Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete. Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон

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СКАЧАТЬ they will look so fine! Deary me, how they sparkle! But you will wear much finer when you are my lady."

      "I hear Mamma's bell; go, Margaret, she wants you."

      Left alone, the young beauty sank down abstractedly, and though the looking-glass was opposite, it did not arrest her eye; she forgot her wardrobe, her muslin dress, her fears, and her guests.

      "Ah," she thought, "what a weight of dread I feel here when I think of Lord Vargrave and this fatal engagement; and every day I feel it more and more. To leave my dear, dear mother, the dear cottage—oh! I never can. I used to like him when I was a child; now I shudder at his name. Why is this? He is kind; he condescends to seek to please. It was the wish of my poor father,—for father he really was to me; and yet—oh that he had left me poor and free!"

      At this part of Evelyn's meditation the unusual sound of wheels was heard on the gravel; she started up, wiped the tears from her eyes, and hurried down to welcome the expected guests.

      CHAPTER V

      TELL me, Sophy, my dear, what do you think of our new visitors?

Vicar of Wakefield.

      MRS. MERTON and her daughter were already in the middle drawing-room, seated on either side of Mrs. Leslie,—the former a woman of quiet and pleasing exterior, her face still handsome, and if not intelligent, at least expressive of sober good-nature and habitual content; the latter a fine dark-eyed girl, of decided countenance, and what is termed a showy style of beauty,—tall, self-possessed, and dressed plainly indeed, but after the approved fashion. The rich bonnet of the large shape then worn; the Chantilly veil; the gay French Cachemire; the full sleeves, at that time the unnatural rage; the expensive yet unassuming robe de soie; the perfect chaussure; the air of society, the easy manner, the tranquil but scrutinizing gaze,—all startled, discomposed, and half-frightened Evelyn.

      Miss Merton herself, if more at her ease, was equally surprised by the beauty and unconscious grace of the young fairy before her, and rose to greet her with a well-bred cordiality, which at once made a conquest of Evelyn's heart.

      Mrs. Merton kissed her cheek, and smiled kindly on her, but said little. It was easy to see that she was a less conversable and more homely person than Caroline.

      When Evelyn conducted them to their rooms, the mother and daughter detected at a glance the care that had provided for their comforts; and something eager and expectant in Evelyn's eyes taught the good-nature of the one and the good breeding of the other to reward their young hostess by various little exclamations of pleasure and satisfaction.

      "Dear, how nice! What a pretty writing-desk!" said one—"And the pretty goldfish!" said the other—"And the piano, too, so well placed;" and Caroline's fair fingers ran rapidly over the keys. Evelyn retired, covered with smiles and blushes. And then Mrs. Merton permitted herself to say to the well-dressed abigail,—

      "Do take away those flowers, they make me quite faint."

      "And how low the room is,—so confined!" said Caroline, when the lady's lady withdrew with the condemned flowers. "And I see no Pysche. However, the poor people have done their best."

      "Sweet person, Lady Vargrave!" said Mrs. Merton,—"so interesting, so beautiful; and how youthful in appearance!"

      "No tournure—not much the manner of the world," said Caroline.

      "No; but something better."

      "Hem!" said Caroline. "The girl is very pretty, though too small."

      "Such a smile, such eyes,—she is irresistible! and what a fortune! She will be a charming friend for you, Caroline."

      "Yes, she may be useful, if she marry Lord Vargrave; or, indeed, if she make any brilliant match. What sort of a man is Lord Vargrave?"

      "I never saw him; they say, most fascinating."

      "Well, she is very happy," said Caroline, with a sigh.

      CHAPTER VI

      TWO lovely damsels cheer my lonely walk.—LAMB: Album Verses.

      AFTER dinner there was still light enough for the young people to stroll through the garden. Mrs. Merton, who was afraid of the damp, preferred staying within; and she was so quiet, and made herself so much at home, that Lady Vargrave, to use Mrs. Leslie's phrase, was not the least "put out" by her. Besides, she talked of Evelyn, and that was a theme very dear to Lady Vargrave, who was both fond and proud of Evelyn.

      "This is very pretty indeed,—the view of the sea quite lovely!" said Caroline. "You draw?"

      "Yes, a little."

      "From Nature?"

      "Oh, yes."

      "What, in Indian ink?"

      "Yes; and water-colours."

      "Oh! Why, who could have taught you in this little village; or, indeed, in this most primitive county?"

      "We did not come to Brook-Green till I was nearly fifteen. My dear mother, though very anxious to leave our villa at Fulham, would not do so on my account, while masters could be of service to me; and as I knew she had set her heart on this place, I worked doubly hard."

      "Then she knew this place before?"

      "Yes; she had been here many years ago, and took the place after my poor father's death,—I always call the late Lord Vargrave my father. She used to come here regularly once a year without me; and when she returned, I thought her even more melancholy than before."

      "What makes the charm of the place to Lady Vargrave?" asked Caroline, with some interest.

      "I don't know; unless it be its extreme quiet, or some early association."

      "And who is your nearest neighbour?"

      "Mr. Aubrey, the curate. It is so unlucky, he is gone from home for a short time. You can't think how kind and pleasant he is,—the most amiable old man in the world; just such a man as Bernardin St. Pierre would have loved to describe."

      "Agreeable, no doubt, but dull—good curates generally are."

      "Dull? not the least; cheerful even to playfulness, and full of information. He has been so good to me about books; indeed, I have learned a great deal from him."

      "I dare say he is an admirable judge of sermons."

      "But Mr. Aubrey is not severe," persisted Evelyn, earnestly; "he is very fond of Italian literature, for instance; we are reading Tasso together."

      "Oh! pity he is old—I think you said he was old. Perhaps there is a son, the image of the sire?"

      "Oh, no," said Evelyn, laughing innocently; "Mr. Aubrey never married."

      "And where does the old gentleman live?"

      "Come СКАЧАТЬ