"Because," replied Hortensia, "not content with all the great and ugly evils with which Fate has crammed this mortal abode of ours, we set up looking-glasses all round them in our minds to multiply them by reflection. Is not this foolish, Ralph?"
"Methinks it is," answered her companion; "but I believe the reason of it is that we wish to see them on every side, to see if we can not diminish them or cast them out."
"Vain effort!" replied Hortensia. "Our path is straight on; we can not turn aside from it. The ills that lie upon it must be encountered in front, and there is no use in watching for them till they are within reach. Let us be wise, Ralph, if it be but for this day. Let us enjoy the present as far as we can. You think no more of a dark past or a gloomy future, and I will cast from my mind many a heavy thought and anxious care which the world's eye shall never behold. See! the sun is breaking out from behind the clouds, mottling the livery of the sky with gold. Let us fancy that in a calm, peaceful land, in a softened summer day, with nothing but prosperity round us, a happy home before us in which to rest, a short but bright vista of pleasant, youthful hours behind us, and light and loveliness on every side--let us fancy, I say, that we are taking a morning's ride for mere enjoyment. Can you do your part?"
"I will try," replied Ralph; "and, indeed, dear lady, as you say, it is the wisest plan. I have turned all the events of these last few days in my mind during this whole morning, and during the greater part of last night too; but thought has come to no result; and, as you see, the best-devised plans are frustrated in the moment of execution. I really feel inclined to be a fatalist, and to think that Destiny is leading me on blindfold, struggle how I may."
"Perhaps so," replied Hortensia; "but you are already breaking our compact, and moralizing upon things that be. Let us get into dreamland, Ralph; it is the mind's best refuge. You never were in France, or Italy, or Greece, I think; never saw the seven sober, united provinces, nor dwelt among the stiff and boorish aristocracy of Germany?"
"Never," replied Ralph, "never;" but yet the very name of these places turned his thoughts, as Hortensia intended, into another channel; and the two continued, not without an effort, indeed, to discuss subjects the least possibly connected with their own fate or the circumstances of the moment. Often--very often would thought recur to painful themes; the distant barking of a dog--the wild, joyous galloping of a horse in a neighboring field, would startle and alarm with the thought of fresh danger; but then, each time this occurred, the effort to banish the night-mare of the moment would be less difficult, till at length they nearly succeeded in forgetting all that they wished to forget.
Thus the time passed more pleasantly, and the road seemed shorter and less wearisome than it might have done had they yielded greater attention to pains and anxieties. That which Hortensia counseled and was practicing, has been, through the history of the world, one of the great secrets of philosophy and fortitude. The stoic bore his shame, the martyr his anguish, by thinking of something else; and great would be the blessing to man if he could attain to such mastery over his own mind as to give no more thought to any painful circumstance than is absolutely necessary to safety.
Ralph's heart was well guarded, indeed, or it could not have gone through that journey with Hortensia in safety; not so much from the beauty of her person, or the charm of her conversation, or the sweetness of her voice, or the high-hearted mind which seemed to pour a sort of halo of light around her, as from the deep thoughts of her--her character--her fate--which that long, dreamy ride suggested. He was thinking of her continually, even while conversing with her on indifferent things--thinking of her, not in a manner that could have pained Margaret if she had seen all his thoughts, but thinking of her far more than Margaret would perhaps have liked. The words which gave his mind that direction were those which Hortensia herself had used in speaking of herself, when she promised, for the enjoyment of the moment, to cast away from her mind "many a heavy thought and deep anxiety which the world could never see;" and on this text he went on, discoursing with himself, as I have said, even while he was striving to keep up a gay, wandering conversation with her.
The way seemed short, and neither Ralph nor Hortensia could believe that they had gone sixteen miles from the turning of the road when they saw, at length, a large, good-looking inn standing at a corner where two ways crossed. That which they were traveling themselves was a mere lane. The other, which traversed it, was evidently a high road, and Ralph said, "I hope we are right. We surely can not have come so many miles already?"
Hortensia looked up at him with a gay smile, and pointing to his horse, replied, "The poor uncommunicative beasts know better, Ralph; see you, your horse hangs his head, and both think they will be much the better of corn and water. Hark you, Peter," she continued, turning to the servant who had followed them, "ride up to yon inn door, and ask how far this is from St. Mary's. That will give us some indication of the distance we have come. But mind, mention not my name or Mr. Woodhall's on any account. It might be very dangerous to me, Peter, and I think you love your mistress well enough not to risk her safety by any indiscretion."