A DISCOVERY AND CONFESSION. 117 throne in literature which it requires no doubtful step to win, if you have, as I believe, the mental power to attain it; an ambition that may indeed be relinquished if a more troubled career can better achieve those public purposes at which both letters and policy should aim, but which is not to be surrendered for the rewards of a placeman or the advancement of a courtier." It was while uttering these noble and inspiring sentiments that Florence Lascelles suddenly acquired in Ernest's eyes a loveliness with which they had not before invested her. “Oh,” he said, as with a sudden impulse he lifted her hand to his lips, "blessed be the hour in which you gave me your friendship. These are the thoughts I have longed to hear from living lips, when I have been tempted to believe patriotism a name and virtue but a dream." Lady Florence heard, and her whole form seemed changed; she was no longer the majestic sibyl, but the attached, timorous, but delighted woman. It so happened that, in her confusion, she dropped from her hand the flower Maltravers had given her, and, involuntarily glad of a pretext to conceal her countenance, she stooped to take it from the ground. In so doing a letter fell from her bosom, and Maltravers, as he bent forward to forestall her own movement, saw that the direction was to himself, and in the handwriting of his unknown correspondent. He seized the letter, and gazed in flattered and entranced astonishment, first on the writing, next on the detected writer. Florence grew deadly pale, and, covering her face with her hands, burst into tears. "Oh, fool that I was," cried Ernest, in the passion of the moment, “not to know-not to have felt that there were not two Florences in the world! But, if the thought had crossed me, I would not have dared to harbour it." Go, go," sobbed Florence; "leave me, in mercy leave me.' 66 "Not till you bid me rise," said Ernest, in emotion scarcely less deep than hers, as he sank on his knee at her feet. Need I go on? When they left that spot a soft confession had been made, deep vows interchanged, and Ernest Maltravers was the accepted suiter of Florence Lascelles. 118 THOUGHTS THAT COME TOO LATE CHAPTER III. "A hundred fathers would, in my situation, tell you that, as you are of noble extraction, you should marry a nobleman. But I do not say so. I will not sacrifice my child to any prejudice.”—KOTZEBUE. -Lovers' Vows. "Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man." SHAKSPEARE.-Henry VI. "Oh, how this spring of love resembleth Th' uncertain glory of an April day; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, SHAKSPEARE.-The Two Gentlemen of Verona. WHEN Maltravers was once more in his solitary apartment, he felt as in a dream. He had obeyed an impulse, irresistible perhaps, but one with which the conscience of his heart was not satisfied. A voice whispered to him, "Thou hast deceived her and thyself-thou dost not love her! In vain he recalled her beauty, her grace, her genius, her singular and enthusiastic passion for himself-the voice still replied, "Thou dost not love. Bid farewell for ever to thy fond dreams of a life more blessed than that of mortals. From the stormy sea of the future are blotted out eternally for thee-Calypso and her Golden Isle. Thou canst no more paint on the dim canvass of thy desires the form of her with whom thou couldst dwell for ever. Thou hast been unfaithful to thine own ideal; thou hast given thyself for ever and for ever to another; thou hast renounced hope; thou must live as in a prison, with a being with whom thou hast not the harmony of love." "No matter," said Maltravers, almost alarmed, and starting from these thoughts, "I am betrothed to one who loves me; it is folly and dishonour to repent and to repine. I have gone through the best years of youth without finding the Egeria with whom the cavern would be sweeter than a throne. Why live to the grave a vain and visionary Nympholept? Out of the real world could I have made a nobler choice." While Maltravers thus communed with himself Lady THE DAUGHTER'S DIPLOMACY. 119 Florence passed into her father's dressing-room, and there awaited his return from London. She knew his worldly views-she knew also the pride of her affianced, and she felt that she alone could mediate between the two. Lord Saxingham at last returned; busy, bustling, important, and good-humoured as usual. "Well, Flory, well? Glad to see you-quite blooming, I declarenever saw you with such a colour-monstrous like me, certainly. We always had fine complexions and fine eyes in our family. But I'm rather late-first bell rung -we ci-devant jeunes hommes are rather long dressing, and you are not dressed yet, I see." 66 My dearest father, I wish to speak with you on a matter of much importance.' "Do you! What, immediately ?” "Yes." "Well-what is it? Your Slingsby property, I sup pose.' 66 'No, my dear father-pray sit down and hear me patiently." Lord Saxingham began to be both alarmed and curious; he seated himself in silence, and looked anxiously in the face of his daughter. "You have always been very indulgent to me," commenced Florence, with a half smile," and I have had my own way more than most young ladies. Believe me, my dear father, I am most grateful, not only for your affection, but your esteem. I have been a strange wild girl, but I am now about to reform; and, as the first step, I ask your consent to give myself a preceptor and a guide-" A what!" cried Lord Saxingham. "In other words, I am about to-to-well, the truth must out-to marry.' "Has the Duke of **** been here to-day?" "Not that I know of. But it is no duke to whom I have promised my hand; it is a nobler and a rarer dignity that has caught my ambition. Mr. Maltravers has-" "Mr. Maltravers!-Mr. Devil!-the girl's mad!don't talk to me, child, I won't consent to any such nonsense. A country gentleman-very respectable, very clever, and all that, but-it's no use talking-my mind's made up. With your fortune, too!" 120 THE MARRIAGE AGREED TO. "My dear father, I will not marry without your consent, though my fortune is settled on me, and I am of age.' "There's a good child-and now let me dress-we shall be late." 66 No, not yet," said Lady Florence, throwing her arm caressingly round her father's neck-" I shall marry Mr. Maltravers, but it will be with your full approval. Just consider; if I married the Duke of ****, he would expect all my fortune, such as it is. Ten thousand a year is at my disposal; if I marry Mr. Maltravers, it will be settled on you—I always meant it-it is a poor return for your kindness, your indulgence; but it will show that your own Flory is not ungrateful." "I won't hear." 66 Stop-listen to reason. You are not rich; you are entitled but to a small pension if you ever resign office; and your official salary, I have often heard you say, does not prevent you from being embarrassed. To whom should a daughter give from her superfluities but to a parent? from whom should a parent receive but from a child, who can never repay his love? Ah, this is nothing; but you-you, who have never crossed her lightest whim-do not you destroy all the hopes of happiness your Florence can ever form." Florence wept, and Lord Saxingham, who was greatly moved, let fall a few tears also. Perhaps it is too much to say that the pecuniary part of the proffered arrangement entirely won him over; but, still, the way it was introduced softened his heart. He possibly thought that it was better to have a good and grateful daughter in a country gentleman's wife, than a sullen and thankless one in a duchess. However that may be, certain it is, that before Lord Saxingham began his toilet, he promised to make no obstacle to the marriage, and all he asked in return was, that at least three months (but that, indeed, the lawyers would require) should elapse before it took place; and on this understanding Florence left him, radiant and joyous as Flora herself when the sun of spring makes the world a garden. Never had she thought so little of her beauty, and never had it seemed so glorious as that happy evening. But Maltravers was pale and thoughtful, and Florence in vain sought his eyes during the dinner, which seemed to her insufferably long. Afterward, however, they met, and conversed apart the rest of the evening; and the beauty of Florence began to produce upon Ernest's heart its natural effect; and that evening-ah, how Florence treasured the remembrance of every hour, every minute of its annals! It would have been amusing to see the short conversation between Lord Saxingham and Maltravers when the latter sought the earl at night in his lordship's room. To Lord Saxingham's surprise, not a word did Maltravers utter of his own subordinate pretensions to Lady Florence's hand. Coldly, dryly, and almost haughtily did he make the formal proposals, "as if" (as Lord Saxingham afterward said to Ferrers) "the man were doing me the highest possible honour in taking my daughter, the beauty of London, with fifty thousand a year, off my hands." But this was quite Maltravers! If he had been proposing to the daughter of a country curate, without a sixpence, he would have been the humblest of the humble. The earl was embarrassed and discomposed; he was almost awed by the Siddonslike countenance and Coriolanus-like air of his future son-in-law; he even hinted nothing of the compromise as to time which he had made with his daughter. He thought it better to leave it to Lady Florence to arrange that matter. They shook hands frigidly, and parted. Maltravers went next into Cleveland's room, and communicated all to the delighted old man, whose congratulations were so fervid that Maltravers felt it would be a sin not to fancy himself the happiest man in the world. That night he wrote his refusal of the appointment offered him. The next day Lord Saxingham went to his office in Downing-street as usual, and Lady Florence and Ernest found an opportunity to ramble through the grounds alone. There it was that occurred those confessions, sweet alike to utter and to hear. Then did Florence speak of her early years-of her self-formed and solitary mind -of her youthful dreams and reveries. Nothing around her to excite interest or admiration, or the more romantic, the higher, or the softer qualities of her nature, she turned to contemplation and to books. It is the combination of the faculties with the affections, exiled from action, and finding no worldly vent, which produces poetry, the child of passion and of thought. Hence, VOL. II.-L |