Chapter XIII

If ever been where bells have knolled to church.
SHAKSPEARE.

All things are well digested for the purpose;
Then, throwing off the title of a duke, I will
Appear to her a low-born peasant.
TOBIN.

This unfortunate episode rather deranged the train of ideas by which Churchill had determined to probe the real state of Lucy’s feelings. Instead of availing himself, as he had intended, of the whole of this two-mile walk artfully to ascertain her real sentiments, and attempt to regulate his own accordingly, he spoke not at all at first, then asked her three times abstractedly the different lengths of the footpath by which they were going, and the carriage-road, to church; and at last blurted out the question point-blank, “Whether she thought her cousin George improved?”

“Oh, so much! that is, in some respects,” she answered, the first words eagerly, then checking herself, added, “I am sorry to see you didn’t like him, Mr. Churchill; I think I should have liked him much better if you had.”

“Why, my dear Miss Darnell, should you fancy I do not like him? It is true, that our different modes of life may prevent my perfectly understanding all his stories. The poor painter, who has nothing but daubing colours on canvass to show as the labour of a lifetime, can never compete in interest with him who has soul-stirring adventures by sea and land to boast.”

“And fearful dangers he has had, poor dear George! has he not? The embarking the troops there--at what’s the name of the place, among the Yankees--Old Orleans? New Orleans was it? and that frightful hurricane in latitude--; he told us what latitude it was in. But it wasn’t that I was going to say. Do you know, Mr. Churchill, you sometimes made me ashamed of cousin George?”

“How? Explain yourself, I pray you, Lucy,” said Churchill eagerly.

“Why, for all what you say about a poor painter, and having nothing to tell of, I like so much to hear you talk, whatever it is about, and you speak to one so soft and kind, just like one of the gentlefolk; and I have been always trying to answer you the same, and somehow, I’ve got used to your ways lately; but last night, when cousin George talked rather rude like, I looked at you, and I saw by your face that you were fashed, and then I felt so uncomfortable--and, don’t be angry!”

“Angry! no--why?” asked Churchill.

“And then I wished you away with all my heart.”

This was not exactly the conclusion to which Churchill had hoped to hurry Lucy; but still there were many circumstances in the foregoing conversation favourable to him. In the first place, it was evident that she cared for his opinion, and also that he had awakened in her mind a sense of what was, or was not offensive in manner. Yet, from the tone in which she had spoken the last sentence, he could not but draw the conclusion, that situated as she was last night, it was his presence that she had felt as a restraint--it was to his absence she would have looked as a relief. He would have liked to ascertain whether this merely arose from considering George’s return--a return as of right to the home of his childhood, which would have prevented her imagining it possible that he could be removed from thence, though he might be superseded in her affections. But just as, intending to pursue this inquiry, he approached his companion with a tender earnestness in his manner, which was certainly not intended to meet the comments of a third person; he was interrupted by the unwelcome apparition of Captain Collett, who meeting them at the narrowest part of the path, Churchill was obliged to draw back in order to let him pass by Lucy, which as he did, he said with a leer, meant to be full of meaning, “Sorry to separate you!” and as he brushed by Churchill, he hummed the burthen of a nautical ballad then in vogue.

“From our night-caps so clean,
Our fresh laurel was torn,
And the prize of the e’en
Was recaptur’d at morn.”

Ere they could recover the thread of their discourse, thus disagreeably broken in upon, they had come within sight of the parish church, and as the last loitering groups gradually disappeared within the porch, whilst the lingering tones of the slowly-stopping bell died away upon the ear, they felt that they were late, and Lucy quickened her steps, and led the way to their family seats.

The sacred building was one of the humblest of its kind; for centuries (necessary repairs excepted) it had remained much in its present state, the weekly resort of the simple and secluded neighbourhood: there never had been any opulent landed proprietors within the parish; no _squirearchial_ elevation broke the regular equality of the divided aisle, or claimed distinction or superiority from the height of its railing or the colour of its lining.

There was here no appearances at variance with those professions of equality in the sight of Him they came to address, which the service they came jointly to engage in, alike places in the mouths of the rich and of the poor, of the high-born noble and the humble peasant, sentiments which the unadorned simplicity of the sacred edifice was so well calculated to awaken in every mind. Hence, as Lord Castleton cast a look around upon the simple single-hearted groups who came there, without disguise or reservation, to confess their errors, the falsity of his own position struck him more forcibly than it had ever done before, accompanied with a sense of shame at the deception he had been practising. True, there was no unworthy motive at the bottom of that deception; those upon whose credulity he was imposing, it could not be denied, would in every worldly consideration gain immensely by his being other than he seemed. But still no candid mind, and such was Lord Castleton’s naturally, can satisfy itself with the practice of deceit or artifice in any serious affair. Was it so certain, after all, that the splendid elevation he designed for Lucy must necessarily insure her happiness? He had found her satisfied with herself, contented with all around her--the centre of a little world, which knew no other. What had been the effect which his society had already produced upon this tranquil state of mind? It was evident that it had lowered cousin George in her estimation; this was an effect, which, if it had stood alone, perhaps he might not so much have regretted; but was it not accompanied by a feeling of dissatisfaction at herself, at her involuntary participation in many former sources of pleasure? and if this was produced merely as the consequence of adopting his views when listening to him only as the poor painter Churchill, how much would such a painful sense of unfitness be aggravated, when bewildered with the strangeness of that world to which he meant to transplant her; and what could he offer in compensation, for inflicting that constantly-corroding sense of self-inferiority, where all had previously been peace and content? Not only her gentleness would prevent her braving the difficulties of such a situation, but her very sensibility, which she possessed in a degree unusual in her rank of life, would make her more alive to painful sensations.

All these reflections, vague and half-formed, but generally unsatisfactory, floated through Castleton’s mind in the intervals of the service, and gave to his deportment a restless air, as if he feared impending discovery. This vague consciousness of insecurity arose principally from the disorder of his own mind, but was not a little increased by the anxiously inquiring expression on the face of the person immediately opposite to him, whose penetrating eyes he found at intervals fixed intently upon him with a searching, though not an unkind gaze: this he rightly imagined to be Alice Darnell. It was a countenance which, though it had already lost the freshness of youth, none could have beheld without interest, even if she had not appeared in some degree to reciprocate that interest, as was the case in the present instance. He could not conceal from himself, that though this must have been the first time she had seen her nephew George since his long absence, most of her attention was bestowed upon himself, the stranger. Yet, though her expression was rather that of melancholy interest than of reproof, the feeling it excited in his mind was principally dread of her penetration, which caused him instinctively to drop his eyes beneath her gaze.

When the service was concluded, and the family party left the church together, Alice Darnell addressed a few words to him, in which he could not help fancying that some feeling of interest lurked beneath a form of studied coldness, and through the guise of commonplace inquiry; and when the tones of his voice in reply first struck her ear, the arm which held Lucy trembled violently; and, turning away, she addressed him no more, but drawing Lucy closely towards her, after some lengthened whispering between the two, the niece begged that he would announce to her family, that in consequence of her aunt not feeling well, she had returned home with her, and they were not to expect her back to dinner; and turning together down one path, they left him to pursue his solitary way by that which he had come.