Fairer still is the modest mind,
Pure as a crystal well,
In mountain solitude enshrined.
She is a flower si belle!
A note at the bottom of the verses explained that the French word si belle meant so beautiful. The poetry was that of a young man of twenty; but a simple maiden of sixteen, who was herself the subject of the lines, saw more beauty in them, than a critic could find in the best inspirations of Shakespeare or Milton. And then to think that a gentleman, who understood French, should write verses to her! It was wonderful! She would as soon have dreamed of wearing the crown of England. The next time she met Edward Vernon, her cheeks were flushed more deeply than “ocean’s rosy shell.” But she never alluded to the book or the verses; for she said to herself, “Perhaps he did’nt send them; and then I should feel so ashamed of supposing he did!” The secret was half betrayed on his part; whether intentionally or unintentionally, she did not know. He began by calling her Miss Flower; then he called her Sibella; but ever after the reception of the verses, he said Sibelle.
They were so reserved toward each other, and Mrs. Barton’s children were apparently so much the objects of his attention, during their rambles, that their dreamy romance might have gone on uninterrupted for months longer, had not a human foot stepped within their fairy circle. Lord Smallsoul, as he rode abroad one day, was attracted by “the flower si belle.” As his grosser nature and more selfish habits were uncurbed by the respectful diffidence, which restrained Edward’s love, he became bold and importunate in his attentions; as if he took it for granted that any rural beauty could be purchased with a nobleman’s gold. The poor girl could not stir out of doors, without being liable to his unwelcome intrusion; the more unwelcome because the presence of the false lover expelled the true one. Edward kept carefully aloof, watching the proceedings of the profligate nobleman with jealous indignation. He painfully felt that he had no right to assume guardianship over the young girl, and that any attempt to do so would bring him into collision with her persecutor; likely to end in publicity by no means favourable to her reputation. The rural belle was inexperienced in the world’s ways, but she had been trained by a prudent mother, and warned against the very dangers that now beset her path. Therefore, with many blushes, she begged Mrs. Barton to excuse her from walking out with the children; confessing that Lord Smallsoul sought every opportunity of urging her to go and live with him in Italy, though she never would accept one of the many rich presents he was always offering her. Mrs. Barton warmly commended her, and promised protection. After some conversation, she said, “The children tell me that Mr. Vernon has often joined you in your walks. Did he ever say he was in love with you?” Sibella promptly replied, “Never. He is always very respectful.” “And he has never made you any presents, has he?” inquired the lady. The maiden lowered her eyes and blushed deeply. She had been trained to a strict observance of the truth; but she did not know certainly who sent Moore’s Melodies; and heart and conscience both pleaded with her not to say any thing that might involve her friend in blame. After a moment’s hesitation, she answered, evasively, “He has sometimes offered me flowers, madam, when he was gathering them for the children; and I thought it no harm to take them.” The book of poems, and the wonderful verses framed in flowery arabesques, remained a secret between herself and him who sent them. But Mrs. Barton noticed the sudden blush, and the involuntary hesitation; and she resolved to elicit some information from the children, in a manner not likely to excite their curiosity.
Lord Smallsoul, who from infancy had been an object of excessive indulgence, was not to be easily baffled in his selfish plans. Night and day, he, or his confidential servant, was prowling about Mrs. Barton’s grounds. His assiduities became a positive nuisance, and excited much gossip in the neighbourhood. Miss Julia Vernon took occasion to say to Mrs. Barton, “It is really surprising his lordship should make himself so ridiculous, instead of bestowing his attentions upon beautiful ladies whose rank in life is nearer to his own. He knows, however, that ladies would scorn to accept such homage as he bestows upon your servant; and I suppose he is not yet ready to enter into matrimonial bonds.”
Mrs. Barton thought to herself that the dissolute nobleman would receive a very prompt and gracious answer, if he invited Miss Julia to enter into such bonds. She, however, suppressed the smile that was rising to her lips, and said, “I don’t wonder at his being fascinated by Sibella; for she is gifted with extraordinary beauty. I am truly thankful, on her own account, and for the sake of her worthy parents, that she is discreet as she is lovely. I confess, I should myself rejoice in such a daughter.”
There was a slightly contemptuous motion in the muscles of Miss Vernon’s mouth, as she replied, “You appear to think her a paragon. The girl is pretty enough; too pretty for her own good, since she was born to be a servant. But I cannot imagine what attractions she can have for a gentleman, who is accustomed to the distinguished air of ladies of rank.”
“Some people prefer the Eglantine to the Garden Rose,” replied Mrs. Barton. “Your brother is accustomed to ladies of rank; but I imagine he appreciates Sibella’s beauty more highly than you do.”
“What reason have you for thinking so?” quickly inquired Miss Julia.
Half mischievously, and altogether imprudently, Mrs. Barton replied, “The children heard him tell her that she was like an Eglantine, which, of all flowers was his favourite; and they say he always wore an Eglantine in his vest, as long as there was one to be found.”
Up rose Miss Vernon, hastily, and with a haughty toss of the head, said emphatically, “I thank you very much for having told me this. Good morning, madam.”