Not only had there been a long-subsisting estrangement between the ancient stock and that distant branch from which Mr Heneage derived his descent, though a frigid intercourse was formally kept up by visits at stated periods, and letters of ceremony as occasion called for them; but on the part of the late Mr Devereux there was evidently a degree of instinctive repugnance towards his distant relation, which would have amounted to aversion, had his kindly and gentle nature been capable of so unchristian-like a feeling. No two characters could have been more dissimilar than these two kinsmen. I have already dwelt affectionately on the amiability of Mr Devereux. I have also touched on its slight alloy—a degree of moral weakness, in part doubtless inherent in his nature, but which, from the circumstances of his life and long indulgence of his tastes and feelings, had grown into constitutional infirmity, which made him an easy prey to the bold and designing.
Mr Devereux’s manners and habits were those of refined elegance, his tastes and opinions nice even to fastidiousness; and his perceptions acute on some points to a degree of sickliness. His very person was cast as if for an appropriate mould to enshrine this fine frame of moral organisation. Small, delicate, beautifully proportioned, with hands and feet of almost feminine moulding—while those of Cousin Heneage!——How have I seen the slender fingers of my dear old friend shrink from the vice-like grasp of that coarse bony hand, that looked capable of crushing it to atoms, together with the large mourning ring on the little finger, the oval of which, set with diamonds, encircled a groundwork of fair silky hair, bearing the device of an urn and a weeping willow, in small brilliants.
During the last few years of Mr Devereux’s life, it became too evident to his old and true friends that, notwithstanding his ill-concealed repugnance to Cousin Heneage, the man had by some unaccountable means obtained an extraordinary influence over him—a baneful influence, that by degrees superseded that mild persuasive power hitherto exercised so beneficially for Mr Devereux, by the faithful companion of his life—the tenderest of sisters. His affection for her was evidently unabated. His tender solicitude for her, as the growing infirmities of advanced life rendered her more feeble and delicate, was peculiarly affecting, from the circumstances of his own age, and more evident decay, and from the expression of anxious sadness with which he often regarded her. What, then, was the surprise of their mutual friends, when the wife of Mr Heneage Devereux accompanied her husband in one of his now frequent visits to the Hall, and was received by Mr Devereux as an invited guest!
Cousin Heneage had promoted this lady from the superintendence of his kitchen to that of his family, and the honours of a lawful wife, but he did not deem it requisite to notify the forming of so respectable a connection to the then surviving parents of Mr Devereux; neither did the birth of some half-score promising babes, with whom he was presented in yearly succession, form part of the formal communications addressed at stated periods to his kinsman at the Hall. And when he occasionally presented himself in person, no allusion was ever made on either side to the lady or her progeny, till the time I mentioned, about three years preceding the death of my venerable friend. Imagine, then, the consternation of Mrs Eleanor, when her brother, with an abruptness of manner very different from his usual address, requested her to prepare herself for the reception of Mrs Heneage Devereux, who, with her husband and three elder children, a son and two daughters, between the ages of fifteen and one-and-twenty, would arrive the day following, to make some stay at the Hall. It so happened that I went over to pay a visit to my friends on the morning of this strange communication, and was ushered into Mrs Eleanor’s morning room, just as her brother left it, passing me with a hurried excuse, and in evident agitation. I found the sister flushed, and trembling with surprise and pain; and it was in vain that she endeavoured to welcome me with her usual serenity, and the kind sweet smile that was wont to light up her benevolent countenance at sight of those she loved and valued: when I took her hand with the inquiring look of affectionate concern it was impossible not to feel at the thought that any distressful circumstance should wound the heart of that gentle and heavenly-minded creature, the tears gushed from her eyes, and with a tremulous tone, she related to me the short and peremptory communication just made to her by her brother.
“And such a brother!” she exclaimed, while her voice trembled with emotion—“You knew him, Mr L——; you have known him from your childhood; the best and kindest of human beings—one from whose lips no living creature ever heard a harsh or an ungentle word. And to me, what has he not been!—in what perfect love and unity have we not dwelt together all our long lives!—But that fearful man!—that hard, coarse-minded Heneage Devereux! Is it to be believed that that man should step in between my brother and myself—not sundering our hearts, for that is impossible; but causing reserve on the part of my dear brother, in lieu of that perfect confidence he ever placed in me? What can be the nature of the influence that has so changed him? and how has it been acquired? I am sure his heart bled but now, when, as if compelled by some dire necessity, he desired me to prepare for the reception of Mrs Heneage Devereux; but when I would have uttered—as well as the suddenness of my surprise permitted—a few words of gentle remonstrance, my brother stopt me, with an almost stern reiteration of his wishes, and turned from me as if in anger. But it was not so; it was in deep distress, I am certain, Mr L——, and therefore it is that you find me thus overpowered; for what fearful cause can so move my dear brother, and instigate his present determination?”
You may readily believe how tenderly I sympathised in the anxiety and distress of my venerable friend, though powerless to give her comfort, for my mind was painfully impressed with similar apprehensions; and vague surmises had for some time haunted me, that all was not well with the circumstances of Mr Devereux. As we talked together—forming various conjectures respecting the motives which could have led him to put such violence on his feelings, and even on his sense of propriety, as to require his respectable sister to receive, in the house of their ancestors, a person so every way unworthy of admittance there as was the wife of Mr Heneage Devereux—the sad gleams of truth seemed to flash momentarily across the mind of Mrs Eleanor; and as I considered the matter, my previous suspicions became more definite. But still, save and except the late inconsistencies of Mr Devereux’s conduct in relation to his subtle and unprepossessing kinsman, there had been nothing—absolutely nothing—in his conduct and apparent circumstances, to warrant a doubt respecting the perfect order and prosperousness of his worldly affairs. And I felt a delicacy—or rather a difficulty—in discussing the subject with Mrs Eleanor, which restrained me from fully opening my mind to her. I have regretted more than once that I did not overcome this morbid feeling, and that, overstepping, in the zeal and truth of friendship, the shallow suggestions of false delicacy, I had not spoken openly even to Mr Devereux. I might have spoken in time. One friendly hand stretched out in time might have prevented.... But I cannot dwell on that conjecture—It is too painful.
Well! I know not how the reception day passed off, nor how dear Mrs Eleanor was supported through her distressing task. But when I called, a few days after, at the Hall, I found her apparently reconciled to the appointed trial, looking, indeed, more pale and serious than was usual with her, but not less serenely composed, and her manner, and the expression of her countenance, when she addressed her brother, or looked towards him, was almost heavenly—so eloquent of the tenderest compassion and respect. But that brother! I—my old respected friend—how had a few days of mental misery—the truth was evident—how fearfully had those few days altered him! He was alone with his sister when I entered his morning room.
“A little indisposed,” he said, smiling; “and faint, from the unusual heat.” And she stood by him as he reclined in his easy-chair, to take back the wine-glass, in which she had just administered to him some drops of ether. The ancient handmaiden, with whom you have made acquaintance, was in attendance with the salver, and having received the empty glass from her lady, withdrew with a respectful curtsy to myself, and, as she passed me, and her eyes met mine, I saw they were glistening with tears.
My old friend stretched out to me a trembling hand, and apologised, with his wonted and unfailing courtesy, for not rising to receive me: “But Eleanor insists on it that I have over-exerted myself lately,” he observed, smiling affectionately on her; “and I must be rude and self-indulgent to oblige her, and to recruit myself, to meet my guests at dinner. They are so good as to excuse me in the morning,” he added hurriedly, and a faint blush passed over his countenance as he continued with averted eyes, “By the by, L——, you have heard from my sister, that I have felt it due to my cousin Heneage to invite his wife and part of his family to the Hall? His feelings were naturally hurt by their exclusion from it—and—and”——The struggle to proceed was a painful one, but he achieved it, and in a firmer tone, and with eyes that were raised to meet mine with a deprecating look, went on to say,—“You are aware, L——, that I should not willingly have imposed on my dear sister the irksomeness of receiving as a guest a person so ill qualified to associate with her as is Mrs Heneage Devereux, by birth and breeding, and perhaps—I fear”——And again his voice faltered, and his eye avoided mine—“I fear, by other circumstances, previous to her union with my cousin; but he is my cousin, you know, and—and—my dear sister could not disoblige me;”—and as he pressed his lips to her hand as it lay upon the arm of his easy-chair, I saw a tear drop on it from his closed eyelids. “Of course,” he continued, recovering himself after a moment’s pause, during which I had endeavoured to relieve his distress by a few cheerful, though scarce connected words—“Of course, during the time of my cousin’s visit to us, we shall live secluded from our friends and neighbours; for I cannot expect from any lady the complaisance of meeting Mrs Heneage Devereux at my table.” Yet he looked at me half-imploringly as he spoke, and it would be impossible for me to describe the expression of grateful affection which beamed in the countenances of both brother and sister, when I hastened to remove the humiliating doubt, by exclaiming, “Whatever be your intention with regard to the neighbourhood in general, my dear sir, do not flatter yourself you will so easily banish your old and attached friends. Neither my wife nor I could endure a week’s exclusion from Devereux Hall, and I think it is more than that period of time since we have sat at your hospitable board. Mrs L—— would take it kindly if you were to invite us for to-morrow, and we would do our best to help you to entertain these inconvenient visitors.”
Mr Devereux grasped my hand, and looked his grateful acquiescence to my proposal, for it was more than a minute before he could speak it audibly, and I left my valued friends that morning with the comfort of believing that I had been so fortunate as to evince my affection for them in the way most grateful and soothing to their feelings.