CHAPTER XX.
"Who that have felt that passion's power,
Or paused, or feared, in such an hour?
Or thought how brief such moments last!
But yet—they are already past!
Alas! we must awake before
We know such vision comes no more."
Byron.
With a form uniting at once grace, dignity, and ease, Harcourt had neither escaped the attention of Mrs. De Brooke nor her daughter. The former might have entertained, from the hasty and precipitate manner in which he had followed them, some slight suspicion as to the real cause; particularly when, with a parent's pride, she had contemplated the perfect loveliness of her child: but in this instance, it was with a feeling of regret, supposing that, viewed superficially, the sensation she had inspired was that only which the light and trifling are susceptible of,—looking but to the surface, as wanton children to their toys, regardless of their intrinsic value.
Impressed with these ideas, she was glad to find that the object of her fears no longer rendered himself visible. But Rosilia herself, however, remained perfectly unconscious of those powerful emotions, stamping her image upon his soul, and still leading him to the pursuit of her; for no sooner had he dismissed his troublesome companion, and found himself at freedom, than he retraced his footsteps to Portland Place.
Again, in passing the windows, he beholds that form, or rather but the shade of that form, so imperfectly developed, yet entrancing his soul, as by some magical enchantment. She moves, he follows her motions; she passes to and fro, and fancy pictures the exquisite graces attending her. She draws towards the door of the apartment, she leaves it, she has vanished; enwrapt in contemplation, he gazes as if that lovely form still filled his vision. A confused tumult of thought seizes him, and he is at a loss upon what to determine. His existence seems to depend upon an introduction, and that immediately; but how obtain it? and by whom?
In the perplexity of his ideas, unable to endure so torturing a suspense, a sudden revolution seizes him. He advances towards the door,—he raises the knocker—his hand trembles, but it has performed his office; a female servant presents herself; her attire announced her above the common class of her order. He was at a loss for speech to address her. Her looks became bashful, and he thence assumed courage. He asked her various questions, none of which might be deemed discreet; but no matter, the simple candour of her replies emboldened him, and at the same time gave encouragement and satisfaction to his hopes and views. Presenting her his card, he desired her to deliver it to her mistress, with the message that he would call again in half an hour.
Upon the servant's entering the parlour, Mrs. De Brooke, with a look half curious, and half displeased, asked the purport of the conversation the gentleman had held with her: "for you have been sometime engaged with him, Mary."
"He asked me," replied she, "who resided in this house, and who were the ladies he had seen alight from a carriage, and—" here she paused, looked down, and simpered: "He asked me if I could tell him whether the young lady was disengaged; 'that is,' said he, 'whether she has any suitors, who demand her hand in marriage.'
"Is it possible he could ask such a question!" exclaimed Rosilia, deeply blushing. "Of what importance could it be to him, a total stranger to me?"
"And what was your reply?" continued Mrs. De Brooke, with some asperity of accent.
"I hope you are not angry with me, ma'am; I did not say anything else, than that I did not know."
At this interval another knock came; Rosilia was about flying from the apartment, but as the door opened, the voice of Mrs. Philimore without relieved her confusion.
"My dear Rosilia," said she, after making her salutation, "how flurried you are; what has happened to alarm you?"
Scarcely was she seated, and Mrs. De Brooke had taken upon herself to explain the circumstance, than a third knock announced the return of their singular visitor. Rosilia, in trembling accents, besought her mother not to admit him; Mrs. Philimore joined in the same persuasion, recommending her friend to speak to him without.
Thus acting, Harcourt, upon seeing her, politely bowed, and stammered out some unintelligible words. In the overwhelming hurry of his thoughts he found it impossible to make himself understood; but naturally supposed the circumstance of the case and situation in which he was placed, might sufficiently explain his conduct. He felt his consequence; he was a man of condition and of fortune; his pretensions he felt to be just, his views honourable. Yet to advance one step from the spot on which he stood, he could not,—awaiting Mrs. De Brooke's invitation to follow her.
Never having heard of a parallel instance, she was at a total loss how to act; from the predominating feeling, however, which influenced her, assuming an air of dignity, she said, "Sir, I presume you are mistaken in the house at which you have called, and have no doubt your presence here has been perfectly unintentional."
Intimidated, confounded, Harcourt remained silent; the manner of Mrs. De Brooke's address clearly bespoke that he had wounded both her pride and delicacy. To proceed might be deemed insolence. He must pursue other steps, or perhaps close the avenue to the good graces and favourable estimation of the daughter for ever; bowing respectfully, therefore, he withdrew.
A heavy shower of rain, lasting above an hour, precluded Mrs. Philimore from returning home; at her request, after a still longer interval, Rosilia opened the blinds to ascertain the state of the weather. But what was her surprise, not in the least doubting but that he had departed, when, springing from his place of concealment, the enamoured Harcourt was before her. Once again he beheld her fascinating figure; he beheld her countenance covered with the sweet blush of innocence; and she, ere she had time to retire, caught his looks of fire issuing from that fervent flame which then pervaded his being.
"O fie, Rosilia!" exclaimed Mrs. Philimore, who, after still further rallying her young friend upon the conquest she had made, departed.
Mrs. Herbert, and the General also, had been absent from home since an early hour in the morning; the former, on her return, remarked that, as she approached the dwelling, she observed a gentleman keeping his station at the corner of the street, at the side of the house; "a tall, handsome, elegant-looking man, beating his switch upon the iron railings; and as I ascended the steps, he seemed perplexed and hesitating whether or not to accost me."
Mrs. De Brooke, glancing her eye at Rosilia, smiling said, "a persevering lover, truly;" and related to Mrs. Herbert the morning's adventure.
"Why, bless me! he must be extremely smitten to stand at his post so long: you little witch," continued she, addressing Rosilia, "did I not tell you when you passed me this morning in going to the gardens, that Cupid looked in those arch looks of yours; pretty doings, indeed, to set the men beside themselves. But here comes your papa; what will he say to all this?"
The General entered, and ere he could be seated, Mrs. Herbert, with the utmost volubility of speech, began relating the story she had heard, but which, as she could but explain in part, Mrs. De Brooke was called upon for a more minute detail; when, ever liking to promote good humour, the General joined Mrs. Herbert in her raillery of Rosilia.
"If we do not soon escape to the Bower," exclaimed he, "I shall lose my dear girl; she will be run away with by some of these smart London bucks."
"You may depend upon it," added Mrs. Herbert, "the affair will not end here; this Mr. Harcourt is too deeply smitten to allow the affair to drop; he will make further efforts, take my word for it."
"To preserve my pre-eminence over him," said Rosilia gaily, "it would be better never to become further known to him; he is, perhaps, of a bold and sanguine character, and fond of novelty, which has, doubtless, deluded him to act as he has done: but as such an attraction would inevitably fade, some other object would proportionably rise in his estimation."
"It is well argued, my child," said the General, who, still inclining to be jocose, continued; "but what could the poor fellow do, when he found a pair of fine eyes in his pocket, but pursue the fair object who had so generously bestowed them."
The General was aware that a Colonel Harcourt resided in the neighbourhood, a man distinguished for his manners, birth, and fortune. It was from such pretensions he conceived that he had been led to take a step so bold and extraordinary.
Mrs. Herbert felt for Rosilia an affection nearly amounting to the maternal; next to her Edward, there was no object more tenderly beloved by her. Far from being disinterested, however, her wishes for the happiness of Rosilia tended only as connected with her long cherished and favourite scheme; often anticipating the comfort it would afford her declining years, to spend them with her son, united to such a woman as Rosilia: those dear children would be the prop of her widowhood! Such an idea, from the frequency of its recurrence, had become too familiar to be relinquished. Her son might soon return from abroad; he might haply attain the rank of Major; and with such expectations, so long nurtured, should she, even at the very period when, as she supposed, she might reasonably look forward to their consummation, suffer them to dissolve and fly from her as an empty dream, upon the appearance of a Harcourt? Certainly not.
Thus fixed in her resolution, the following morning, when breakfast was over, she sallied from her house. She had seen from an upper window, the warm, enraptured, persevering Harcourt at his station as on the day before; and, as she expected, immediately on seeing her, he advanced to meet her.
The air of fashion and nobility with which he introduced himself to her notice, might have spoke in his favour: pretensions, rank, and fortune alone, it might have been conceived, authorized the step.
"You are, madam," said he, bowing as he spoke, "doubtless the owner of that house."
"I am, sir," was the laconic answer. He added, "I was very rash, very precipitate in my conduct yesterday; I am painfully aware, that even the vehemence of feeling by which I was actuated cannot justify it." After a moment's pause, he continued; "I possess an independent fortune, entirely at my own disposal; my friends and family have been long persuading me to marry. But never did I indulge in such an inclination, for never did I see the female who could fix my roving thoughts. Yesterday I saw her! yes, I have now seen her! It is the young lady who resides in your house, who, from the first moment I beheld her, showed me the object, the only object my soul can ever pant after, to crown its wishes and desires with success. Can you, will you, be so obliging as to—as to speak in my behalf to herself and family, for which I shall be your debtor to all eternity?"
"Sir," replied Mrs. Herbert, proudly drawing herself up, "that young lady has a mind above being caught by sudden impressions; her favourable estimation is not to be gained but by a long intimacy with, and knowledge of, the character who addresses her. Moreover, her parents would not consent to part with her to any who could not bestow on her a handsome settlement."
Harcourt, who was as liberal in temper, as he was nice in discrimination, felt for a moment piqued at the remark; but as it proceeded from one whose ideas of delicacy and of good breeding he might suppose circumscribed, he rejoined: "On such a score I have nothing to dread; my resources are ample, and more than abundant to answer the expectations of her friends; be assured I should otherwise never have had the audacity and presumption to act in this manner. Will you pardon my curiosity if I ask who are her connexions?"
Mrs. Herbert first spoke of the deceased Sir Aubrey, extolling his high renown and popularity; she then mentioned the General, dwelling upon his amiable character, as also that of his lady; after which, of Mr. and Mrs. Arden, of their respectability and fortune.
"It is sufficient," rejoined Harcourt; "it was not to gratify any personal ambition, that I solicited this information; it was with the view to judge how far my own desires would act in harmony with the wishes of my family. Such an alliance cannot fail of meeting with their most flattering approbation."
As the inmates of her house, and reflecting credit upon herself, Mrs. Herbert had launched into encomiums upon the De Brookes; and as it was but from mere curiosity she had listened to Harcourt's account of himself, now that he had said all that was necessary in his recommendation, and that her inquisitivenes was fully gratified, her own self-interested feelings assumed complete ascendancy. This Harcourt might prove a formidable rival to her son. Birth, fortune, in the prime of manhood, of a pleasing and polished exterior; what though her son had scarcely emerged from adolescense, and might boast of a more florid and fresh countenance; would such, with Rosilia, preponderate in the balance? How in an affair of such moment to the future happiness of her son, was it to be supposed she could take part with and favour a stranger? act in direct contradiction to, and throw a final destruction upon, the hopes and views of her son, cherished since his years of childhood,—a being so beloved, so idolized. After thus reflecting, she resumed the discourse with precipitation. "Sir," said she, "I am very sorry to have kept you so long in suspense, since your frank address to me demanded a like return; I ought ere this to have informed you that Miss Rosilia De Brooke is no longer at her own disposal, having from an early period of her youth engaged herself; and hopes, by the kind indulgence of her parents, to obtain at last their consent to a union with—with my son."
The countenance of Harcourt, recently flushed by the ardour of hope, suddenly exhibited the palid and melancholy hues of death. His knees tottered, his whole frame shook with convulsive agony. He inarticulately muttered, "pursuing a shadow, a phantom has deluded me!
In this state he was fortunately seen by his servant, who, having been appointed to attend him in Portland Place, at that moment drew up with his curricle. Scarcely conscious of what he did, he ascended the vehicle, seized the reins, and giving his horses free action, brandishing his whip in air, he drove through the streets with the most furious rapidity, till at last coming in contact with another vehicle, the carriage was overturned, and shattered in its fall.
Receiving, himself, but slight injury, the accident might be esteemed more fortunate than otherwise; for, in changing the impetuous current of his thoughts, he became comparatively himself again.