better, a great deal better, before
next new moon.” “I shall be well, quite well, my
darling, in a very little time, said her father, for
before this moon is at the full, I shall be at rest.”
“You will rest a good deal before that, I hope,” said
she with tender simplicity, then pausing a moment,
she sprang up, and throwing her arms round his

neck, she exclaimed, “Ah! I understand you now:
Oh, my own dear papa! what will become of Aura!
Oh, my good God, if it please you to let me die with
my papa! for when he is gone there will be no one to
love or care for his poor Aura.” Her sobs impeded
farther utterance—Melville had clasped the interesting
child in his arms, his head sunk on her shoulder,
her cheek rested on his. Mr. Matthews, fearing this
tender scene would be too much for his debilitated
frame, went towards them and endeavoured to withdraw
her from his embrace. At the slightest effort,
his arms relaxed their hold, his head was raised from
her shoulder, but instantly falling back against the
chair, Mr. Matthews, shocked to the very soul, perceived
that Aura was an orphan.

The poor child's anguish, when she discovered the
truth, is not to be described. “She shall never want
a protector,” said he mentally, as he was leading her
from the house of death to his own mansion.

“Philippa,” said he, presenting Aura to his wife,
“Providence has sent us a daughter; be a mother to
her my dear companion, love her, correct her, teach
her to be like yourself, she will then be most estimable.”

Mrs. Matthews with all her family pride, possessed
a kind and feeling heart, that heart loved most
tenderly Alfred Matthews,—could she do otherwise
than comply with his request? She took the poor
girl to her bosom, and though she experienced not
the most tender affection, yet Aura Melville found
in her all the care and solicitude of a mother.

Her father had laid a good foundation in her innocent
mind, and Mr. Matthews carefully completed the
education he had begun, and at the age of nineteen,
the period when first she appears in our pages, she
was a pleasing well informed young woman; highly
polished in her manners, yet without one showy
accomplishment. She knew enough of music to
enjoy and understand its simple beauties, but she
performed on no instrument. She moved gracefully,
and could, if called upon, join a cotillion or contra
dance, without distressing others; her understanding
was of the highest order, and so well cultivated
that she could converse with sense and propriety on
almost any subject. Yet unobtrusive, modest and
humble, she was silent and retired, unless called forth
by the voice of kindness and encouragement. She
was beloved in the family; industrious, discreet,
cheerful, good humoured, grateful to her benefactors,
and contented with her lot; she won the regard and
without exacting it, gained the respect of all who
knew her.