"What was it, then, dear Edward," she asked, in some surprise; for Marian, with all the quickness of a woman's perception, had noticed the passing colour that came into De Vaux's cheek; and knowing him, and all the little intricacies of his heart, better than he thought--better, perhaps, than she thought herself--she had instantly set down the blush to its right cause, and said, in her own heart, "Edward has been tormenting himself with fancies." Now, however, his words puzzled her, though a latent consciousness of having--in the urgency of the moment, and in the desire to sooth and render Edward patient under his misfortune--a latent consciousness of having given free course to feelings and enthusiasms which she had long held close prisoners in her bosom, made her now feel embarrassed in turn; and a bright warm blush, partly from curiosity, partly from that consciousness, mantled for a moment in her cheek.
Edward de Vaux gazed upon her as she put her question with a smile, full of deep fond affection--with a sort of triumphant happiness, too, in his look that made her inclined, she knew not why, to hide her eyes upon his bosom, as she had done long ago, when first she had acknowledged to him the love that he had won, and witnessed the joy that it called up in his countenance. "I will tell you what it is, dearest," he answered, "that makes me now so happy, that I should have considered anything but yourself a light sacrifice to obtain such joy. It is, that the misfortune which has befallen me has called forth my beloved Marian's true and natural character, and shown her to me fully, as the same dear, excellent, feeling, enthusiastic girl that I have always pictured her to my own imagination--such as her feelings as a child gave promise that she would be--such as I remember her appearing constantly, not many years ago."
Marian blushed, and looked down; and there was a swimming moisture in her eyes, which a little more might have caused to overflow in tears: but they would not have been unhappy ones. She felt--
But it is difficult to say what she felt. It was not that she felt detected, for that word would imply a shade of culpability which she did not feel; but she felt that she had betrayed herself--that a veil which she had cast over the true features of her mind, from many a deep and complicated motive, had been raised--had been snatched away, and could never be dropped effectually again. The effect which the raising of that veil had produced was all glad and gratifying, it is true; but still there was that fluttering emotion at her heart, which the disclosure of long-hidden feelings must always produce: she felt as if she had told her love for the first time over again; and she knew, too, that she might be called upon to assign motives, and give reasons, which would be difficult to explain, but which she determined not to withhold, for many a good and sufficient cause. But all this agitated her. She blushed, she almost trembled; and Edward de Vaux was but the more convinced, from the agitation which he beheld, that the concealment of her real character, and the repression of her finest feelings, had been a conscious and voluntary act on the part of her he loved.
He became curious, as well he might be, to learn more; and, as Marian still sat silently beside him, he tried the tacit persuasion of a gentle kiss upon the blushing cheek, that almost touched his shoulder. She turned round towards him with a thoughtful smile; but, as she did not speak, he asked more boldly, "Why, Marian, why, dearest, after having given me your love, and promised me your hand, have you let that dear little heart play at hide and seek with me, till I have sometimes almost doubted whether it was my own?"
"You should not have doubted that, De Vaux," Marian answered; "but if you really wish to know why I have somewhat changed my conduct since I was a girl, and why I have, in some degree, repressed feelings that I have not experienced the less warmly, I will let you into some of the secrets of a woman's heart; but you must promise me, Edward, never to abuse the trust," she added, smiling more gaily; "and you must promise, too, not to be angry with any thing I shall say."
"Angry! angry with you, Marian!" said De Vaux; "do not believe such a thing possible."
Marian smiled again, for there is often a sort of prophetic presentiment in the breast of woman, which teaches her that, however much she may rule and command the lover, the husband will not receive the power in vain; and, perhaps, it is this knowledge of the shortness of their reign which sometimes makes women abuse it a little while it lasts. Marian smiled again at De Vaux's words, and then replied, "Well, then, Edward, keep your part of the compact, and I will tell you all. You say I have changed very much since I was a girl; and that is but natural, Edward; for, depend upon it, every woman does change, if she feels and thinks at all deeply. As a girl, her words and her actions are all of but little importance in the eyes of those around her, or in her own, unless she be nourished in conceit and affectation from her cradle; and, during the first fifteen or sixteen years of her life, though she may be taught to act like a lady, yet she sees no reason for concealing anything she feels, or anything she thinks, if it be not likely to hurt the feelings of others. As she goes on towards womanhood, however, the world changes its conduct towards her, and she finds it necessary to change towards it. She learns to look upon trifles in her own conduct, and in the conduct of others towards her, as matters of importance: the world and society assume a different aspect she trembles lest she should say, or do, or feel what is wrong; and very often she expresses too little of what she feels, lest she should express too much. Then, too, Edward," continued Marian, with the colour which had partly left her cheek while she spoke coming richly up again, and spreading over her whole face, "then, too, Edward, if she learns to love, all those fears and apprehensions are a thousand-fold increased. She is terrified at her own sensations, and almost thinks it wrong and sacrilegious to suffer that one being by whom her affections are won to take that station in her heart, above all the rest of the world, which she has hitherto devoted solely to a being beyond the world. Perhaps before that time she may have longed to love and be beloved; but the first moment she feels that it is so--especially if it come upon her suddenly--depend upon it, her feelings are more or less those of terror."
De Vaux smiled, but his hand pressed tenderly upon Marian's as he did so; and she felt it was as much a smile of thanks, as if he had accompanied it with words of ever so much gratitude for the picture of her feelings that she had given him. She paused, however, for she was coming to matter which she feared might not please him so well; and his thoughts turning, too, in the same direction, he said, after waiting for a few moments to see if she would go on, "But, dear Marian, this happens to every woman without producing such a change as I have seen in you; and besides, what I have seen to-day, Marian, has shown me fully that there has been some more distinct and individual motive. Tell it me, Marian, tell it me, my beloved; and, believe me, I will not abuse your confidence."
"Nor be angry?" she said, smiling again. "Remember, that it is a principal part of our agreement. Well, then, I will go on. When first we were engaged to each other, Edward, my chief thought--as, indeed, it ever has been since--was how to make the man I loved most completely happy, as far as my own conduct was concerned; and I was reading at that time a very clever book, which recommended women, on their marriage, to study, not alone the general character of their husband, but all his individual opinions and thoughts, in order to make their own behaviour completely conformable thereto; it asserted, also, that such was the surest way of winning happiness for both. I believed it, and resolved to try to follow the advice even before marriage. I listened to every thing you said, concerning the conduct of other women that we knew, with a determination of trying to acquire the qualities that you praised, and to avoid all that you blamed."