At this time the prince received a letter from Lord Nevil, replete with professions, which would have deeply affected Corinne: he mused for hours together on the propriety of showing it to her; but anticipating the violence of its effects on a creature so feeble, he forbore. Even while he was thus deliberating, another letter reached him, announcing his Lordship's departure for America. Castel Forte then decided on saying nothing to Corinne. Perhaps he erred: one of her greatest griefs was Nevil's silence; she scarce dared own it to herself: but though forever separated from him, one recollection, one regret, would have been very precious to her: as it was, he gave her, she thought, no opportunity of hearing his name, left her no excuse for breathing it. The sorrow, of which no one speaks to us, which gains no change from time, cuts deeper than reiterated blows; the good prince followed the usual maxim, which bids us do our utmost towards teaching a mourner to forget; but there is no oblivion for the imaginative: it were better to keep alive their memories, weary them of their tears, exhaust their sighs, and force them back upon themselves, that they may reconcentrate their own powers.
[BOOK XIX.]
OSWALD'S RETURN TO ITALY.
[CHAPTER I.]
Let us now return to the events which occurred in Scotland, after the sad fête at which Corinne made her self-sacrifice. Lord Nevil's servant carried his letters to the ball-room. Oswald retired to read them. He opened several which his agent had sent from London, little guessing that among them was one which would decide his fate; but when he beheld the writing of Corinne, and saw the ring, the words—"You are free!"—he felt at once the most cruel grief and the most furious irritation. He had not heard from her for two months, and now her silence was broken by this laconic decision. He remembered what Lady Edgarmond had said of her instability, and entered into all the step-dame's feeling against her; for he still loved enough to be unjust; forgetting how long he had renounced the idea of marrying her, how much Lucy had pleased him, he looked on himself as the blameless victim of an inconstant woman; perplexity and despair beset him; but over them both towered his proud soul, prompting him to rise superior to his wronger. This boasted pride rarely exists unless self-love predominates over affection. Had Nevil now valued Corinne as in their days at Rome and Naples, not all his "wrongs supposed" could have torn her from his heart.
Lady Edgarmond detected his distress. The fatal malady beneath which she labored increased her ardent interest in her daughter. She knew the poor child's heart, and feared that she had compromised her happiness forever; therefore, she seldom lost sight of Nevil, but read his secrets with that discernment which is deemed peculiar to our sex, but which belongs solely to the continual observance which a real interest teaches us. On the pretext of transferring Corinne's inheritance, she besought Lord Nevil's company next morning, and shortly guessed that he was much dissatisfied; she flattered his resentment by the prospect of a noble vengeance, offering to recognize her husband's daughter. This sudden change amazed him; yet though its condition was unexplained, he comprehended it; and, in one of those moments in which we act more quickly than we can think, demanded Lucy's hand. Her mother, scarcely able to restrain her joy, so as not to say yes too hastily, consented; and he left her presence, bound by an engagement, which, when he made it, he had not dreamed of undertaking. While Lady Edgarmond prepared Lucy to receive him, he paced the garden in violent agitation, telling himself that she had merely pleased him, because he knew little of her, and that it was madness to found the happiness of his life on the charm of a mystery that must inevitably be dissipated. He then retraced his letters to Corinne, too plainly showing his internal struggles. "She's right!" he sighed: "I have not the courage fit to make her blest; but yet it should have cost her more to lose me—that cold brief line—yet who knows but her tears might have fallen on it!" His own burst forth in spite of him. These reveries hurried him on unconsciously so far, that he was long sought in vain by the servant, sent to tell him that Lady Edgarmond desired his return. Astonished at his own lack of eagerness, he obeyed. On re-entering the drawing-room, he found Lucy kneeling, her head reclined on the bosom of her parent, with a most touching grace. As she heard his footsteps, she raised her flowing eyes, and, extending her hand to him, said simply: "My Lord, I know you will not separate me from my mother." This innocent manner of announcing her consent much interested Oswald, who, sinking on his knees, besought Lady Edgarmond's permission to imprint on that blushing forehead the first kiss which had ever awakened more than childlike emotions in the breast whose beauty less enchanted him than did its celestial modesty. The days which preceded that chosen for their marriage were spent in the needful arrangements. Lucy spoke more than usual; but all she said was so nobly natural, that Oswald loved and approved her every word, and yet he felt a void beside her. Their conversation consisted but of questions and answers; she neither started nor prolonged any subject: all went well: but without that exhaustless animation with which it is so difficult for those who have once enjoyed it to dispense. Lord Nevil thought of Corinne; but, as he no longer heard her named, hoped that her image would at last become merely an object of his vague regret. When Lucy learned from her mother that her sister still lived in Italy, she much wished to talk of her with Oswald, but Lady Edgarmond forbade; and the girl, habitually submissive, asked not the reason of this prohibition. On the morning of his marriage, the hapless Corinne haunted Nevil fearfully; but be addressed his father's spirit, confessing that it was to win his heavenly benediction, his son accomplished thus his will on earth. Reassured by those meditations, he sought his bride, reproaching himself for having allowed his thoughts to wander from her. A descending angel could not have chosen a face more fit than hers to give mortality a dream of heavenly virtue. At the altar, Lady Edgarmond was even more agitated than her daughter; for all-important steps alarm us the more, the greater our experience. Lucy was all hope; childhood still mingled with her youth, and blended joy with love. In leaving the church she leaned timidly on Oswald's arm, as if to assure herself of his protection: he looked on her tenderly, feeling, at the bottom of his heart, a foe who menaced her repose, and from whom he had promised to defend her. Lady Edgarmond, on their return, said to her son-in-law: "My mind is easy. I have confided to you the happiness of my daughter; and have so short a time to live, that it is a comfort for me to think my place will be so well supplied." Lord Nevil was much affected by these words, and anxiously mused on the duties they imposed. A few days elapsed: Lucy had begun to meet her husband's eye with confidence, and make her mind known to him, when unlucky incidents disturbed the union commenced under these favorable auspices.