Chapter III: Aunt Jane’s Sage Advice

“It is a very great advantage,” added Aunt Jane, later in the evening of that day, “to be reminded of early youth. To think of those who loved us, and whom we loved in days when we were comparatively innocent and unsuspicious of evil, has generally a beneficial influence on our character in after-life. There may be many objections to the marriage of cousins, but he is not your first cousin, and I have generally found that they turned out very happily--I mean among those cousins who had been brought up together; and I attribute it chiefly to this reason, that each helps to keep alive in the other’s mind a vivid recollection of early days. That was why I was so glad when you told me of your talk about your childish adventures with Carlo in the cameo boudoir that eventful night.”

By all Aunt Jane said, I fancied that she wished I should become engaged to Carlo; but I did not tell her this, for a strange kind of reserve seemed to spring up, not more towards her than towards myself, if such a thing can be explained. I shrank from analysing my feelings. I did not like to talk or think of him as connected in any way with my own future destiny, yet I wished earnestly to see him again before he left England.

I suppose Aunt Jane perceived this, for she said nothing more about him that day. But the next morning, before we left the Grange for Castle Hall, she told me that Carlo had undertaken the difficult and arduous office of investigating the case of (as she considered) unjust usurpation of my property, by a pretended heir to my uncle; and as soon as he had seen his father at Sorrento, he intended to start for America, and proceed to the place where the mysterious child was said to have been born.

“He is going to tell you of this himself, but I thought it as well you should know it before you see him, that you may know how anxious he is that your father’s character should be vindicated.”

“It is most kind, indeed,” I said, “for that is the object I have most at heart.” But I could not help adding that “I wished there was no fortune to be gained by this vindication:” and the next minute I could have bitten my tongue out for uttering it, for it seemed to imply a doubt of the sincerity of his love or disinterestedness of his efforts.

Aunt Jane saw I was horrified at my implied doubt, so she merely said,

“After such a miraculous recovery as he had, and the look of despair we both saw on his pale face, I do not think it likely that bad motives are mingled with his efforts to be of use.”

And I fully agreed with her, but at the same time I felt puzzled by her evident wish that I should become engaged to him. It suddenly occurred to me that it might be on Norah’s account--that it might facilitate a reconciliation between Sir Alfred and that most injured and ill-used girl. And, oh! if this were the case, I would most willingly make any sacrifice.

“How deeply you are meditating,” she said, after the pause in our conversation while this new idea occurred to me. “Yes, I see by the sudden colour in your cheeks, and bright flash in your eyes, that you think you have read my thoughts; and so you have. But, remember, I should not advise this step if I thought it would be an heroic sacrifice; and you are wondering, too, that I, being such a happy old maid, would not be satisfied with the plan which, at the present moment, seems to you to be right, that you should never marry. You are thinking now that Aunt Jane never found any man who came up to her _beau-ideal_--therefore, why should you? And all this seems likely; but, my dear, it was not the case, for I did find one, and we were engaged; but he was in the army. He went to India just after our engagement, and----”

“Oh! don’t try to tell me,” I interposed, as I saw the look of intense sorrow on her face, for I remembered hearing a kind of rumour that an officer she was engaged to had been killed in battle, after gaining great renown, just before the time which had been fixed for his return to England, when they were to have been married.

“No, I will not tell you any more,” said Aunt Jane. “I will only try to explain that I think your disposition is even less fitted than mine is for a lonely life, and that I have great hopes that Carlo will become worthy of you--worthy of anyone--after two years’ probation.”

“Well, then let it be so, if I find he really wishes it,” said I; and I suddenly felt as if a great load and responsibility were lifted from my mind.