Dunallan; or, Know what you judge

Part I, ^^CrE-lA^

UCK3^

GRACE KENNEDY,

NEW YORK ;

AY. LOVELL COAIPANY

14 & 16 Vesey Stkp:et.

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New York: JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 14 & J6 Vesey St.

■V

OR, •

KNOW WHAT YOU JUDGE.

BY

GRACE KENNEDY,

n

AUTHOR OF “THE DECISION,” “FATHER CLEMENT,” -‘PROFESSION IS NOT {PRINCIPLE,” ETC., ETC.

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NEW YORK :

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY,

14 AND 16 Vesey Street.

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K N 0 W WHAT Y 0 U JUDGE.

' •; CHAPTER I. ■' •'

“On, gentle sleep ! thou art, indeed, frighted away,” exclaimed Catharine Duhallan, after a night spent in vain efforts to attain that repose which had seldom before deserted her, and Vo banish from her thoughts the idea of the approaching day. ‘On that day' she' was,*' for the first time since her childhood, to see her destined husband. He was her relation, though a distant one, and heir to her father’s title, which descended only in the male line. To ‘preserve this' title, and the estates of both ramilibs undivided, had been equally tlie ambition of Catharine’s father^ and of the father of her destined husband.

Lord Dunallan had obtained a promise from his daughter, ■ When' very young, to agree to his wishers on this subject. She had then loved him with all the ardor of nearly undivided affection, and would readily have' promised any thing he had chosen to ask ; but as her understanding improved, and she found that in the society, limited as it' was, in which her father permitted her to mix, she liked and disliked with almost equal warmth, she became painfully aware of the selfishness and injustice which had induced him thus to sacrifice, perhaps, the whole happiness of his only child to his own ambitious views ;

and slie looked forward with dread to an event which would unite lier for ever to a being she might detest ; yet she loved her father so tenderly, that it was painful to her to indulge a thought injurious to him. The evil day, too, had always seemed at a distance, for the young Dunallan had been long abroad, and during wars and revolutions, had found means to travel througli countries whera few peaceful travellers had dared to venture. His love for this wandering life had seemed to increase ; and Catharine who knew that his father had obtained a similar pronii-ie from him, to that which she had given to Lord Dunallan, suspected in secret, that repugnance to his unchosen marriage was the cause of his banii^hing hlifiself from his country. At last, however, his father was taken dangerously ill, Dunallan was written for — instantly hurried home, and arrived in time to soothe the last hours of his parent.

Lord Dunallan wrote t adds young relative on the death of his father, and soon received an answer to his letter, which concluded thus : , : . • ,,r ^ ' - I

■ “ My father’s last moments were disturbed by his anxiety for the completion of a scheme formed by your Lordship and himself, to unite the title and fortunes of our families, lie informed me that Miss Dunallan had consented to this union of interests. Urged by him at such a moment, I could have no choice.- In six months, therefore, if I live, I .shall have the honor of waiting on your Lordship, wherever you choose, to fulfil my part of the engagement.” •

Lord Dunallan was extremely displeased with this letter. His pride and affection for his daughter had almost triumphed over his love of family — but old ideas soon returned — it was in human nature, he wisely recollected, particularly in youth, to despise what was easily obtained. He determined to seem less anxious about this first wish of his heart, and then Dunallan would see its advantages. He did not write to him again for some time, then hoped, he said, soon to see his young relation, he fiattered himself he might call him his young friend ; but let him come as a friend and relation: his daughter ^^as his comj)anion and solace. The thought of .separation was so painful, he wished he could forget it forever.

KNOW WHAT YOU JUDGE.

To this letter lie received no answer till within a few days of the expiration of the six months, when Dunallan announced his intention of waiting on Lord Dunallan early in the ensuing week ; and requested in gentler terms than formerly, though still cold, that in a few weeks Miss Dunallan might be permitted to return with him to Arnmore ; or that he might be informed of her Avislies, Avhicdi he should feel himself bound to acquiesce in if possible. “ Business of importance,” added he, “ calls me to London, perhaps abroad, and possibly for years. AYherever duty may* call me, however, I beg Miss Dunallan may be assured, that the choice of her own residence shall only require the sanction of her father to secure my assent.” It would be vain to attempt describing the state of Catharine’s feelings during the few days which intervened between that on which her father gave her this letter to read, and the morning of the day on which Dunallan was expected.

“ My dreams of happiness have passed away for ever,” tliought she, as she slowly dressed ; then, throwing open the window to breathe the freshness of the morning, she, for a time, forgot all her griefs, while gazing at the scene before her. The sun had just risen. She had seldom seen its first rays before, and the Avoods, the distant mountains and still misty lake, appeared more than usually beautiful. Almost unconscious of existence, she Avatched the brightening scene, till at last recalled to herself by some one softly entering her apartment, she turned round. “My Elizabeth! how kind! but this is too early. You. cannot have recovered from the fatigues of yesterday.”

Her cousin assured her she aaus perfectly recovered ; and, having heard her window opened, she suspected that sleep had equally forsaken both. “And you knoAV, dear Catharine,” added she, “you promised if I Avould go quietly to bed last night, you Avould satisfy my curiosity completely this morning ; so now, Ave shall have two hours to converse about every thing before a creature is awake.”

“ O ! Elizabeth, every thing I have to converse about is disagreeable. I cannot find an idea to rest upon that is not jiainfnl. Even that scene, ([lointing from the window,) even that is

1*

G painful, for it reminds me of the cause of my being obliged to become for ever the companion of a man who regards our union with repugnance ; whose atfections are probably possessed by another ; and whose character, even if that is not the case, is just what I detest. Oh ! that I could give him those .woods and fields without myself. .1 should find nature beautiful anywhere, were I only free ; and how many thousand times more valuable should I esteem the heart which 1 could win, were I a portionless girl.”

Elizabeth sighed, but remained silent for a moment. “Tell me, dear Catharine,” said she, “ why is Mr. Dunallan’s character so disagreeable to you ? and why did you never mention this in your late letters to me ? ”

“Because 1 cannot very well tell why. There is just

a something in all I hear of him that I dislike. You know, Elizabeth, of the letters he wrote to my father — so stiff, so formal, and cold. I thought them quite insulting.”

“ It is plain,” replied Elizabeth, “ that he feels himself forced to marry, and lhat he spurns this force ujx)!! his inclinations, but, dear Catharine, I do not feel very anxious about this. When he sees and knows you, he will love his father’s memory for the very thing he now most revolts at.”

“Dear Elizabeth, has my father been tutoring you? You use his very words ; and Avhen you use them, I will say they are very foolish. Can you think that a man who has been travelling all over Europe — in France, Italy, Poland, in short, wherever agreeable women are to be met with — will find a simple country girl, who has scarcely ever associated with any but neighbors as simple as herself, so irresistibly charming ? Particularly, too, when that girl is so prejudiced against him, that any agreeable qualities she -may have will be invisible; for, you know, my face betrays all my feelings ? ”

“ I know, my dear Catharine, that this very expressiveness of countenance, which makes you unable to conceal any thing, is the very charm which I think irresistible.”

“ Particularly when my face will say, Mr. Dunallan, you are hateful to me, and have been so for years.”

KNOW WIIAT YOU JUDGE.

“ r>ut tell me why he is so hateful to you ? and why have you been so secret with me on this subject ? ”

“ Well, I will ; but I have so much to tell you I do not know where to begin. I am sure, however, you will feel as I- do when you know all. You remember when I was a child, and he a boy about fourteen, that he then disliked me, ilnd we quarrelled continually.”

“ But, Catharine, you surely cannot allow yourself to be prejudiced by what passed then : you, a spoiled, self-willed, domineering little girl ; and he a thoughtless, rambling boy.”

“ Never thoughtless, Elizabeth ; always solemn and considerate, even then. I do not, however, form my opinion of him- on such trifling grounds. I only remind you of this, to show you that naturally we do not suit each other ; for even children discover what is agreeable to them in other children. Think what you choose about that, however, I have enough besides to tell you. I ouglit to begin, I believe, by informing you that he professes being extremely religious, much more so than other people, and is very gloomy and strict. lie is called the ‘ Saint of Arnmorc,’ by the gentlemen of liis own county. You shall judge wliether liis actions are quite consistent with these pretensions. You know, I believe, how uncommonly tender ids father’s aflection was for him ; yet nothing Avould prevail on Dunallan to remain at home. I myself heard the old gentleman say, that he had entreated him only to name his wishes, and that he would consent to them. He offered him his largest estate, or both estates, while lie himself should only retain a moderate annuity ; but not all this eagerness for his society, in his only surviving parent, could induce this cold and self-willed being to remain, even for a few months in the year, at home ; and yet he made a disgusting parade of visiting prisons, relieving distress, and representing to the different authorities, wherever lie went, tlie defects and abuses which he detected ; while his father, in bad health and retirement, was left to the care of mercenaries.”

“ Shameful hypocrisy ! ” exclaimed Elizabeth. “ I have heard of his benevolence and cfiarities ; and his kindness to myself when a child, and ill treated by our governess ; had rather imi^ressed me in his favor, but this trait in his character is indeed very bad.”

“ I have more to tell you, my dear Elizabeth. After his father’s death, Dunallan dismissed every servant in the house, some of who’in had lived with old Mr. Dunallan for more than twenty years, and did not give the smallest present or reward to any of them excepting to a very young and pretty girl, wlio had only been a few weeks in the house, to whom he gave money, and with it, hypocritical being, ii Bible ! ”

“ Shocking! but how do you know all this ? ”

“From the young girl herself. She came all the way from her father’s cottage at Arnmore, to ask me to take her into my service ; and very wisely thought that these proofs of Dunallan’s partiality would recommend her to me, as, she said, she knew my ‘ Ladyship ’ was going to be married to Mr. Dunallan.”

“ And what is become of her ? ”

“ I immediately sent her back to her father. I dreaded extremely that Dunallan should suppose I was making any inquiries respecting him ; for though I must feel interested in all I hear of him, I have never sought for any information. All I have heard has been by accident, except his opinion of myself, which, I believe, was j)urposely left for me to read, by our acquaintance, Mrs. Lennox.”

“ Mrs. Lennox ! you surely know how to appreciate any thing she says.”

“ Oil, certainly I do ; but this letter was addressed to her son, and was from Dunallan himself.”

“ But Mrs. Lennox would do any thing, my dear Catharine, to break olf your marriage, in the hope that you might be won by the charms of her stupid George.”

“ Yes ; but George is very different from his mother, and has no preference for me. I know he is engaged to another, and this letter was the means of putting me in possession of his secret. About two years since, when I was on .a visit at Mrs. Lennox’s, she gave me a book which I had wished to read. In this book I found folded, and laid in, as if for a mark, a sheet

KNOW WHAT YOU JUDGE.

of written paper. I had seen the book lying in the breakfist parlor, and it never occurred to me that it could be any thing but a quotation from it, and as I read, I supposed it a character depicted for the use, or rather warning of young ladies, to whom the book was addressed. I almost remember the words, I have thought so often of them since. It began thus, — ‘She was, when a child, violent and self-willed ; careless 'of all around her if she attained her own object. Unchecked by any one, her faults, from all I hear, are strengthened with her years : and now she is the opposite of what, in my eyes, is lovely, or lovable in woman. I allow, my friend, that when joined to feminine softness, talents in woman are very desirable, and greatly increase their power of charming ; but without that softness, they are very disagreeable to me : in short, I see, and thank you for the kindness of your intentions, but I cannot feel reconciled to my proposed union wdth Miss Dimallan.’ Here, my dear Elizabeth, I stopped, as I perceived I had by mistake

been reading a letter from it was easy to guess whom. I

immediately went in search of Mrs. Lennox, and said I had inadvertently read a letter addressed to her son. Before she could possibly have seen what I held in my hand, she exclaimed, ‘Oh! what have I done I You have found Mr. Dunallan’s letter to George. What shall I do I George will never forgive me.’ George fortunately entered the room, at that moment, and as I saw Mrs. Lennox was merely affecting to dread her son’s displeasure, I told him of my mistake, showed him what I had read, and assured him, as he really appeared distressed at my having seen this character of myself, that I thought it fortunate I had, {^3 I might correct the faults imputed to me. George took an early opportunity of imparting to me his own views and wishes. lie saw his mother’s plans for him, and dreaded that I might suspect he had entered into them. I have felt as a sister for George ever since that day ; but I must not now spend time in talking of him. Tell me, Elizabeth, do you think it possible for me to look forward to a connection for life with this man without dread ? ”

Elizabeth .shook her head but remained silent.

“I believe,” continued Catharine, ‘‘you agree with me in thinking what I have already told you, sufficient to take away all hopes of happiness from such an union : yet this is not all. I have described him as a son, and as a master ; I have still to make you acquainted with him as a friend and a brother. You have met with Mr. Clanmar. You know that he and Dunallan were educated^ together when boys. They afterwards travelled together in Holland, Germany, and other countries. You have heard that Mr. Clanmar, to the inexpressible grief of his friends, brought home a young German lady as his wife, whose character suffered extremely from the suspicious circumstances attending her marriage : in short, had her first child lived, his legitimacy might have- been disputed: and this marriage was brought about, the Clanmars say, by Dunallan, whose influence over young Clanmar was then unbounded. The young lady is singularly interesting, and was a mere child at the time of her marriage ; so the poor Clanmars are now, in some degree, reconciled to it : but they openly declare they can never regard Mr. Dunallan but as the most detestable of hypocrites ; in short? there is something worse than I know in this story, at least there are dreadful suspicions. Young Clanmar, who is universally esteemed as one of the most amiable tempered men in the world, and indeed as very perfect in every wa}^, never mentions Dimallan’s name ; and though formerly so devotedly attached to him, they now have no intercourse whatever.”

“ Dear Catharine ! ” exclaimed Elizabeth, “ is it possible Lord Dunallan knows all this, and yet can suffer you to be united to this man ! ”

“ Yes, my own Elizabeth, my father knows it all, but he hates the Clanmars, who have always opposed him in the county, and supposes they have exaggerated these stories. I fear, however, they are too true ; for I can see no reason for people, so remarkable for pride of birth as they are, choosing to exaggerate stories which are disgraceful to the wife of him, who will soon be the ^representative of their boasted family. But now, my Elizabeth, I shall tell you the history of his only sister, as we may be interrupted. She has been dead, you know, about two

KNOW iWHAT YOU JUDGE.

years, and left two children. .She was older than Diinallan; and before he left Oxford, had, with her father’s consent, married a young Englishman of family and fortune. It was on Dunallan’s quitting Oxford, that he first showed his dislike to living at home; and he spent much of his time in England at the house of his brother-in-law, Mr. Harcourt. For some time, Mr. Harcourt continued -one of the gayest and most fashionable men about London, but he gamed so deeply, that he very soon ruined his fortune. Dunallan went abroad dn less than two years after ' leaving Oxford, and remained absent until called to ICngland by Harcourt’s entreaties, whose creditors had become very troublesome. He so arranged matters, that Harcourt was permitted to accept of an appointment in India ; but ever cold and unfeeling, he compelled his unfortunate sister to remain in this country, though separation from her now unfortunate but still beloved Harcourt, almost deprived her of existence. Dun^ allan’s command of fortune, however, made him all powerful. Harcourt himself entreated his wife to remain. She died two years afterwards of a broken heart. Her children are with Dunallan, or rather with an aunt of his, whom he has got to superintend his domestic concerns, including me, I suppose. And now, Elizabeth, you know his character, tell me, my real friend, what do you think I ought to do? I have given my promise to my father ; I cannot retract it ; but if I could delay, if I could induce Mr. Dunallan to give up his pursuit. He has the worst opinion of me. What can I do ? ” • '

Elizabeth continued silent a few moments, then asked hei' friend whether she thought it quite impossible to change her father’s wishes.

“Quite so, my Elizabeth. All, if you knew the variou means I have tried in vain. I ought not to Avish it,” added she. rising, and bursting into tears ; “ I have had many happy years from his kindness ; I ought not to repine at sacrificing the rest of my life to him.”

“AlloAvme to speak on. the subject to Mr. Dunallan when he arrives,” said Elizabeth.

“ But Avoiild that be fulfilling my promise to my father ? No, no ; I must go on. Come here, my h^lizabeth : look at those woods, those distant mountains, and those soft hills still nearer. Look at that smooth lake as it reflects its surrounding scenery, and tell. me what you feel.”

Elizabeth gazed with admiration at the glorious scene before her, and then replied, “ I feel, Catharine, that 1 could never be very unhappy with nature around me so sweet, so sublimely beautiful and soothing; unless I had lost for ever some beloved object, with whom I had enjoyed its charms ; or was, by some insurmountable obstacle, separated from such a friend. I have feared to ask the question, Catharine; but there is no separation in your case, I fervently pray, \<diicli makes an union with Dunallan so dreadful to you.”

‘‘ No, my dear Elizabeth ; you yourself are the dearest friend, I have in the world ; and you, I hope, will be more with me than you have of late ’been. My father has watched over my happiness in this respect. In the limited circle in which he has allowed me to mix, there is no one for M'hom I feel a preference : and I agree with you in thinking, that while I have a heart to feel, and while nature and my friend are left to me, I cannot be quite unhappy. Whatever happens, however, life is not a long affair with any of us ; particularly the miserable,” added she, her eyes again filling with tears.

Elizabeth threw her arms around her friend, and wept Muth her, but could find no subject of consolation.

“ Who is this aunt of Dunallan’s ? ” asked she at length.

“ She is the most unfortunate human creature I ever heard of,” replied Catharine, ‘‘ she has lost her husband, and her whole family of six children. She is talked of as a good sort of woman, but a religious enthusiast. I suppose, poor soul, her misfortunes have affected her understanding, and I feel that I ought to pity her ; — yet what a companion I Dunallan is equally gloomy and enthusiastic. Oh ! my father, what a cruel choice ! As he says of me, he is the complete opposite of what I could ever find it possible to love. But here comes Martin,* and I must bid adieu to this subject. My heart feels relieved by conversing with you, my own Elizabeth ; but perhaps if I am not

KNOAV'; WHAT YOU JUDO II.

to appear very unhappy to niy father, it will be necessary to avoid in future such softening intercourse.”

Elizabeth agreed ; and embraciug each other, as if in giving up this soothing confidence, they had given up iheir last consolation, Elizabeth left her young friend with the wonderin'’- Martin, who liad come earlier than usual to cull her lady on this eventful day.

Martin had suspected, however, tliat Mr. Dunallan’s arrival was no cause of joy to her young mistress. Catharine’s early rising, and the tears^in her eyes, confirmed her suspicions, and made her less unwilling to agree to her lady’s determination to wear a very plain morning dress.

Catharine had no desire to please, IMr. Dunallan. If she could have concealed her face, or deprived it of the power of expression, she would have been more satisfied. She had an additional cause of uneasiness in the numerous spectators who must witness her feelings. Lord Dunallan, from- a dread of his daughter’s gentle submissive looks, and melancholy sweetness of manners, which were now the only means she used to induce him to pity her ; and perhaps from a dread of his own feelings, when about to part from a child he loved next to Ids fiimily and name, had invited tlie neighboring families in succession for several weeks. To none of them Jiad Catharine imparted her dislike to her approaching marriage ; and though the younger part wondered at their beautiful companion thus agreeing, like one of the royal family, to be united to a person she had scarcely ever seen ; and the elder envied the fatlier who had so submissive a child : yet both ascribed this submission to pride, and the same love of family so remarkable in Lord Dunallan. Catharine had perceived this, and the idea of tlieir observing all her actions thus prejudiced, chilled and discouraged her : yet she resoh^ed not to transfer their disapprobation from herself to her father by the slightest hint of the truth.

i>unallan; ok,

CHAPTER ir.

Lord Dunallan was alone in the breakfast room when Catharine entered! He received her with ^tenderness ; kissed her forehead ; and pressed her hurriedly to his bosom ; glanced at her pale countenance ; then saying he had forgot something (she did not hear what), he left her: but she heard him sigh deeply, which brought tears into her eye^, ^and confirmed her determination to cpnceal from him and every one else the dejection she felt. ‘ ■'