Camilla or A Picture of Youth Part 149

'Compose yourself, then, my dearest girl: and, if you believe you are equal to behaving with firmness, I will not refuse his request of re-admission.'

'His request?' repeated Camilla, with involuntary quickness; but finding Mrs. Tyrold did not notice it, gently adding, 'That person that--I believe--you mean--has done nothing, my dear Mother, to merit expulsion!--'

'I am happy to hear you say so: I have been fearfully, I must own, and even piercingly displeased with him.'

'Ah, my dear Mother! how kind was the partiality that turned your displeasure so wrong a way! that made you,--even you, my dear Mother, listen to your fondness rather than to your justice!--'

She trembled at the temerity of this vindication the moment it had escaped her, and looking another way, spoke again of Eugenia: but Mrs.

Tyrold now, taking both her hands, and seeking, though vainly, to meet her eyes, said, 'My dearest child, I grow painfully anxious to end a thousand doubts; to speak and to hear with no further ambiguity, nor reserve. If Edgar--'

Camilla again changed colour, and strove to withdraw her hands.

'Take courage, my dear love, and let one final explanation relieve us both at once. If Edgar has merited well of you, why are you parted?--If ill--why this solicitude my opinion of him should be unshaken?'

Her head now dropt upon Mrs. Tyrold's shoulder, as she faintly answered, 'He deserves your good opinion, my dearest Mother--for he adores you--I cannot be unjust to him,--though he has made me--I own--not very happy!'

'Designedly, my Camilla?'

'O, no, my dearest Mother!--he would not do that to an enemy!'

'Speak out, then, and speak clearer, my dearest Camilla. If you think of him so well, and are so sure of his good intentions, what--in two words,--what is it that has parted you?'

'Accident, my dearest Mother,--deluding appearances, ... and false internal reasoning on my part,--and on his, continual misconstruction! O my dearest Mother! how have I missed your guiding care! I had ever the semblance, by some cruel circ.u.mstance, some inexplicable fatality of incident, to neglect his counsel, oppose his judgment, deceive his expectations, and trifle with his regard!--Yet, with a heart faithful, grateful, devoted,--O my dearest Mother!--with an esteem that defies all comparison, ... a respect closely meliorating even to veneration!...

Never was heart ... my dearest Mother, so truly impressed with the worth of another ... with the n.o.bleness....'

A buzzing noise from the adjoining parlour, sounding something between a struggle and a dispute, suddenly stopt her, ... and as she raised her head from the bosom of her Mother, in which she had seemed seeking shelter from the very confidence she was pouring forth, she saw the door opened, and the object of whom she was speaking appear at it....

Fluttered, colouring, trembling, ... yet with eyes refulgent with joy, and every feature speaking ecstasy.

Almost fainting with shame and surprise, she gave herself up as disgraced, if not dishonoured evermore, for a short, but bitter half moment. It was not longer. Edgar, rus.h.i.+ng forward, and seizing the hands of Mrs. Tyrold, even while they were encircling her drooping, shrinking, half expiring Camilla, pressed them with ardent respect to his lips, rapidly exclaiming, 'My more than Mother! my dear, kind, excellent, inestimable friend!--Forgive this blest intrusion--plead for me where I dare not now speak--and raise your indeed maternal eyes upon the happiest--the most devoted of your family!'

'What is it overpowers me thus this morning?' cried Mrs. Tyrold, leaning her head upon her clinging Camilla, while large drops fell from her eyes; 'Misfortune, I see, is not the greatest test of our philosophy!...

Joy, twice to-day, has completely demolished mine!'

'What goodness is this! what encouragement to hope some indulgent intercession here--where the sense that now breaks in upon me of ungenerous ... ever to be lamented--and I had nearly said, execrated doubt, fills me with shame and regret--and makes me--even at this soft reviving, heart-restoring moment, feel undeserving my own hopes!'--

'Shall I ... may I leave him to make his peace?' whispered Mrs. Tyrold to her daughter, whose head sought concealment even to annihilation; but whose arms, with what force they possessed, detained her, uttering faintly but rapidly, 'O no, no, no!'

'My more than Mother!' again cried Edgar, 'I will wait till that felicity may be accorded me, and put myself wholly under your kind and powerful influence. One thing alone I must say;--I have too much to answer for, to take any share of the misdemeanors of another!--I have not been a treacherous listener, though a wilful obtruder.... See, Mrs.

Tyrold! who placed me in that room--who is the accomplice of my happiness!'

With a smile that seemed to beam but the more brightly for her glistening eyes, Mrs. Tyrold looked to the door, and saw there, leaning against it, the form she most revered; surveying them all with an expression of satisfaction so perfect, contentment so benign, and pleasure mingled with so much thankfulness, that her tears now flowed fast from unrestrained delight; and Mr. Tyrold, approaching to press at once the two objects of his most exquisite tenderness to his breast, said, 'This surprise was not planned, but circ.u.mstances made it more than irresistible. It was not, however, quite fair to my Camilla, and if she is angry, we will be self-exiled till she can pardon us.'

'This is such a dream,'--cried Camilla, as now, first, from the voice of her Father she believed it reality; 'so incredible ... so unintelligible ... I find it entirely ... impossible ... impossible to comprehend any thing I see or hear!'--

'Let the past, ... not the present,' cried Edgar, 'be regarded as the dream! and generously drive it from your mind as a fever of the brain, with which reason had no share, and for which memory must find no place.'

'If I could understand in the least,' said Camilla, 'what this all means ... what----'

Mr. Tyrold now insisted that Edgar should retreat, while he made some explanation; and then related to his trembling, doubting, wondering daughter, the following circ.u.mstances.

In returning from Belfont, he had stopt at the half-way-house, where he had received from Mrs. Marl, a letter that, had it reached him as it was intended, at Etherington, would have quickened the general meeting, yet nearly have broken his heart. It was that which, for want of a messenger, had never been sent, and which Peggy, in cleaning the bed room, had found under a table, where it had fallen, she supposes, when the candle was put upon it for reading prayers.

'There was another letter, too!' interrupted Camilla, with quick blus.h.i.+ng recollection;--'but my illness ... and all that has followed, made me forget them both till this very moment.... Did she say anything of any ... other?'

'Yes; ... the other had been delivered according to its address.'

'Good Heaven!'

'Be not frightened, my Camilla, ... all has been beautifully directed for the best. My accomplice had received his early in the morning; he was at the house, by some fortunate hazard, when it was found, and, being well known there, Mrs. Marl gave it to him immediately.'

'How terrible!... It was meant only in case ... I had seen no one any more!...'

'The intent, and the event, have been happily, my child, at war. He came instantly hither, and enquired for me; I was not returned; he asked my route, and rode to follow or meet me. About an hour ago, we encountered upon the road: he gave his horse to his groom, and came into the chaise to me.'

Camilla now could with difficulty listen; but her Father hastened to acquaint her, that Edgar, with the most generous apologies, the most liberal self-blame, had re-demanded his consent for a union, from which every doubt was wholly, and even miraculously removed, by learning thus the true feelings of her heart, as depicted at the awful crisis of expected dissolution. The returning smiles which forced their way now through the tears and blushes of Camilla, shewed how vainly she strove to mingle the regret of shame with the felicity of fond security, produced by this eventful accident. But when she further heard that Edgar, in Flanders, had met with Lionel, who, in frankly recounting his difficulties and adventures, had named some circ.u.mstances which had so shaken every opinion that had urged him to quit England, as to induce him instantly, from the conference, to seek a pa.s.sage for his return, she felt all but happiness retire from her heart;--vanish even from her ideas.

'You are not angry, then,' said Mr. Tyrold, as smilingly he read her delighted sensations, 'that I waited not to consult you? That I gave back at once my consent? That I folded him again in my arms?... again ... called him my son?'

She could but seek the same pressure; and he continued, 'I would not bring him in with me; I was not aware my dear girl was so rapidly recovered, and I had a task to fulfil to my poor Eugenia that was still my first claim. But I promised within an hour, your Mother, at least, should welcome him. He would walk, he said, for that period. When I met her, I hinted at what was pa.s.sing, and she followed me to our Eugenia; I then briefly communicated my adventure; and your Mother, my Camilla, lost herself in hearing it! Will you not, ... like me!... withdraw from her all reverence? Her eyes gushed with tears, ... she wept, as you weep at this moment; she was sure Edgar Mandlebert could alone preserve you from danger, yet make you happy--Was she wrong, my dear child? Shall we attack now her judgment, as well as her fort.i.tude?'

Only at her feet could Camilla shew her grat.i.tude; to action she had recourse, for words were inadequate, and the tenderest caresses now spoke best for them all.

Respect for the situation of Eugenia, who had desired, for this week, to live wholly up stairs and alone, determined Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold to keep back for some time the knowledge of this event from the family. Camilla was most happy to pay such an attention to her sister; but when Mr.

Tyrold was leaving her, to consult upon it with Edgar, the ingenuousness of her nature urged her irresistibly to say, 'Since all this has pa.s.sed, my dearest Father--my dearest Mother--does it not seem as if I should now myself----'

She stopt; but she was understood; they both smiled, and Mr. Tyrold immediately bringing in Edgar, said, 'I find my pardon, my dear fellow-culprit, is already accorded; if you have doubts of your own, try your eloquence for yourself.'

He left the room, and Mrs. Tyrold was gently rising to quietly follow, but Camilla, with a look of entreaty of which she knew the sincerity, and would not resist the earnestness, detained her.

'Ah yes, stay, dearest Madam!' cried Edgar, again respectfully taking her hand, 'and through your unalterable goodness, let me hope to procure pardon for a distrust which I here for ever renounce; but which had its origin in my never daring to hope what, at this moment, I have the felicity to believe. Yet now, even now, without your kind mediation, this dear convalescent may plan some probationary trial at which my whole mind, after this long suffering, revolts. Will you be my caution, my dearest Mrs. Tyrold? Will you venture--and will you deign to promise, that if a full and generous forgiveness may be p.r.o.nounced....'

'Forgiveness?' in a soft voice interrupted Camilla: 'Have I any thing to forgive? I thought all apology--all explanation, rested on my part? and that my imprudencies--my rashness--my so often-erring judgment ... and so apparently, almost even culpable conduct....'

'O, my Camilla! my now own Camilla!' cried Edgar, venturing to change the hand of the Mother for that of the daughter; 'what too, too touching words and concessions are these! Suffer me, then, to hope a kind amnesty may take place of retrospection, a clear, liberal, open forgiveness antic.i.p.ate explanation and enquiry?'

'Are you sure,' said Camilla, smiling, 'this is your interest, and not mine?... Does he not make a mistake, my dearest Mother, and turn my advocate, instead of his own? And can I fairly take advantage of such an errour.'

The sun-s.h.i.+ne of her returning smiles went warm to her Mother's heart, and gave a glow to the cheeks of Edgar, and a brightness to his eyes that irradiated his whole countenance. 'Your penetrating judgment,' said he, to Mrs. Tyrold, 'will take in at once more than any professions, any protestations can urge for me: ... you see the peace, the pardon which those eyes do not seek to withhold ... will you then venture, my more than maternal friend! my Mother, in every meaning which affection and reverence can give to that revered appellation--will you venture at once--now--upon this dear and ever after hallowed minute--to seal the kind consent of my truly paternal guardian, and to give me an example of that trust and confidence which my whole future life shall look upon as its lesson?'

'Yes!' answered Mrs. Tyrold, instantly joining their hands, 'and with every security that the happiness of all our lives--my child's, my husband's, your's, my valued Edgar's, and my own, will all owe their felicity to the blessing with which I now lay my hands upon my two precious children!'

Tears were the only language that could express the fulness of joy which succeeded to so much sorrow; and when Mr. Tyrold returned, and had united his tenderest benediction with that of his beloved wife, Edgar was permitted to remain alone with Camilla; and the close of his long doubts, and her own long perplexities, was a reciprocal confidence that left nothing untold, not an action unrelated, not even a thought unacknowledged.

Edgar confessed that he no sooner had quitted her, than he suspected the justice of his decision; the turn which of late, he had taken, doubtfully to watch her every action, and suspiciously to judge her every motive, though it had impelled him in her presence, ceased to operate in her absence.--He was too n.o.ble to betray the well meant, though not well applied warnings of Dr. Marchmont, yet he acknowledged, that when left to cool reflection, a thousand palliations arose for every step he could not positively vindicate: and when, afterwards, from the frank communication of Lionel, he learnt what belonged to the mysterious offer of Sir Sedley Clarendel, that she would superintend the disposal of his fortune, and the deep obligation in which she had been innocently involved, his heart smote him for having judged ere he had investigated that transaction; and in a perturbation unspeakable of quick repentance, and tenderness, he set out for England. But when, at the half-way-house, he stopt as usual to rest his horses in his way to Beech Park,--what were his emotions at the sight of the locket, which the landlady told him had been pledged by a lady in distress! He besought her pardon for the manner in which he had made way to her; but the almost frantic anxiety which seized him to know if or not it was [she], and to save her, if so, from the intended intrusion of the landlord, made him irresistibly prefer it to the plainer mode which he should have adopted with any one else, of sending in his name, and some message. His shock at her view in such a state, he would not now revive; but the impropriety of bidding the landlady quit the chamber, and the impossibility of entering into an explanation in her hearing, alone repressed, at that agitated moment, the avowal of every sensation with which his heart was labouring. 'But when,' he added, 'shall I cease to rejoice that I had listened to the good landlady's history of a sick guest, while all conjecture was so remote from whom it might be! when I am tempted to turn aside from a tale of distress, I will recollect what I owe to having given [ear to one]!' Lost in wonder at what could have brought her to such a situation, and disturbed how to present himself at the rectory, till fixed in his plans, he had ridden to the half-way-house that morning, to enquire concerning the corpse that Mrs.

Marl had mentioned--and there--while he was speaking with her, the little maid brought down two letters--one of them directed to himself.--

'What a rapid transition,' cried he, 'was then mine, from regrets that robbed life of all charms, to prospects which paint it in its most vivid colours of happiness! from wavering the most deplorable, to resolutions of expiating by a whole life of devoted fondness, the barbarous waywardness that could deprive me, for one wilful moment, of the exquisite felicity of my lot!...'