The Wizard of West Penwith: A Tale of the Land's-End

by William Bentinck Forfar

"But for a timid feeling which Blanche possesses," replied Fowler, "that——"

"Whatever fears Blanche might have had, sir, they ought not to have prevented you from acting as an honourable man and a gentleman. You are many years older than my daughter, Lieut. Fowler, and ought not to have led her away thus. It is well, perhaps, that the discovery has been made before it was too late. You have taken advantage of my hospitality, sir, and I desire you will not enter my doors again; and whatever there may have been between you and my daughter, it must cease. Sir, I wish you a very good morning." And, bowing to his visitor, the crusty old gentleman opened another door, which led to the upper part of the house, leaving Lieut. Fowler standing in the middle of the room, and wondering what could be the meaning of all this, and who could have informed the squire of his attachment to his daughter, and of their meetings. He was conscious of the rectitude and earnestness of his intentions, and knew, of course, that he had been prevented from making them known to her father, only by the earnest intreaty of Blanche herself. But he could not compromise her—indeed he had not an opportunity of doing so, even if he wished; for, before he had time to reply, or to defend himself, the old gentleman was gone, and there was no one to receive his explanation. At first he thought that, perhaps, Blanche might have been questioned by her father, and had been induced to confess their attachment and their frequent meetings, without having had the courage or the opportunity to explain the reason.

He could not remain in the house, of course, nor could he call again, after what had taken place; but he thought he should like to hear from Blanche herself how far she was implicated (unintentionally, he was quite sure) in divulging their secret, and thus causing his dismissal from a house which he had visited with so much pleasure ever since he had been in Cornwall. He determined, therefore, that he would see Blanche, if possible, before he left. So he rang the bell. The servant who answered it said, in reply to his request to see Miss Blanche for a moment, that she was confined to her room with a headache, and could not see him; so he had no alternative but to leave the house.

How little do we know what a day may bring forth! As he walked away from that house where he had been accustomed to be received almost as one of the family for a period of four or five years, Lieut. Fowler began to reflect on the changes and vicissitudes of human life, and how easily the merest trifle, light as air, will sometimes turn the scale. From his first introduction to squire Pendray, to the present time, they had been, as it were, boon companions; for the squire, although an old man, was a jolly companion over his wine, and would frequently, even then, at his advanced age, take his gun and have a day's sport with his friend, and keep up with him too, to the end of the day without flagging, and would enjoy the bachelors' dinner, and a glass of grog afterwards, at the lieutenant's little cabin, where the dinner was cooked by a jolly tar, and served up in sailor fashion, as much as if the table was spread with the daintiest dishes, and everything was done in the first style of fashion. And, only two days before, when Fowler dined at Pendrea-house, he thought, as they sat at their wine after dinner, that it was impossible his old friend could refuse him his daughter's hand, if he could only be permitted by her to ask the question; for he had been always treated more like a brother by the young ladies, than like a stranger. And now, without even allowing him an opportunity of explaining his conduct, or of exculpating himself from the insinuations thrown out against his character as a man of honour and a gentleman, he is unceremoniously expelled from the house, and forbidden all further intercourse with her for whom he would willingly lay down his life.

That some secret enemy had been at work, he had not the slightest doubt; but who it could be, he could not imagine. He was not, therefore, in a very serene state of mind, when he arrived home, as his men soon discovered. He ordered them out on night duty, and said he should himself take a long round and inspect all the outposts during the night.

Blanche had not heard of her lover's having been at the house. She was not very well, but a walk in the fresh air would have done her good, and she sat in her room expecting to be informed by her maid, as she had directed, when Lieut. Fowler called; but none of the female servants saw him come in, and they did not know he was in the house; for he had been admitted, as will be remembered, by squire Pendray himself, who, anticipating that Lieut. Fowler would probably try to see his daughter before he left the house, desired the footman to say that Miss Blanche could not be seen; and so the servant was prepared with his answer before the question was asked. Hour after hour passed away, and still Blanche waited in anxious expectation, but he did not come—as she supposed; and at length she went down into the drawing-room to join her mother and sister.

Maud had done her work cleverly and successfully, and she was satisfied with herself;—she had avenged the unpleasant insinuations and reflections cast upon her by her younger sister; and she had prevented her, she believed, from being ensnared into a connection which was not deemed eligible in any way for a daughter of the house of Pendray.

Nothing was said by either of the ladies about Lieut. Fowler; and so Blanche remained in ignorance of his visit and its termination. Day after day passed away, but Lieut. Fowler did not make his appearance, and Blanche became alarmed. She walked out occasionally with the hope of meeting him at one of their favourite haunts, but he did not come. Maud would now accompany her sister, which was very unusual, their pursuits and ideas being so widely different. Blanche could not understand it; and, after their late conversation, she did not like to mention the name of Fowler to her sister, and so they went on—each having a secret and reserving it in her own breast, fearing, and yet wishing, to talk to each other with that confidence which should have existed between two sisters, who had scarcely ever been separated in their lives.

Blanche, at length, began to feel unhappy and uncomfortable. She declined going out when her sister asked her, and would sit in her own room, with her door locked, all day long, and never join the family, except at meal-times, when she shewed evident signs of mental distress. The tears would sometimes chase each other gently down her cheeks, as she sat pretending to eat—for it was a mere pretence;—she had no appetite, and merely came to the table because she was obliged to do so, to prevent being questioned. She feared he was ill, but she dared not ask; and thus, poor timid child, "she let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, feed on her damask cheek," and pined away in lonely sadness.

Squire Pendray and his eldest daughter divined the cause of Blanche's melancholy; but, instead of commiserating and consoling her, they privately denounced Lieut. Fowler as the cause of it all. And, the more Blanche gave way to her secret grief, and pined for the loss of him whose presence seemed almost necessary to her existence, the more did they censure and reproach their former friend.