The Convict: A Tale. G. P. R. James

      CHAPTER VII.

      I know no more delightful sensation upon earth, than when a being whom we love, acting beneath our eyes, but unconscious that we are watching, fulfils to the utmost the bright expectations that we have formed; while in the deed, and the tone, and the manner we see the confirmation of all that we had supposed, or dreamed, or divined of excellence in heart and mind. Charles Dudley loved Eda Brandon, and all she did or said was of course a matter of deep interest to him; and although I will not say he watched, yet he observed her conduct during the morning of which I have been writing, and especially during their visit to the Grange, as Mr. Clive's house was called. He thought it was perfect; and so perhaps it was, as nearly as anything of the earth can be perfect; and perhaps, although there was no great event to call strong feelings into action, although there was nothing which would seem to an ordinary eye a trial of character or demeanour, yet there was much which, to a very keen and sensitive mind, showed great qualities by small traits. Helen Clive was in an inferior position of life to Eda Brandon. It may be said that the difference was very slight: that her father cultivated his own land; that she had evidently received the education and possessed the manners of a lady; but yet the very slightness of the difference might make the demeanour of the one towards the other more difficult--not, perhaps, to be what the world would call very proper, but to be perfect. It might be too cold, it might be too familiar; for there is sometimes such a thing as familiarity which has its rise in pride, and the object of it is more likely to feel hurt by it than even by distance of manner. But there was nothing of the kind in the conduct of Eda Brandon. She treated Helen in every respect as an equal: one with whom she had been long on terms of intimate affection, and who required no new proof that she saw no difference between the position of Mr. Clive's daughter and that of the heiress of Brandon and all its wealth. There was no haughtiness; there was no appearance of condescension: the haughtiest mark of pride. It was easy, kind, unaffected, but quiet and ladylike; and although Helen herself felt a little nervous, not at the station, but at the number of the guests who poured in, Eda's manner soon put her completely at ease, and the only thing which seemed at all to discompose her, was a certain sort of familiar gallantry in the manners of Lord Hadley, which even pained another present more than herself.

      But it is with Eda and Dudley that I wish particularly to deal just now; and one thing I may remark as seemingly strange, but not really so. It was with delight, as I have said, that Dudley observed the demeanour of Eda Brandon towards Helen Clive; but a saddening sensation of despondency mingled with the pleasure, and rendered it something more than melancholy. It was like that of a dying parent witnessing the success and growing greatness of a beloved child, and knowing that his own eyes must soon close upon the loved one's career of glory. He said to himself, "She never can be mine: long years of labour and toil, struggles with a hard and difficult profession, and fortunate chances with many long lapses between, could alone put me in a position to seek her love or ask her hand; and in the mean time her fate must be decided."

      As they had walked down from the house, Lord Hadley had been continually by her side. He had evidently been much struck and captivated. A vague hint had been thrown out that a union between himself and the heiress of Brandon had been contemplated by kind and judicious friends; and a meaning smile which had crossed the lip of young Edgar Adelon, when he saw Lord Hadley bending down and saying something apparently very tender in his cousin's ear, had sent a pang through the heart of Dudley, which his young companion would not have inflicted for worlds had he known the circumstances. Again and again Dudley repeated to himself, "It is impossible. How can I--why should I entertain any expectation? The warrior goes into the strife armed; the racer is trained and prepared for the course: I have no weapons for the struggle, no preparation for the race, although the prize is all that is desirable in life. I will yield this all-vain contention; I will withdraw from a scene where everything which takes place must give me pain. It is easily done. The term of my engagement with Lord Hadley is nearly at an end; and I can easily plead business of importance for leaving him here, now that our tour is finished, and once more betaking myself to my books, wait in patience till the time comes for that active life in the hard world of realities, which will, I trust, engross every feeling, and occupy every thought."

      Such were his reflections and resolutions as the party, after taking leave of Helen and Mr. Clive, walked out of the door of the Grange to return to Brandon House. I often think that all reflections are vain, and all resolutions worse than vain. The first are but as the games of childhood--the construction of gay fabrics out of materials which have no solidity; the second are but shuttlecocks between the battledoors of circumstances. So, at least, Charles Dudley found them both.

      It is necessary, however, before I proceed farther, to say something of the exact position of the parties as they quitted the house. Eda and her uncle went first; Dudley followed half a step farther back; and Lord Hadley and Edgar came next. As Dudley was walking on, with his eyes bent on the ground, he heard the voice of Sir Arthur's son exclaim, "Eda, Eda, we are going down by the stream, Lord Hadley and I, to see the ruins of the priory. Let us all go."

      "No, dear Edgar," answered Miss Brandon, "I can't indulge your wandering propensities to-day. I shall be tired by the time I get home, and have got a letter to write."

      "I can't go either, Edgar," said his father; "for I have a good deal of business to do."

      "Well, Mr. Dudley, at all events you will come," said Edgar Adelon; but Mr. Dudley replied by informing him that he had passed some time at the priory already that morning.

      "Well, come along, Lord Hadley, then," said Edgar, in a gay tone; "I never saw such uninteresting people in my life, and you shall have the treat and the benefit of my conversation all to yourself. I will tell you the legend, too, and show you what a set of people these Brandons have been from generation to generation."

      Lord Hadley did not decline, and they walked away together down the course of the stream, whilst Sir Arthur and his niece, accompanied by Dudley, pursued their course towards Brandon. They were about halfway between the Grange and the gates of the park, when a quick but heavy step was heard behind them, and Dudley, turning his head, saw a stout farm-servant following, somewhat out of breath. The man walked straight up to Sir Arthur Adelon, and presented a note, saying, "I was to give you that directly, your honour."

      Sir Arthur took the note, and looked at the address without any apparent emotion; but when he opened it, his aspect changed considerably, and he stopped, saying, in a hesitating manner, "I must go back--I must go back."

      "Oh! it is but a short distance," said Eda; "we can return with you."

      "No, my dear, no," answered her uncle, with what seemed a good deal of embarrassment in his air; "you had better go on to Brandon. Mr. Dudley will, I am sure, escort you."

      "Assuredly," replied Dudley, gravely; and Sir Arthur adding, "I may not, perhaps, be back to luncheon, Eda, but do not wait for me," turned, and with a quick step hurried