CHAPTER XIII.
One only passion unreveal'd
With maiden pride the maid conceal'd;
Yet not less purely felt the flame—
Oh! need I then that passion name?
Scott.
Civil people always meet with civility, and Adelaide accomplished her journey without meeting either accident or insult. When the carriage stopped at the Talbot Inn in Shrewsbury, she was received at the door by Mr. Webberly, who had evidently been watching her arrival. On her asking for his mother and sisters, he pointed to a window, where she saw Mrs. Sullivan attired in a sky-blue habit of cassimir, with a white beaver hat and feathers. Cecilia, in a modish pelisse, looking at that distance very handsome; and Miss Webberly, in the opposite window, intently reading. Mrs. Sullivan met Adelaide half way down stairs, apparently glad to see her. The young ladies greeted her with a slight bow, just muttering a scarcely audible "How d'ye do:"—one turning to stare out of the window, the other affecting to bestow all her attention on her book. Little Caroline, exclaiming "Oh, tie my frock quick, quick! there's my dear Adele come: I hear mama talking to her,"—burst from an inner apartment, heedless of the remonstrances of her maid, and jumping up with one spring, twisted her ivory arms about her neck; and as Adelaide fondly pressed the lovely child to her heart, her countenance expressed those feelings—
"Which are to mortals given,
With less of earth in them than Heav'n:"
For affliction had indeed "touched her looks with something that was scarce earthly," and, when brightened by any emotion near akin to joy, smiles such as might have beamed in the face of a seraph illuminated hers. Mrs. Sullivan, in a tone of sorrowful admiration, whispered to Cecilia, "Jack can't choose but fancy her; she's beautifuller than ever: I han't seen her like since we parted." "Law, mama!" replied Cecilia with unmixed vexation, "I believe you've taken leave of your senses, since you used to say she was a sallow poking thing. You forget what beautiful girls the Miss Nathans, and the Miss Bakers, and all the Lunnon ladies are." Here, with affected indifference and real mortification, she stopped to examine the subject of their discourse through her glass. As she continued to gaze, her soft cheek became crimsoned with anger, and her beautiful eye, which seemed formed to convey the tender feelings of the gentlest female heart, scowled with the dark expression of envy. Adelaide, turning her eyes on her face, met that glance, and sighing to see the youthful bloom of this fair creature deformed by malevolent emotions, felt for her the pity of a superior nature, that from its own beatitude beholds the fretful passions of a being incessantly employed in weaving the web of its own misery, and mourns that it may not save the wretched victim from its self-destroying arts.
When Adelaide sat down, Mr. Webberly, leaning over the arm of the sofa, began a complimentary conversation, which she soon terminated on the excuse of retiring to make some slight alteration in her travelling dress before the time of dinner. In the course of this evening, Mrs. Sullivan and her son overloaded Miss Wildenheim with officious civilities; and the young ladies paid her many ironical compliments intended as insults; but she would not show, by word or look, that she understood them otherwise than according to the literal sense, and amused herself a little maliciously (forgive her, for she was but human) by observing their disappointment at finding their best efforts at mortifying her fail of success. But at night, her feelings were those of bitter anguish, as she involuntarily compared this day with the last she had spent at the Parsonage of Deane, in the enlightened society of her kind friends. "But I shall meet them again ere long, and shall enjoy their society doubly from the comparison of my present associates. I am resolved to think the time till we meet as little disagreeable as possible." Her thoughts then reverted to the scenes of her early life, on which they could now rest with mournful complacency; and, as she recalled to memory the precepts of her beloved father, with a pardonable superstition, she fondly flattered herself that he yet spoke to her heart. The treasured admonitions of this revered parent at once fortified her mind and soothed her feelings; on them she continued to ponder till sleep deprived her of recollection and his image at the same moment. Her heart was cheered by a sentiment of filial piety, similar to that so beautifully expressed by Scott's Ellen:
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; even as the lake,
Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
Notwithstanding Adelaide's best endeavours to persuade herself the Webberlys en masse were a pleasant family, and not less amiable than agreeable, she now found them more intolerable than ever.