Thus, then, was it with poor Marian de Vaux. It had been settled that her marriage with her cousin was to take place on the day she became of age--that is to say, in about three weeks. Now, whether she was pleased with the arrangement or not, we do not at all intend to say; but she had made up her mind to it completely; and the first thing that Lord Dewry's broken sentences suggested to her mind was, that some difficulty had occurred in regard to her union with Edward, and that his father had withdrawn the consent he had been before so willing to give.
When Lord Dewry left her, she was as pale as death; and though before she reached the breakfast-room the colour had come back into her cheek, yet all her former ideas were so completely scattered to the four winds of heaven, that she felt it would be absolutely necessary to think what her own conduct, under such circumstances, ought to be, before she met any of the party; and especially before she met her cousin Edward, as towards him, of course, the regulation of her behaviour was most important. She turned, then, as we have before said, to the music-room, and entering it ere she perceived that any one was in it, found herself there alone with no other than Edward de Vaux.
Whether he had gone there purposely or accidentally--from a habit which some people have, of returning to take a look at places where they have spent happy moments, or from a sort of presentiment that he might find Marian there, we have no means of judging; but on her part the meeting certainly was unexpected, and being such, it would hardly be fair to look narrowly into her manner of receiving her lover's first salutation, which salutation was sufficiently warm.
As soon as she recollected herself, however, she turned at once to the subject of her thoughts. "But, Edward," she said, "this is a most unfortunate occurrence--in regard to your father, I mean."
"Most unfortunate, indeed!" replied De Vaux, looking grave immediately.
"But tell me what it is all about, Edward," rejoined his cousin. "I do not understand your father's conduct. Do explain it to me!"
"I do not understand it either, my dear Marian," answered De Vaux; "his conduct is quite inexplicable."
The tears would fain have run away over Marian de Vaux's cheeks; but she shut the gates in time, and only one straggler made its escape into the court of her eyes, unable to get farther. Her cousin did not see one-half of what was going on in the fair tabernacle of her bosom; but he saw that she was much distressed, and endeavoured to sooth her with the same assurances wherewith he made his own mind easy in regard to his father's conduct. "Nay, nay, dearest Marian!" he said, "do not distress yourself about this business, unfortunate as it is. The principal part of my father's present heat in the affair will pass away, for a great share is mere passion. I cannot however flatter myself into believing that his dislike will ever entirely subside, because, as you know, he is not a man who changes easily in such matters; but all his violence and his threatenings will die away and end in nothing."
Marian, who had now recovered from her first emotion, paused, and looked pensively upon the ground; but while her bosom seemed as calm as monumental marble, there was a sad struggle going on within. "Edward!" said she, at length, "we cannot tell what may be your father's ultimate conduct; but, indeed, I think, that while his present objection--or, as you call it, dislike--continues, we ought certainly to delay our marriage."
"Good God, Marian!" exclaimed Edward de Vaux, in utter astonishment: "in the name of heaven, my beloved, what has my father's dislike to Colonel Manners to do with our union?"