Tales and Novels Volume I Part 55

"How so?" said Mr. Mountague, eagerly.

"Because," said Helen, "if honour could not restrain his curiosity, it would hardly secure his secrecy."

"Charming girl!" exclaimed Mr. Mountague, with enthusiasm. Helen, struck with surprise, and a variety of emotions, coloured deeply. "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Mountague, changing his tone, "for being so abrupt.

You found a letter of Lady Augusta's last night. She is in great, I am sure needless, anxiety about it."

"Needless, indeed; I did not think it necessary to a.s.sure Lady Augusta, when I returned her letter, that I had not read it. I gave it her because I thought she would not like to have an open letter left where it might fall into the hands of servants. As she has mentioned this subject to you, I hope, sir, you will persuade her of the truth; you seem to be fully convinced of it yourself."

"I am, indeed, fully convinced of your integrity, of the generosity, the simplicity of your mind. May I ask whether you formed any conjecture, whether you know whom that letter was from?"

Helen, with an ingenuous look, replied--"Yes, sir, I did form a conjecture--I thought it was from you."

"From me!" exclaimed Mr. Mountague. "I must undeceive you there: the letter was not mine. I am eager," continued he, smiling, "to undeceive you. I wish I might flatter myself this explanation could ever be half as interesting to you as it is to me. That letter was not mine, and I can never, in future, be on any other terms with Lady Augusta than those of a common acquaintance."

Here they were interrupted by the sudden entrance of mademoiselle, followed by Dashwood, to whom she was talking with great earnestness.

Mr. Mountague, when he had collected his thoughts sufficiently to think of Lady Augusta, wrote the following answer to her letter:--

"Your ladys.h.i.+p may be perfectly at ease with respect to your note. Miss Helen Temple has not read it, nor has she, I am convinced, the slightest suspicion of its contents or its author. I beg leave to a.s.sure your ladys.h.i.+p, that I am sensible of the honour of your confidence, and that you shall never have any reason to repent of having trusted in my discretion. Yet permit me, even at the hazard of appearing impertinent, at the still greater hazard of incurring your displeasure, to express my most earnest hope that nothing will tempt you to form a connexion, which I am persuaded would prove fatal to the happiness of your future life. I am, with much respect, Your ladys.h.i.+p's obedient servant, F. MOUNTAGUE."

Lady Augusta read this answer to her note with the greatest eagerness: the first time she ran her eye over it, joy, to find her secret yet undiscovered, suspended every other feeling; but, upon a second perusal, her ladys.h.i.+p felt extremely displeased by the cold civility of the style, and somewhat alarmed at the concluding paragraph. With no esteem, and little affection for Dashwood, she had suffered herself to imagine that her pa.s.sion for him was _uncontrollable_.

What degree of felicity she was likely to enjoy with a man dest.i.tute equally of fortune and principle, she had never attempted to calculate; but there was something awful in the words--"I earnestly hope that nothing will tempt you to form a connexion which would prove fatal to your future happiness." Whilst she was pondering upon these words, Dashwood met her in the park, where she was walking alone. "Why so grave?" exclaimed he, with anxiety.

"I am only thinking--that--I am afraid--I think this is a silly business: I wish, Mr. Dashwood, you wouldn't think any more of it, and give me back my letters."

Dashwood vehemently swore that her letters were dearer to him than life, and that the "last pang should tear them from his heart."

"But, if we go on with all this," resumed Lady Augusta, "it will at least break my mother's heart, and mademoiselle's into the bargain; besides, I don't half believe you; I really--"

"I really, what?" cried he, pouring forth protestations of pa.s.sion, which put Mr. Mountague's letter entirely out of her head.

A number of small motives sometimes decide the mind in the most important actions of our lives; and faults are often attributed to pa.s.sion which arise from folly. The pleasure of duping her governess, the fear of witnessing Helen's triumph over her lover's recovered affections, and the idea of the bustle and eclat of an elopement, all mixed together, went under the general denomination of love!--Cupid is often blamed for deeds in which he has no share.

"But," resumed Lady Augusta, after making the last pause of expiring prudence, "what shall we do about mademoiselle?"

"Poor mademoiselle!" cried Dashwood, leaning back against a tree to support himself, whilst he laughed violently--"what do you think she is about at this instant?--packing up her clothes in a band-box."

"Packing up her clothes in a band-box!"

"Yes; she verily believes that I am dying with impatience to carry her off to Scotland, and at four o'clock to-morrow morning she trips down stairs out of the garden-door, of which she keeps the key, flies across the park, scales the gate, gains the village, and takes refuge with her good friend, Miss Lacy, the milliner, where she is to wait for me. Now, in the mean time, the moment the coast is clear, I fly to you, my _real_ angel."

"Oh, no, upon my word," said Lady Augusta, so faintly, that Dashwood went on exactly in the same tone.

"I fly to you, my angel, and we shall be half way on our trip to Scotland before mademoiselle's patience is half exhausted, and before _Miladi_ S---- is quite awake."

Lady Augusta could not forbear smiling at this idea; and thus, by an _unlucky_ stroke of humour, was the grand event of her life decided.

Marmontel's well-known story, called _Heureus.e.m.e.nt_, is certainly not a moral tale: to counteract its effects, he should have written _Malheureus.e.m.e.nt_, if he could.

Nothing happened to disconcert the measures of Lady Augusta and Dashwood.

The next morning Lady S---- came down, according to her usual custom, late to breakfast. Mrs. Temple, Helen, Emma, Lord George, Mr. Mountague, &c., were a.s.sembled. "Has not mademoiselle made breakfast for us yet?"

said Lady S----. She sat down, and expected every moment to see Mlle.

Panache and her daughter make their appearance; but she waited in vain.

Neither mademoiselle, Lady Augusta, nor Dashwood, were any where to be found. Every body round the breakfast-table looked at each other in silence, waiting the event. "They are out walking, I suppose," said Lady S----, which supposition contented her for the first five minutes; but then she exclaimed, "It's very strange they don't come back!"

"Very strange--I mean rather strange," said Lord George, helping himself, as he spoke, to his usual quant.i.ty of b.u.t.ter, and then drumming upon the table; whilst Mr. Mountague, all the time, looked down, and preserved a profound silence.

At length the door opened, and Mlle. Panache, in a riding habit, made her appearance. "_Bon jour, miladi! Bon jour!_" said she, looking round at the silent party, with a half terrified, half astonished countenance.

"_Je vous demande mille pardons--Qu'est ce que c'est?_ I have only been to take a walk dis morning into de village to de milliner's. She has disappointed me of my tings, dat kept me waiting; but I am come back in time for breakfast, I hope?"

"But where is my daughter?" cried Lady S----, roused at last from her natural indolence--"where is Lady Augusta?"

"_Bon Dieu!_ Miladi, I don't know. _Bon Dieu!_ in her bed, I suppose.

_Bon Dieu!_" exclaimed she a third time, and turned as pale as ashes.

"But where den is Mr. Dashwood?" At this instant a note, directed to mademoiselle, was brought into the room: the servant said that Lady Augusta's maid had just found it upon her lady's toilette--mademoiselle tore open the note.

"Excuse me to my mother--_you_ can best plead my excuse.

"You will not see me again till I am

'Augusta Dashwood.'"

"_Ah scelerat! Ah scelerat! Il m'a trahi!_" screamed mademoiselle: she threw down the note, and sunk upon the sofa in real hysterics; whilst Lady S----, seeing in one and the same moment her own folly and her daughter's ruin, fixed her eyes upon the words "Augusta Dashwood," and fainted. Mr. Mountague led Lord George out of the room with him, whilst Mrs. Temple, Helen, and her sister, ran to the a.s.sistance of the unhappy mother and the detected governess.

As soon as mademoiselle had recovered tolerable _composure_, she recollected that she had betrayed too violent emotion on this occasion.

"_Il m'a trahi_," were words, however, that she could not recall; it was in vain she attempted to fabricate some apology for herself. No apology could avail: and whilst Lady S----, in silent anguish, wept for her own and her daughter's folly, the governess, in loud and gross terms, abused Dashwood, and reproached her pupil with having shown duplicity, ingrat.i.tude, and a _bad heart_.

"A bad education!" exclaimed Lady S----, with a voice of mingled anger and sorrow. "Leave the room, mademoiselle; leave my house. How could I choose such a governess for my daughter! Yet, indeed," added her ladys.h.i.+p, turning to Mrs. Temple, "she was well recommended to me, and how could I foresee all this?"

To such an appeal, at such a time, there was no reply to be made: it is cruel to point out errors to those who feel that they are irreparable; but it is benevolent to point them out to others, who have yet their choice to make.

THE KNAPSACK [1]

[Footnote 1: In the Travels of M. Beanjolin into Sweden, he mentions having, in the year 1790, met carriages laden with the knapsacks of Swedish soldiers, who had fallen in battle in Finland. These carriages were escorted by peasants, who were relieved at every stage, and thus the property of the deceased was conveyed from one extremity of the kingdom to the other, and faithfully restored to their relations. The Swedish peasants are so remarkably honest, that scarcely any thing is ever lost in these convoys of numerous and ill-secured packages.]

_DRAMATIS PERSONAE_

COUNT HELMAAR, _a Swedish n.o.bleman_. CHRISTIERN, _a Swedish Soldier_.

ALEFTSON, _Count Helmaar's Fool_. THOMAS, _a Footman_.