Aubrey. By the author of 'Emilia Wyndham'

Front matter

AUBREY. ET THE AUTHOR OF "EMILIA W T N D H A M," &,c. &_. " Hungry and thirsty, their souls fainted within them, and they found no City to dwell in." IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1854. London : PRIMED R BF.TMLL AM) WEIGHT, LTTTLE rULTENEY STOEBT. AUBREY CHAPTEE I. OK, saw ye bonnie Leslie, As she came across the Border. — Buens. It might be called a magnificent, though it was evidently, not a very ancient place. It stood towering nearly upon the summit of a lofty eminence, commanding a wide expanse of champagne country, and backed by a range of high barren mountain hills, rising ridge above ridge in dark lowering succession. Barren and dreary they were, in truth, but concealing within their rocky bosoms mineral treasures which must ulti- YOL.

I. B AUBREY. mately become the sources of untold wealth to those who had received this, as a desolate and almost valueless inheritance, from their forefathers. A long winding walk led along the front of the hill; it was adorned with a profusion of American shrubs, flourishing in aU their surpassing beauty. Azalias, rhododendrons, and the lovely waxen kalmias were there, flourishing in the highest perfection. They formed thickets, — they throve into lofty shrubs, approaching the size of forest trees, — while the grass beneath was enameUed with primroses, harebells, pink lychnis, and the sweet little cockle-shell steUaria struggling about among the undergrowth. The mountain ash, at this time in fuU blossom; the hawthorn pink, red, white; the syringas, like orange flowers ; that deUght of every childish heart, the guelder-rose, lilacs, and laburnums — all that adorned the gardens of past generations, and all that modern research had added of flower wealth to our own, here mingled with a profusion — a rich extravagance of abundance, which in such things is so inexpressibly delicious AUBREY. 3 one of the few luxuries that neither palls nor enervates.

Then, in this wilderness of beauty, birds were flitting about in extraordinary quantity, for no gardener was ever suffered to disturb them. The saucy robin hopped upon the walks just under your feet, his tiny poetical partner, the wren, whistled from a low thicket, or twittered and coquetted before him; little brown creepers stole up the trunks of the larger trees, and the golden-crested wren hung from the tender young branches of the oak; the burst of song from the blackbird broke forth from the brake ; the thrushes answered one another from the summit of the trees! It was all melody and happiness in this sweet world of feathered life. And then the view ! What a lordly expanse ! — like a picture of Claude's, like a description of Milton's — '' Russet lawns and fallows grey, "Where the nibbling flocks do stray j Mountains on whose barren breast The hovering clouds do often rest ; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide, Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees."

Chapter II

What you'do, Still betters what is done ; when you speak, sweet, I'd. have you do it ever ; when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so ; when you do dance I wish you a wave of the sea that you might ever do Nothing but that. — "Winteb's Tale. It was a large London party, what people are now in the habit of caUing by its old and long exploded name of drum — a word to me signifying nothing — without etymology that I know of, or the least connection of which I am aware between its ordinary sense and the one in which I am using it. However, it was a drum. And there was the usual crowding, disagreeable or agreeable, as the case may be, the usual hum of voices, the usual nothings exchanged, the usual affected laughs and vapid smiles which seem conventional among those hacknied in such assemblages; whilst AUBREY. 11 the heart-beating excitement going on among the privileged few to whom such things were novelties, or to whom they afforded op portunity for interesting meetings — food for hope or for despair — all such excitements and emotions were happily concealed by the crowd, and almost as effectually as they would have been in a desert.

Of those who were still in the fresh enjoy ment of newness in the world and its ways of assembling, there was one sitting in the corner of a Uttle settee, listening with heart and soul to a conversation which was going on behind her. This intent listener was a young and very beautiful girl. I will not attempt to describe her in detail, I wiU only wish you to imagine a charming creature whose fine features, eyes of the deepest purple-blue, and hair a golden auburn, with figure tall and slender as that of a Grace upon au antique gem, only served to enhance the charm of an ardent, animated countenance full of sweetness and spirit. Added to which a certain unaffected negligence of attitude — a certain softness in the tones of her voice, rendered AUBREY. the Lady Emma, just presented, and enjoying her first season, the most attractive of human beings.

" To see her was to love her, and love, to love for ever." So felt many, however far from giving words to the thought. Enough, the Lady Emma was the rage of the season, and she was not spoiled by it. A rare perfection this, you must allow. For which perfection she was not indebted to any particularly careful training; to the inculcation of principles lofty and pure, which raise the soul into a region above the mere world and its temptations and delights. For, alas! the Lady Emma had never known such advantages. No, her immunity from the frivolity, the vanity, the selfish egotism, too often fostered in the bosom of the reigning beauty of the season, arose from the simplicity of her rearing, and a something of enthusiastic, warm-hearted, truthful feeling, implanted by the good hand of nature, which seemed to teach her, as if by instinct, the real value of the mere world's admiration and the AUBREY. 13 worthlessness of the pedestal upon which she stood.

Her heart — and she had a heart, a sincere, honest, loving, though, ah ! quite undisciplined heart — had as yet met with nothing in this new world upon which she had entered, to interest her. She had been unfortunate, perhaps, you may think, but amid the host of admirers that fluttered round her, not one had offered a heart true and unsophisticated as her own — not one, but led her instantly to suspect that it was her success, rather than herself, that was worshipped — that her very face and form, her sweet gaiety, and lively feelings, would have possessed little power to charm, had it not been for the noise she had made, the universal admiration she had excited, and her being, in short, to speak vulgarly, the belle of the season. There was one, however, that might have proved himself an exception to this rule ; but that one she did not even know, had never been introduced to.

And this one is now present at the assembly. ] AUB REY. A pale, thin, but delicately-formed man, of the middle stature he is, with a face of great beauty, singularly enhanced by a most re fined expression,— for, if ever the union of intellect and sensibility were written upon a countenance, it was upon this. This young man, plainly dressed, with a sort of unstudied yet gentlemanlike negligence that seemed well to become him, amidst the silken-lined sleeves, the fanciest waistcoats, the pearl and diamond studs of the young men around — stood leaning against a pil lar in a somewhat obscure corner of the room, his eyes fixed with a sort of passionate wonder and admiration upon the charming creature on the settee. And yet this was the first time he had ever beheld her. He rarely frequented assemblies like the present.

Some accidental reason of civility had led him, after an agreeable Club dinner with some of the cleverest men of his day, to look in at this drum ; and his eye had fallen upon the Lady Emma. He had gazed but a few moments on that sweet face, his ear had caught a few — very few — accents of that delightful voice, and he had become at once AUBREY. 15 the victim of one of those peculiar and un controllable passions for which it is impossible to account. Those of the antique world attributed such things to the sudden shaft of an all-powerful divinity, but the moderns are content to marvel, and to shudder in amazement at the inexplicable force of the sentiment ; acknowledging the fact that, strange as such things may appear, unques tionably such things are. The last thing that William Aubrey ever would have expected of himself was that he should fall thus suddenly and unreasonably in love.

Hitherto he had never, as he had thought, met with any woman sufficiently worthy of his esteem to excite the. passions. Who could love where they did not esteem — and esteem with good reason . Who, indeed ? And now he had fallen before a face and a voice — was fascinated, enraptured, lost, — before he had exchanged a syllable ! So irretrievably lost, indeed, that he did not even wonder at his own infatuation — did not even question himself as to its source ; far less AUBREY. inquire where was the indispensable esteem — where the qualities to justify such a passion. What did he know, what could he know — but that this sweet girl had the loveliest of forms and faces, and the most bewitching voice and manner in the world. For the present he was as one entranced ; he cared not even to approach her ; all he desired was to be allowed to enjoy his darkened corner, and stand there -watching her face.

It was a face well worth watching, it must be confessed, for varying expressions were for ever flitting over it, and the perfect truth of the countenance, the entire absence of all second thought, affectation, or self-occupation, rendered every expression in its turn interesting. But how far more than beautiful that face became, as she listened to a conversation which just then began close behind her — how it lightened up with fervour, with enthusiasm ! how the eye thrilled, and the colour rose ! She was only listening to two old men in naval uniforms, covered with decorations, that stood conversing behind her, and there- AUBREY. 17 fore the admiration of William Aubrey was not on that account distracted by jealousy. They were not very formidable rivals, these two grey-haired veterans, to whom she was giving such undivided attention.

These were some of the words she caught. " It is, take it altogether, the most brilliant action of the war — Such a youngster, too ! — not even a commander ! — But for coolness, judgment, heroic bravery, and that sort of enthusiastic ardour which electrifies your men — this young fellow is without a parallel — now, at least ;" — and a sigh was given to the memory of Nelson, as the speaker paused. " Young is he ? How old shoidd you say ?" " WeU, I said young — may be two or three and twenty — may be less — he's a handsome lad, but he has seen a good deal of service — Looks older than he is at times — when his brow is thoughtful, or his blood up — at others, he is the gayest, most careless, thoughtless being in the world." " I admired the conclusion of the story most of aU, Admiral," said a third gentleman dressed in plain clothes, who now joined in vol. I. c AUBREY. the conversation ; "the story ofthe dog — Was it not beautiful ?

" The old sea-worn veteran smiled. " I don't know," he said. " The skill dis played in the action was really astonishing — in such a lad, too. We seamen cannot help attaching the greatest value to that sort of thing. — Yet it was a pretty story, that of the dog—" And his wrinkled, weather-beaten face be trayed, by its expression, how deeply and how much he had felt it. "The dog!" said the other naval man; "you told me nothing about a dog. Eather a curious individual to figure in a naval history like this— What of the dog ?" " Oh ! tell the story again, Admiral, as you told it to me," said the gentleman in plain clothes. And the beautiful young creature, who had been listening long, but with her face directed the other way, now moved, and lifted up her eyes and fixed them upon the old Admiral.

The three gentlemen, however, were too much occupied in their conversation to notice her. This old Admiral had a particularly inte- AUBREY. 19 resting way of telling stories of the present description. There was so much simple feeling and sympathy for all that was generous and good in his heart. I despair of doing his little relation justice, but I will do my best, for it is a true story, and is attached to one of the most eminent men in our Navy. Thus the Admiral began — " When the Frenchmen, after a merciless hard fight, had surrendered, as I told you, to this little insignificant witch of a brig — it was found, when they came to examine the cap tured vessel, that she was so much injured in the battle as to render it impossible to take her in tow — and, even had this not been the case, these Frenchmen so outnumbered my young lad's squad, that to think of diminishing any of his own force, by putting them on board her, was out of the question.

So it was resolved, that — taking her crew into their boats, in order to put them on board the brig — they should afterwards make for the nearest port, and leave the beautiful French vessel to her fate. " Sink, there was every appearance that she would — but to make all sure, they added a few c2 AUBREY. scuttle-holes of their own to finish the business. " My youngster you may be sure was on board of the French vessel aU this time — seeing to everything, and, more especi ally to the security of his men and his prisoners, as the boats passed to and fro conveying the Frenchmen, and a few necessaries of theirs, to his own vessel — and in this he was assisted by the French Captain. A very gallant gentleman, who, though badly wounded, insisted upon remaining in the ves sel to the last — and was busy in helping and consoling his men — many of them half cut to pieces — and all heart-broken at their disaster.

" In the last boat that quitted the vessel — which seemed speedily about, as we say, to settle — this gentleman took his seat, followed by my young lieutenant — who sprung into the boat the very last man, ordering the sailors, as he did so, to push away for their life — as, indeed, it was high time they should. "But they had scarcely got a few yards from the vessel, before a cry, or rather a piteous howl, was heard from the deck — Upon which the French Captain started, turned AUBREY. 21 pale, and a cry of anguish, the first he had been heard to utter that whole day — burst, as it were, from his very heart, and the tears started into his eyes. " ' What is it ? what is the matter, sir ?' cried my young one anxiously — for you see, he had aU along been very much struck with the gaUant bearing and fortitude of the French man.

" ' Oh, nothing, nothing,' says the officer, shaking his head ; the tears in his eyes, and at last fairly rolling down his cheeks. ' No thing, nothing,' says he, 'not to be thought of,' — making, however, as if he would fain throw himself into the water — but his wounds, poor gentleman, wrere grown stiff, and he could scarcely move hand or foot. " ' Nothing ! nothing ! Pray tell me what can it be ? Can it be the dog?' following his eyes as they rested, upon a little animal that was now running up and down the deck — now looking over the bulwarks, and giving signals of the utmost distress. " ' It is an insigne faiblesse,' says the Frenchman; ' but it was her dog — my wife's dog ! — The dog she loved and gave to me as a AUBREY. last legacy, when she lay a-dying, poor crea ture, with her new-born baby dead beside her — She bade me treasure it, and love it for her sake . . .

And I forgot him ! — I coidd forget him!' And with that, fairly covering his face with his hands, he sobbed aloud like a child. " ' Stop,' cries my young fellow, ' Hold hard !' — And with that he springs over the gun wale of the boat — he swims like a fish — and he was ofi" like a shot, and by the ship's side, and up upon the deck — and the little dog in his arms — and he in the water again, before you could say Jack Eobinson. And sure enough, had but just time to reach the boat — which luckily lay too far off to be sucked in by the swell — when the French vessel gave a heave, and went down head foremost. " They blamed him," added the Admiral, after a pause of general silence; "they said he was mad to risk such a life as his for a Frenchman's little dog. — He answered he did not consider much about it at the time, ex cept to keep his men out of danger, and save the poor man's dog — " He did not know whether he was right or AUBREY 23 wrong — wrong, he supposed — but it was done ■so let no more be said about it."

Well, that young girl's face, at this last speech, lighted up with something so ex cessively beautiful, as her bright eyes were all glistening with tears, that you never beheld anything to surpass, and seldom anything even to equal it ; whilst William Aubrey's heart beat so strangely that he was almost ill, and obliged to turn to a window for fresh air. He did not hear one syllable of what had been said, nor did he want to hear. He was a man ofthe extremest physical sensi tiveness of nerve, and emotion of any kind shook him to quite a painful degree. He had always endeavoured to meet and vanquish this bodily weakness by the commanding power of his will — exercising himself in habits of fortitude and patience — accustoming himself to preserve the utmost calmness even upon occasions when people of far less real sensibility would have been overcome; but his present feelings were so altogether new, they had taken him so by surprise, that he was totally unprepared to deal with them — the insensibility of his heart AUBREY. until now — seemed to make the present senti ment only the more intense.

He went and stood at an open window in a farther drawing-room, to refresh and recover himself — from which window, however, he could still at times watch her as the crowd moved to and fro, and opened and closed again. And now a sort of general excitement and sensation might be observed to pervade the mixed multitude. AU eyes appeared to be directed one way, and that way was towards the large door which opened upon the staircase. Several gentlemen were coming up to gether. There had been a great dinner given at the United Service Club to celebrate the gallant action of a very young Captain and Commander — which our above-mentioned Lieutenant had become, young as were his years — for his action had been beyond praise, and moreover — Mark that, good reader — His father was a very, very rich man, and powerful, and well known, though not of any AUBREY. very high, merely of what is called a respectable family.

These gentlemen that were coming up had just left this great dinner, and they were all in very good spirits, for the dinner had gone off remarkably well, and so they entered — a cheering, pleasant company of agreeable faces, young and old. Some in uniforms, for it had been a levee day; some in plain clothes — all crowding together. In the midst there was seen a charming-looking young man, of slight figure, rather under the middle size, with light hair, blue eyes, fair com plexion, and one of those countenances which, once seen, are never to be forgotten. This pleasing-looking young man was Edward Aubrey — the hero of the old Admiral's tale — and the hero of the day — and the twin brother of William, who stands at the distant window. A fashionably-dressed, remarkably hand some young man — who looked much of the same age with Edward Aubrey, though he had already a certain air of man of the world, if I may so speak, which the other did not seem yet to have attained — followed close AUBREY. upon the rear of the young officer as he entered the room ; and no sooner was he fairly in, than he put his glass to his eye and began peering and looking about him.

Presently he put his hand through Edward's arm, and said, " I'm looking about for all the prettiest girls to make you acquainted with, Edward — but the beauty of beauties — the pearl beyond price, is my sister ; and where is she ?" looking round a little while, " Oh ! oh ! I spy — Come along; let me present you at once." And so saying he led the young Captain back to the settee where his sister, the Lady Emma, sat in all and more than her usual beauty, and her eyelashes still moist with the tears which had gushed up at the story ofthe dog. Oh, such a sweet glory of an April morn as was that face just then. How she started, and rose up, and held out her hand, drew it back again, colouring like a rose, and sat down looking a little ashamed; and how he, flattered and amazed at the sight of so' much beauty and so sweet an emotion, stammered, and bungled, and coloured too; and how, if Lord Algernon had not laughed AUBREY. 27 merrily and good-humouredly, and set them both at ease, they might have been troubled and uncomfortable all the evening, I need not enlarge upon.

But Lord Algernon's ready laugh and his ease soon made them both feel more comfortable, and the three began to talk pleasantly together. Edward with his hand leaning upon the arm of the settee, drawing himself a little back modestly; and Lord Algernon standing full front and chattering away with his sister — for he was a great talker ; and she lifting up her eyes first to her brother,and laughing a little, and then softly in a shy, sweet way glancing at the stranger, as he spoke in a lower voice, but in a still more natural and pleasant manner than his companion. She looking so surpassingly lovely all the time. But felicity such as this is not fated to last long in London parties, at least not for lions, and Mrs Lion-hunter is already at Ed ward Aubrey's side, and is saying in her most insinuating, flattering, and fascinating way: " Oh !

I must not let even dear, beautiful Lady Emma absorb you altogether — you AUBREY. know you are a species of public property this evening." And so she dragged him away to be intro duced to I don't know who, any -more than he cared who. The pale student had remained at the open window — feeling really unequal to encoun tering the heat of this excessively-crowded room again. He had stood there watching the sweet countenance of the Lady Emma with feelings of unmixed delight, the delight of the highest and fondest admiration, before jealousy, or distrust, future hopes or future despair, have all blurred over and confused the picture — he had watched her look of animated excitement, as she listened to the discourse of the two elderly gentlemen; and as he had not the most distant idea of the subject matter of the conversation, it was impossible, as I said, he should feel the slightest twinge of jealousy on account of those two hoary veterans — But now the little bustle at the door lead- AUBREY. ing to the staircase had excited his attention, and through the waving crowd he had seen his brother Edward entering the room, surrounded and ushered in, as it were, in a sort of triumph by a crowd of brother officers and friends.

A pang shot through him — yes, there was a pang ; he hated himself for it ; he always hated, he detested himself for such feelings; but it was an old sore; and these old sores of the heart are awful things. Awful temptations — deep gulphs of misery! A pang there was ; and the pale cheek grew paler, and the dark eye more clouded, as it rested upon the gay, brilliant, and apparently thoughtless young fellow thus ushered in. Brother, and more than brother ! — twin brother ! — alas ! alas ! that that which should have been as a double bond of love should, by the careless injustice of parents, have become only a source of deeper and bitterer jealousy ! William Aubrey at once passionately loved his brother; dreaded and envied; admired, yet censured, him. He acknowledged all his sweet engaging qualities; yet, in spite of Edward's innumerable fascinations, he felt, AUBREY. and believed himself to be the superior ; and his heart, from earliest childhood, had rankled with a sense of injustice towards himself.

These feelings, contrasted and strange as they were, seemed almost to have been born with him : he never could recollect the time when his heart had not, as it seemed, been poisoned with them, exasperated as they had been by the partiality of parents, who, heedless of the very first law of parental duty, had embittered the existence of one child by their undisguised partiality for the other — as they contrasted the warm, expansive character of Edward with that of the cold and shy reserve of a sensitive child — disliked for the very reserve and shyness which their distaste had contributed to create. The boy so pale, so delicate, so fretful, so dif ficult to manage or to rear, appeared in truth to poor advantage by the side of the vigorous, high-spirited, generous lad, who had a heart for everybody, — father, mother, kinsmen, friends, but above all for his brother.

Instead of, as twins most often do, resem bling each other in external feature and general disposition, in this case the very reverse had AUBREY. 31 happened. It would almost seem as if one infant had abstracted the vital essence from his brother. The one was far above the average in every physical perfection that can belong to a new-born child, the other seemed with difficulty even to breathe. The beautiful vigorous baby, who was, moreover, the first-born, was taken to the mother's bosom, and the delicate puny infant, whom no one cared for, was, by the advice of the medical man, placed in the hands of a wet-nurse. Perhaps the medical man was right, medically speaking, for the mother was a young woman, gay and fashionable, and not inclined to sacrifice the world to the nursery ; but the result proved unfortunate.

Unthinking, and wanting in all sound principle to guide her impulses, the mother yielded herself up to her partiality for the beautiful child, her own proper nurs ling, and spoke with indifference of the other, as a poor, little weeny thing that she was afraid she should never be brought to endure. She felt no compunction at this partiality. She had little idea of duty, and never thought of considering that the first duty of a parent AUBREY. is impartiality— most perseveringly to root out, and, if that be not altogether possible, sacredly to conceal any inclination to an undue preference of one child before another. Parental partiality ! Oh, that is the injustice which drives the chdd to despair ! aU other partialities, all other inequalities, all other preferences may be endured ; but this seems to penetrate into the sanctuary, to drive the young heart from its place of refuge — for in the security of the mother's love compensation is found for every other evil.

When this fails, the shipwreck is fearful — and who shall say how much that is precious in that shipwreck for ever goes down? People loved Edward for his beauty, his vigour, his spirit, his good humour, and were tempted almost to adore him for his affection for the less amiable brother; and, when that unhappy and embittered child would at times repulse any somewhat boisterous mark of affection, how shocked and disgusted they would feel! They pitied Edward at such times, and loved him all the more for their pity, for Edward had the tenderest of hearts ; and, young as he was, woidd be hurt AUBREY. 33 even to tears at times ; and great was the sympathy he then inspired. But no one guessed, for no one cared to guess, no one sympathised with the intenser sufferings of the other, and no one observed or understood the sensitive delicacy of a temperament so unlike that possessed by any of his family.