Una; or, the Early marriage. A domestic tale

Front matter

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. In Two Vols., crown 8vo., price 15s., cloth. REDLANDS: OR, HOME TEMPER. "Abounding in striking incidents, it escapes the charge of pandering to sensationalism. We are conscious of an earnest, wise, elevated purpose throughout the two volumes. The author has decidedly more than an ordinary talent for graceful, fluent writing. Her conversations are often lively, and appropriate to the characters, and the pictures of a sweet home life and a true mother's influence are specially delightful. We can heartily recommend this povel. " — LITERARY WORLD. "The style of 'Redlands' is of the purest English ; her portraiture of character is marked by great distinctness ; her more impassioned passages remind us almost of the eloquence and pathos of Charlotte Bronte', while, at the same time, the whole tone of her writing is of a far higher Christian type." — WEEKLY REVIEW.

" It is throughout so thoroughly sound and good as to be quite recom mendable." — GUARDIAN. " The style is careful and pure, the moral tone exalted, the separate por traitures very realistic. "^BRITISH QUARTERLY review. 1 ' The authoress possesses a graceful and fluent style, and her pages, both descriptive and conversational, are pleasant reading, while here and there may be found passages which give evidence of deep thought and strong feeling well directed. The work will be read with pleasure by all except those whose idea of an interesting novel is a florid richauffi of the Newgate Calendar." — London and china telegraph. "Bonbon : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. UNA; OR, THE EARLY MARRIAGE. UNA; OR, THjE EARLY MARRIAGE. a SDomesfttc -^TaU* BY HARRIETTE EOWRA, AUTHORESS OF " REDLANDS."

HonDon : H ODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1872. I'NWIN BROTHERS, PRINTERS. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACK I. Sunshine i II. Cloud 14 III. The Visit ... 29 IV. The Misadventure 43 V. The Breakfast 53 VI. The Picture Gallery 74 VII. Curiosity 87 VIII. The DejeOner 97 IX. Bereavement 109 X. The Will 118 XI. The Cruise 133 XII. Manœuvring 145 XIII. Jealousy 156 XIV. A Night at Brighton 169 XV. The Return 178 XVI. Bitter Fruits... 192 XVII. The Contrast 200 XVIII. A Ray of Light 208 XIX. Change of Scene 218 XX. Rencontres 228 XXI. A Gleam of Hope '. CONTENTS. VIII CHAPTER PAGE XXII. Disappointment 247 XXIII. The Journey 255 XXIV. The Meeting of Old Friends 270 XXV. The Eternal City 284 XXVI. Holy Week 3°° XXVII. The Coliseum 3°8 XXVIII. The Shadow 326 XXIX. Glimpses of Light 333 XXX. Mother and Child ... 343 XXXI.

Chapter I. Sunshine

WE do not usually boast of our London sun — we do not think much of it even in the brilliant month of May ; more especially for those who have travelled has it a moderate value. The fleecy texture of our atmosphere tones down its brightness, and preserves our eyes from its overpowering splendour ■ nevertheless, the sun does shine in London, let our neighbours say what they may. That the sun does not shine in England was once a popular error, as much believed on the other side of the Channel as that Frenchmen lived on frogs was believed on this ; nor have our many International Exhibitions enabled us as yet to say, " Nous avons change tout cela," for popular errors are often fixed ideas, unsettled only in the course of generations. Not long ago a Parisian shop-keeper lamented to me that we had no sunshine and no fruit in England — a calumny I repudiated with warmth, yet left firmly fixed in the mind of the Parisian, to be repeated, I fear, a hundred times.

To this very day many in sunny France believe that our island has no sunshine, and thus explain the national love for travelling. It was a brilliant morning when I opened my eyes on the 4th of May. The sunshine poured into my room the moment West opened the shutters, not a cold, wavering B MARRLAGE. 2 light, but a glorious flood. I have seen the sunshine of other lands — the deep blue sky of which Italy is so justly proud, beneath which nature basks in its gorgeous colouring — but no sunshine was ever to me like that 4th of May. There was sunshine in my heart, quickening the current of the warm blood, and stimulating the pulses into a faster beat Like the waters of a fountain illumined by the sun, my thoughts were coruscations of light, sparkling with their own brightness, reflecting nothing but happiness.

As soon as I arose — which was later than usual, having only fallen asleep towards morning — I passed into the dressing-room adjoining my bed-room, where was still hanging up the dress I had worn the previous evening at Lady Winter's crush — white silk, whose rich sheen was softened by Honiton lace, caught up here and there with the red blossoms of the pomegranate. On the table lay the bright scarlet spray, considered so becoming in my dark hair, also a narrow band of diamonds, plainly set, which I had worn to please my father, though assured by many of the unsuitability of such an ornament for a young unmarried girl like myself. In my hurry to be alone with my own thoughts, I had dismissed my maid as soon as this part of my attire was removed, leaving her no opportunity to put it away. Well was it, perhaps, for my good name, that none saw the triumphant smile and complete satisfaction with which I now regarded the paraphernalia that had brought me both admiration and compliments.

Had it been seen and imputed, as it naturally would have been, to gratified vanity, I ought to have felt no surprise, false as the inference would have been. I was the rich Miss Randolph, accustomed to be courted by many, and, if language had its apparent signification, admired by some ; to all I was equally impassive. Two seasons and a half had rendered me unimpression able. What, then, if not pride in myself, was the reason of this complacent contemplation of the articles which consti- SUNSHLNE. 3 tuted my adornment of the evening before ? Something far deeper than the pleasure I had once derived from these adventitious advantages ; — it was because I had achieved a great success, and my foolish fancy found in them the explanation of my triumph. The only eye I cared to please had rested on me with gratification ; the only voice which then could have spoken the admiration for which I longed, had expressed it last evening.

Herbert Elmore, after playing fast and loose for nearly the whole season, had at Lady Winter's declared himself my captive, and sued for my hand. Descriptions rarely convey a correct idea of the per son described, and any attempt of mine would totally fail to produce a portrait satisfactory to myself. To say that the Honourable Herbert Elmore was tall, with blue eyes, and intermediate coloured hair, is indefinite indeed. With some he had the reputation of being one of the fastest men about town ; — to me he was the most aristocratic and the most fascinating. Words could not describe the nameless charm I found in his society, whether it sprang from the sweetness of his voice or the refinement -of his address. By a variableness of conduct, keeping me ever uncertain as to the character of the feelings entertained towards me, he had stimulated the regard, which the previous season was only a passing interest, into a deep and real attachment.

Yet, after all, this affection was based on nothing solid — a girlish fancy, one of those that spring up so often in the heart's history, not the less strong because unable to give an account of itself. I was nearly twenty, but older than my years — an earnest, passionate woman, whom fortune had loaded with gifts, and nature with advantages. Before my toilet was completed, a message came from my father that he wished to see me downstairs in his own room, if I could come at once • if I could not, that he would come to me. E - " Tell Mr. Randolph that I will be with him in less than ten minutes," was the answer, and forthwith I brought my dressing to a speedy conclusion. My father's study, or room, as it was more appropriately designated — for little study, except that of legal documents when visited by his lawyer, went on there — was the only plainly-furnished one in the house.

Plain it was by com parison, though handsome in itself ; everything was good and simple, but heavy, partaking more of his commercial habits than his realised fortune. Our residence was one of the handsomest in Upper Grosvenor Street, furnished throughout, with this exception, in a style of great splendour. Though young, I was ambitious, not alas ! in its noble sense, seeking to shine by superior merit, or caring to rise by any careful mental cultivation above the ordinary level. A less elevating pre-eminence was enough for me. I was my father's darling, the stay of his widowed life, indulged in all wishes, reasonable and unreasonable, and with this I was satisfied. I liked to be told that we were rich, that we could spend like princes and live like nobles. Certainly I did my best to dissipate freely the wealth we were reputed to possess, unchecked, except now and then by my sister, when she occasionally paid us a visit with her husband.

Though fifteen years my senior, her observations and well meant suggestions met with little attention from me, being fully conscious that I, not she, was mistress at home. While I was a mere girl, she had married a staid, quiet man, who, having realised a comfortable fortune, had withdrawn from his mercantile house in Liverpool, and bought himself a property in Lancashire. Soon after leaving school, I paid them a visit with my father, but had no wish to repeat it. Their quiet humdrum life, as I then impertinently called it, had no attraction for me, fresh as I was from a fashionable Brighton establishment. It is not my intention to be more prosy than I can help ; SUNSHINE. 5 therefore, without attempting a wearying description either of my tastes or character, which are in fact better revealed by the narrative itself than by any preliminary introduction, I return at once to the interview requested by my father.

He was sitting before a large business-like writing table, strewed with books, ledgers, and papers, more in character with the wealthy merchant than the retired gentleman. Looking up on my entrance with the smile which usually greeted my approach, he tapped the easy-chair beside him, and I sat down, first fondly laying my hand on his grey hair, and imprinting a kiss on his broad, smooth forehead.- In doing this, my eye fell on a letter lying before him. Though in reality unacquainted with the handwriting, some magnetic influence from the unknown characters called a warm glow to my cheek. " You know already the contents of this letter ?" was my father's remark. " Not exactly, but if it comes from Herbert Elmore, I can guess." Without speaking, he placed the letter before me. I was not mistaken.

Herbert had written to my father to sanction our engagement. Shading my face from the watchful gaze so earnestly fixed upon me, I read the short page again and again, at first with a beating heart, then in a calmer mood, and finally laid it down with an ill-repressed sigh. " Well, Una-; what answer am I return ?" asked my father; " his messenger waits." There was no room for doubt or hesitation • the previous evening I had accepted him, and something of the joy of that moment still lingered about me. " Before your promise is confirmed by my sanction, I would have you seriously consider what you are about to do," said my father, gravely. " It is an unequal match. You are young, handsome, and rich — but, remember, ours, though a respectable, is a self-made family — esteemed enough by our own class, but only tolerated among those to whom the Honourable Herbert Elmore belongs.

How will my beloved Una bear a position like that ? Proud as she is, how will she like being the lowliest in the family circle?" Meekness and patience were the last virtues to which I could lay claim; they were neither bestowed on me by nature nor acquired by education ; yet I was not afraid. My father had described a position I was not able to realise. Flattered and followed for more than two seasons, the question just proposed by my father for consideration seemed too preposterous to be for a moment entertained. Too low an appreciation of myself was not my present foible. Vexed that even my father should make such a suggestion, my proud spirit took fire, and vented itself in the remark, " I will take care that no one shall look down on me !" A smile and a caress were the immediate response, but after a few moments he added, thoughtfully, ' ' I would far rather give you to a man like Pinnoch.'' , "Pinnoch!"

I exclaimed, with unmeasured disdain, "who can compare Joshua Pinnoch with the handsome and refined Herbert Elmore ? "As well prefer glass to crystal, earthen ware to china." I would have said gold to counterfeit, but I knew that I could only touch my brother-in-law externally with my sarcasm — his solid value being fully appreciated by my father. "Say nothing of the difference of name," I continued. " Pinnoch ! why I should never be able to throw off the idea of lessons and catechisms. My life would be a perpetual asking and answering of questions. He does very well for Ellen, with her sober tastes and rural simplicity, but such an one would never do for me." Then, perceiving a pained expression on his face, I added, in a serious tone, which at once convinced him of my earnestness, " Besides, dear papa, I love Herbert Elmore — I love him passionately, and have long done so in my secret heart, though I never acknowledged it till last night.

I have SUNSHINE. 7 given my promise, believing you would approve of it, for I can be happy with no other ;" and by way of seconding the appeal, I laid my glowing cheek upon his hand. Kissing my face, he again took up the letter. Why did I feel uneasy while he read it over so closely, as if sounding the value of the words ? Why did my own heart find disappointment in its brevity ? Some affections are exigeante and unreasonable, ever craving for more than they possess, ever forging setters to gall themselves. I much fear that mine were of the number. In a few minutes an answer was written, and the messenger was on his way to Mr. Elmore's rooms, bearing my father's consent and an invitation to join the family dinner. In little more than an hour I was again summoned from my room by the announcement — " Mr. Elmore is in the drawing room."

The interview differed little, I suppose, from what is usual under such circumstances. Herbert talked and I listened, feeling conscious of a greater charm in the few soft sentences which came from his lips, than in all the numerous and varied flatteries to which I had so often been a constrained, if not an unwilling, listener. When he left me, which was not till long after luncheon, I ordered the carriage and drove to Hertford Street, Mayfair. " Is Lady Mayfort there ?" I asked, as the servant was about to throw open the drawing-room door. " She is in the boudoir upstairs," was the answer I anticipated. Dis missing him with an intimation that I would announce myself, I proceeded to the door always open to me, and, after a gentle knock, entered. Lady Mayfort was my friend, as much so as could be expected from a woman of eight-and-thirty towards a girl of twenty.

Some few years ago my father had rescued her from pecuniary difficulties, in which she had 'become involved through no fault of her own, and, in return, she bestowed all the kindness in her power upon his motherless child. By her I was presented at Court, and generally chaperoned into society. Occasionally my father would accompany me, but not often. For the most part I was indebted to the kind offices of Lady Mayfort and her immediate friends for my good introductions and fashionable escort. At my first coming out she chose my society and instructed me in many of the finer shades of etiquette, endeavouring to teach, by her own example, those nameless womanly graces which a motherless girl so often loses. By this time I had many acquaintances in the circle to which I belonged, but no friend so dear as Lady Mayfort.

My acquaintances were but as flowers floating on the sur face, carried whithersoever the current of prosperity might bear them. Lady Mayfort was to me the fairest amongst them all, and had attracted my sincere regard, more beautiful even in her maturity than the lovely blossoms of the present hour. I have often asked myself where lay the charm to which I yielded so completely, but I have never found a satisfactory answer. Yet it was, I have sometimes thought, to the exquisitely modulated tones of her voice, even more than to the softness of her manner, that Lady Mayfort was indebted for her power of fascination. There was no origin ality in what she said, no word of strength or wisdom to encourage or instruct, nothing when uttered to leave its trace on mind or heart, yet I never wearied of her society.

I always enjoyed a tete-a-tete with her, and still more those little dinners of four and six, which often preceded the evening entertainments to which she accompanied me. During our two years' intercourse, I had never seen her ruffled in look or manner, nor even heard a tone departing from its usual sweetness. Looking back now from the border-land of matured life, I can read many a riddle which puzzled me in youth. Experience throws its light into many a dark corner, and sweeps away the gossamer fabrics of untutored fancy. Lady Mayfort had many attractions — many acquired gifts and SUNSHINE. 9 graces, but her character, like my own, was formed for the sunny side of the world. As light is necessary for the healthy development of plants, so our friendship required to be sustained by prosperity.

Neither the one nor the other could flourish in a darkened atmosphere. It was said of me, when a child, that I was always amiable when not thwarted — small praise, it is true, or rather a reproach disguised. I had yet to learn, that in this respect, my model was no better than myself. With no other steerage than what habit and conventional regulations supplied, it was not surprising that we should sometimes drift into troubled waters. The rules of society, however delicately drawn, are unequal to all emergencies. For the smooth paths, they had hitherto been sufficient, and smooth paths were those we sought, without reflecting on the goal to which they led. I was happy, supremely happy. Something unusually bright must have been in my face and manner, as I seated myself opposite Lady Mayfort, who was occupied with a pile of invitation cards on a table before her.

" Help me to find an evening disengaged for my entertainment. Here are my tablets — look over them, Una. There are apparently three days to choose from. Do you recollect any engagement likely to interfere with me ?" Taking the tablets as desired, and hastily looking over them, I presently laid them down, saying that I remembered nothing in prospect for the three evenings mentioned. Lady Mayfort looked up. " Una, what is the 'matter ? You look as if a sunbeam had fallen on you. Mrs. Olliver proved, I hope, a careful chaperon last evening; I was sorry not to be able to accompany you myself. You did not, I trust, amuse yourself too much. Without my warning eye, you are apt to be too — natural, I will say. We like soft sounding words," added she, with a smile. Too impulsive, she meant — too disposed to say what I thought, to laugh when pleased, and also to testify too unequivocally my contempt for some of the shallow-headed coxcombs, who sought to please by drawling out a string of idle compliments.

" I consider my conduct to have been exemplary," was my reply to the inquiring eye of Lady Mayfort, as she concluded her remarks upon my appearance. " Something has happened, what is it ? " she continued. There was no cause for hesitation. I came expressly to make my fortune known. It could not be many hours a secret, but I wished to tell my friend myself. So without circumlocution I quickly answered, "Last evening Herbert Elmore proposed, and I accepted him." " You accepted Herbert Elmore !" she slowly repeated, while her eye dilated, and a deeper shade of colour mantled her cheek. . "I accepted him at Lady Winter's party, and this morning my father gave his consent. Herbert has just left me. I came'straight to you, wishing my best friend to hear the news first from my own lips." Instead of the genial response I expected, she continued to regard me with an expression I could not explain — it was so fixed, yet so dull, as if my words obtained no credit or conveyed no meaning.

Not comprehending her silence, I endeavoured to break it by asking for her congratulations . " I have none to give," was the answer. " But, Lady Mayfort, what do you mean?" I said, impetu ously. "You must congratulate me. I am going to marry the man I love — the only one who has ever stirred a real feeling in my bosom ; the only one, also, out of those who have been pleased to seek my society, who has never flattered, or whose good opinion I ever cared to possess." What more I might have said in my heroics I know not. She brought me down into common life by the cold remark, " Una, you have disappointed me." ' These words, still more the icy tone in which they were uttered, startled me exceedingly. A galvanic-battery could not have sent a more unexpected shock through my system. SUNSHINE. 11 The blow had fallen on my pride.

My first impulse was to demand a further explanation, the second was to yield to the instincts of affection. Drawing near to her, and placing my arm round her waist, I murmured, " I love you, Lady Mayfort, very dearly; have you no sympathy with my happiness?" Accepting, without returning my caresses, she replied, in a dry voice, " You have deceived me." "How can I have deceived you? Never have I spoken, to my knowledge, a word that was untrue." " You never gave me an idea of what was going on." " Nothing was going on, dear Lady Mayfort," I said, with energy, now hoping to win back her confidence. " I could not tell you of that which did not exist. As soon as there is an event in my life, I come and make you acquainted with it. What could I do more ?" "You never let me know that you were attached to Mr. Elmore."

Her tone was almost that of a spoilt, petulant child. " I could not tell you that which I carefully concealed even from myself. Now I can tell you all ; but who would like to reveal the idle dreams in which the foolish brain will sometimes indulge ?" " What will Lionel say ? He will be more disappointed than I am ! " was her next observation. The secret was out ! Lionel Osborne, her nephew, my ever gay and willing companion, was not, then, as I had so simply imagined, a mere friend, ever ready to escort us hither and thither as a kind nephew dutifully attendant on his aunt ; but a suitor in disguise, a fortune-seeker, one for whose benefit our little social meetings were organised, in which it always fell to him to have the special charge of me. First arose the suspicion, then came the persuasion, as she afterwards added, " You are very wealthy — how do you know that that circumstance is not the principal attraction to Mr. Elmore ?"

I did not know, did not care to know, but put the thought from me, as I would a noxious draught too bitter for the lips to taste ; yet a spasm of pain shot across my heart. The bare idea was gall and wormwood. To entertain it would have turned my sunshine into darkness. Of others I had easily believed it, and claimed some credit for my acuteness of observation. It amused oftener than it vexed me, for it touched no vital part. Here it was different — my whole soul rose up against a charge so destructive to its peace ; resolutely I ignored the insinuation, and replied, " I thought Lady Mayfort and Lionel Osborne were my friends, able to rejoice in my happiness, as it is natural for friends to do, unless under circumstances which frustrate their own designs," I added in, I fear, a sarcastic tone.

The imputation upon Herbert stung me to the quick, and brought to my lips the resentment kindled in my heart. " I wish you happiness, Una," said Lady Mayfort, after another pause, holding out her hand coldly, and just touching mine with the tips of her fingers. " I believe I could have chosen better for you than you have done for your self. Lionel is not perhaps so externally attractive as Mr. Elmore, but my belief is that he is a better man." Notwithstanding the smile with which she accompanied her words, the icy coldness of her manner brought me the full conviction that I had lost my friend. My heart treasures were very few. The ties of kindred, those blos soms that with some shed such sweet fragrance along the path of life, had added little to mine. For enjoyment there must be congeniality as well as natural relationship, and this had not fallen to my lot.

The fault was mine. Friend ship, rather than relationship, had been the bond most cultivated, and now I was to lose it. The brightest gem I had till now possessed had fallen from its setting. Would the new affection— the strongest, yet the tenderest and the most precious of all human affections — compensate me for my loss? I thought so. I was young, and the sun- SUNSHINE. 13 shine fell upon my path. When we are carried by the imagination into the future, who does not overleap the crosses that lie in the way ? Could we gather up the un fulfilled expectations of even one lifetime, it would be a sad and dreary record, an eloquent testimony to the truth of the Preacher's moralising, "All is vanity." Like rootless plants, whose leaves and blossoms early fall and wither on the soil they might have adorned, our joyous expectations, having no root in the rich soil of divine promise and of truth, pass away, one by one, unrealised.

The blossoms which adorn the distant pathway of life are not gathered as refreshing fruit, but wither at our approach. The harvest of our hopes is ever yet to come. Not liking to ask Lady Mayfort, after what had passed, to accompany me in my drive in the Park, I stayed long enough to turn the conversation upon other subjects, and then went away, knowing too well that the happy inter course of more than two years' duration was over — at least, in its intimacy — and about to be merged into that of a common-place acquaintance. Heaviness lay at my heart as I descended that staircase, so often trodden in my gleesome moods. For the moment, my regret was really bitter. Shall I be thought volatile when I say how soon the transient emotion passed away? Shall I not rather add — Happy youth ! when the mind is elastic enough to rebound, almost at will, from the early blows of disappoint ment ; when every blossom promises to ripen into fruit, and yield a golden harvest ?

No sooner was I seated in the carriage, and the balmy air again fanning my cheeks, than my buoyant spirits rose high as before. The transient cloud had but dimmed the sun's brightness for a little moment, permitting it to shine anew with the same splendour as before.

Chapter II

cloud. FROM Lady Mayfort's I proceeded direct to pay another visit — this time in no fashionable quarter, but to a neat and modest lodging in Conduit Street. As I reached the top of the stairs, my father was coming out at the door of the apartment I was about to enter. Laying his hand on my shoulder with a smile, he uttered some word of fondness and passed on. Taking the unclosed door from his hand, I entered the room without its occupant being aware of the presence of a visitor. How can I describe or find language adequate to convey the impression made on me by the singular — I would say, mysterious — character I was now visiting. Julie Kenyon was not young— I could not tell her age — but something almost youthful, owing perhaps to her brilliant complexion, lingered at times about her, though to me, having been the friend of my mother, she appeared of a bygone generation.