Helen Talbot: a novel

Chapter I

" Helen, Helen," repeated Reginald Talbot, " are you in the clouds, or where have you been sent by this favourite song of yours ? I have been speaking to you three or four times in vain; and now you start, as though some speU was breaking." " I beg your pardon ; what did you ask me?" said Helen, a slight blush passing ATOL. I. E over her face, as the consciousness of things around her quickly returned, and reminded her how very far her thoughts — nay, her whole being — had wandered from the room full of company : borne away by the voices of her two sisters, who were singing a Spanish song. " I wanted you to teU me, by the power of your black art," said her brother, " where that song had beguiled me to ?" whilst his laughing eyes seemed to say she was sure to be wrong this time in her conjec tures.

Helen paused a moment. " To one of the Fiords last July in the ' Water Witch,' " was her reply. " How do you know ? you were not even with us." A smile Avas on another face besides Helen's at this unguarded confession of his being again baffled in his efforts to puzzle her. Lord Montague was a sUent but interested observer of what was passing. He had been conversing with Miss Talbot for some time after the gentlemen had joined the ladies in the drawing-room, and was still standing near her when the hum of talking was hushed by the song already mentioned. He was, to aU appearance, listening to the music, but in truth, he was trying to read some of the varying expres sions of her beautiful face, till it settled into the softest, saddest melancholy. Lord Mon tague wondered where her thoughts had passed to, when, as we have seen, her brother, a joyous youth, came from the further part of the room to the ottoman where she sat, and placed himself beside b i her, too fuU of the playful desire to entrap her to see her face.

On her answering so truly, and therefore disappointingly, he turned quickly round to Lord Montague, saying " Is not my sister a provoking person ? I reaUy believe she does deal in the black art, for I can never succeed in getting a wrong answer from her. And I have no doubt she could teU what any one, even you, are thinking of." Could Helen have known what that was, she would not have looked up as she did, or said with so much ease : " No one but you, dear Reginald, accuses me so falsely. Were it not that I cannot give up the pleasure of seeing you so often perplexed by my guessing rightly at your thoughts, I could generaUy give you my clue to them. But I must go to Madeline, who is, I see, sending for me to help her and AUce." She went to the piano-forte, and played the accompaniment whUst her sisters sang.

The three sisters formed a pretty group. Helen was the eldest : her figure was very good, taU and well-proportioned, though slight ; she had large, dark-grey eyes, shad ing to black, and dark hair tinged with a golden hue. Madeline, the second, was a handsome girl ; her head was weU set on, her nose aquihne, her brow beautifully formed, her eyes large, dark-blue, which almost flashed at times as they enlarged and brightened when speaking of anything that very much interested and excited her, and her complexion briUiant, though deli' cate. Alice, who was the youngest, and was but merging into womanhood, was a bright well-born looking girl, in whose face hap piness and innocence beamed. She was very pretty, though at first less striking-looking than either of her sisters. They were weU-educated and accomplished; and each seemed dependant upon the other somewhat to form a perfect whole, having lived with and for each other in a more than common degree since their mother's death, which had taken place some years before the time we speak of.

Their father came towards them, as they were preparing to leave the piano, and asked them to sing some pieces he admired, telling them that Mr. Seymour and Lord Montague had consented to take the bass and tenor parts, for which they were often at a loss. " What beautiful music that is," said Reginald to an elderly lady, a very precise, stiff dame, who prided herself on know ing the fitness of things, and adaptations of aU kinds, who seemed only Avaiting for a fitting opportunity to say some thing. " WeU, I beheve it may be so ; but it is rather strange to hear a military man like your father asking for any music so unsuited to his profession ; I cannot fancy how he can hke it. If your sisters wiU do me the favour to play a duet now, I think it wUl do every one good after this sombre strain."

Accordingly, Reginald forwarded the request, and the duet was played. Soon after the elderly lady rose to take leave, and when by slow degrees the rooms were emptied of their occupants, Alice, with a long breath and a pressure of Madeline's hand, said : " I am so glad they are gone ; our evenings together wiU now be so few, that I quite grieve at the necessity of having any strangers." Mr. Seymour looked kindly at her, and said some kind things, of the pleasure it would be to him when she would come to spend many evenings with Madeline in his home. She thanked him, but although she liked him greatly, and expected to love him as a brother, the last few days before her sister's marriage was not the time when she could best think of or appreciate any such pleasures. She could not bear to lose Madehne in any way — this he kneAV.

His steadfast, earnest look she returned ; and after a short silence, they felt they understood one another even now. " Have you seen your pictures yet ?" he asked. "No," replied Alice, "but Giovanni has promised to show them to us to-morrow when we go to see his mother. We wish you to come with us, as you wUl be a better judge as to the likenesses. Poor Madame Alfanni has been very Ul, and we thought she would have arranged to return to Florence Avith Giovanni, but she does not wish to do so. Perhaps she wUl consent to come with us to the country, as soon as you and Madehne leave us." " I shaU be very glad to accompany you to-morrow. What time do you propose to go?" " At two o'clock. We hope Reginald and Lord Montague wUl have returned by that time from their ride, as we are anxious they should be of our party.

They have business of papa's to do at some distance, however, and if they do not start very early, they wiU not have finished it so soon." The clock struck twelve, and Reginald exclaimed : "Montague, I think you are forgetting how early we are to start to-morrow morning. I think I may go home without you." "I am ready now, Talbot," returned Lord Montague, and bidding good-night, they departed to their lodgings. Lord Montague was aide-de-camp to Sir Reginald. He and young Reginald lived together for the present.

Chapter II

Sir Reginald Talbot was a General in the army. He had married the Lady Mary Fitzgerald, in whom he had found aU that youth, beauty and exceUence could combine, and to whom he was ardently attached. She, however, after many years of delicate health, in spite of every care that tenderness and medicine could suggest, sank a victim to consumption, when her daughters were nearly grown up. She Avas partly Irish, her father having been one of an old famUy in that country, but her mother was an Italian. They chiefly resided at Florence, where Lady Mary was born ; but they brought her to England for several years for the sake of education. Her summers were, however, often passed in SAvitzerland, or the Tyrol, which had stored her mind with beautiful images. Here she used to sit whole days sketching, AvhUe Madame Alfanni, then her governess, read out to her, or wandered about on the mountains, drinking in nature's beauties.

She, however, always returned to Florence Avith pleasure; it had many attractions for her; in after life it was a delight to her to take her chUdren there, whenever her husband could obtain sufficiently long leave of absence. It was at Florence she had become acquainted with, and married Sir Reginald, and notwithstanding her happiness with him in whatever part of the world their lot was cast, she always retained the same love for her native place and the weU-known mountains. Partly from having always heard their mother speak of these with an enthusiastic delight, partly from inheriting her ardent love for the beautiful, and partly from having been so often taken to these places, they had learned to love them as much as their mother did. In her last Ulness Lady Mary used often to lie Avith her eyes closed, hVing over again the scenes of her youthful pleasures, and the recoUection of a beautiful flood of sun light as it bathed the snow-clad mountains with indescribable loveliness, or the taU pine standing in majestic grandeur, spreading its dark waving branches in the almost solemn silence that surrounded it, as it cast its long shadow down the deep, narrow pass, would cause a smile of pleasure to kindle up her pale, languid face — a smUe that would come and then gently fade away, as the lights and shadows sweep across a mountain's brow.

At Florence she died, leaving her daughters and son in charge of Madame Alfanni, who now undertook to supply, as far as might be, the care which at their age they so much needed. As we have seen, she had been in early life governess to Lady Mary, shortly before whose marriage she had married a painter in Rome. She had a son and daughter, but in a few years lost her husband. Her son foUowed, as he became old enough, his father's art, with good promise of success. Her love for Lady Mary was great, and never had she heard of her being in Italy Avithout seeing her. She had now attended her through her last Ulness, and relieved hers and Sir Reginald's minds by consenting to go to England with him and his mother less chUdren. Her daughter, it was agreed, should accompany her to that country, and some arrangement be made as to her education, &c, which might be suitable.

As soon then as Sir Reginald had deposited the remains of his beloving wife in their last resting-place, he turned his steps home wards. In a short time they reached London, but this little suited any of them now, and he yielded to the wishes of his daughters, and took a house in Hampshire, near to Avhere some of his oldest friends lived. They passed several months there before he returned to active hfe, during which he watched the quiet, yet never-faUing endea vours of Helen to prevent her brother and sisters more than necessarUy Avanting a mother's care. Madeline and she were one in every thought and feehng, I might say, as weU as in tastes and occupations. They had learnt together, read together, been to every place together, and had to gether helped to nurse their mother during her failing health.

Not far from their present abode resided Mrs. Seymour, a widow lady and her daughters. Mrs. Seymour had been an early friend of Lady Mary Talbot's, and her. husband a feUow-officer of Sir Reginald's ; and naturaUy now a friendship sprung up between the young people in short time. d VOL. I. C Mr. Seymour, her son, was going abroad ; i and to Reginald Talbot's great satisfaction, his father proposed that he should accompany him, knowing how advantageous such a companion would be to him before he began hfe for himself, and got his com mission. They were away for three years. Sir Reginald, since the first feAv months after his return to England, was much occupied with his professional duties, and consequently a great deal away from his now saddened home ; but on each return to it, he was more and more charmed with the improvement in his daughters as they grew up.

Their appearance we have de scribed. The joyous spirits of Alice were irresistible, they gladdened everything around her; and in Helen and Madeline he found most pleasant and cultivated com panions. One evening after dinner, he told them that he had accepted the same district in Ireland that they might remember he had had many years ago, and that he wished them to prepare at once to foUow him there with Madame. He had tried in vain to get the same house they had lived in before, but that he had secured instead a place which he felt sure they would like as weU. It was amongst the same mountains, with a beautiful view of the sea, and was weU wooded. It joined a beautiful park, which now being untenanted, they would be able to spend as much time as they pleased in, and a very pretty church, which had been restored not many years ago, close to them, yet close to the park. c Sir Reginald had been to this place the week before, and had taken pains to ascer tain as many particulars as he could of a pleasing kind, as he feared that a proposal to visit Ireland would not be exactly the most welcome to his daughters or Madame Alfanni under other circumstances.

They were, however, delighted ; Helen and Madeline especiaUy, for the thoughts of living again near mountains Avas a real pleasure. They had a pining to see them, and to wander over them once again ; and the free boundless horizon of the sea also was what they often wished for The only drawback was leaving the neighbourhood of Mrs. Seymour; but as she promised to join them generaUy when they went to London, all seemed happUy arranged. HELEN TALBOT. There were many things about their new residence which gave fresh and new occupation to the Miss Talbots, They became interested ere long in the schools, and their garden ; and after a short time they only feared becoming too much attached to it. Helen was asked by the clergyman of the parish to act as organist in their church, as the person who had hitherto acted as such had lately removed.

This she consented to do. The possession of the key of the organ was a source of pleasure to more than to herself, for the sisters used many and many a time to persuade Madame to accompany them there in the evenings, and they used to play till the light failed. At length Reginald was to return to his father, and Mr. Seymour was invited to come with him, bringing one of his sisters. HELEN TALBOT. There was but little society in the neighbourhood, but the party as it was now com posed, with the addition occasionaUy of some of the officers and their wives, were sufficiently independent of aU others to make them almost forget that the time was hastening when they must go to town. Not, however, before Mr. Seymour and Madehne had found that they were mutuaUy necessary to one another, Sir Reginald's consent was asked for and obtained.

Helen was happy at her sister's prospects ; and loving her so well, she was generaUy able to forget herself, and the great loss Madehne would be to her, in the consciousness that she had found one who would be a companion and guide to her through life. She remembered aU they two had been to one another, and then felt her sister would have all that and unspeakably more in her husband. She was satisfied that Mr. Sey mour was not only worthy of her, but weU suited to her, as well from her own know ledge of him, and from her father's, as from the dependance she had in Madeline's choice. During their residence for some years in Hampshire, they had had ample opportunities of becoming acquainted with him in eArery way ; and feeling that every member of his famUy were fond of Madeline, and people Avhom she liked, Helen determined to let no doubt or symptom of regret show itself in her, lest she should in any way damp her, Madeline's, happiness.

She knew that however blind other people often are under similar circumstances to what is passing around them, it was not so with Madeline ; and her affection for her was so true, so deep, that it would be selfishness on her part to aUow Madeline to suspect how bitter a trial it was to part with her. Often whilst talking together a pang of separation passed through Helen's mind, as she found that her place was gone, for the present at least, with her sister ; not gone, but rather a stronger feeling had grown up, and at once guarded, yet shaded former affections. This was mingled pleasure and pain — pain for the reasons we have given, and pleasure because almost a mother's love and tenderness had grown in Helen's heart towards her sisters since their mother's death. To Madame alone did Helen ever allow a sentence to escape of aU she was now feeling; to her, she knew she could turn for sympathy and forbearance, as Madame loved them aU equaUy.

Her father she more especiaUy tried to cheer, and to present before him the bright side of everything, for aU was too little to make up for her for whom he stUl grieved. Reginald was a great boon to them now, or his spirits were unfaUing. He Uked Mr. Seymour, and was quite ready to take his sister Madeline's view of the case. He was fuU, too, of the prospect of his com mission, which he was expecting every day. Lord Montague was his constant companion, now that Mr. Seymour was otherwise en gaged ; and it was weU for him that he had so wise and right-minded a person to be with, for he was a generous, open hearted youth, the favourite of every one, yet easUy led ; and now that he was to be thrown on his own resources, a manly, honest word of advice, spoken in due season, was not lost on Reginald.

Lord Montague was weU fitted, by good feeling and good sense, to keep him straight in this way. He was a cultivated person, with most gentlemanlike address and manners, though not a little reserved. He was handsome and refined-looking, resembling his mother in nothing but personal appearance. She was a beautiful woman of an old aristo cratic family in England, whose pride was noted ; but fortunately this she did not transmit to her children.

Chapter III

As Avas often the case, Reginald and Lord Montague were returning after a day's fishing across the park, when they came suddenly to an old ash-tree which stood on a mound, from which there was a view of the sea, bounded on either side by the cliff, which seemed to have been rent in former ages by some convulsion of nature. The coast in this part was sheltered by the shape of the land, and immediately from the strand rose sand-banks, which on the other hand sheltered vegetation from the blast of the sea, so that trees grew and flourished down to the margin of the sand as weU, as if they were many miles further inland. The cliff we spoke of, however, was not immediately over the sea, and three Scotch fir-trees grew on the declivity, the ground rising still from the place on which they stood.

A fishing-boat was gliding by on the bright blue sea, with its red-brown sail half unfurled, and a number of hares were to be seen almost fearlessly feeding or sitting, enjoying themselves amongst the ferns in the park. Our fishermen stood for a moment to watch them, when they heard some voices at a little distance, and looking round they espied Emily Seymour and Helen busily discussing some apparently interesting subject, whilst Alice was making a water-colour painting of the scene we have described. They were sitting on the grass under the shade of the old tree, and Helen had laid her bonnet beside her, and thrown her veU in Italian fashion over her head. " What are you debating about here, Helen ?" asked Reginald. EmUy started, for as her head was turned in another direction, she had not seen the approach of the gentlemen.

Helen smiled, and said : " You must take care, Reginald, not to alarm Miss Seymour by coming thus sud denly upon her, or I fear aU my reasoning wUl have little effect upon her. She fancied you were one of the dreaded Irishmen, I think, to judge by the start she gave as you spoke ; notwithstanding her having just assured me that her former fears about Ireland had very much vanished, since she allowed her desire to see us here to overcome her prejudices." " I beg Miss Seymour's pardon most humbly," said Reginald, addressing her ; " but I fancied that she had never enter tained any terror of this country, though I knew her sisters and Mrs. Seymour looked upon us as very wonderful people for coming to live here even for a time. If Helen has not done so already, allow me to set your mind at ease by reminding you that, supposing the rest of the country to be unsafe for English people to go to (which I do not admit in the least), this is quite different, as the disposition of the inhabitants is most peaceable, and their origin is Saxon.

Whether they are the better for this or not, I leave you to decide. MeanwhUe, perhaps it is as weU that Helen has warned me not to alarm you, as you may feel suspicious of me on the grounds of my grandfather's having been a genuine Irishman of old extraction." EmUy looked at him quietly, saying : " I never remembered that !" which made Helen and her brother laugh ; for it sounded so much as though she recognised in this discovery a ground for her fears, though they knew it Avas only a clearing away of her misgivings. " I declare, Helen, you remind me of Italy, sitting here as you used to do without a bonnet, in this warm, sunny nook. I don't know how it happens that I never came on this spot before !" Emily Seymour and Lord Montague had continued the topic of Ireland for some minutes, and at last she said : "I am beginning to think Miss Talbot is right in her ideas as to the benefit of being early accustomed to look upon and admire the beauties of nature, especiaUy mountains."

" Oh, was that what you were talking about ?" said Reginald. " Did you not agree with her? It is to be hoped, for your own sake, that you did, unless you had previously made up your mind to listen to some of her wondrous theories." " At first I certainly did not agree with her, but she wiU make me a convert to her views in spite of myself; and if so, I must ever regret that until now my life has been spent in England, and learn to imagine that there are pleasures which I can never enjoy in the intensity I might have done, had I been in this same Ireland." " Hear, hear !" cried Reginald. " I did not know," said Helen, " that I had made any such progress with you ; but pray do not say that I make you regret any thing. Your enjoyment, though differing from mine in kind, may be quite as real and as great."

" If you are not tired of your subject, may I ask what these pleasures are to which Miss Seymour alludes?" said Lord Montague. " We were trying to find out whether a person Avho has been brought up from chUdhood in the midst of beautiful scenery has greater and deeper enjoyment of it, or one who sees it for the first time, Avhen they have come to mature years, and their minds VOL. I. D with the full power of comprehension and appreciation. Miss Seymour takes the latter view, and I the former," said Helen. " It seems to me that there is a part of one's being that grows and is strengthened by the constant contemplation of the beautiful. And AA'hat is so beautiful, so grand in nature as mountains ? They chime in and harmonize with every feeling of one's mind ; they seem to think Avith one, and at the same time to draw one out of oneself.

One leaves them for a time, and on one's return they seem to look at one as though they had been keeping watch, untiring watch, for one the Avhile ; and as one gazes on them, or wends one's Avay over them, every scene in one's life that has passed near them, within sight of -them, is recaUed as though it was a thing sacred to them and oneself alone. What new acquaintance with them can he the same deep enjoyment as this? though I admit that the first time of having such things presented in the way Miss Seymour describes, may have a greater effect upon some minds. I cannot think, however, that the result can ever be the same. " Are aU mountains the same to you ?" asked Lord Montague. " No," said Helen. " Home mountains are to me what I tell you, and more than I can teU you ; but snow mountains are somewhat different.

They are like home to me too, but they seem too much things belonging to another world, to be quite the same. They are more a link between the spirits of another world, and what is best and d most unmixed with the petty trifles of this. Things bright and beautiful, and free from care, are what these would recal." She stopped suddenly, blushing as she recoUected that perhaps she may have been carried away too far. " I do not think that every one could enjoy them as much as you do," said Emily, " even if one had been in your place always, Helen—" " Perhaps not ; but I should be sorry to believe that a chUd could not admire beauty — that it should seem to it something foreign and strange." " Then I suppose," said Lord Montague, " that you and my sister, Ellen Douglas, Avould agree in your theory of beauty.

She maintains that there is a something within each of us which may be cultivated and cherished, or extinguished, that tells us when a thing is beautiful. That it is neither comparison of fitness, or smoothness, or any of those properties that one reads of in theories of beauty, that enables one to know when a thing is beautiful, but that we bring into the world with us an idea of the beautiful. That this is a remnant of our unfaUen nature, and that as our minds become more and more raised and cultivated in connection with what is high and beau tiful, the more we shaU retain that ideal in its original purity." Helen smUed, and her large, expressive eyes told more than her words, that this was indeed what she had always thought. At this moment, Alice, who was at some little distance painting, struck up one of Moore's Irish Melodies, which made our party look round, and then they perceived that she was only filling in a second to a voice that was winding along the wood towards them.

This was Madeline, who had gone to walk Avith Mr. Seymour. " What a melancholy air that is," said Emily, as she approached. " I should have little suspected you of being inclined to sing so sad a tune just now." " Do you not think it pretty, however ?" asked Madeline. " Prettier than I ever thought it before," replied she. " I hope you are not going to stop singing ; it would be so pleasant if you would all join. We have here, if the gentle men wUl agree, voices enough to sing anything." They sang " Oh ! breathe not his name," and one or two others. It was now growing late, and Alice reminded them that they ought to be turn ing homewards, or they should not have time to go to the church as usual before dinner. Helen had promised to play for her sisters there, not thinking she was to have other audience ; as it was, there were some amongst the party who long remembered the sound of that music as it filled the church, now swelling, now fading, as on the distance.

It was some of Mozart's services, as sung at Rome, that she was playing. And then after a pause, when they all thought she had risen from her seat, she softly began the Hymn for AU Saints' Day, that is sung at Canterbury, and her voice sounded like the distant echo of some spirit catching it up as it rose from earth. Then she began to play it again, when the others took their different parts — aU but Lord Montague, that is, for it was new to him. They were hastening home, when Reginald stopped Helen, giving her a letter, Avhich he drew out of his pocket. He had been, he said, going to look for her, to show it to her, when he came upon them in the park, and then it went out of his mind. It Avas his commission in the regiment, Avhich was now quartered at the nearest barracks, but which was to go soon to India.