The party had not proceeded many paces from the house, when they were joined by Mr. Webberly, who was now sufficiently recovered from his sprain to persecute Adelaide once more with his attentions. Mr. O'Sullivan, addressing him with much civility, said, "I am happy to say, Mr. Webberly, that your mother has consented to remain with me till after the first of September, in order to celebrate my dear little Caroline's birth-day; and bespeak for her the good wishes of my tenantry, who will assemble to congratulate us on the occasion." "Dear uncle, how I love you!" said the little girl, twisting her arms round him; "only for Adele, I think I should break my heart when I go away from you." He pressed her fondly in his arms, and said, "What will be your consolation, Caroline, will be an additional grief to me! My dear young lady," continued he, turning to Adelaide, "you know not the sorrow the idea that I may never see you again causes me; your society has given me more pleasure, than I thought I ever should have felt again. Your sweet attentive manners have reminded me of one whom even you might be proud to be compared with!"—He paused—his faltering voice had told how deeply he was affected, and a general silence prevailed for a few minutes, which was interrupted Mr. Webberly saying, "I'm sure you'll have no objection to celebrate Miss Wildenheim's birth-day too, Sir;—she will be of age on the thirty-first of August; that day one-and-twenty years, Sir, was a happy day for the world, Miss Adelaide!" "Happy! Good God!" exclaimed the old man; and dropping Adele's arm, which he had slipped within his, retreated to the house. "I had almost forgot—" said Colonel Desmond to the priest, much moved, "was that the day——" "Yes, the day," interrupted he: "Alas! a father's heart never forgets."
CHAPTER XIII.
Vous êtes belle, et votre sœur est belle,
Entre vous deux tout choix seroit bien doux,
L'Amour étoit blond, comme vous,
Mais il aimoit une brune, comme elle.[9]
Bernis.
Whilst these scenes passed in Ireland, Lady Eltondale and Miss Seymour arrived at Cheltenham. At first, Selina's delight at breathing once more the pure air of the country made her almost wonder at the pleasure she had so lately found in the feverish amusements of London. Her step was still more elastic, as she trod the beautiful meadows that lay along the banks of the Chelt; and when, mounted on her favourite mare, she extended her rides to the surrounding hills, she seemed to regain a fresh existence.
The picturesque beauties of Dodswell, the magnificent panorama of Lackington Hill, the curious remains of Sudeley castle, all were in time explored and admired by Selina; and often did she prefer a solitary walk amongst the sheltered lanes of Alstone, to accompanying Lady Eltondale to the morning mall, where crowds assembled at the Wells ostensibly in search of health, but really in pursuit of pleasure. In one of these morning walks, as she rested under the shadow of a gigantic oak, while the fresh breeze played on her glowing cheek, and the song of earliest birds alone interrupted the general silence, her thoughts involuntarily turned to those days which had glided by in similar scenes, when she used to bound like the fawns she chased through the park at Deane, or with more measured steps, though not less buoyant spirits, attended her father, as in his Bath chair he took his morning exercise on the broad smooth terrace, that stretched along the south front of the venerable mansion. The whole scene rose to her mind's eye, and she saw, in imagination, the lawns, the fields, the gardens, in which she had spent so many happy hours, and which were
"Once the calm scene of many a simple sport,
When nature pleas'd, for life itself was new,
And the heart promis'd what the fancy drew."
She dwelt with a melancholy pleasure on the recollection of all the beloved companions of her earlier years, and sighed to think, that those moments of innocent delights would never again return to her. From this painfully pleasing reverie she was roused by the crying of a child, and the sound of an angry voice, exclaiming in a harsh key, "Hold your tongue, you little devil—ban't I going as fast as I can?" It seemed as if manual correction followed this expostulation, as the infant's cries were redoubled, and Selina heard its little voice, saying in a plaintive tone, "Mammy, mammy, me be a-hungry, me be tired." At that moment a turn in the road presented the speakers to her view, and she beheld a young woman, in whose pallid cheeks disease and wretchedness struggled for preeminence. A few coarse black locks strayed from under a cap, which might once have been white, but now in dirt and yellowness rivalled the complexion of the wearer, whilst it served to contrast a gaudy riband, by which it was encircled; a ragged, coloured handkerchief scarcely concealed her shrivelled bosom; and a cotton gown, which in its variegated pattern showed all the hues of the parterre, trained in the dust, and was partly caught up under her arm, below which appeared a tattered stuff petticoat, that scarcely reached to her knees. Her countenance was, if possible, more disgusting than her dress: her dark black eyes and oval forehead showed still some trace of beauty; but an expression of unblushing vice called forth sensations rather of disgust than of compassion. The little ragged urchin, that trotted by her side, endeavoured, on seeing Selina, to hide its head beneath her gown; but after a moment's deliberation, she dragged him from his concealment, and pushing him forward, desired him to demand charity. Selina, pitying the infant, more from the appearance of its associate than even from its own wretchedness, could not deny its request; and while she gave the poor child all the silver her purse contained, she inquired if the woman was its mother. "To be sure I am, my lady," replied she, in a tone of impertinent carelessness; "else what do you think I'd be troubled with such a brat as that for?" "It seems a fine boy," returned Selina, willing to rouse the maternal feelings that seemed so nearly extinct. "And where do you live?" "Down in that hut yonder, and a pretty penny I pay for it. Our landlord never comes to these here parts; if he did, he wouldn't let us be so racked; but he never thinks of us when he is away, and Mr. Smart, his agent, raises our rents just as he pleases; but he has our curses for his gains;" so saying, she seized the child roughly by the arm, and pursued her way, muttering imprecations Selina shuddered to hear. She also proceeded towards home; but her thoughts now took a more unpleasant turn. She recollected with sorrow how many poor cottages on her estate might also, with reason, lament the loss of a landlord, who had always inquired into their distresses and relieved their wants. But she, though possessed of such extensive means of being useful to her fellow-creatures, had hitherto seemed to consider the possession of fortune only as affording her a more ample opportunity for selfish gratification. She called to mind the happiness she had formerly experienced in charitable occupations; and reflected, with remorse, that since she had plunged into the vortex of dissipation, no tear had been wiped from the cheek of indigence by her generous aid—no smile of gratitude had hailed her approach to the couch of misery or pain. Of the many hours she had wasted in the pursuit of pleasure, not one had been devoted to the purposes of benevolence; and while she had lavished uncalculated sums in extravagance and folly, she had never purchased the inestimable benefit of a poor man's blessing.