The Secret Marriage; or, Contrasts in Life

Chapter I

" Hasten to the goal of fame, between the posts of duty, And win a blessing from the world, that men may love thy name." Tuppeb. What's in a name? said our great English dramatist. What's in a name ? says the an tiquated beauty of high degree, who bestows the hand which has been fairer upon the twig of a cotton branch. But after all, a Jopp, a Bugg, a Craig, may be as rich, drive as fine horses and as luxurious carriages, as the representatives of VOL. I. B THE SECRET the ancient aristocracy, who, dying in the cause of royalty, had only a name to bequeath to their descendants. Still, there is something gratifying to our great enemy, pride, when in the chancel of the vdlage church we behold the monuments covered with the dust of ages, on which are engraved the imperishable names of a Percy, a Howard, a Russell, a Walpole.

Our hearts would be indeed cold, even as the marble we gaze upon, if the recollection of their virtues and their gallant deeds did not inspire us with some degree of enthusiasm. But after all, what's in a name ? The cot ton lord, in the midst of his workmen, who are guiding and controlling the movements of a hundred looms, may, in as high a degree, though in a different cause, exercise the ennobling and immortalising virtues distinguishing the owner of the antique towers which now rise high above the smoke or steam of manufacture. Still, there must be somewhat in a name. We do not read of the Higginses or the Muggses, the Wiggetts or the Pottses, as MARRIAGE. the chosen heroes or heroines of romance; though, were they as such familiar to the ear, aU might be as " harmony not understood." It may also be asked, "What is in place?"

To some, the home of their youth is but as the last year's nest to the full-fledged song ster of the spring — to others, it is as the adamant which, the fable relates, drew every piece of iron out of the timbers of the ap proaching vessel. Some cling to locality with instinctive fondness, whde others find homes on every shore, and are bound to them but by a rope of sand. Every advantage is at least somewhat counterbalanced; every hght has its shadow. Those who own the greater number of ties are, by each separate one, the less strongly bound, — others are encircled by one strong cord alone. When they break that, it is at once, and for ever ! Travellers, or those who make their homes in foreign lands, endeavour to represent, by pen or pencfl, to thefr absent friends, the scenes amongst which their fives are passed.

We visit with interest, and narrowly inspect, THE SECRET the ruins of the old house in which virtue, genius, or bravery drew its first or latest breath. For those who cling to persons have generally a fondness for place also, and have even the power of drawing ideal scenes on which the beings of fancy, romance, or memory five and move; whde, to the imaginative mind, the same invisible pictures are produced and re-produced, as a tale is re read or hstened to again. Let the memory of those who have bene fited their country or mankind at large — who have shed lustre upon an obscure name — be honoured as it deserves. Let no meretricious ornament of birth or fortune oppose a tinsel surface to the solid gold of virtue, and of true nobleness of heart. At the same time, we shad vainly endeavour to withhold the tribute of admiration when the brightness of ancestral renown falls upon the heads of those who are both honoured among their equals and blessed by their in feriors, and from whose example all ranks may equally gain lessons worthy to be learnt by men and Christians.

It is then that the MARRIAGE. reverence attached to name is reflected upon the stately woods, the wide plains, the grey towers of the heir of many generations. Then the poor rejoice in the prosperity of the great, and the peasant enjoys, beneath the oak's broad shadow, the essence of those privileges which nominally belong to wealth and sta tion alone. It was from similar associations that Ashton Park, situated in a beautiful part of Devon shire, bordering on the sea, had, for more than a century, obtained amongst the sight-seeing world a celebrity which its over-natural and artificial beauties contributed to maintain. Its collection of statues and pictures de cidedly above mediocrity; its large halls and oak staircases, emblazoned with the arms of the time-honoured Lisle famdy; its gardens and its glades ; its ivy-covered rocks and waving woods, were, during the long days of summer, the favourite resort of many a pleasure-seeking, beauty-loving party.

For Sir Harry and Lady Lisle were esteemed and reverenced; and many, while gratifying curiosity and enjoying a leisure hour, paid likewise a respectful tribute to the memory of the great and good departed ancestry, whose shades seemed stdl to hover over the home of their descendants. The walls of Ashton Park are hung with portraits of the Lisle family. In their court dresses of many a century back, they appear to turn their silent gaze upon each visitor, as the door noiselessly closes behind him. There are the knights in their velvet coats, broad-flapped pockets, and full white ruffles. The ladies — some fair, some frowning — who condescended to share their fortunes, with their long, tightly-fitted satins, their white taper fingers, and small pointed shoes; these have all gazed on the lovely woods, and the blue distant hills, which surround Ashton Park.

They have all trod its old floors ; their voices have echoed through its long galleries and winding staircases; its terraced gardens have offered sweet flowers at the shrine of beauty and bravery ; and on the broad ocean beyond, many a Lisle has been borne to distant lands. But those who were once replete MARRIAGE. with life, who were now animated with its hopes, and now weighed down with the con sciousness of its vanities and its cares, are all returned to their parent dust. Diverse as were their earthly destinies, in death one epitaph suits all alike — " I have been, and I am not." There was one picture at the end of the long dining-room, opening from the domed and pillared hall, which riveted the attention of most observers. It was that of a lady in the bloom of womanhood. She was a Lisle, and had been remarkable for her beauty.

The soft, light hair grew in points upon the forehead, and was partially turned back to reveal the fair and lovely brow. The attitude was one of attention, as the head, round which some pearls were entwined, and from which hung a white veil, rested on the per fect model of a female hand. The rest ol the features were alike faultless ; and the clear, soft blue eyes, during the hours that fled away on the swift wings of music and revelry, semed to gaze somewhat mournfully, though kindly, on the living, moving, and brdhant crowd beneath them. The tale of her hfe was a melancholy one. Beauty did not shield her from sorrow. She loved, and was deserted, and, as a recluse, had passed a long and silent hfe. With a strong, though no uncommon feel ing of veneration, did Sir Harry Lisle, the possessor of Ashton Park, look upon its ancient walls and venerable woods.

From father to son, for many generations, had the name unsullied, the estates undiminished, descended to their present owner. Sir Harry was an only son. The idol of his parents, they would willingly have sought for him a wife among the magnates of the land. But Harry Lisle was discerning and firm, constant, gentle, and brave. In early hfe, Clara Wilmot, an orphan, the sister of one of his dearest school and coUege friends, had charmed his fancy and riveted his affections. Perseverance gained its reward. His parents consented to receive at Ashton the gentle and beautiful Clara Wdmot, who so wound herself round their hearts that, on the day which, with their consent, was to MARRIAGE. 9 unite her to their son, they blessed her with real affection. The swift years passed by, laying the aged baronet and his faithful partner in the family vault, and giving the young Sir Harry and his beautiful Clara possession of Ashton Park.

Whde they mourned the loss of the kindest of parents, they were too happy in each other to sorrow as those without hope. Their tempers and tastes suited ; they had riches, health, and a good name ; the poor blessed them, the great courted them; none envied them, for it seemed that they but possessed advantages to share them with others. They kept on the even tenour of their way, and no dark thread seemed woven into their web of hfe. Sfr Harry had his hunters, Lady Lisle her nursery. Sir Harry was a magis trate, and did his duty to his country and his fellow-creatures with impartiality and kindness. Lady Lisle had her schools and her clubs. Whig or Tory, liberal or conservative, simple or learned, ahke found a seat at their hospitable table; they had room and benevolence enough for all. Prosperity is certainly a sweet soother of our nature, and a happy medium through which to look upon our fellow-creatures, and when met by a naturally cheerful and even temper, as was the case with Sir Harry and his wife, earth, under its influence, would appear almost the realization of perfect bliss.

Clara Lisle had known adversity, and she en deavoured to guard herself from the alluring and dangerous influence of prosperity; but, with every wish gratified and every hope realized, she felt the task was a difficult one. People said they were too happy, too light hearted, it could not last ; it was all light ; it would be better for them if they had a few crosses to bear now and then. " Ay, let 'em alone, poor things," said old dame Parkins to her friend and gossip, Mary Bennett, when on Sunday afternoons they used to trudge home together to the alms houses Sfr Harry's kind heart had built and endowed; "let'em alone; I've lived under the Lisle family there's many and many a long year, and so did my good man, who lies MARRIAGE. there hard by yon yew tree. Mary, I've shown you his pleasant resting-place many's the time, han't I, and there never was a Lisle yet that didn't come to some trouble, lived he only long enough, bless 'em all! but let 'em alone for a bit, though I dunna want to be speak evil for 'em; but they're young yet: let ten years more pass over 'em — we'll see.

Nay, nay, Mary; may be we shanna see it, but them as come after us will see it. Now they wunna look so blithesome in thefr large square pew as they did this arternoon, with the bright colour in their cheeks, and the smiles on their brows." "Ay, bless 'em right and left!" replied Mrs. Mary Bennett, who was no way disposed to contradict her friend's experience ; " they bring light like the broad sunbeam wherever they go. I guess no lawyer ever seed the inside of Sir Harry's halls ; no, nor his father's neither, only when he's axed to dine. They never htigate with poor folk about their mills and their lands; and as to Mr. Dosum, th' apothecary, I warrants he drinks more out of my master's cellars in one day than they takes out of his 'spensary in a round twelve month. Bless em!" " 'Tis what I was a thinking of, Mody," said Mrs. Parkins.

" Here, will ye help me ower this stde ? My stick's no so good as a friendly arm; and now come along with me, and tak' your cup of tea, neighbour; I'm 'specting the clerk's wife, and old Shovel the sexton, and we'd drink Miss Alice's health at the Park yonder, the sweet babe ! four yearn old this blessed day. There's a rale Lisle for ye, with her blue laughing eyes and her flaxen lockies." " Thank'ee kindly, neighbour; one good turn deserves t'other, the folks say, so you maun all on you keep the merry Christmas in my tidy little parlour — the mores the merrier — over the beef and plum-pudding when they come." MARRIAGE.

Chapter II

" The discovery of truth by slow progressive medi tation is wisdom." Lavater. " Real life ! a tale of real life ! I call that a stupid title ! I'm sure it must be a stupid book ! No, no ; this will not do to restore my good humour ! I don't want to know what everyday scenes of life are, as if we did not all see enough of them, each in his own private home." So saying, the half-smding, half-pouting Annie Mowbray put down the book, whose leaves she had been carelessly reviewing, and vigorously applied the india-rubber to the half finished portrait that lay before her. " Clara, I was going to say quiet home > but second words are best sometimes, for I fancy the epithet quiet does not always suit every one's home ; certainly not mine. But tell me, should you really care if Mr. Mason gave .£500 or £5000 for the hideous red brick house opposite the vicarage, enclosed in its stiff yew hedges; whether Lady An drews orders dinner herself, or inspects the carte du maitre d'hotel, or whether Lavinia Lawless accepts that little wretched dandy of a man who used to amuse you and me last year at Spa, by handing her one, two, three, four (I believe he proposed to her at the last glass) — yes, five — glasses of mineral water.

I could not fancy making love in a pump room ! " Clara Lisle joined in the hearty laugh with which her friend finished the description of her Spa reminiscences, and, without waiting for a reply, Annie continued — " But I must make this picture rather more like you, my dear beautiful Clara, or Sir Harry will not reward me by the statuette of Apollo, which he promised to bring me MARRIAGE. from Venice. I wonder when it wid come, — eh, Clara ?" A glance, which told of expectation, hope, anxiety, spoke from the eyes which were raised in answer to this appeal, more than words could have done, as Clara Lisle rose to take a look at her friend's drawing. " I believe your great virtue, or perhaps foible, for they are nearly allied, is credulity, Annie. I really think you could be inter ested in the most romantic improbability which came within the range of possibility.

Merely the shadow of truth passing over an incident would colour it sufficiently for your belief." " Quite right ! What is the use of being an author, if people know all you are going to say before you write ? Of course, virtue, suffering, morality, and kindness, are all right, proper, necessary ! They understand these things ; and in general, when they pro fess to write only a novel, they do not in terfere with the moralizing world. I do like to be startled, interested, excited, when I profess to amuse myself." " Very naturally, with your quick fancy and impetuous feelings ; but do not let your imagination run away with your pencd whde you are drawing my portrait, — you have flat tered me a little too much." "Never fear; that is impossible! You know I think you perfect; mind, manner, features, figure — you are my beau ideal of a happy young married woman ; in short," replied Annie, with a quick, merry laugh, " you have nothing to wish for."

" That does not prove that I am happy, though, certainly." " I am not logically inclined this beautiful morning, dear Clara, so let us talk without reasoning. You work; I draw; and as to ' Real Life,' it may return to the library with my full permission. Poor authors ! How I pity them. What annoyances they subject themselves to ! Their pet passages are always pulled into shreds, — their sprighthness often voted flippancy; the ludicrous, vulgar; the pathetic, overstrained — sentimental ! Oppro brious terms ! Whde the fastidious public de clare they will throw the book into the fire, if MARRIAGE. 17 the heroine turn out unhappdy, and that the conclusion of a marriage is so very common place. I see no alternative ! no redress ! " continued Annie, laughing. " How fond you are of extremes ! Light and shade alone, you know, will not compose a picture.

You must have many intermediate tints, to perfect the whole. Change — pro gress — is what we expect and look for in life. Besides, do you not remember the fable of the man and his ass, and the story of ApeUes, the painter ? The author of ' Real Life,' you may be certain, did not expect to please every one ; and if he has kept the topics of homœo pathy, hydropathy, mesmerism, spirit-rap ping, &c, in due subjection, some among the public will be kind enough to be perhaps quietly interested, amused, even benefited by this ' Real Life.' " " Very true — quite incontrovertible ; but still, dear Clara, I will keep to my own poor little opinion. Its title alone tells me it is not a book intended for the perusal of those who have youth and light hearts to recom mend them; so I shall leave it for such con- VOL. I. C tented, quiet, industrious, married people as you and Sir Harry Lisle.

You are so pro vokingly staid and sensible. Now don't you wish Sir Harry were here to take your part?" " Do you really expect me to answer such a question ? " replied her friend, while a bright colour rose in her cheek, and her heart leaped for joy at the idea Annie's words suggested. " He may be here to-day — this veiy evening ! though it is cruel of you to try and disturb my resolution not to picture to myself the moment of his arrival untd I know he is near me in this very house." " No, you are not apathetic, I know ; though, but for that pretty blush, which you could not suppress, some would not have given you credit for the feelings you are try ing to hide in your child's pelisse ! It is so very natural — no, very allowable, I suppose, is a better word — to be fond of one's husband. Is it not?"

" You are a little tormentor, — you have no pity ;" yet a smde she could not suppress ac companied these words, which Clara felt was MARRIAGE. 19 a permission for further investigation of feel ing by which Annie would undoubtedly profit. Nor was she mistaken. Clara was not spared the analysis of her hopes, fears, or longings ; but suddenly Annie's mood seemed changed as with affectionate earnestness she ex claimed — " I do hope all you wish for will be granted, my dearest Clara ! Now, if we had but a little influence over one of Aladdin's wonderful slaves, we might learn how far Sir Harry is from us at this moment. Do you know I am half ashamed of owning to you, who have, I feel, so little sympathy with my foibles, that the dear old Arabian Nights are still high in my favour. To be sure, the princesses are always beautiful, the princes always young and rich, the uncles invariably cruel and jealous, the sultans passionate and despotic — perhaps there is a little sameness now and then ; but then that is like { Real Life ; ' whde there is such a charming variety of dervishes, genii, and sweeps, that ..... ■ " "That you would like to live in an enchanted world, and bid adieu to everything like the prose of life, and touch each object with your magic wand?

I perfectly under stand your meaning. But, Annie," and now Clara's gentle voice spoke from and to the heart, " you are but a young, foolish, happy girl, and know not ' Real Life,' otherwise you would hot so impetuously disclaim all affinity with its cares and responsibilities, its positive and negative enjoyments." " Oh ! if you are serious," and Annie's voice assumed a mock solemnity, " Imust explain my meaning. I am only speaking of the events of everyday life as* not being suited to form an interesting book for an idle moment. Decidedly the most romantic possibdities are most suited to the richness of my fancy — scenes of knight-errantry which carry one far away into the glorious times of chivalry — that redeeming light in the annals of the dark middle ages. But novels winch profess to cany out some moral idea — for instance, the virtue of endurance, its pains, penalties, and rewards — read too hke a sermon for me !

" " But, with most readers, passages which MARRIAGE. sympathize with general feeling, touching cords whose vibrations extend far around, excite the deeper interest." " But, Clara ! " " A little patience, dear Annie ; remember it is a cardinal virtue, and one which you do not exercise very often, you must allow ; but I am not going to moralize, even if you give me permission." " I am delighted to hear it. You have a bad habit of looking too much upon the rational side of everything ; and I lose ter ribly, in comparison with 'your extreme pro priety of manner and behaviour." " Let your vanity be at rest on this point; for, to be candid with you, I have within me at this moment a world of hopes, fears, and anxieties which you may, if you please, set down to the score of romance, and which, happily for you, will prevent too continuous a flow of your unknown enemies — rational ideas !

But, tell me, have you ever looked round the world in search of scenes of real interest ? Ah ! you may be certain many passing at this moment are capable of inspiring a depth of feeling, which the romantic improbabdities of a mere novelist's imagination would fail to excite." " You appear calm, my unparalleled Clara! — very calm ; but I fully believe you are suffering tortures of impatience, and that while I am counting the hours until my marble ApoUo arrives, you never have the image of Sir Harry Lisle out of your mind. Deny it, if you can ! " and Annie, throwing a glance of pretended penetration upon her friend, en deavoured apparently to read her thoughts. " I will be true and honest — follow your good example in this instance, Annie dear. You are right : my impatience is almost beyond control.

Three days have passed since that one on which he told me in his last letter I was to expect him." " Are you really and truly anxious, my poor Clara ? " hastily burst from Annie's lips, as an expression of pity and tenderness suffused her ingenuous countenance. You are anxious and unhappy, and you have not sought my sympathy and consolation ! But what are three days ? — a mere MARRIAGE. nothing in a yacht voyage of three weeks ! " she added quickly. " The friend who offered Sir Harry a passage home may perchance have gone on another tack first; but, as you said just now, he really may be here to night." A smde replaced the anxious shade that for a moment had passed over Lady Lisle's usuady placid brow. " Certainly, wind and tide will not even respect a wife's wishes, though she may have been separated for six months from -— — " " From one of whom that wife really must dream night and day," eagerly interrupted Annie, " to judge by the melancholy expres sion I just saw upon your face, Clara.

It was quite appalling for the moment ! And now, can you guess the subject of my thoughts ? " " No ; they fly so quickly from one subject to another. You must be your own inter preter." " I was thinking that your history would not be a bad foundation for a novel." " Indeed ! I fancied you had a contempt for any one who would prove so common place a heroine as I fear I should." " Quite a mistake, I assure you. Never mind your early life — that was uninteresting enough, I dare say, for you must have been too amiable a child. I would begin with Sir Harry's first introduction to you, and proceed with various interesting and romantic traits of his untiring devotion for years. I know you had a strong, though of course a very pro perly feminine, approbation and attachment, and so forth. I would certainly descant largely on the mutual constancy which finally overcame tremendous obstacles!

Then would come the happy, charming conclusion, when I acted as bridesmaid. All would have been perfect, but for the disconsolate looks of poor Arthur Graham. There my novel in strict justice ought to end. Do you think I might by any means render the honeymoon, the continental tour, the return home, interesting to some readers? But, Clara! This last, long separation, is it not quite unpardonable ? " "Not quite," replied Clara, smding; "in MARRIAGE. this life we must pardon all offences, great and small, even such an offence as an unpardonable absence." • " But you should have accompanied him, and assisted him to nurse his invalid uncle. You have been doing nothing but trimming Alice's frocks, looking out upon the sea, and learning a little Italian poetry." "No, no; I have been much better em ployed, as you are aware ; particularly during the last three days, in looking through this large telescope, listening to harbour reports, and watching the ebb and flow of the tide.

I frdly enter into your spirit of sarcasm, you perceive, though I am the object of it." " Only a little help from imagination, Clara, and I could picture you to myself as one of Amphitrite's nymphs." " I advise you to adhere to truth. The events of my hfe have been sufficiently varied. A trying youth contrasts with a perfectly bliss ful married life ;" and at that moment Lady Lisle looked the intense happiness she felt. " It is lovely out," she continued, rising and approaching the window. " Do, Annie, put away your drawing, and we will ride along the sands to Moor Point." " With all my heart. I am tired of my tedious pencil and paper, which obstinately refuses to take your exact likeness. That peculiar expression of gentle decision is difficult to manage artistically, though it is very captivating in nature.

If I try to make you look serious, I give a cross turn to the upper lip, and a smile instantly degenerates into a sidy simper. This wdl never do for Sir Harry. What a dear, charming, lovely home you have, Clara!" continued Annie, as, hastdy removing the condemned portrait, she rushed towards the piazza, and gazed for a moment with visible pleasure upon the beautiful sea view. I wish every home were like yours ! — but no comparisons — but it certainly is rather more difficult to be happy at Fenwick House than at Ashton Park. We are all such strange people there ! " " You are not strange, you are only very natural and very enthusiastic," repUed her friend affectionately. " No well directed in- MARRIAGE. 27 flue nee would be thrown away upon you, I am certain." " Perhaps not. But at home I am at a loss where to look for it," returned Annie, in a light, careless tone.

" But never mind. I am going to put on my habit instantly. I only allow you a few minutes to think, look at the picture, and count how many days and weeks it is since the original left you. Then we will take our usual sweeping look over the waste of waters." " Waste indeed !" said Lady Lisle to her self, as Annie, singing a stanza of a favourite song, left the room in overflowing spirits. " The world is a waste to me without my Harry, and, with all her love of frolic and ridicule, Annie is right in saying that I do think of him night and day ! And well may I indeed value my blessings. He is kind, affectionate, and his face is dearer to me than aught in the wide world," she continued, as giving words to her thoughts she moved to wards the portrait of which Annie Mowbray had spoken, and which hung over her writing table.

Intelligence, gentleness, and high bearing marked the countenance of this idol of Clara's heart, and seemed to authorize the devotion with which for some minutes she continued silently gazing before it. " All I wish and pray for is to see this face once more ; for I am indeed a happy wife. Few can boast of being equally blessed. Removed from poverty to affluence, to being the object on which true affection is lavished — how can I be sufficiently thankful ? And our dar ling Alice ! " Thus expressing the thoughts that crowded her heart, even to overflowing, Lady Lisle remained for some minutes' before she apphed herself to the task of letter-writing. But words were not wanted to express what was plainly read in her countenance. Miss Mowbray had said she was beautiful. To the soft, dark eyes and clear brow, shaded by masses of wavy brown hair, plaited and wound round her elegant and classically shaped head; to the varying tints of com plexion, and the bright smile, which at times gave an indescribable charm to her counte nance, the appellation of beauty could not MARRIAGE. be denied.