At length the anxiously-expected, the long wished for evening arrived, and produced an assemblage of as much elegance, grace, wit, and beauty, as had ever been collected together in so confined a circle.—From the social town of Bungay some very lovely young women made their first appearance at the castle, decorated to the utmost advantage, and justly entitled to dispute the palm of beauty with many found in the higher ranks.
On this occasion, it is not to be doubted but they cherished hopes that their charms would conquer some of the young officers appointed to guard the fortress, on which the safety of themselves and the town depended.
From the earliest ages of the world, the old adage prevailed,—"None but the brave deserve the fair," while the military dress, shining sword, and becoming cockade, were ever found useful auxiliaries in assisting their wearer to find easy access to the female heart.
When dancing was ordered to begin, the Baron, arrayed most superbly, took out Roseline, and led her to the upper end of the room. De Willows followed, leading Edeliza, who was drest in the most becoming and captivating stile, and looked so enchantingly beautiful, that he wondered he had ever beheld her with indifference, or preferred another. Her expressive eyes told a tale so correspondent to the feelings of his own heart, as completed its conquest, and the captivity was found so pleasing and easy, it never afterwards wished to regain its freedom. Edwin danced with the gentle Madeline; Hugh Camelford with Bertha, and the rest of the party disposed of themselves as their vanity or inclination prompted.
The dancing was begun with avidity and spirit, which some very excellent music served to heighten and keep up. The Baron not ungracefully exhibited his well-dressed person, and this great personage had the satisfaction of seeing that the eyes of the company were chiefly fixed upon him who had procured them this unexpected indulgence,—a circumstance unusual in an age when expensive pleasures were confined to the higher ranks of life, and by that means less coveted by those in inferior stations, which certainly tended to the good of society in general, as it served to render all parties contented with their lot. We now often see, with pity and regret, if young people are thrown by chance into a walk of life some degrees higher than their habitual one, they seldom know how to return to their former humble path without discontent and regret, which will too often lead them to sacrifice virtue, and every real good, for the frivolous nonsense of the dress and the parade of ceremony, while, to obtain the enjoyment of pleasures destructive to time and real happiness, they will give up their peace of mind, not repent the poor bargain they have made so long as they can live in stile.
Some few pitied, but a far greater number envied Roseline for having made so important a conquest, and were surprised to see how little she was animated amidst the exhilirating scene of gaiety and splendor, wholly occupying the attention of one of the first barons in the kingdom, whose smile by most people would be reckoned an honour, and whose frown among many was destruction from which there was often no appeal.
Every rarity that could be procured was set before the party. Hospitality and festivity went hand in hand, and, to a careless and uninterested spectator, it would have seemed that universal happiness prevailed; but it was far otherwise. Happiness is seldom found amidst a crowd. In the more retired scenes of serene unambitious enjoyment, we have a much better change of finding that rara avis, and of retaining it in our possession, if possible to be found.
Sir Philip de Morney was tormented with fears that the obstinacy of his daughter would disappoint his ambition, while the tenderness of her mother had so far subdued the influence of her pride, that, to see her daughter restored to her former health and spirits, she would gladly have yielded up the honour of an alliance with the Baron.
The artless unaspiring Roseline, before she was brought into notice by the proud attentions of her noble admirer, was a far happier being than she found herself at the moment she was looked up to as an object of envy; but the simple dress she had been accustomed to wear was more conformable to her own unadulterated taste than the splendid habiliments with which she was now loaded, and which the pride, or design, of her father had procured to throw a veil over her senses, and tempt her to purchase those still more brilliant at the expence of her peace; yet, notwithstanding all the fascinating allurements with which she saw herself surrounded, the court, adulation, and respect, paid to her, the eagerness of the company to obtain a share in her notice, her heart remained with Walter, the unknown stranger, who belonged to no one,—who was without fortune, and deprived of that freedom which is the birthright of the poorest peasant; nevertheless Walter, in a gloomy and solitary prison, was an object more captivating and far more valuable in her eyes than the lordly Baron in a stately castle.
When they had danced about half an hour after supper, the Baron apologized to Roseline for withdrawing to make some alteration in his dress, which he found unpleasant. She felt herself gratified by this temporary absence, and took the opportunity of chatting with some of her young companions. Deeply engaged in conversation with Madeline and Agnes de Clifford, she did not observe that her father was suddenly called out of the room, and requested by the servant in a whisper to hasten with the utmost speed to the apartment of his friend.