CHAPTER II.

Nous, qui sommes bornées en tout, comment le sommes nous si peu quand il s’agit de souffrir?—MARIVAUX.

The following spring Fitz-Eustace again passed the season in London. He had been disappointed in his hopes of being returned for a borough; the scenes of dissipation which had completely occupied him the first year had lost their power to interest; and his animated nature was beginning to feel the want of some fresh excitement, when he became acquainted with Lady Ellersville.

She had been married about three years to a dull, proud, cold, handsome man, whom she neither liked nor disliked. Let it not be imagined that her character was therefore necessarily cold and heartless. She had been brought up in the seclusion of her school-room. She had not been allowed to associate with other girls, for fear of contamination; she had read no books, that had not been previously perused with care by her mother or her governess. Her time had been divided between her masters and the proper exercise for her health; but in these walks she had never visited the cottages of the poor, lest she might be exposed to infection, or hear tales of woe that might be injurious to the innocence of her pure unsullied mind.

The school-room was apart from the rest of the house, and she had never been permitted to leave it except at stated and appointed times. Nor were any visitors admitted within the sacred precincts to interrupt the course of her studies. When with her parents, she was treated with all kindness and affection, but she had nothing in common with them. She knew not their objects of interest; their friends were almost unknown to her except by sight; she could not enter into the subjects of their conversation; and when she came forth into the world, she had learned as many languages, read as much history, acquired as many accomplishments as any young lady of her age, and had reflected as little upon any subject that has to do with real life. She imagined, as many girls do, that marriage was as much the object of being brought out, as dancing is the object of going to a ball, and looking well, the object of dressing for that ball.

When, therefore, Lord Ellersville proposed to her, and was considered by her parents as an unexceptionable _parti_, young, handsome, rich, she accepted him calmly, dutifully, and without hesitation. She meant to love him, knowing it was right so to do, and she persuaded herself that she really did like him very much. In high life, romance is not the besetting sin of very young ladies. Their characters do not unfold, like Ondine; they do not find out they have a soul until it is sometimes too late. Matches, apparently the most worldly and heartless, are occasionally formed by those, in the recesses of whose hearts the warmest affections, the most disinterested feelings, are lying dormant. Often, very often, their minds are well regulated, their principles strong, and these affections, if they cannot find vent in love for their husbands, concentrate themselves on their children. But alas! too often also they lead to the most lamentable results.

Lord Ellersville unfortunately was not formed to attach such a woman as Maria. He was devoted to field sports. In August he repaired to the moors to shoot grouse, from whence he only returned when partridge shooting commenced, and later in the season he went to Melton with a perfect stud of horses. This was not flattering to a young and lovely woman. Her vanity was mortified. In the spring he attended the House of Lords regularly, although he never spoke, and his vote merely served to strengthen the government majorities. Women are alive to fame of all kinds, and if her husband had distinguished himself, Lady Ellersville was one of those who would have lived upon his glories; for there was a fund of loftiness in her nature which would have enabled her to make pride in her husband supply the place of love for him. When with her, he was careless and indifferent; for having married at the instigation of his mother, in order that the honours of Ellersville might not become extinct, her principal claim upon his affection, or rather his consideration, ceased, when the young heir was snatched by death from its doting mother.

There is something in maternity that opens the heart to all kindly emotions of every sort, and it was not till she lost her child, that Lady Ellersville first felt what a blank and cheerless existence was that of the unloved wife of an unloved husband. She then first owned to herself that she did not, could not, love the man to whom her fate was united, but that there did exist within her warm and ardent feelings which now must never be called forth.

A fearful barrier is broken down when such a confession is made in the secret soul. Pride, however, was one ruling principle in her nature, and she resolved that no one should perceive that she imagined herself neglected, or that she felt mortified. She mixed in the world. She wished to show her husband that she had charms for others, and she gloried in the train of admirers that the fascination of her person and manners attracted around her. She thought pride must ever secure her against any weakness. Alas! pride is a poor substitute for principle. Walter had heard of her as the admired Lady Ellersville, who piqued herself upon her indifference, and upon her powers of attracting, without courting, the homage of the other sex.

He soon became one of her train, and almost as soon, tired of being only one among many, on whom she lavished the varied charms of her conversation. He could not endure to be thus confounded among the crowd. He wished to ascertain that she considered him as superior to the common herd of empty young men, and to do so he naturally put forth all his powers of pleasing. His eye was more animated, his jest more pointed, his political opinions expressed with more eloquence, when she was present.

Had any one said to him, you are leading a virtuous woman from the path of duty, he would have denied the imputation with horror. Yet such was indeed the fact. Scarcely a day elapsed in which they did not see each other, though without any preconcerted plan on either side; and the ball, the assembly, seemed dull and insipid at which he did not meet the lively, the agreeable, the lovely Lady Ellersville. He began to feel indignant that the man who was united to such a woman should appear so little aware of the treasure he possessed. He then wondered whether she had ever loved him, whether she had ever preferred anybody; whether, if circumstances had not prevented her indulging such a feeling, she could ever have liked him.

His thoughts became wholly engrossed by her; when she was present he had no eyes, no ears for any one else; and although he never breathed a word which could alarm the most rigid virtue, the tact with which all human beings are endowed upon that subject, gave her heart the delightful consciousness of being loved, though nothing was said which forced such a conviction upon her understanding.

The refinements of polished life threw a halo round the first approaches of vice—of vice, which if it appeared in its own form would be recognised as such, and avoided with loathing; but it assumes the mask of all that is harmless and engaging—innocent conversation, gay sociability—and does not throw off the disguise, till it has already made deep inroads on the peace and on the morals.

To the fallen and degraded, whom distress, misfortune, friendlessness may have driven to a life from which their conscience and their feelings often revolt, how wilfully, how wantonly criminal must the pampered minion of luxury appear, who errs in the midst of plenty, pleasure, honour! Alas! it is that very profusion which gives leisure for the heart and the imagination to go astray. The lowly know not the dangers to which the great are exposed. Still less can the great estimate the temptations to which the poor and friendless are liable. Let each be lenient to their erring sisters! Nor let those who, united to the object of their choice, are happy in the interchange of mutual affection, exult too proudly in their irreproachable character and untarnished reputation. Rather let them thankfully and humbly acknowledge the mercy that has cast their lot where their inclination and their duty coincide; which has spared them the misery of warm feelings sent back upon the ardent heart which gave them birth, and the temptation of meeting with kindness, where it would be sinful to indulge the emotions such kindness is calculated to excite.

Why should I trace the progress of events unfortunately of too common occurrence? Walter was the first whose eyes were opened to the nature of his own feelings; but Lady Ellersville, whose heart, under her guarded exterior, was teeming with all the affections which are doomed to form the joy and respectability, or the misery and degradation of woman, at length made the fatal confession to herself. She would have avoided him, and sought safety in flight; but Walter was too little in the habit of self-denial quietly to relinquish the society he found necessary to his happiness. Had Mrs. Fitz-Eustace been aware what were the dangers to which her son’s morals and his welfare were exposed, how little would she have rejoiced in his accession to the earldom of Sotheron, an event which occurred about this period, and which promised to afford scope for those talents which were his mother’s pride. She had scarcely allowed her heart to dilate with the pleasurable emotions from which even her chastened spirit could not defend itself, when she was doomed to a new and unlooked-for sorrow.

The assumed coldness of Lady Ellersville only excited and increased the ardour of Walter’s passion; for he loved her with the uncontrolled vehemence which characterised all his feelings.

The sequel may easily be guessed. The moment came when the confession locked in the secret bosom of each, was made to the other. Lord Ellersville at length became jealous and umbrageous. Her proud spirit could not endure to quail under the glance of a man she despised. To avoid suspicion she plunged into actual guilt.

Oh! if those who headlong follow their own impulses could pause to contemplate the misery they inflict! What were the past sorrows of Eleanor Fitz-Eustace to the agony she now endured, when her son, the consolation of her widowhood, the pride of heart, to whose future career she looked forward with high aspirations after fame and honour, whose name, when it was mentioned, made her faded countenance light up with a gleam of exultation, became a degraded and sinful man; that name avoided by her acquaintance, and only mentioned by her friends in a low, subdued, mysterious voice!

Those only who have felt the delightful, trembling hopes of a parent, who have witnessed the gradual unfolding of the infant mind, watched the ripening intellect, revelled in the anticipation of future excellence, can estimate the full measure of wretchedness which now overwhelmed the unfortunate Eleanor.

Meanwhile were the erring pair happy? No; after the first wild tumult of mingled emotions had subsided, Lord Sotheron attempted to write to his mother. But many days elapsed before he could bring himself to finish a letter which he felt it possible to send to his virtuous, his devoted, his broken-hearted parent. From that moment began the punishment of their misconduct. He was not accustomed to conceal his feelings in order to spare those of another. Restless and agitated himself, he tore the unfinished scrawls to pieces; he paced the apartment with hasty strides, not remembering that every sign of uneasiness in him was a severe pang through Maria’s heart.

Fearful of being recognised, shrinking from the eye of her very menials, Lady Ellersville experienced all the tortures that persons naturally proud and susceptible, yes, and naturally virtuous, must endure, when conscious that every one has a right to look down upon them.

Under a feigned name they resided at an obscure watering-place, anxiously expecting the moment when the divorce should pass, and hoping that she might at least become the wife of Lord Sotheron before the birth of a child, whose illegitimacy would be a lasting reproach to them. Unfortunately, by some unlooked-for circumstances, the divorce did not pass till the following session, and a boy was born, in whose unconscious face its mother could not look without a feeling of guilt towards the innocent child.

Lord Sotheron meanwhile was listless and unoccupied. He was never unkind; but his mode of life was little suited to an animated young man in the very flower of manhood, and he could not, indeed he did not often attempt, to veil his ennui. She was bowed down with humiliation; she could not exert herself. Where were all her brilliancy, her wit, the variety, the grace of her conversation, which had so enchanted all around? She felt she was dull, and that he on whom her every hope depended would be driven to other society for amusement. She strove to be entertaining; but how different was that forced pleasantry from the gaiety of a mind at ease, inspired by the consciousness of success and admiration. He guessed her motive, and for a moment exerted himself to appear amused. But how different also was that forced laugh from the admiring glance which once beamed applause at her every word, which unconsciously followed her every movement!

In wedded life there are a thousand common subjects of interest, little domestic concerns to be discussed; preparation for the reception of friends to be arranged; there are a thousand pleasing recollections of past scenes of enjoyment, and anticipations of the prospects of their children, which prevent the _tête-à-tête_ from wearying those whose characters and tempers are really in unison. But Walter and Lady Ellersville had no friends to prepare for, none to talk of, in all the unrestrained confidence of intimacy; they could not revert to past scenes without recalling those from whom she was for ever divided; they could not retrace the first dawnings of their mutual affection without reviving the recollection of errors over which they would gladly draw a veil; and then—they dared not allude to the future lot of their child, for that was a subject of unmingled pain to both.