“Then Helen did not care for him?”
“That she did not once, I am quite certain; that she does not now, is not so sure. But I know that even if she were to do so, the disparity of condition would be an insurmountable barrier to her assent.”
Darcy walked up and down with a troubled and anxious air, and at length said,—
“Thus is it that the pride we teach our children, as the defence against low motives and mean actions, displays its false and treacherous principles; and all our flimsy philosophy is based less on the affections of the human heart than on certain conventional usages we have invented for our own enslavement. There is but one code of right and wrong, Eleanor, and that one neither recognizes the artificial distinctions of grade, nor makes a virtue of the self-denial; that is a mere offering to worldly pride.”
“You would scarcely have our daughter accept an alliance with a house that disdains our connection?” said Lady Eleanor, proudly.
“Not, certainly, when the consideration had been once brought before her mind. It would then be but a compromise with principle. But why should she have ever learned the lesson? Why need she have been taught to mingle notions of worldly position and aggrandizement with the emotions of her heart? It was enough—it should have been enough—that his rank and position were nearly her own, not to trifle with feelings immeasurably higher and holier than these distinctions suggest.”
“But the world, my dear Darcy; the world would say—”
“The world would say, Eleanor, that her refusal was perfectly right; and if the world's judgments were purer, they might be a source of consolation against the year-long bitterness of a sinking heart. Well, well!” said he, with a sigh, “I would hope that her heart is free: go to her, Eleanor,—learn the truth, and if there be the least germ of affection there, I will speak to Wallincourt to-morrow, and tell him to leave us. These half-kindled embers are the slow poison of many a noble nature, and need but daily intercourse to make them deadly.”
While Lady Eleanor retired to communicate with her daughter, the Knight paced the little chamber in moody reverie. As he passed and repassed before the window, he suddenly perceived the shadow of a man's figure as he stood beside a rock near the beach. Such an apparition was strange enough to excite curiosity in a quiet, remote spot, where the few inhabitants retired to rest at sunset. Darcy therefore opened the window, and moved towards him; but ere he had gone many paces, he was addressed by Forester's voice,—“I was about to pay you a visit, Knight, and only waited till I saw you alone.”
“Let us stroll along the sands, then,” said Darcy; “the night is delicious.” And so saying, he drew his arm within Forester's, and walked along at his side.