CHAPTER XI.
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Ten days or a fortnight now flew swiftly
by, during which, Mrs. Wilson suffered Emily
to give Clara a week, having first ascertained
that Denbigh was a settled resident
at the rectory, and thereby not likely to
be oftener at the house of Francis than at the
hall, where he was a frequent and welcome
guest, both on his own account, and as a
friend of Doctor Ives---Emily had returned,
and brought the bride and groom with her;
when, one evening as they were pleasantly
seated at their various amusements, with the
ease of old acquaintances, Mr. Haughton
entered, at an hour rather unusual for his
visits; throwing down his hat, after making
the usual inquiries, he began,
“I know, good people, you are all wondering
what has brought me out this time of
night, but the truth is, Lucy has coaxed her
mother to persuade me into a ball, in honour
of the times; so, my lady, I have consented,
and my wife and daughter have been buying
up all the finery in B—, by the way, I suppose,
of anticipating their friends. There is a
regiment of foot come into the barracks,
within fifteen miles of us, and to-morrow I
must beat up for recruits among the officers---
girls are never wanting on such occasions.”
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“Why,” cried the baronet, “you are growing
young again, my friend.”
“No, Sir Edward, but my daughter is
young, and life has so many cares, that I am
willing she should get rid of as many as she
can now, at my expense.”
“Surely, you would not wish her to
dance them away,” said Mrs. Wilson;
“such relief, I am afraid, will prove temporary.”
“Do you disapprove of dancing, ma'am?”
said Mr. Haughton, who held her opinions in
great respect, and some little dread.
“I neither approve or disapprove of it---
jumping up and down, is innocent enough in
itself, and if it must be done, it is well it
were done gracefully; as for the accompaniments
of dancing I say nothing---what do
you say, Doctor Ives?”
“To what, my dear madam?”
“To dancing.”
“Oh! let the girls dance, if they enjoy it.”
“I am glad you think so, doctor,” cried
Mr. Haughton; “I had thought I recollected
your advising your son, never to dance or
play at games of chance.”
“You thought right, my friend,” said the
doctor, laying down his newspaper; “I gave
that advice to Frank---I do not object to
dancing as innocent in itself, and as elegant
exercise, but it is like drinking, generally carried
to excess; and as a Christian, I am opposed
to all excesses; the music and company
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lead to intemperance in the recreation, and
it often induces neglect of duties---but so
may any thing else.”
“I like a game of whist, doctor, greatly,”
said Mr. Haughton, “but observing you
never play, and recollecting your advice to
Mr. Francis, I have forbidden cards when
you are my guest.”
“I thank you for the compliment, good
sir,” replied the doctor, with a smile; “but I
would much rather see you play cards, than
hear you talk scandal, as you sometimes
do.”
“Scandal,” echoed Mr. Haughton.
“Ay, scandal,” said the doctor, coolly,
“such as your own remark, the last time,
which was yesterday, I called to see you---
that Sir Edward was wrong in letting that
poacher off so easily as he did; the baronet,
you said, did not shoot himself, and did not
know how to prize game as he ought.”
“Scandal, doctor—do you call that scandal;
why, I told Sir Edward so himself, two
or three times.”
“I know you have, and that was rude.”
“Rude! I hope, sincerely, Sir Edward
has put no such construction on it;” and the
baronet smiled kindly, and shook his head.
“Because the baronet chooses to forgive
your offences, it does not alter their nature,”
said the doctor, gravely; “no, you must repent
and amend; you impeached his motives
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for doing a benevolent act, and that I call
scandal.”
“Why, doctor, I was angry the fellow
should be let loose; he is a pest to all the
game in the county, and every sportsman will
tell you so---here, Mr. Moseley, you know
Jackson, the poacher.”
“Oh! a poacher is an intolerable wretch,”
cried Captain Jarvis.
“Oh! a poacher,” cried John, with a droll
look at Emily, “hang all poachers.”
“Poacher, or no poacher, does not alter
the scandal,” said the doctor; “now let me
tell you, good sir, I would rather play at
fifty games of whist, than make one such
speech, unless, indeed, it interfered with
my duties---now, sir, with your leave,
I'll explain myself, as to my son---There is
an artificial levity about dancing, that adds to
the dignity of no man; from some it may
detract: a clergyman, for instance, is supposed
to have other things to do, and it would
hurt him in the opinions of those his influence
is necessary with, and impair his usefulness;
therefore clergymen should never
dance---In the same way with cards; they
are the common instruments of gambling,
and an odium attached to them, on that account;
women and clergymen must respect
the prejudices of mankind, in some cases, or
hurt their influence in society.”
“I did hope to have the pleasure of your
company, doctor,” said Mr. Haughton, hesitatingly.
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“And if it will give you pleasure,” cried
the rector, “you shall have it, my good
friend; it would be a greater evil to wound
the feelings of such a neighbour as Mr.
Haughton, than to show my face once at a
ball---as innocent as your's will be;” and
rising, he laid his hand on his shoulder kindly.
“Both your scandal and rudeness are
easily forgiven; but I wished to show you
the common error of the world---that has
attached odium to certain things, while it
charitably overlooks others of a more heinous
nature.”
Mr. Haughton, who had at first been a
little staggered with the attack of the doctor,
recovered himself, with the view of his object,
and laying a handful of notes on the
table, hoped he should have the pleasure of
seeing them all; the invitation was generally
accepted, and the worthy man departed,
happy if his friends did but come, and were
pleased.
“Do you dance, Miss Moseley,” inquired
Denbigh of Emily, as he sat watching her
graceful movements in netting a purse for her
father.
“Oh yes! the doctor said nothing of us
girls, you know; I suppose he thinks we
have no dignity to lose,” replied Emily, with
a playful smile, and stealing a look at the
rector.
“Admonitions are generally thrown away
on young ladies, when pleasure is in the
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question,” said the doctor, overhearing her
as she intended, and with a look of almost
paternal affection.
“I hope you do not seriously disapprove
of it, in moderation,” said Mrs. Wilson.
“That depends, madam, upon circumstances
greatly; if it is to be made subsidiary
to envy, malice, coquetry, vanity, or any
other such little, lady-like accomplishment,”
replied the doctor, good-homouredly, “it
certainly had better be let alone---but in moderation,
and with the feelings of my little
pet here, I should be cynical, indeed, to object.”
Denbigh appeared lost in his own ruminations
during this little dialogue; and as the
doctor ended, he turned to the captain, who
was overlooking a game of chess, between
the colonel and Jane, of which the latter had
become remarkably fond of late, and played
with her hands and eyes, instead of her feet,
and inquired the name of the corps, in barracks
at F—; “the—th foot, sir,” replied
the captain, haughtily, who neither respected
him, owing to his want of consequence,
or loved him, from the manner Emily
listened to his conversation.
“Will Miss Moseley forgive a bold request
I have to urge,” said Denbigh, with
some hesitation.
Emily looked up from her work in silence,
but with some little flutterings at the heart, occasioned
by his peculiar manner--“the honour
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of her hand for the first dance,” said Denbigh,
observing her in expectation he would
proceed.
Emily laughingly said, “certainly, Mr.
Denbigh, if you can submit to the degradation.”
The London papers now came in, and
most of the gentlemen sat down to their perusal.
The colonel, however, replaced the men
for a second game, and Denbigh still kept
his place beside Mrs. Wilson and her niece.
The manners, the sentiments, the whole exterior
of this gentleman, were such as both the
taste and judgment approved of--his qualities
were those which insensibly gained on
the heart, and Mrs. Wilson noticed, with a
slight uneasiness, the very evident satisfaction
her niece took in his society---In Dr. Ives
she had great confidence, yet Dr. Ives was a
friend, and probably judged him favourably;
and again, Dr. Ives was not to suppose, he
was introducing a candidate for the hand of
Emily, in every gentleman he brought to the
hall; Mrs. Wilson had seen too often the ill
consequences of trusting to impressions received
from inferences of companionship,
not to know, the only safe way was to judge
for ourselves; the opinions of others might
be partial—might be prejudiced—and many
an improper connexion had been formed, by
listening to the sentiments of those who
spoke without interest, and consequently
without examination; not a few matches
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are made by this idle commendation of
others, uttered by lips that command
respect from a reputation for intelligence,
and which are probably suggested by a desire
to please the very listener who hears
them. In short, Mrs. Wilson knew, that as
our happiness chiefly interested ourselves, so
it was to ourselves, or to those few whose interest
was equal to our own, we could only
trust those important inquiries, necessary to
establish a permanent opinion of good or
evil in a character. With Doctor Ives her
communications on subjects of duty were
frequent and confiding, and although she
sometimes thought his benevolence disposed
him to be rather too lenient to the faults of
mankind, she entertained a profound respect
for his judgment; it was very influential with
her, if it were not always conclusive; she determined,
therefore, to have an early conversation
with him on the subject so near her
heart, and be in a great measure regulated
by his answers, in the immediate steps to be
taken. Every day gave her, what she
thought, melancholy proof of the ill consequences
of neglecting our duty—in the increasing
intimacy of Colonel Egerton and
Jane.
“Here, aunt,” cried John, as he ran over
a paper, “is a paragraph relating to your
favourite youth, our trusty and well beloved
cousin, the Earl of Pendennyss.”
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“Read it,” said Mrs. Wilson, with an interest
his name never failed to excite.
“We noticed to day the equipage of the
gallant Lord Pendennyss before the gates of
Annandale-house, and understand the noble
Earl is last from Bolton castle, Northamptonshire.”
“A very important fact,” said Captain
Jarvis sarcastically; “Colonel Egerton and
myself got as far as the village, to pay our respects
to him, when we heard he had gone
on to town.”
“The earl's character, both as a man
and a soldier,” observed the colonel, “gives
him a claim to our attentions, that his rank
would not; it was on that account we would
have called.”
“Brother,” said Mrs. Wilson, “you would
oblige me greatly, by asking his lordship to
waive ceremony; his visits to Bolton castle
will probably be frequent, now we have
peace; and the owner is so much from home,
that we may never see him without some
such invitation.”
“Do you want him as a husband for
Emily?” cried John, as he gaily seated himself
by the side of his sister.
Mrs. Wilson smiled at an observation,
which reminded her of one of her romantic
wishes; and, as she raised her head to reply,
in the same tone, met the eye of Denbigh
fixed on her, with an expression that kept her
silent: this is really an incomprehensible
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young man in some respects, thought the
cautious widow, his startling looks on the
introduction to the colonel, crossing her
mind at the same time; and observing the
doctor opening the door that led to the
baronet's library, Mrs. Wilson, who acted
generally as soon as she had decided, followed
him in silence. As their conversations
were known often to relate to little offices of
charity they both delighted in, the movement
excited no surprise, and she entered
the library with the doctor, uninterrupted by
any one else.
“Doctor,” said Mrs. Wilson, impatient to
proceed to the point, “you know my maxim,
prevention is better than cure: this young
friend of yours is very interesting.”
“Do you feel yourself in danger?” said
the rector, smiling.
“Not very imminent,” replied the lady,
laughing good naturedly; and seating herself,
she continued, “who is he? and who was
his father, if I may ask?”
“George Denbigh, Madam, both father
and son,” said the doctor gravely.
“Ah, doctor, I am almost tempted to wish
Frank had been a girl; you know what I
wish to learn.”
“Put your questions in order, dear Madam,”
said the doctor, in a kind manner,
“and they shall be answered.”
“His principles?”
“So far as I can learn, they are good—
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his acts, as they have come to my notice,
are highly meritorious, and I hope originated
in proper motives; I have seen but
little of him of late years, however, and on
this head, you are nearly as good a judge as
myself; his filial piety,” said the doctor,
dashing a tear from his eye, and speaking
with fervour, “was lovely.”
“His temper—his disposition.”
“His temper is under great command,
although naturally ardent; his disposition
eminently benevolent towards his fellow-creatures.”
“His connexions.”
“Suitable,” said the doctor with a smile.
His fortune was of but little moment;
Emily would be amply provided, for all the
customary necessaries of her station; and
Mrs. Wilson thanking the divine, returned
to the parlour, easy in her mind, and determined
to let things take their own course for
a time, but in no degree to relax the vigilance
of her observation.
On her return to the room, Mrs. Wilson
observed Denbigh approach Egerton, and
enter into conversation of a general nature;
it was the first time any thing more
than unavoidable courtesies had passed between
them, and the colonel appeared slightly
uneasy under his situation; while, on the
other hand, his companion showed an anxiety
to be on a more friendly footing than
heretofore—there was something mysterious
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in the feelings manifested by both these
gentlemen, that greatly puzzled the good
lady to account for; and from its complexion,
she feared one or the other was not entirely
free from censure; it could not have
been a quarrel, or their names would have
been familiar to each other; they had both
served in Spain she knew, and excesses were
often committed by gentlemen at a distance
from home, their pride would have prevented
where they were anxious to maintain a
character. Gambling, and a few other prominent
vices, floated through her imagination,
until wearied of conjectures where
she had no data from which to discover the
truth, and supposing after all it might be
her imagination only, she turned to more
pleasant reflections.
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Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851 [1820], Precaution, volume 1 (A. T. Goodrich & Co., New York) [word count] [eaf051v1].
