CHAPTER III.

——Love’s sooner felt than seen: Oft in a voice he creeps down through the ear; Oft from a blushing cheek he lights his fire; Oft shrouds his golden flame in likest hair; Oft in a soft, smooth cheek doth close retire; Oft in a smile, oft in a silent tear; And if all fail, yet virtue’s self will lure!

PHINEAS FLETCHER.

Caroline was now seven-and-twenty, and she had many histories to pour into Ellen’s ear of the deceitful conduct of sundry naval or military heroes, and briefless barristers. One old nabob had laid his fortune at her feet, but he was too disagreeable, and she preferred even the eternal household bills, and the last finish of Matilda’s education, and the increased peevishness of her father’s temper to being the wife of Mr. Pierson.

But there was a person—a most amiable man—a clergyman, who had long appeared to prefer her—who did not pay her compliments, but who often visited them in their quiet home, and who admired her for qualities which had never attracted the notice of the captains nor the majors—her patience, her sweet temper, and her absence of selfishness. She owned to Ellen that, if circumstances ever enabled him to come forward, she should rejoice in the chances which had prevented her marrying earlier.

In the course of a short time Ellen had an opportunity of becoming personally acquainted with Mr. Allenham, and she thought her sister would indeed be a fortunate woman if she should ever become his wife.

To Ellen his intentions seemed manifest; but Caroline, who had so often been deceived, scarcely ventured to believe what she so much wished: all pleasure in the society of others was, however, completely gone, and she sighed to fix the affections which had so long been without a resting-place upon a person for whom she could feel entire respect, and in whom she could place complete reliance. Caroline was now as little inclined to mix in the world as Ellen, and Mr. Cresford would have been satisfied, if he could have witnessed the retirement in which they lived.

He had not been gone more than a month, when the sudden renewal of hostilities gave rise to the greatest alarm among those who had friends upon the Continent. Still, no one was prepared for that gross violation of all the usual courtesies between civilised nations, of all the charities of human life, which astounded the European world, when Buonaparte detained the harmless traveller, the peaceable merchant, and doomed them to drag out the best years of their lives in weary, unprofitable imprisonment at Verdun, or in the fortress of La Bitche.

At first no one could believe that this would last; they all looked to a speedy termination of their captivity. Ellen received letters from her husband, who was among the _detenus_ at Verdun, which filled her with pity and alarm. His jealousy, which could not be completely lulled when his virtuous and modest wife was constantly under his own eye, now raged like a devouring flame. He threatened to commit some crime which could only be atoned by his life, rather than endure the living death which consumed him. He braved the authorities—he would not accept his parole—he would not preclude himself from attempting every means in his power to again see the wife whom he adored. His letters were written in a state of mind bordering on distraction. In vain Ellen described to him her quiet mode of existence, entreated him to wait with patience till he could return in health and safety to his family, and promised faithfully to continue in the seclusion which he had prescribed. She communicated to him her intention of taking a cottage near her father and sisters, where the children might have the benefit of country air, and where she might be in some measure under the protection of her father without joining in the society of the town.

The other partners in Mr. Cresford’s house were now obliged to transact the business. All that could be done was to await the events which time might bring forth, and meanwhile to take every opportunity of transmitting to him funds which might enable him to exist in such comfort as might be found within the walls of a prison.

Ellen never deviated from the line of conduct which she had marked out for herself. She felt perfectly confident that her husband would soon return, and she so dreaded what might be his anger if he heard of her having joined in any the most innocent amusement, that she never left her home except to visit her father, and she never received any one except her own immediate relations. She shrank from the appearance, or the suspicion, of the slightest impropriety with as much sensitive horror as many would from any actual breach of decorum.

The even tenor of Ellen’s monotonous life was one day most agreeably broken in upon by the entrance of Caroline, who, with a face of joyous mystery, made her appearance at her sister’s cottage immediately after breakfast.

“I have such news for you, Ellen. You have been right all along, and Mr. Allenham has proposed. He came to dinner yesterday, and told papa that his uncle’s friend, Lord Coverdale, had presented him to the living of Longbury, and that he might now look forward to possessing a competency, and that he had long been attached to me; and then he says that the house is a very nice one, and that he is to remove to it from his curacy in about six months.”

“But you do not tell me what answer you have given him,” replied Ellen, smiling.

“Oh, Ellen, do not laugh at me; it would be affectation in me to pretend I am not very, very happy at the prospect before me. You know well enough that I have long preferred him to any one, but you cannot guess how ardently I wish I had never before fancied myself in love. All that has gone before seems to me now like a dream. My former likings have been nothing compared to this. Still I would give the world that my heart was quite, quite fresh and pure; that I could have given it to him wholly and solely. I envy you, Ellen, having married so early that your feelings had never been tampered with, as mine have been.”

Ellen was surprised at the warmth with which Caroline spoke, and thought in her heart that she had never felt all this for Mr. Cresford. Caroline resumed—

“I wonder how a being so good, so superior, so excellent as Mr. Allenham can have ever found any thing to please him, in such a poor, weak, frivolous creature as I am! I do feel so grateful to him! And I am sure if the devotion of my life can render me worthy of him, I may deserve him in that manner, though I can in no other.”

Ellen was astonished at this burst of feeling in her sister. She had seen her, as she believed, in love before, that is to say, she had seen her pleased and flattered by the attentions of men; she had seen her ardently desiring to get away from her home, and she had seen her unhappy when a flirtation ended in nothing; but she had never before seen her love with all the devotion of which an affectionate heart is capable. A real true attachment exalts and refines the mind, and Mr. Allenham was a person with whom no one could associate without becoming better.

The meekness and forbearance with which Caroline bore the eternal worry of her father’s temper, the asperity of which had increased with years, first attracted him; he admired her beauty (for a woman of seven-and-twenty, provided she enjoys good health, is as pretty as ever she was), and her evident pleasure in his preference, which, when it is accompanied with modesty, proves an almost irresistible charm to most men, combined to fix his affections. Her kind manner to all inferiors, and her gentle attention to any of the poor with whom she was brought in contact, satisfied his reason that she would make the best of wives for a clergyman. Nor was he mistaken in this expectation.

But Captain Wareham, whose disposition inclined him to look on the dark side of every picture, now felt somewhat unhappy at the thoughts of losing the daughter who had been so long accustomed to his ways; although he had often been bitterly disappointed at Caroline’s failing to make a good establishment; a disappointment which he had been at no pains to conceal, and which did not contribute to make her own fall more lightly upon the poor girl.

“I suppose you must marry Mr. Allenham, Caroline; but what is to become of me?” he one day said, in a desponding tone. “How can a man see to all the details of a household, and the boys, and everything?”

“Why, papa, you always said I was but a bad housekeeper,” replied Caroline, who, in her new-born happiness and brightened prospects, had found a certain degree of courage, and sometimes ventured to reply half playfully to her father’s lamentations; “you will do all the better without me, I dare say.”

“No, no! I shan’t! You have been a good girl, Caroline, and I shall not be able to do at all well without you. You will all marry, and I shall be left alone in my old age.”

“Why, papa,” interrupted Matilda, “I have heard you regret a hundred times that Caroline did not marry, and say that it preyed upon your mind to think that we were unprovided for; and that if we were but married, you should be quite happy.”

“In the meantime, my dear papa,” said Caroline, “Matilda can take my place. She is seventeen now, and I was not older when my poor mother died.”

“Ah! but she is not so steady as you were. I cannot manage you, Matilda, as I can Caroline,” answered Captain Wareham, in whose estimation Caroline had risen wonderfully, now he was going to lose her.

“Well, then, I will manage you, papa, and that will be much best,” replied the blunt and light-hearted Matilda, who was not easily either daunted or vexed. “I am so glad Caroline is going to marry that dear, good Mr. Allenham, that I shall not mind casting up those abominable bills. But I will tell you what, papa, you must not scold me as you do Caroline; I shall never bear it as she has done.”

Caroline looked at Matilda, and tried to silence her, but without effect. And, strange to say, Captain Wareham would bear from Matilda jokes, and even lectures, which he would never have endured from her elder sisters. The fact was, that Matilda had a high spirit. She meant no harm; she did not mind a sharp word; and she gradually obtained a sort of mastery over her father.

The marriage was not to take place till Mr. Allenham was settled at Longbury, but all things proceeded placidly and cheerfully with the Wareham family, except that the letters which Ellen received from Mr. Cresford were more and more distressing. They were written in a state of dreadfully low spirits. He complained of mental and bodily miseries. Still she was little prepared for the shock which awaited her, when one morning she read in the papers an official return from the depôt at Verdun, and among the deaths she saw the name of Charles Cresford, Esq.