The Gipsy: A Tale (Vols I & II). G. P. R. James
regard to your father, I mean."
"Most unfortunate, indeed!" replied De Vaux, looking grave immediately.
"But tell me what it is all about, Edward," rejoined his cousin. "I do not understand your father's conduct. Do explain it to me!"
"I do not understand it either, my dear Marian," answered De Vaux; "his conduct is quite inexplicable."
The tears would fain have run away over Marian de Vaux's cheeks; but she shut the gates in time, and only one straggler made its escape into the court of her eyes, unable to get farther. Her cousin did not see one-half of what was going on in the fair tabernacle of her bosom; but he saw that she was much distressed, and endeavoured to sooth her with the same assurances wherewith he made his own mind easy in regard to his father's conduct. "Nay, nay, dearest Marian!" he said, "do not distress yourself about this business, unfortunate as it is. The principal part of my father's present heat in the affair will pass away, for a great share is mere passion. I cannot however flatter myself into believing that his dislike will ever entirely subside, because, as you know, he is not a man who changes easily in such matters; but all his violence and his threatenings will die away and end in nothing."
Marian, who had now recovered from her first emotion, paused, and looked pensively upon the ground; but while her bosom seemed as calm as monumental marble, there was a sad struggle going on within. "Edward!" said she, at length, "we cannot tell what may be your father's ultimate conduct; but, indeed, I think, that while his present objection--or, as you call it, dislike--continues, we ought certainly to delay our marriage."
"Good God, Marian!" exclaimed Edward de Vaux, in utter astonishment: "in the name of heaven, my beloved, what has my father's dislike to Colonel Manners to do with our union?"
"His dislike to Colonel Manners!" said Marian, blushing a good deal as she began to perceive her mistake, and comprehended at a glance that the clearing up of the matter might make an exposé of her inmost thoughts that for reasons of her own she did not desire. "His dislike to Colonel Manners! Oh, is that all! His words and conduct towards me just now, made me think that his dislike was to me, Edward, and to our union."
"And did the thought give you so much pain, Marian?" said De Vaux, somewhat anxiously.
But Marian de Vaux had by this time completely mastered her agitation, and she answered in her usual quiet sweet tone: "Of course it gave me great pain, Edward, to think that I had lost my uncle's regard, and great pain to think that the consequences might pain you. But tell me, was it really nothing more than his dispute with Colonel Manners which made your father's conduct so very strange?"
"Nothing more, I can assure you," answered her lover; "but you know that my father, when he bursts forth into one of these fits of passion, is like Don Quixote at the puppet-show, and deals his blows to the right and left upon all things, whether they have offended him or not."
"Hush, hush, Edward!" cried Marian, "he is your father, remember."
De Vaux coloured slightly, and indeed he had not got to the end of his speech ere he had found that he had better have left it unsaid; for, notwithstanding his general fastidiousness, and a certain degree of bitter that mingled with his views of other people, he had too much taste to find any pleasure in pointing out the faults or follies of his near relations. He might feel them a little too sensitively, it is true; but he seldom made them the subject of his conversation; and he was now vexed, both that he had done so at all, and that Marian had been the person to whom he had done it.
Thus, Edward de Vaux was a little out of humour with himself, and, as a matter of course, he soon found cause to be dissatisfied with others; for the human mind--to which nothing is so burdensome as self-reproach of any kind--is always glad to cast a part of its load upon the shoulders of other people. The first thing, then, that, upon reflecting rapidly over the moments just passed, Edward de Vaux found to be discontented with, was the manner in which Marian had spoken of delaying their union; and once having started this idea, he hunted it up and down through all the chambers and passages of his mind, like a boy after a mouse. "Their marriage seemed to her a matter of great indifference," he thought; and then he went onto persuade himself that her love for him was of a very calm and tranquil character compared with his for her. Indeed, it seemed little more than indifference, he fancied, or at best sisterly affection; and at the very thought of such a thing as sisterly affection, the spirit of Edward de Vaux sprang up as if a serpent had crossed his path, although his person remained perfectly calm, with his arm resting on the harpsichord, and his fingers twisting some of the strings of the harp. One of the strings breaking, with a sharp twang, called the spirit suddenly back again; and he found himself standing abstractedly before his fair cousin; while she looked upon him with a smile, which seemed to say, "I could triumph, if I would! but it is not in my nature."
Now, Edward de Vaux, though he read the smile, and read it aright, which is not always done in that difficult language of which it was one of the hieroglyphics, was all the more puzzled when he had done. But the fact is, that women's eyes, in matters of love, seem to be not eyes but microscopes; and Marian had traced the whole fine progress of Edward's thoughts and feelings, through every turning and winding, as accurately as if he had laid them all open before her with his own free will. Then, connecting the result with some foregone conclusions in her own mind, the combination produced a smile, being, as we before said, the equivalent sign, in the language mentioned, of the words, "I could triumph, if I would! but it is not in my nature." There was, however, a little mental reservation, perhaps, in regard to the triumph, inasmuch as she reserved unto herself entire right and privilege of triumphing hereafter, in case she should find it necessary and expedient to do so.
The time occupied in reading the smile, together with the beauty of the smile itself, and the exceeding loveliness of the lips on which it rested, all tended to get the better of the demon in the heart of De Vaux, and to make him feel, that as he loved her beyond anything on earth, he must try to content himself with obtaining her upon her own terms. Having come to this conclusion, it was natural enough that he should seek to linger out the time with her alone; but Marian felt that if she did stay at that moment, she might be obliged to triumph in the way she wished not to do, or to explain her smile without triumphing at all, which was still more disagreeable. She therefore determined to retreat to the breakfast-room, in which she was sure of finding allies; and which--as her apprehensions in regard to Lord Dewry's disapprobation, and the consequent emotion, had now been dissipated--she was no longer afraid of entering.
De Vaux would fain have detained her, pleading that he had had no opportunity of conversing with her alone since his return, and urging all those little arguments which we leave to imagination. Marian, however, resisted with fortitude; and her lover, forced to content himself with a promise to take a long ramble with him after breakfast, as they had done in the days of their early youth, led her to the breakfast-room, where they found the rest of the party assembled, and conversing with as much ease and cheerfulness as if nothing had occurred to disturb the tranquillity of the morning.
"Well, Edward," said Mrs. Falkland, "your father would not stay longer; and I forbore to press him," she added, with a little pardonable hypocrisy, "as I know that he has a good deal of business on his hands; and when he is determined on any point, it is vain to try to move him." As she spoke, she looked for an instant towards Colonel Manners, to give more meaning to her words in her nephew's ears than the words themselves imported.
"I saw my father myself, my dear aunt," replied De Vaux: "he was with me in my room for half an hour, and explained the necessity of his departure."
Colonel Manners could have smiled; but he thought it best to follow the lead that had been given, and to appear ignorant of anything else having taken place, though, of course, he felt internally convinced that his unfortunate dispute with De Vaux's father had been the cause of that nobleman's sudden and abrupt departure. "I think your father mentioned last night," he said, in pursuance of this plan, "that he was going to Dimden, did he not, De Vaux? Does it belong to your family?"
"It always has done so," replied his friend: "it is here, very near--but a few miles off; but it is not kept up as I think it should be. My father always resides at the other house; and seems to have so strong an aversion