Chapter VII: Albion’s Return (4)

Holy St. Cyprian! thy waters stray
With still and solemn tone;
And fast my bright hours pass away
And somewhat throws a shadow grey,
Even as twilight closes day,
Upon thy waters lone.

Farewell! If I might come again,
Young as I was and free,
And feel once more in every vein
The fire of that first passion reign
Which sorrow could not quench nor pain,
I’d soon return to thee;
But while thy billows seek the main.
That never more may be!

This was dated ‘Mornington, 1829.’

The duchess felt a hand press her shoulder and she looked up. The force of attraction had its natural results and she clung to what she saw.

‘Adrian! Adrian!’ was all her lips would utter.

‘Mary! Mary!’ replied the duke, allowing her to hang about him; ‘what brought you here? Are you running away: eloping in my absence?’

‘Adrian, why did you leave me? You said you would come back in a week, and it is eight days since you left me; do come home!’

‘So you actually have set off in search of a husband,’ said Zamorna, laughing heartily; ‘and been overturned and obliged to take shelter in Pakenham’s shooting-box!’

‘Why are you here, Adrian?’ enquired the duchess, who was far too much in earnest to join in his laugh. ‘Who is Pakenham? and who is that person who calls herself his housekeeper? And why do you let any one live so near Hawkscliffe without ever telling me?’

‘I forgot to tell you,’ said His Grace; ‘I’ve other things to think about when those bright eyes are looking up to me! As to Pakenham, to tell you the truth he is a sort of left-hand cousin of your own, being son to the old admiral, my uncle, in the south. And his housekeeper is his sister. _Voilà tout_. Kiss me now.’

The duchess did kiss him, but it was with a heavy sigh. The cloud of jealous anxiety hung on her brow undissipated.

‘Adrian, my heart aches still. Why have you been staying so long in Angria? Oh, you don’t care for me! You have never thought how miserably I have been longing for your return, Adrian!’ She stopped and cried.

‘Mary, recollect yourself,’ said His Grace. ‘I cannot be always at your feet. You were not so weak when we were first married. You let me leave you often then without any jealous remonstrance.’

‘I did not know you so well at that time,’ said Mary; ‘and if my mind is weakened, all its strength has gone away in tears and terrors for you. I am neither so handsome nor so cheerful as I once was. But you ought to forgive my decay, because you have caused it.’

‘Low spirits,’ returned Zamorna; ‘looking on the dark side of matters. God bless me! the wicked is caught in his own net! Mary, never again reproach yourself with loss of beauty till I give the hint first. Believe me now, in that and every other respect you are just what I wish you to be. You cannot fade any more than marble can, at least not in my eyes. And as for your devotion and tenderness, though I chide its excess sometimes, because it wastes and bleaches you almost to a shadow, yet it forms the very firmest chain that binds me to you. Now, cheer up! To-night you shall go to Hawkscliffe: it is only five miles off. To-morrow I will be at the castle before dawn; the carriage shall be ready; I will put you in, myself beside you; off we go straight to Verdopolis; and there for the next three months I will tire you of my company, morning, noon, and night! Now what can I promise more?’

By dint of subterfuge and laughter the individual at last succeeded in getting all things settled to his mind.

The duchess went to Hawkscliffe that night, and keeping his promise for once Zamorna accompanied her to Verdopolis next morning.

• • • • • • •

For a long space of time, ‘Good-bye, reader!’ I have done my best to please you; and though I know that through feebleness, dulness, and iteration my work terminates rather in failure than in triumph, yet you are sure to forgive, for I have done my best!

C. BRONTË,
_Haworth_,
_January 17th_, 1838.

THE END

ERRATA.

The following obvious typographical errors have been corrected:

On page 126: Added missing closing quote after _Scotland.’