Venial and insignificant was this foible, so long as no advantage was taken of it by designing or worldly-minded persons; but even our lightest defects, as well as our most "pleasant vices," may be made the means of our ruin.
Vanity is a noxious weed which, when nurtured by the dews of flattery, spreads its poisonous roots throughout the fertile soil of the heart; and each root springs up into a plant more venomous, more rank; more baleful than its predecessor.
The life of Reginald Tracy had been singularly pure. He had even passed through the ordeal of a college career without affixing the least stain on the chastity of his soul. Yet with all his austerity of virtue, he was characterised by no austerity of manner: he mixed freely in society, and hesitated not to frequent the ball-room—although he did not dance. He could be a pleasant companion: at the same time he never uttered a word upon which he had to retrospect with regret. When amongst men, no obscene jest nor ribald allusion was vented in his presence; and yet he was never voted "a bore." In a word, he was one of those men who possess the rare talent of maintaining a character for every virtue, and of being held up as a pattern and an example, without creating a single enemy—without even being compelled to encounter the irony of the libertine, and without producing a feeling of restraint or embarrassment in the society which he frequented.
Such was Reginald Tracy; and it was this man,—who at the age of thirty-six could look back with complacency upon a spotless life,—a life unsullied by a single fault,—an existence devoid of the slightest dereliction from moral propriety,—it was this good, this holy, this saint-like man whom the daring Cecilia undertook to subdue.
Reginald, Reginald! the day of thy temptation has now come: thou standest upon a pinnacle of the temple—the tempter is by thy side;—take good heed of thyself, Reginald Tracy!
"He will come again on Wednesday," had said Lady Cecilia.
The prediction was fulfilled!
The morning had been so inclement that no one would have stirred abroad unless actuated by important motives. The rain had fallen in torrents,—beating violently against the windows, and inundating the streets. It had, however, ceased at noon; but the sky remained covered with black clouds; and at three o'clock on that gloomy winter-day it was dark and sombre as if night were at hand.
But in spite of that inauspicious weather, the Rev. Reginald Tracy knocked at Lady Cecilia Harborough's door at the hour which we have just mentioned.
The designing creature received the clergyman with a smile, exclaiming at the same time, "It is indeed kind of you to visit me on such a day as this. I have been so happy—so resigned—so possessed with the most complete mental tranquillity since you manifested sympathy and interest in my behalf, that your presence appears to be that of a good angel!"