Eugene Aram Part 10

"You seem, Walter, I am most delighted to think, entirely to have overcome the little unfavourable prepossession which at first you testified towards our excellent neighbour. And for my part, I think he appears to be especially attracted towards yourself, he seeks your company; and to me he always speaks of you in terms, which, coming from such a quarter, give me the most lively gratification."

Walter bowed his head, but not in the delighted vanity with which a young man generally receives the a.s.surance of another's praise.

"I own," renewed Lester, "that I consider our friends.h.i.+p with Aram one of the most fortunate occurrences in my life; at least," added he with a sigh, "of late years. I doubt not but you must have observed the partiality with which our dear Madeline evidently regards him; and yet more, the attachment to her, which breaks forth from Aram, in spite of his habitual reserve and self-control. You have surely noted this, Walter?"

"I have," said Walter, in a low tone, and turning away his head.

"And doubtless you share my satisfaction. It happens fortunately now, that Madeline early contracted that studious and thoughtful turn, which I must own at one time gave me some uneasiness and vexation. It has taught her to appreciate the value of a mind like Aram's. Formerly, my dear boy, I hoped that at one time or another, she and yourself might form a dearer connection than that of cousins. But I was disappointed, and I am now consoled. And indeed I think there is that in Ellinor which might be yet more calculated to render you happy; that is, if the bias of your mind should ever lean that way."

"You are very good," said Walter, bitterly. "I own I am not flattered by your selection; nor do I see why the plainest and least brilliant of the two sisters must necessarily be the fittest for me."

"Nay," replied Lester, piqued, and justly angry, "I do not think, even if Madeline have the advantage of her sister, that you can find any fault with the personal or mental attractions of Ellinor. But indeed this is not a matter in which relations should interfere. I am far from any wish to prevent you from choosing throughout the world any one whom you may prefer. All I hope is, that your future wife will be like Ellinor in kindness of heart and sweetness of temper."

"From choosing throughout the world!" repeated Walter; "and how in this nook am I to see the world?"

"Walter! your voice is reproachful!--do I deserve it?"

Walter was silent.

"I have of late observed," continued Lester, "and with wounded feelings, that you do not give me the same confidence, or meet me with the same affection, that you once delighted me by manifesting towards me. I know of no cause for this change. Do not let us, my son, for I may so call you--do not let us, as we grow older, grow also more apart. Time divides with a sufficient demarcation the young from the old; why deepen the necessary line? You know well, that I have never from your childhood insisted heavily on a guardian's authority. I have always loved to contribute to your enjoyments, and shewn you how devoted I am to your interests, by the very frankness with which I have consulted you on my own. If there be now on your mind any secret grievance, or any secret wish, speak it, Walter:--you are alone with the friend on earth who loves you best!"

Walter was wholly overcome by this address: he pressed his good uncle's hand to his lips, and it was some moments before he mustered self-composure sufficient to reply.

"You have ever, ever been to me all that the kindest parent, the tenderest friend could have been:--believe me, I am not ungrateful.

If of late I have been altered, the cause is not in you. Let me speak freely: you encourage me to do so. I am young, my temper is restless; I have a love of enterprise and adventure: is it not natural that I should long to see the world? This is the cause of my late abstraction of mind.

I have now told you all: it is for you to decide."

Lester looked wistfully on his nephew's countenance before he replied--

"It is as I gathered," said he, "from various remarks which you have lately let fall. I cannot blame your wish to leave us; it is certainly natural: nor can I oppose it. Go, Walter, when you will!"

The young man turned round with a lighted eye and flushed cheek.

"And why, Walter?" said Lester, interrupting his thanks, "why this surprise? why this long doubt of my affection? Could you believe I should refuse a wish that, at your age, I should have expressed myself?

You have wronged me; you might have saved a world of pain to us both by acquainting me with your desire when it was first formed; but, enough. I see Madeline and Aram approach,--let us join them now, and to-morrow we will arrange the time and method of your departure.

"Forgive me, Sir," said Walter, stopping abruptly as the glow faded from his cheek, "I have not yet recovered myself; I am not fit for other society than yours. Excuse my joining my cousin, and--"

"Walter!" said Lester, also stopping short and looking full on his nephew, "a painful thought flashes upon me! Would to heaven I may be wrong!--Have you ever felt for Madeline more tenderly than for her sister?"

Walter literally trembled as he stood. The tears rushed into Lester's eyes:--he grasped his nephew's hand warmly--

"G.o.d comfort thee, my poor boy!" said he, with great emotion; "I never dreamt of this."

Walter felt now that he was understood. He gratefully returned the pressure of his uncle's hand, and then, withdrawing his own, darted down one of the intersecting walks, and was almost instantly out of sight.

CHAPTER IX.

THE STATE OF WALTER'S MIND.--AN ANGLER AND A MAN OF THE WORLD.--A COMPANION FOUND FOR WALTER.

"This great disease for love I dre, There is no tongue can tell the wo; I love the love that loves not me, I may not mend, but mourning mo."

--The Mourning Maiden.

"I in these flowery meads would be, These crystal streams should solace me, To whose harmonious bubbling voice

I with my angle would rejoice."

--Izaac Walton.

When Walter left his uncle, he hurried, scarcely conscious of his steps, towards his favourite haunt by the water-side. From a child, he had singled out that scene as the witness of his early sorrows or boyish schemes; and still, the solitude of the place cherished the habit of his boyhood.

Long had he, unknown to himself, nourished an attachment to his beautiful cousin; nor did he awaken to the secret of his heart, until, with an agonizing jealousy, he penetrated the secret at her own. The reader has, doubtless, already perceived that it was this jealousy which at the first occasioned Walter's dislike to Aram: the consolation of that dislike was forbid him now. The gentleness and forbearance of the Student's deportment had taken away all ground of offence; and Walter had sufficient generosity to acknowledge his merits, while tortured by their effect. Silently, till this day, he had gnawed his heart, and found for its despair no confidant and no comfort. The only wish that he cherished was a feverish and gloomy desire to leave the scene which witnessed the triumph of his rival. Every thing around had become hateful to his eyes, and a curse had lighted upon the face of Home. He thought now, with a bitter satisfaction, that his escape was at hand: in a few days he might be rid of the gall and the pang, which every moment of his stay at Gra.s.sdale inflicted upon him. The sweet voice of Madeline he should hear no more, subduing its silver sound for his rival's ear:--no more he should watch apart, and himself unheeded, how timidly her glance roved in search of another, or how vividly her cheek flushed when the step of that happier one approached. Many miles would at least shut out this picture from his view; and in absence, was it not possible that he might teach himself to forget? Thus meditating, he arrived at the banks of the little brooklet, and was awakened from his reverie by the sound of his own name. He started, and saw the old Corporal seated on the stump of a tree, and busily employed in fixing to his line the mimic likeness of what anglers, and, for aught we know, the rest of the world, call the "violet fly."

"Ha! master,--at my day's work, you see:--fit for nothing else now. When a musquet's halfworn out, schoolboys buy it--pop it at sparrows. I be like the musket: but never mind--have not seen the world for nothing. We get reconciled to all things: that's my way--augh! Now, Sir, you shall watch me catch the finest trout you have seen this summer: know where he lies--under the bush yonder. Whi--s.h.!.+ Sir, whi--s.h.!.+"

The Corporal now gave his warrior soul up to the due guidance of the violet-fly: now he s.h.i.+pped it lightly on the wave; now he slid it coquettishly along the surface; now it floated, like an unconscious beauty, carelessly with the tide; and now, like an artful prude, it affected to loiter by the way, or to steal into designing obscurity under the shade of some overhanging bank. But none of these manoeuvres captivated the wary old trout on whose acquisition the Corporal had set his heart; and what was especially provoking, the angler could see distinctly the dark outline of the intended victim, as it lay at the bottom,--like some well-regulated bachelor who eyes from afar the charms he has discreetly resolved to neglect.

The Corporal waited till he could no longer blind himself to the displeasing fact, that the violet-fly was wholly inefficacious; he then drew up his line, and replaced the contemned beauty of the violet-fly, with the novel attractions of the yellow-dun.

"Now, Sir!" whispered he, lifting up his finger, and nodding sagaciously to Walter. Softly dropped the yellow-dun upon the water, and swiftly did it glide before the gaze of the latent trout; and now the trout seemed aroused from his apathy, behold he moved forward, balancing himself on his fins; now he slowly ascended towards the surface; you might see all the speckles of his coat;--the Corporal's heart stood still--he is now at a convenient distance from the yellow-dun; lo, he surveys it steadfastly; he ponders, he see-saws himself to and fro. The yellow-dun sails away in affected indifference, that indifference whets the appet.i.te of the hesitating gazer, he darts forward; he is opposite the yellow-dun,--he pushes his nose against it with an eager rudeness,--he--no, he does not bite, he recoils, he gazes again with surprise and suspicion on the little charmer; he fades back slowly into the deeper water, and then suddenly turning his tail towards the disappointed bait, he makes off as fast as he can,--yonder,--yonder, and disappears! No, that's he leaping yonder from the wave; Jupiter! what a n.o.ble fellow! What leaps he at?--a real fly--"d.a.m.n his eyes!" growled the Corporal.

"You might have caught him with a minnow," said Walter, speaking for the first time.

"Minnow!" repeated the Corporal gruffly, "ask your honour's pardon.

Minnow!--I have fished with the yellow-dun these twenty years, and never knew it fail before. Minnow!--baugh! But ask pardon; your honour is very welcome to fish with a minnow if you please it."

"Thank you, Bunting. And pray what sport have you had to-day?"

"Oh,--good, good," quoth the Corporal, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his basket and closing the cover, lest the young Squire should pry into it. No man is more tenacious of his secrets than your true angler. "Sent the best home two hours ago; one weighed three pounds, on the faith of a man; indeed, I'm satisfied now; time to give up;" and the Corporal began to disjoint his rod.

"Ah, Sir!" said he, with a half sigh, "a pretty river this, don't mean to say it is not; but the river Lea for my money. You know the Lea?--not a morning's walk from Lunnun. Mary Gibson, my first sweetheart, lived by the bridge,--caught such a trout there by the by!--had beautiful eyes--black, round as a cherry--five feet eight without shoes--might have listed in the forty-second."

"Who, Bunting!" said Walter smiling, "the lady or the trout?"

"Augh!--baugh!--what? Oh, laughing at me, your honour, you're welcome, Sir. Love's a silly thing--know the world now--have not fallen in love these ten years. I doubt--no offence, Sir, no offence--I doubt whether your honour and Miss Ellinor can say as much."

"I and Miss Ellinor!--you forge yourself strangely, Bunting," said Walter, colouring with anger.

"Beg pardon, Sir, beg pardon--rough soldier--lived away from the world so long, words slipped out of my mouth--absent without leave."

"But why," said Walter, smothering or conquering his vexation,--"why couple me with Miss Ellinor? Did you imagine that we,--we were in love with each other?"

"Indeed, Sir, and if I did, 'tis no more than my neighbours imagine too."

"Humph! your neighbours are very silly, then, and very wrong."

"Beg pardon, Sir, again--always getting askew. Indeed some did say it was Miss Madeline, but I says,--says I,--'No! I'm a man of the world--see through a millstone; Miss Madeline's too easy like; Miss Nelly blushes when he speaks;'scarlet is love's regimentals--it was ours in the forty-second, edged with yellow--pepper and salt pantaloons! For my part I think,--but I've no business to think, howsomever--baugh!"