"As to my own heart," replied Lady Adeline with quickness, "it has long not been in my own keeping, for most fortunately, where my duty was directed to place it, there my choice seconded, nay, almost preceded the arrangement. But why should you doubt that, such being the case, my happiness should be endangered? say rather, dearest aunt, confirmed."
"It may be so—I trust it will be so, my sweet Adeline, since your love is fixed; but remember how very serious a step marriage is; and before you are bound for life in the holiest of all ties, again I conjure you to lay aside, inasmuch as you can do so, all the blandishments of love, and consider how far the tastes, the pursuits, the temper, above all the religious tenets of your husband, will be in accordance with your own. Indeed, indeed, people do not reflect seriously enough on these points. I ask not any long consideration, any great trial of time or absence—they are both circumstances which may deceive either way; for things viewed at a distance, are not seen in their true light; and one may be as much deceived at the end of a year, as at the end of a month—and life is short. The life of life, the bloom of youth, should not be needlessly withered in pining anxiety. What I ask of you is, during the time you are now to be in town, to go out with moderation into the great world, to see what it has to offer, and to know whether any other person might supersede Lord Albert in your affections; this is as yet a fair and honourable trial. You are not bound to each other, if either wishes to break the tie." (Lady Adeline sighed heavily.) "And should you, while together, discover any flaw or imperfection which might make you wish to dissolve the engagement, now is the time; but after marriage, I need not say, my Adeline, that one glance of preference for another is guilt—one wish, foreign to your allegiance as a wife, is misery."
There was a pause in the conversation. Lady Adeline felt sorrowful—she scarcely knew why, except indeed it had never occurred to her that any thing could step in to break off her engagement with Lord Albert; and the bare possibility of such an event seemed to unhinge her whole being.
The fact is, Lady Delamere had heard surmises of Lord Albert's intimacy with Lady Hamlet Vernon, and without informing her niece of a report which, after all, might not have any foundation, she yet conceived it to be a duty to put her on her guard, and make her ready to observe any alteration that might have taken place in Lord Albert. She would have told Lady Dunmelraise all that she had heard without disguise; but at present her state of health was such, that she could not think of endangering her life by giving her such information; for she well knew her sister's heart was set upon the match, and that she had long loved Lord Albert as though he had been her son. However, she determined, the moment Lady Dunmelraise was better, to have no concealment from her. It had not been without much self-debate that she had brought herself even to hint any thing like a doubt to Lady Adeline of Lord Albert's truth; and even now, she only endeavoured to prepare her to open her eyes to the conviction, should such a melancholy change have taken place, but without naming the real cause she had for giving her such caution.
As it was, it was quite enough to sadden Lady Adeline; and her air was so dejected when she returned home to Lady Dunmelraise, that the latter feared something had occurred to vex her. "Is my sister worse, dearest child?—I pray you do not conceal the truth from me."
"Oh no;—be not alarmed," she replied, "my aunt hopes, in a day or two, to be able to come to see you, dearest mamma. It is not that—but I have a bad head-ache, and have undergone too much excitement." The look of anxious inquiry which Lady Dunmelraise could not conceal, lessened not Lady Adeline's unhappiness; and as the time which she had appointed for Lord Albert's visit was now far passed, the whole weight of the sad warnings she had received, seemed doubled. At length the peculiar knock—the quick footstep on the stair, told her he was come, and she passed from her mother's bedroom into the adjoining drawing-room to meet him.
They seemed mutually affected by some secret cause; for there was not that cordial clasping of hands—that beaming of eyes—that joyful tone of greeting, which might have been expected to mark their meeting on this occasion: their hands touched coldly—and Lord Albert made no effort to retain her's.
"You have been very much later than I expected, Albert."
"Yes: I could not exactly obey the hour named in your note, as you went out before I could possibly come here this morning; and as you put me off, I had another engagement, which in my turn detained me; however, I was happy to hear you were well from Mr. Foley, who had the pleasure of seeing you, I believe, very early."
"Yes: Mr. Foley, you know, as mamma's protégé and enfant de famille, has the entrée at all hours, and I was drawing when he came in; I thought it was you, and—