The Man-at-Arms; or, Henry De Cerons. Volumes I and II

by G. P. R. James

The end of the six months came, but the baron returned not, and he did not even hint in his letters that such an event was likely to take place. He said that he had been delayed by various circumstances; that the arrangements he had made in regard to the chateau must continue in force till his coming; but he mentioned no period of return, and, in truth, was once more entangled in the meshes of that net, from which he had only been withdrawn for a time by the couriers which had summoned him to his wife's deathbed.

In the mean time the days passed away happily enough. I had gained importance in the eyes of all around me; deference and attention were paid to me by the attendants; and, had I not been disturbed by the frequent thought that the best season of my life was passing away; that the days of youth were flying by in inactivity, when I felt myself formed for action, I could have been well contented there, in the society of that sweet girl to whom I was all in all; and of two generous and high-spirited boys, who loved me with all the strength and energy of youthful affection.

A year passed, and the baron came not. Louise was now growing up towards womanhood; the warm blush mantled more deeply on her cheek; her eye gained a brighter lustre; her lip acquired a warmer red; her mind, too, expanded every hour, as if to keep pace with that fair form, which was each day acquiring additional beauty.

As she wandered along beside me, her conversation was more imaginative, more full of deep thought; and we talked over a thousand things in which fancy and feeling linked our thoughts together, so as to remain inseparable for ever. There was thus formed for me a store of ideas, in regard to which I have since felt--alas! how painfully--that they could never be mentioned, that they could never be alluded to in the slightest manner, without calling up in my bosom the thought of her, of her words, of her looks, of scenes long past, and of departed happiness. Nor, indeed, could it be otherwise with her. We created, in fact, for ourselves, a world of magic aspirations; a straight and even pathway, on which fancy, guided by memory, ran back like lightning from the present to the past.

We talked of her mother and of the days gone by, and we recalled all her sweetness, and her beauty, and her tenderness towards us both; and more than once we mingled our tears together, when we recollected all that she had done to win and merit love, and that the eternal barrier had fallen between us and her, shutting us out from all communication with the loved and the departed. We talked of the future and of the world--the wide, unknown world open before us both. She spoke of it herself with awe and shuddering, as if she foresaw and would have shrunk from the griefs, and cares, and anxieties before her. Often, also, we would have recourse to dreams to chase away apprehensions; she would inquire of me what the great capital was like; and when she found I could in no degree satisfy her, she would apply to fancy, and build up an enchanted city from the gay things of her own imagination.

The bright and glorious universe, too, afforded to both of us a thousand schemes for speculation; other lands would rise up before the mind's eye, clothed with brightness not their own; and when I spoke of Italy or Spain, the vast and beautiful creations of art, a climate of sunshine, a soil of fertility, and a courteous and friendly people, such as I had read in the vague or overcharged accounts of travellers, her countenance would glow brightly, her young eye sparkle, and she would wish to be a journeyer through such scenes with people who could love them or admire them like herself.

Frequently, in our ramblings, her brothers would accompany us, and during a great part of the morning I was constantly with them, acting in some degree the part of their preceptor, or taking a share in those instructions which were communicated to them by masters from the capital of Guienne. They loved me well, too; and, on looking back to that time, I can recollect no one feeling in my own bosom--I cannot believe that there was any one in the bosoms of those who surrounded me--the natural tendency of which was calculated to give a moment's pain to any one of the small but united party which then tenanted the chateau of Blancford.

Such was the state of all things till Louise reached the age of fifteen; and I feel confident that I could have gone on with the same feelings towards her perfectly unchanged, and looking upon her merely as a sister, had not other events intervened which soon separated us from each other.

At this point may be said to end the period of my early life, which--like an old picture, painted at first in vivid colours, soon loses the brightness of its hues, becomes mellower but less distinct to the eye, then grows gray and dim, and then is almost obscured altogether--has now greatly faded away from memory, though the impressions were then as bright and vivid as perhaps any that I have received since.

Two days before the period at which Louise concluded her fifteenth year, messengers from her father, whom they left at no greater distance than Barbesieux, announced his sudden return. His letter contained merely intelligence of the fact, that he would be at the chateau of Blancford at supper-time on the ensuing day. I shall not easily forget the anxiety with which we all waited his appearance, the messenger having informed us of more than the letter that he bore, namely, that the baron had wedded another bride, whom he was now bringing home from the capital, where she had remained, while the wife of another, somewhat too long for her own honour, for the baron's reputation, and for the peace of a husband whom she speedily ceased to mourn.