In both, however, he wholly failed; and having been obliged, although reluctantly, to part from her for that time, he handed Lady Hamlet Vernon to her carriage and bent his way home. He felt it a relief to be alone, in order to take a review more collectedly of what was passing in his own breast: but yet, when he commenced the task, he found a contradiction of thoughts and feelings which were so involved that for a time he yielded to them, and they alternately swayed him in opposite directions, without his being able to come to any decision.
On considering the length of time, and the intimate footing on which Mr. Foley had lived at Dunmelraise (notwithstanding the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, as the son of Lady Dunmelraise's dearest friend, and her own protégé), on recalling his descriptions and praises of Lady Adeline when they met at Restormel, he thought he saw a confirmation of his worst fears. What, he asked himself, could induce a young man to seek so lonely and retired a situation but love? And Lady Dunmelraise he thought must have approved his views, or she would not have suffered such an intimacy to subsist, even though as her friend's child she received him under her roof; at least it was evident that she chose to give her daughter an opportunity of turning her affections from that quarter to which they had been originally directed. Adeline's letters, too, so equable in their expression of calm content, so lavish in Mr. Foley's praise, so minute in her detail of his way of thinking and manner of feeling, showed that had she not been more than commonly interested in him, she could not have thus busied herself with analysing his character.
"It is clear," he said, "Adeline does not love me; and her mother is no longer anxious in consequence that our union should take place!" While this idea prevailed he was desirous immediately to break off the engagement; formed a thousand plans for doing this, in such a way as to appear disinterested and honourable in their opinion; and worked himself up to a belief, for the moment, that he was only acting with that refinement and generosity due to his own feelings as well as to Lady Adeline's, by losing no time in putting this resolve into execution, and then she would be free. But for himself, would the same step afford him the same advantage? Would his heart be really free? were there no strong ties that bound him to Adeline? no habit of attachment formed in his breast, though she had broken through the one, and apparently could never have cherished the other? Would he, in short, be free, though she were? Could he turn the current of his affections at once towards another object; could he accept the heart, even were it her's to bestow, of the person who had shewn such an interest in his welfare; of one whose beauty was enhanced by the deep expression which played over her features—whose manners, talents, character, were alike formed—could he make her his wife? Again he paused at that title—it had never been associated with any save Adeline, and when coupled now with another, it made him start from his own thoughts, as though he were guilty in indulging them.
Struck at this idea, and with the conviction of what would be the state of his own mind were he indeed at once to let Lady Adeline loose from her engagement, his feelings and his reasonings took another course.
"Should I be justified," he asked himself, "in the steps I am proposing, without further proofs of Adeline's inconstancy? My surmises perhaps have ground sufficient, but something more than surmise is due to her. It is true, I am told I shall never be happy with her," (and he shuddered as he repeated the words to himself); "but I very much doubt if ever I can be happy without her. My own conduct, too, lately—what has it been? Has it not carried with it proofs of coldness and neglect? Why should I expect to receive that constant and ardent devotion, which I have shewed no anxiety to retain; and what, on my part, has occasioned this passive indifference? Has it not been a growing partiality for the society of another—and was this Adeline's fault?" He dwelt on this idea for some moments, and his self-reproaches were painful. Then again he thought, allowing that all is as it was between us, that she loves me in her way, and I her in mine, is that enough to constitute lasting happiness? "No, it is not. I should loathe the insipid homage of daily duties pointedly fulfilled, and weary of a mind which had not sufficient energy to think for itself. If I saw that my wife did not enter, from a similarity of tastes, into my occupations and pursuits, I should feel no satisfaction in her doing so to oblige me; and I certainly have already observed, that Adeline's habits, and even her principles, have led her to a life of monotonous tranquillity and insipid cares."
And here again Lady Hamlet Vernon's words recurred to him with tremendous power. Would it not then, after all, be more noble to set her free from an engagement, which would fail in producing the happiness that they both had been led to expect? He mused with painful intensity as his thoughts rested on this idea; but in the exercise of analyzing, comparing, and combining these various views of his situation, his mind was imperceptibly drawn to the single subject productive of them—his early attachment to Adeline; and he fell into a comparatively calm reverie—that species of calm, which dwelling upon one feeling generally produces, after the mind has been tossed about in various contending conflicts. His youthful and first affections, together with all the awakening recollections of early tenderness—the development of their mutual passion, ere yet they knew they were destined for each other—the happy prospect of bliss which had succeeded—all, all recurred to him, and revived the dying glow of attachment in his breast. He took out her picture from his writing-desk—gazed at the well-known features, yet thought he had never before been aware of their full and perfect charm, that union of intelligence with purity which is supposed to constitute the being of an angel, that perfect candour, mingled with quick perception, which this portrait conveyed, and conveyed but feebly in comparison with the original,—set the seal to his conviction, that no one could prove to him what Adeline had been.
In replacing the portrait, he lifted up some loose papers, and it chanced that the lock of Lady Hamlet Vernon's hair, which he had kept (and never since looked at) on the night when she had been overturned at his door, dropped from the paper. He could not but admire it; its glossy richness—its hue of gold shining through the depth of its darkness: it was certainly very beautiful, and he sighed as he laid it down. "What if, indeed, her words should be true, and how can they be true unless in one sense—in that of Adeline's loving another? It must, it must be so!" and this fatal conviction broke down once more all the fabric of happiness which a moment before he had erected: and in this revived frenzy of feeling he passed the night. It was broad daylight ere he could bring himself to seek repose, nor did he then till worn-out nature sunk in forgetfulness and sleep.
When he awoke the next day—for morning was far advanced—it was like one awaking from the delirium of fever. He felt exhausted, spent, as though a long illness had shaken his being—so much will a few hours of mental agitation unnerve the strongest frame. The more he tried to collect his thoughts and bring them to a final result, the less did he find himself capable of the effort; the energies of his mind seemed paralyzed; he appeared to himself to be under the influence of some spell which impelled all his actions in an opposite direction to his wishes, as in paralytic affections, the limb ever moves in a contrary motion to that which the sufferer would have it. He was perplexed, amazed, and saw no clue to guide him through the labyrinth. The object of all his wishes—she to whom all his views and plans had had reference from the moment he could feel at all—now appeared to have been almost within reach of his attainment, and yet, by some inimical power, was placed at a greater and more uncertain distance than she had ever been. Lord Albert was not a weak character: but who is not weak, while they admit passion, and not principle, to guide their conduct.
At length, after having run over the subjects of his last night's perturbed reflections, the decision to which he came was one, that feeling alone, unaided by moral and religious principle, was likely to conduct him to; and he determined to pursue a middle course, without making known his suspicions. He resolved to miss no opportunity of observation, till he should either have his fears dispelled or confirmed concerning Mr. Foley. He argued, that to speak openly to Lady Adeline, would not be to know the truth. Perhaps she would not break from her engagement, from a motive of delicacy as a woman, however much she might wish to do so; and it was left for him to free her from a chain which was no longer voluntarily worn.
The more he reflected the more he thought the intricacy of the case required this delicacy on his part. She may not, he thought, be herself aware of the nature of the attachment she feels for me; compliance with her parent's wishes, habit, duty, the kindly affection of a sister's love, may be all that she has felt towards myself; and now, for the first time, she may experience the overpowering nature of love. This must be what Lady Hamlet Vernon alluded to; and if it is really so, I should mar her happiness as well as my own, by leading her to fulfil such a joyless engagement. Oh, if indeed Lady Hamlet Vernon has saved me from the wretchedness which a marriage, under these circumstances, with Adeline, must have produced, what do I not owe her—gratitude—friendship—He hesitated even in thought—he hesitated to pronounce the word love; but a glow of feverish rapture passed through his heart as he recalled Lady Hamlet Vernon's beauty, her fascination, her evident partiality for himself. Yes, I must sift this matter to the utmost; I must have irrefragable proofs of Adeline's unshaken truth; nay more, of my being the decided and sole chosen object of her truest affections: and in the interim I will see her frequently—see her in the world as well as in retirement—and not allow myself to be blinded by the specious veil which hitherto habit, perhaps, has rendered equally deceptive to both.