[3] If so scrupulous a person as Lady Edgarmond would take her daughter to a theatre without male protection, she could not, fortunately, have been exposed to all these annoyances. Our private boxes are few. Each side has its own passage and staircase. Oswald might make his way from one to the other; but if all the individuals on one side left the house as soon as the tragedy concluded, they could not, after quitting their boxes, be thus seen by the parties opposite. I have vainly endeavored to clear this obscurity.—TR.
[CHAPTER V.]
Corinne returned to her dwelling in cruel disquiet; not knowing what steps to take, how to apprise Nevil of her arrival, nor what to say in defence of her motives; for every instant lessened her confidence in his love: sometimes it seemed as if the man she sought to see again were some passionately beloved stranger, who could not even recognize her. She sent to his house the next evening, and was informed that he had gone to Lady Edgarmond's; the same answer was brought her on the following day, with tidings that her ladyship was ill, and would return to Northumberland on her recovery. Corinne waited for her removal ere she let Oswald know she was in England. Every evening she walked by her step-mother's residence, and saw his carriage at its door. An inexpressible oppression seized on her heart: yet she daily persevered, and daily received the same shock. She erred, however, in supposing that Oswald was there as the suitor of Lucy.
As he led Lady Edgarmond to her carriage, after the play, she told him that Corinne was concerned in the will of their late kinsman; and begged that he would write to Italy on the arrangements made in the affair. As Oswald promised to call, he fancied he felt the hand of Lucy tremble. Corinne's silence persuaded him that he was no longer dear to her; and the emotion of this young girl gave him the idea that she was interested in him. Yet he thought not of breaking his promise to Corinne: the ring she held was a pledge that he would never marry another without her consent. He sought her step-mother next day, merely on her account; but Lady Edgarmond was so ill, and her daughter so uneasy at finding herself in London without another relative near her, without even knowing to what physician she should apply, that, in duty to the friends of his father, Oswald felt he ought to devote his time to their service. The cold, proud Lady Edgarmond had never softened so much as she did now; letting him visit her every day without his having said a word that could be construed into a proposal for her daughter, whose beauty, rank, and fortune rendered her one of the first matches in England. Since her appearance in public, her address had been eagerly inquired, and her door besieged by the nobility; yet her mother went nowhere—received no one but Lord Nevil. Could he avoid feeling flattered by this silent and delicate generosity, which trusted him without conditions, without complaint? yet every time he went did he fear that his presence would be interpreted into an engagement. He would have ceased to go thither as soon as Corinne's business was settled, but that Lady Edgarmond underwent a relapse, more dangerous than her first attack; and had she died, Lucy would have had no friend beside her but himself. She had never breathed a word that could assure him of her preference; yet he fancied he detected it in the light but sudden changes of her cheek, the abrupt fall of her lashes, and the rapidity of her breathing. He studied her young heart with tender interest; and her reserve left him always uncertain as to the nature of her sentiments. The highest eloquence of passion cannot entirely satisfy the fancy; we desire something beyond it; and not finding that, must either cool or sate; while the faint light which we perceive through clouds, long keeps our curiosity in suspense, and seems to promise a whole future of new discoveries: this expectation is never gratified; for when we know what all this mystery hid, its charm is gone, and we awake to regret the candid impulses of a more animated character. How then can we prolong the heart's enchantment, since doubt and confidence, rapture and misery, alike destroy it in the end? These heavenly joys belong not to our fate; they never cross our path, save to remind us of our immortal origin and hopes.
Lady Edgarmond was better; and talked of departing, in two days, for her estate in Scotland, near that of Lord Nevil, whither he had purposed going before the embarkation of his regiment: she anticipated his proposing to accompany her, but he said nothing. Lucy gazed on him in silence for a moment, then hastily rose, and went to the window: on some pretext Nevil shortly followed her, and fancied that her lids were wet with tears: he sighed, and the forgetfulness of which he had accused Corinne returning to his memory, he asked himself whether this young creature might not prove more capable of constant love? He wished to atone for the pain he had inflicted. It is delightful to rekindle smiles on a countenance so nearly infantine. Grief is out of place, where even reflection has yet left no trace. There was to be a review in Hyde Park on the morrow; he therefore entreated Lady Edgarmond to drive there with her daughter, and afterwards permit his taking a ride with Lucy beside her carriage. Miss Edgarmond had once said that she greatly wished to mount a horse, and looked at her mother with appealing submission: after a little deliberation, the invalid held out her wasting hand to Oswald, saying: "If you request it, my Lord, I consent." These words so alarmed him, that he would have abandoned his own proposal; but that Lucy, with a vivacity she had never before betrayed, took her mother's hand, and kissed it gratefully. He had not the courage to deprive an innocent being, who led so lonely a life, of an amusement she so much desired.
[CHAPTER VI.]
For a fortnight, Corinne had endured the severest anxiety; every morning she hesitated whether she should write to Oswald; every evening she had the inexpressible grief of knowing that he was with Lucy. Her sufferings made her daily more timid: she blushed to think that he might not approve the step she had taken. "Perhaps," she often said, "all thought of Italy is banished from his breast: he no longer needs in woman a gifted mind or an impassioned heart; all that can please him now is the angelic beauty of sixteen, the fresh and diffident soul that consecrates to him its first emotions." Her imagination was so struck with the advantages of her young sister, that she was abashed, disarmed, depreciatingly disgusted with herself. Though not yet eight-and-twenty, she had already reached that era when women sadly distrust their power to please. Her pride and jealousy contending, made her defer from day to day the dreaded yet desired moment of her meeting with Oswald. She learned that his regiment would be reviewed, and resolved on being present. She thought it probable that Lucy would be there: if so, she would trust her own eyes to judge the state of Nevil's heart. At first, she thought of dressing herself with care, and suddenly appearing before him; but at her toilet, her black hair, her skin slightly embrowned by the Italian sun, her prominent features, all discouraged her. She remembered the ethereal aspect of her sister; and, throwing aside her rich array, assumed a black Venitian garb, covered her head and figure with the mantle worn in that country, and threw herself into a coach. In Hyde Park, she found groups of gentlemen, attired with simple elegance, escorting their fair and modest ladies. The virtues proper to each sex seemed thus to meet. Scarcely was she there ere she beheld Oswald at the head of his corps: its men looked up to him with confidence and devotion. The uniform lent him a more imposing air than usual, and he reined his charger with perfectly graceful dexterity. The band played pieces of music at once proud and sweet, which seemed nobly enjoying the sacrifice of life: among them, "God save the King," so dear to English hearts; and Corinne exclaimed: "Respected land! which ought to be my own! why did I ever leave thee? What matters more or less of personal fame, amid so much true merit? and what glory could equal that of being called Lord Nevil's worthy wife?"
The martial instruments recalled to her mind the perils he must brave so soon. Unseen by him she gazed through her tears, sighing: "Oh, may he live, though it be not for me! My God! it is Oswald only I implore thee to preserve!" At this moment Lady Edgarmond's carriage drove up. Nevil bowed respectfully, and lowered the point of his sword. No one who looked on Lucy but admired her: Oswald's glances pierced the heart of Corinne: she knew their meaning well, for such had once been bent on her. The horses he had lent to Lady Edgarmond passed to and fro with exquisite speed, while the equipage of Corinne was drawn after these flying coursers almost as slowly as a hearse. "It was not thus," she thought, "that I approached the Capitol: no; he has dashed me from my car of triumph into an abyss of misery. I love him, and the joys of life are lost. I love him, and the gifts of nature fade. Pardon him, O my God! when I am gone." Oswald was now close to her vehicle. The Italian dress caught his eye, and he rode round, in hopes of beholding the face of this unknown. Her heart beat violently; and all her fear was that she should faint and be discovered; but she restrained her feelings; and Lord Nevil relinquished the idea which beset him. When the review was over, to avoid again attracting his attention, she alighted, and retired behind the trees, so as not to be observed. Oswald then went up to Lady Edgarmond, and showed her a very gentle horse, which his servants had brought hither for Lucy: her mother bade him be very careful of her. He dismounted, and, hat in hand, conversed through the carriage door with so feeling an expression, that Corinne could attribute this regard for the mother to nothing less than an attachment for the daughter. Lucy left the carriage: a riding habit charmingly defined the elegant outline of her figure: she wore a black hat with white plumes—her fair silken locks floating airily about her smiling face. Oswald placed his hand as her step: she had expected this service from a domestic, and blushed at receiving it from him; but he insisted, and at last, she set her little foot in his hand, then sprung so lightly to her saddle, that she seemed one of those sylphid shapes which fancy paints in colors so delicate. She set off at a gallop. Oswald followed, never losing sight of her: once the horse made a false step: he instantly checked it, examining the bit and bridle with the most kind solicitude. Shortly afterwards the animal ran away. Oswald turned pale as death, spurring his own steed to an incredible fleetness; in a second he overtook that of Lucy, leaped from his seat, and threw himself before her. She shuddered in her turn lest she should harm him; but with one hand he seized her rein, supporting her with the other, as she gently leaned against him.