"On India's long expected strand
Their sails were never furled."
James Montgomery.
We turn with pleasure from these dark outlaws to pure affections in pure bosoms. Johnny Ravensworth was growing up all that his father could desire; he was full of the most exhilarant spirits, but had been strictly moral in his private character, amid all the temptations of a dissipated military school. He took away such a character for diligence, good conduct, and steadiness, that the highest hopes were formed that he would prove an ornament to the profession he had chosen. His talents, though not brilliant, were of a high order,—his attainments were steady and solid. To these he added the gifts of excellent good temper, and thorough unselfishness, the main-spring of all real politeness; for though it often happens a finished gentleman like the Earl of Chesterfield may be exceedingly selfish, yet we never find an unselfish man who has not the principles of true politeness, and is not a thorough gentleman. It was, therefore, with feelings of pride and delight that John Ravensworth, as we must now call him, after passing a severe examination, yet gaining a high place, bade adieu to his masters, with whom he was a great favourite, owing to his steady progress and unimpeachable conduct whilst under their discipline; and to his fellow students, who lost in him their captain in all manly amusements; for, while Ravensworth would never join them in any ungentlemanly, or foolish expedition, in riding, rowing, cricketing, and all the healthful and useful accomplishments, he took the lead that his well-knit frame and unimpaired physical strength entitled him to hold. Assuredly all who saw him as he walked forward, amid the plaudits of his fellow companions, and the waving of fair ladies' kerchiefs, to receive the gold medal for good conduct, and contrasted his handsome face, glowing with health and conscious pride, his manly form proportioned like a young Adonis, could not but contrast health and vigour of mind and body, arising from subjecting them to their proper discipline, with the sallow looks and impaired constitutions of many of his collegiates, which told too plainly the ravages of youthful intemperance on unperfected frames. But who could look for a moment on the bright, healthful, young Ravensworth, and the dull impoverished devotee of pleasure, and not see how temperance has the promise of this life as well as the next? And what young beauty would not rather gaze on him than on those poor debilitated companions in learning? Thus, at the youthful age of eighteen, after having won golden opinions from every one he was connected with, young Ravensworth, with a light heart, bade farewell to the south, and started by coach for the Highlands, in order to spend a couple of months with his father before sailing for India, as the regiment to which he was gazetted was on service at Delhi. The third, and last month of his leave was promised to his sister at the Towers, and we must say that in the young soldier's breast an inmate of those towers claimed a large part. It was now more than two years since he had seen his sister or Lady Florence, whose fair face and sunny tresses had made so deep an impression on his youthful fancy.
The two months passed away swiftly but pleasantly among the hills, the valleys, and dark rolling burns of the North. In rambles with Maude, or riding excursions with his father over the romantic county of Perth, the days were fleeting away, and he was able to have a week's slamming at the grouse ere he bade adieu to his home. The pangs of parting with his father and his sister, who was now growing into girlhood verging on her fourteenth year, were alleviated by two thoughts,—the first that he had high hopes of a future meeting ere long, when he came back with laurels to be welcomed by his friends and relations as a hero; the second, that his parting was only the prelude of his meeting with Ellen, and one, still dearer, of whom he thought morn, noon, and even; and it was that uncertainty if he should find her still the same Florence he had left two years ago—if he dwelt in her heart as she did in his—that made his pulses beat higher. That very uncertainty which like clouds on a sunny day lend their beauty to the sky, for without the shades of doubt love would often lose half its charms. It would be difficult to depict his feelings as his post-chaise entered the gates, and drove up the park towards the Towers. The past and the dim future so possessed his mind he could not but lose sight of the present. The two years seemed but so many hours; it was but yesterday he had scampered across that park, but yet how had those years altered him, and all his ideas. He was then a careless boy, he was now a young soldier just entering on the campaign of life. Burning hopes of high renown, lawful ambition that pointed on to glory, were his now. In one thing he was unchanged, in one matter his heart was the same as then—in love to Lady Florence. It was then a boyish flame—time and absence had deepened it into real attachment. He had seen much beauty, he had been courted by fashion, but he had never altered in sentiments to her! Now he was about to see her again—would she be the same to him?—had time altered her sentiments? No letter, no message had passed between them all that time; it would have been presumption in him, it would have been unmaidenly in her, to have sent such—that was nothing. He had hopes; she had often and often, when he was a boy, declared Johnny only should be her husband—that she would never forget him. Ah, how would it be? how would she receive him now? would it be with the cold politeness of the world, as if they had never loved, or with the warm affection of those who meet to love again?
Whilst these and many such thoughts occupied his mind, the post-chaise whirled on, and ere he hardly woke from his reverie it stopped before the arched doorway. He leaped out, and saw old Andrew, who gazed for a moment as if he hardly recognized him, and then, with a beaming face, shook hands, exclaiming—"God bless you, Master Johnny, ye are grown a braw sodger noo, I wad scarce hae kent you."
Delighted at the warm reception even from the faithful old servant, young Ravensworth hastened up stairs to the drawing-room, where he found his sister the Countess, with her infant son in her arms, and her little Edith Augusta, such was the child's name, prattling at her feet on the soft Turkey carpet. Ellen's warm heart swelled with joy when she saw Johnny, a fine soldierly young man, and as he clasped her in his arms, her eyes filled with tears of joy, and a sort of bright sorrow as she recollected how George had thus come home, and then parted never to come back.
"My dear soldier brother," she said, "welcome to the Towers. Why, Johnny, how tall and handsome you are grown, and so like poor dear George! sit down and tell me all about yourself, and papa, and dear Maude—and look, Johnny, at baby; I am so glad he was a boy,—how Wentworth did rejoice; and my little Edie, isn't she a darling? Come, love, and kiss your uncle."
The little girl toddled up, and with her outspread arms, saluted him—his was that open face children like.
The beautiful Countess, whom time had moulded into a more lovely being still, gazed with a mother's pride on her fine children, and a sister's joy on her youthful brother. Certainly if there was a happy mind on the face of the earth it was hers then—happy in her husband, who loved her with the most faithful adoration, happy in her children, pledges of that holy tie; happy in her brother—her family; and happiest of all in herself—her own virtues; a mind in unity with God and her fellow-creatures; a heart full of charity; a love faithful and true; one in which her husband's heart could safely trust, above even the breath of suspicion, as the poet beautifully says—
"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, so eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow;
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!"
Such was Ellen; and if she looked with pride and joy on her brother, who was growing all she could wish, it is not too much to say, he gazed on her with a feeling bordering almost on adoration. She seemed a being almost too good for earth, and exciting worship as her adequate homage! So far his most sanguine hopes were realised,—at least he had a fond sister there, and he had also the Earl, whom alone he had often seen, and who was the most delighted at his conduct. Still, there was one he had not seen, and it was long ere he summoned resolution to ask even his sister after Lady Florence.