Frank Fairlegh

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"Annoy my grandmother! and she was dead before I was born!" exclaimed
Freddy disdainfully. "Why, bless your sensitive heart, nothing that I
can do annoys my mother: if I chose to bring home a mad bull in fits,
or half a dozen young elephants with the hooping-cough, she would not be
annoyed." Thus assured, nothing remained for me but silent acquiescence,
and in a few minutes we reached the house.

"Where's your mistress?" inquired Freddy of the man-servant who showed
us into the drawing-room.

"Upstairs, sir, I believe; I'll send to let her know that you are
arrived."

"Do so," replied Coleman, making a vigorous attack upon the fire.

"Why, Freddy, I thought you said your cousin was away from home?"
inquired I.

"So she is; and what's more, she won't be back for a fortnight," was the
answer.

"Here's a young lady's bonnet, however," said I.

"Nonsense," replied he; "it must be one of my mother's."

"Does Mrs. Coleman wear such spicy affairs as this?" said I, holding up
for his inspection a most piquant little velvet bonnet lined with pink.

"By Jove, no!" was the reply; "a mysterious young lady! I say, Frank,
this is interesting."

As he spoke the door flew open, and Mrs. Coleman ~254~~ bustled in, in
a great state of maternal affection, and fuss, and confusion, and
agitation.

"Why, Freddy, my dear boy, I'm delighted to see you, only I wish you
hadn't come just now;--and you too, Mr. Fairlegh--and such a small loin
of mutton for dinner; but I'm so glad to see you--looking like a ghost,
so pale and thin," she added, shaking me warmly by the hand; "but what
I am to do about it, or to say to him when he comes back--only I'm not a
prophet to guess things before they happen--and if I did I should always
be wrong, so what use would that be, I should like to know?"

"Why, what's the row, eh, mother? the cat hasn't kittened, has she?"
asked Freddy.

"No, my dear, no, it's not that; but, your father being in town, it has
all come upon me so unexpectedly; poor thing! and she looking so pretty,
too; oh, dear! when I said I was all alone, I never thought I shouldn't
be; and so he left her here."

"And who may her be?" inquired Freddy, setting grammar at defiance, "the
cat or the governor?"

"Why, my love, it's very unlucky--very awkward indeed; but one comfort
is we're told it's all for the best when everything goes wrong--a very
great comfort that is if one could only believe it; but poor Mr. Vernor,
you see he was quite unhappy, I'm sure, he looked so cross, and no
wonder, having to go up to London all in a hurry, and such a cold day
too."

At the mention of this name my attention, which had been gradually
dying a natural death, suddenly revived, and it was with a degree
of impatience, which I could scarcely restrain, that I awaited the
conclusion of Mrs. Coleman's rambling account. After a great deal
of circumlocution, of which I will mercifully spare the reader the
infliction, the following facts were elicited:--About an hour before
our arrival, Mr. Vernor, accompanied by his ward, had called to see Mr.
Coleman, and, finding he was from home, had asked for a few minutes'
conversation with the lady of the house. His reason for so doing soon
appeared; he had received letters requiring his immediate presence in
London on business, which might probably detain him for a day or two;
and not liking to leave Miss Saville quite alone, he had called with the
intention of begging Mrs. Coleman to allow her niece, Lucy Markham, to
stay with her friend at Barstone Priory till his return, and to save her
from the horrors of solitude. This plan being rendered impracticable by
reason of Lucy's absence.

~255~~ Mrs. Coleman proposed that Miss Saville should remain with
her till Mr. Vernor's return, which, she added, would be conferring a
benefit on her, as her husband and son being both from home, she
was sadly dull without a companion. This plan having removed all
difficulties, Mr. Vernor proceeded on his journey without further delay.
Good Mrs. Coleman's agitation on our arrival bad been produced by the
consciousness that Mr. Vernor would by no means approve of the addition
of two dangerous young men to the party; however, Freddy consoled her
by the ingenious sophism that it was much better for us to have
arrived together than for him to have returned alone, as we should
now neutralise each other's attractions; and, while the young lady's
pleasure in our society would be doubled, she would be effectually
guarded against falling in love with either of us, by reason of the
impossibility of her overlooking the equal merits of what Mrs. Coleman
would probably have termed "the survivor ". Having settled this knotty
point to his own satisfaction, and perplexed his mother into the belief
that our arrival was rather a fortunate circumstance than otherwise,
Freddy despatched her to break the glorious tidings, as he called it, to
the young lady, cautioning her to do so carefully, and by degrees, for
that joy was very often quite as dangerous in its effects as sorrow.

Having closed the door after her, he relieved his feelings by a slight
extempore hornpipe, and then slapping me on the back, exclaimed, "Here's
a transcendent go! if this ain't taking the change out of old Vernor,
I'm a Dutchman. Frank, you villain, you lucky dog, you've got it all
your own way this time; not a chance for me; I may as well shut up shop
at once, and buy myself a pair of pumps to dance in at your wedding."

"My dear fellow, how can you talk such utter nonsense?" returned I,
trying to persuade myself that I was not pleased, but annoyed, at his
insinuations.

"It's no nonsense, Master Frank, but, as I consider it, a very
melancholy statement of facts. Why, even putting aside your
'_antecedents_,' as the French have it, the roasted wrist, the burnt
ball-dress, and all the rest of it, look at your present advantages;
here you are, just returned from the university, covered with academical
honours, your cheeks paled by deep and abstruse study over the midnight
lamp; your eyes flashing with unnatural lustre, indicative of an
overwrought mind; a graceful languor softening the nervous energy
of your manner, and imparting additional tenderness to the ~256~~
fascination of your address; in fact, till you begin to get into
condition again you are the very beau ideal of what the women consider
interesting and romantic."

"Well done, Freddy," replied I, "we shall discover a hidden vein of
poetry in you some of these fine days; but talking of condition leads me
to ask what time your good mother intends us to dine?"

"There, now you have spoilt it all," was the rejoinder; "however, viewed
abstractedly, and without reference to the romantic, it's not such a bad
notion either. I'll ring and inquire."

He accordingly did so, and, finding we had not above half an hour to
wait, he proposed that we should go to our dressing-rooms and adorn
before we attempted to face "the enemy," as he rudely designated Miss
Saville.

It was not without a feeling of trepidation, for which I should have
been at a loss to account, that I ventured to turn the handle of the
drawing-room door, where I expected to find the party assembled before
dinner. Miss Saville, who was seated on a low chair by Mrs. Coleman's
side, rose quietly on my entrance, and advanced a step or two to meet
me, holding out her hand with the unembarrassed familiarity of an
old acquaintance. The graceful ease of her manner at once restored my
self-possession, and, taking her proffered hand, I expressed my pleasure
at thus unexpectedly meeting her again.

"You might have come here a hundred times without finding me, although
Mrs. Coleman is kind enough to invite me very often," she replied. "But
I seldom leave home; Mr. Vernor always appears to dislike parting with
me."

"I can easily conceive that," returned I; "nay, although, in common with
your other friends, I am a sufferer by his monopoly, I can almost pardon
him for yielding to so strong a temptation."

"I wish I could flatter myself that the very complimentary construction
you put upon it were the true one," replied Miss Saville, blushing
slightly; "but I am afraid I should be deceiving myself if I were to
imagine my society were at all indispensable to my guardian. I believe
if you were to question him on the subject you would learn that his
system is based rather on the Turkish notion, that, in order to keep a
woman out of mischief, you must shut her up."

"Really, Miss Saville," exclaimed Coleman, who had entered the room in
time to overhear her speech, "I am shocked to find you comparing your
respectable and ~257~~ revered guardian to a heathen Turk, and
Frank Fairlegh, instead of reproving you for it, aiding, abetting,
encouraging, and, to speak figuratively, patting you on the back."

"I'm sure, Freddy," interrupted Mrs. Coleman, who had been aroused
from one of her customary fits of absence by the last few words, "Mr.
Fairlegh was doing nothing of the sort; he knows better than to think
of such a thing. And if he didn't, do you suppose I should sit here
and allow him to take such liberties? But I believe it's all your
nonsense--and where you got such strange ideas I'm sure I can't tell;
not out of Mrs. Trimmer's _Sacred History_, I'm certain, though you used
to read it with me every Sunday afternoon when you were a good little
boy, trying to look out of the window all the time, instead of paying
proper attention to your books."

During the burst of laughter which followed this speech, and in which
Miss Saville, after an ineffectual struggle to repress the inclination,
out of respect to Mrs. Coleman, was fain to join, dinner was announced,
and Coleman pairing off with the young lady, whilst I gave my arm to the
old one, we proceeded to the dining-room.

CHAPTER XXXIII -- WOMAN'S A RIDDLE

"Let mirth and music sound the dirge of care,
But ask thou not if happiness be there."
_The Lord of the Isles_.

"And here she came...
And sang to me the whole Of those three stanzas."
_The Talking Oak._

"Yet this is also true, that, long before,
My heart was like a prophet to my heart,
And told me I should love."
_Tennyson_.

"DON'T you consider Fairlegh to be looking very thin and pale, Miss
Saville?" inquired Coleman, when we joined the ladies after dinner,
speaking with an air of such genuine solicitude, that any one not
intimately acquainted with him must have imagined him in earnest. Miss
Saville, who was completely taken in, answered innocently, "Indeed
I have thought Mr. Fairlegh much altered since I had the pleasure of
meeting him before"; ~258~~ then, glancing at my face with a look of
unfeigned interest, which sent the blood bounding rapidly through my
veins, she continued: "You have not been ill, I hope?" I was hastening
to reply in the negative, and to enlighten her as to the real cause of
my pale looks, when Coleman interrupted me by exclaiming:--

"Ah! poor fellow, it is a melancholy affair. In those pale cheeks, that
wasted though still graceful form, and the weak, languid, and unhappy,
but deeply interesting _tout ensemble_, you perceive the sad results
of--am I at liberty to mention it?--of an unfortunate attachment."

"Upon my word, Freddy, you are too bad," exclaimed I half angrily,
though I could scarcely refrain from laughing, for the pathetic
expression of his countenance was perfectly irresistible. "Miss Saville,
I can assure you--let me beg of you to believe, that there is not a word
of truth in what he has stated."

"Wait a moment, you're so dreadfully fast, my dear fellow, you
won't allow a man time to finish what he is saying," remonstrated my
tormentor--"attachment to his studies I was going to add, only you
interrupted me."

"I see I shall have to chastise you before you learn to behave yourself
properly," replied I, shaking my fist at him playfully; "remember you
taught me how to use the gloves at Dr. Mildman's, and I have not quite
forgotten the science even yet."

"Hit a man your own size, you great big monster you," rejoined Coleman,
affecting extreme alarm. "Miss Saville, I look to you to protect me from
his tyranny; ladies always take the part of the weak and oppressed."

"But they do not interfere to shield evil-doers from the punishment due
to their misdemeanours," replied Miss Saville archly.

"There now," grumbled Freddy, "that's always the way; every one turns
against me. I'm a victim, though I have not formed an unfortunate
attachment for--anything or anybody."

"I should like to see you thoroughly in love for once in your life,
Freddy," said I; "it would be as good as a comedy."

"Thank ye," was the rejoinder, "you'd be a pleasant sort of fellow to
make a confidant of, I don't think. Here's a man now, who calls himself
one's friend, and fancies it would be 'as good as a comedy' to witness
the display of our noblest affections, and would have all the
tenderest emotions of our nature laid bare, for him to poke fun at--the
barbarian!" ~259~~ "I did not understand Mr. Fairlegh's remark to apply
to _affaires du cour_ in general, but simply to the effects likely to be
produced in your case by such an attack," observed Miss Saville, with a
quiet smile.

"A very proper distinction," returned I; "I see that I cannot do better
than leave my defence in your hands."

"It is quite clear that you have both entered into a plot against me,"
rejoined Freddy; "well, never mind, _mea virtute me involvo_: I wrap
myself in a proud consciousness of my own immeasurable superiority, and
despise your attacks."

"I have read, that to begin by despising your enemy, is one of the
surest methods of losing the battle," replied Miss Saville.

"Oh! if you are going to quote history against me, I yield
at once--there is nothing alarms me so much as the sight of a
blue-stocking," answered Freddy.

Miss Saville proceeded to defend herself with much vivacity against this
charge, and they continued to converse in the same light strain for some
time longer; Coleman, as usual, being exceedingly droll and amusing,
and the young lady displaying a decided talent for delicate and
playful _badinage_. In order to enter _con spirito_ into this style
of conversation, we must either be in the enjoyment of high health and
spirits, when our light-heartedness finds a natural vent in gay raillery
and sparkling repartee, or we must be suffering a sufficient degree of
positive unhappiness to make us feel that a strong effort is necessary
to screen our sorrow from the careless gaze of those around us. Now,
though Coleman had not been far wrong in describing me as "weak,
languid, and unhappy," mine was not a positive, but a negative
unhappiness, a gentle sadness, which was rather agreeable than
otherwise, and towards which I was by no means disposed to use the
slightest violence. I was in the mood to have shed tears with the
love-sick Ophelia, or to moralise with the melancholy Jaques, but should
have considered Mercutio a man of no feeling, and the clown a "very poor
fool" indeed. In this frame of mind, the conversation appeared to me to
have assumed such an essentially frivolous turn, that I soon ceased to
take any share in it, and, turning over the leaves of a book of prints
as an excuse for my silence, endeavoured to abstract my thoughts
altogether from the scene around me, and employ them on some subject
less dissonant to my present tone of feeling. As is usually the result
in such cases, the attempt proved a dead failure, and I soon found
~260~~ myself speculating on the lightness and frivolity of women in
general, and of Clara Saville in particular.

"How thoroughly absurd and misplaced," thought I, as her silvery laugh
rang harshly on my distempered ear, "were all my conjectures that she
was unhappy, and that, in the trustful and earnest expression of those
deep blue eyes, I could read the evidence of a secret grief, and a tacit
appeal for sympathy to those whom her instinct taught her were worthy of
her trust and confidence! Ah! well, I was young and foolish then (it was
not quite a year and a half ago), and imagination found an easy dupe in
me; one learns to see things in their true light as one grows older, but
it is sad how the doing so robs life of all its brightest illusions."

It did not occur to me at that moment that there was a slight injustice
in accusing Truth of petty larceny in regard to a _bright_ illusion in
the present instance, as the fact (if fact it were) of proving that Miss
Saville was happy instead of miserable could scarcely be reckoned among
that class of offences.

"Come, Freddy," exclaimed Mrs. Coleman, suddenly waking up to a sense of
duty, out of a dangerous little nap in which she had been indulging, and
which occasioned me great uneasiness, by reason of the opportunity it
afforded her for the display of an alarming suicidal propensity, which
threatened to leave Mr. Coleman a disconsolate widower, and Freddy
motherless.

As a warning to all somnolent old ladies, it may not be amiss to enter a
little more fully into detail. The attack commenced by her sitting bolt
upright in her chair, with her eyes so very particularly open, that
it seemed as if, in her case, Macbeth or some other wonder-worker had
effectually "murdered sleep". By slow degrees, however, her eyelids
began to close; she grew less and less "wide awake," and ere long was
fast as a church; her next move was to nod complacently to the company
in general, as if to demand their attention; she then oscillated gently
to and fro for a few seconds to get up the steam, and concluded the
performance by suddenly flinging her head back, with an insane jerk,
over the rail of the chair, at the imminent risk of breaking her neck,
uttering a loud snort of triumph as she did so.

Trusting the reader will pardon, and the humane society award me a medal
for this long digression, I resume the thread of my narrative.

"Freddy, my dear, can't you sing us that droll Italian song your cousin
Lucy taught you? I'm sure poor Miss Saville must feel quite dull and
melancholy."

~261~~ "Would to Heaven she did!" murmured I to myself. "Who is to play
it for me?" asked Coleman. "Well, my love, I'll do my best," replied his
mother; "and, if I should make a few mistakes, it will only sound all
the funnier, you know."

This being quite unanswerable, the piano was opened, and, after Mrs.
Coleman's spectacles had been hunted for in all probable places, and
discovered at last in the coal-scuttle, a phenomenon which that good
lady accounted for on the score of "John's having flurried her so when
he brought in tea"; and when, moreover, she had been with difficulty
prevailed on to allow the music-book to remain the right way upwards,
the song was commenced.

As Freddy had a good tenor voice, and sang the Italian _buffa_ song with
much humour, the performance proved highly successful, although Mrs.
Coleman was as good as her word in introducing some original and
decidedly "funny" chords into the accompaniment, which would have
greatly discomposed the composer, if he had by any chance overheard
them.

"I did not know that you were such an accomplished performer, Freddy,"
observed I; "you are quite an universal genius."

"Oh, the song was capital!" said Miss Saville, "and Mr. Coleman sang it
with so much spirit."

"Really," returned Freddy, with a low bow, "you do me proud, as brother
Jonathan says; I am actually-- that is, positively--"

"My dear Freddy," interrupted Mrs. Coleman, "I wish you would go and
fetch Lucy's music; I'm sure Miss Saville can sing some of her songs;
it's--let me see--yes, it's either downstairs in the study, or in the
boudoir, or in the little room at the top of the house, or, if it isn't,
you had better ask Susan about it."

"Perhaps the shortest way will be to consult Susan at once," replied
Coleman, as he turned to leave the room.

"I presume you prefer _buffa_ songs to music of a more pathetic
character?" inquired I, addressing Miss Saville.

"You judge from my having praised the one we have just heard, I
suppose?"

"Yes, and from the lively style of your conversation; I have been
envying your high spirits all the evening."

"Indeed!" was the reply; "and why should you envy them?"

"Are they not an indication of happiness, and is not that an enviable
possession?" returned I.

"Yes, indeed!" she replied in a low voice, but with such passionate
earnestness as quite to startle me. "Is 262~~ laughing, then, such an
infallible indication of happiness?" she continued.

"One usually supposes so," replied I.

To this she made no answer, unless a sigh can be called one, and,
turning away, began looking over the pages of a music-book.

"Is there nothing you can recollect to sing, my dear?" asked Mrs.
Coleman.

She paused for a moment as if in thought, ere she replied:--

"There is an old air, which I think I could remember; but I do not know
whether you will like it. The words," she added, glancing towards me,
"refer to the subject on which we have just been speaking."

She then seated herself at the instrument, and, after striking a few
simple chords, sang, in a sweet, rich soprano, the following stanzas;--

I

"Behold, how brightly seeming
All nature shows:
In golden sunlight gleaming,
Blushes the rose.
How very happy things must be
That are so bright and fair to see!
Ah, no! in that sweet flower,
A worm there lies;
And lo! within the hour,
It fades--it dies.

II

"Behold, young Beauty's glances
Around she flings;
While as she lightly dances,
Her soft laugh rings:
How very happy they must be,
Who are as young and gay as she!
'Tis not when smiles are brightest,
So old tales say,
The bosom's lord sits lightest--
Ah! well-a-day!

III

"Beneath the greenwood's cover
The maiden steals,
And, as she meets her lover,
Her blush reveals
How very happy all must be
Who love with trustful constancy.
By cruel fortune parted,
She learns too late,
How some die broken-hearted--
Ah! hapless fate!"

~263~~ The air to which these words were set was a simple, plaintive,
old melody, well suited to their expression, and Miss Saville sang with
much taste and feeling. When she reached the last four lines of the
second verse, her eyes met mine for an instant, with a sad, reproachful
glance, as if upbraiding me for having misunderstood her; and there was
a touching sweetness in her voice, as she almost whispered the refrain,
"Ah! well-a-day!" which seemed to breathe the very soul of melancholy.

"Strange, incomprehensible girl!" thought I, as I gazed with a feeling
of interest I could not restrain, upon her beautiful features, which
were now marked by an expression of the most touching sadness--"who
could believe that she was the same person who, but five minutes since,
seemed possessed by the spirit of frolic and merriment, and appeared to
have eyes and ears for nothing beyond the jokes and drolleries of Freddy
Coleman?"

"That's a very pretty song, my dear," said Mrs. Coleman; "and I'm very
much obliged to you for singing it, only it has made me cry so, it has
given me quite a cold in my head, I declare;" and, suiting the action
to the word, the tender-hearted old lady began to wipe her eyes, and
execute sundry other manoeuvres incidental to the malady she had named.
At this moment Freddy returned, laden with music-books. Miss Saville
immediately fixed upon a lively duet which would suit their voices,
and song followed song, till Mrs. Coleman, waking suddenly in a fright,
after a tremendous attempt to break her neck, which was very near
proving successful, found out that it was past eleven o'clock, and
consequently bed-time.

It can scarcely be doubted that my thoughts, as I fell asleep (for,
unromantic as it may appear, truth compels me to state that I never
slept better in my life), turned upon my unexpected meeting with Clara
Saville. The year and a half which had elapsed since the night of the
ball had altered her from a beautiful girl into a lovely woman. Without
in the slightest degree diminishing its grace and elegance, the outline
of her figure had become more rounded, while her features had acquired
a depth of expression which was not before observable, and which was the
only thing wanting to render them (I had almost said) perfect. In her
manner there was also a great alteration; the quiet reserve she had
maintained when in the presence of Mr. Vernor, and the calm frankness
displayed during our accidental meeting in Barstone ~264~~ Park, had
alike given way to a strange excitability, which at times showed
itself in the bursts of wild gaiety which had annoyed my fastidious
sensitiveness in the earlier part of the evening, at others in the deep
impassioned feeling she threw into her singing, though I observed that
it was only in such songs as partook of a melancholy and even despairing
character that she did so. The result of my meditations was, that the
young lady was an interesting enigma, and that I could not employ the
next two or three days to better advantage than in "doing a little bit
of OEdipus." as Coleman would have termed it, or, in plain English,
"finding her out ";--and hereabouts I fell asleep.