Part 13 (1/2)
”He is not ill, William; and you have all permitted me to deceive myself into a belief that he is; because you felt that I would rather ten thousand times that he were dead than false--than false.”
”He could not, he dare not be false to you, my dear, after having been solemnly betrothed to you, I may say with the consent of your father and his.”
”Dare not--ha--there is meaning in that, William; your complexion is heightened, too; and so I have found out your secret, my brother. Sunk as is my heart, you see I have greater penetration than you dream of.
So he is not sick, but false; and his love for me is gone like a dream.
Well, well; but yet I have laid down my own plan of resignation. You would not guess what it is? Come, guess; I will hear nothing further till you guess.”
He thought it was better to humor her, and replied in accordance with the hope of I his father.
”Religion, my dear Jane, and reliance on G.o.d.”
”That was my first plan; that was my plan in case the malady I suspected had taken him from me--but what is my plan for his falsehood?”
”I cannot guess, dear Jane.”
”Death, William. What consoler like death? what peace so calm as that of the grave? Let the storm of life howl ever so loudly, go but six inches beneath the clay of the church-yard and how still is all there!”
”Indeed, Jane, you distress yourself without cause; never trust me again if Charles will not soon come home, and you and he be happy. Why, my dear Jane, I thought you had more fort.i.tude than to sink under a calamity that has not yet reached you. Surely it will be time enough when you find that Charles is false to take it so much to heart as you do.”
”That is a good and excellent advice, my dear William; but listen, and I will give a far better one: never deceive your father; never prevaricate with papa, and then you may rest satisfied that your heart will not be crushed by such a calamity as that which has fallen upon me. I deceived papa; and I am now the poor hopeless cast-away that you see me. Remember that advice, William--keep it, and G.o.d will bless you.”
William would have remonstrated with her at greater length, but he saw that she was resolved to have no further conversation on the subject.
When it was closed she walked slowly and composedly out of the garden, and immediately took her way to those favorite places among which she was latterly in the habit of wandering. One of her expressions, however, sunk upon his affectionate heart too deeply to permit him to rest under the fearful apprehension which it generated. After musing for a little he followed her with a pale face and a tearful eye, resolved to draw from her, with as much tenderness as possible, the exact meaning which, in her allusion to Osborne's falsehood, she had applied to death.
He found her sitting upon the bank of the river which we have already described, and exactly opposite to the precise spot in the stream from which Osborne had rescued Ariel. The bird sat on her shoulder, and he saw by her gesture that she was engaged in an earnest address to it. He came on gently behind her, actuated by that kind curiosity which knows that in such unguarded moments a key may possibly be obtained to the abrupt and capricious impulse by which persons laboring under impressions so variable may be managed.
[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 44-- Spot which would have been fatal to you]
”I will beat you, Ariel,” said she, ”I will beat you--fie upon you. You an angel of light--no, no--have I not often pointed you out the spot which would have been fatal to you, were it not for him--for him! Stupid bird! there it is! do you not see it? No, as I live, your eye is turned up sideways towards me, instead of looking at it, as if you asked why, dear mistress, do you scold me so? And indeed I do not know, Ariel. I scarcely know--but oh, my dear creature, if you knew--if you knew--it is well you don't. I am here--so are you--but where is he?”
She was then silent for a considerable time, and sat with her head on her hand. William could perceive that she sighed deeply.
He advanced; and on hearing his foot she started, looked about, and on seeing him, smiled.
”I am amusing myself, William,” said she.
”How, my dear Jane--how?”
”Why, by the remembrance of my former misery. You know that the recollection of all past happiness is misery to the miserable--is it not? but of that you are no judge, William--you were never miserable.”
”Nor shall you be so, Jane, longer than until Charles returns; but touching your second plan of resignation, love. I don't understand how death could be resignation.”
”Do you not? then I will tell you. Should Charles prove false to me--that would break my heart. I should die, and then--then--do you not see--comes Death, the consoler.”
”I see, dear sister; but there will be no necessity for that. Charles will be, and is, faithful and true to you. Will you come home with me, dear Jane?”
”At present I cannot, William; I have places to see and things to think of that are pleasant to me. I may almost say so; because as I told you they amuse me. Let misery have its mirth, William; the remembrance of past happiness is mine.”
”Jane, if you love me come home with me now?”