On Eustace's return from the visit to the Temple, he had proof positive of his brother not having kept his pledge, in one most important respect; for he saw the lovers together, and the painful interview between the brothers was the consequence—the issue of which we need not recapitulate.
Another day, and Eustace Trevor had turned his back upon the English shore, to track the footsteps of his friend Mr. Wynne in his travels on the continent, still retaining the assumed name of Temple; and Eugene in as short a space of time, was again breathing freely his accustomed atmosphere—a London world.
We do not mean to say that his love for Mary Seaham was so soon forgotten—that love which for the last few months had exercised a purer and more softening influence upon his spirits, than any other feeling, perhaps, had ever before effected.
It was still like some soft, sweet, dream of night, which often haunts and mingles in the thoughts and actions of the day; and his marriage with the gentle Mary, the settled purpose and intention of his heart.
But the smooth course of that love had received a check—met with a disturbing force—his love had not quality or strength to overstep.
This to a worldling is a dangerous test; for love to him is but "a thing apart." There are so many other resources wherefrom to drain, when that one silvery stream of life is checked or troubled.
Why then not plunge into these broad abounding waters, which will bear him on, no matter how turbid be their depth beneath the glittering surface—no matter where, but on only—on too smooth, open, too unrestrained a course. As to the stability of his feelings with regard to Mary, Eugene felt little doubt his affections had been called forth to an unprecedented degree. For the first time in his life, he felt what it was to have his desires fixed on an object, in every way worthy of esteem.
"Pure, lovely, and of good report,"
and a new and wonderful fascination had been the effect produced upon his mind. Whilst under its immediate influence, he had seemed to exist in another sphere, to breathe another atmosphere, to have become a new creature; and he had contemplated his marriage with a calm, tranquil delight, as the completion of a still more certain renovation and transformation of his existence.
Its untoward interruption, therefore, had provoked and disappointed him beyond measure—beyond even the fear and inconvenience of those serious consequences into which the circumstances of the case had otherwise threatened him. Irritated and embarrassed by the trouble and perplexity in which the affair involved him, we will not say, however, but that in the end this one year's certain postponement of his marriage, as decided in his interview with Arthur Seaham, had not in a great degree relieved his mind in the emergency. In one year, as he had said, much might happen to change the aspect of affairs. At any rate breathing time was afforded, in which he might, without danger to himself, indulge in the consciousness of knowing that a tender heart was all his own. For the sequel time would provide.