# Montalbert/Chapter 14

IN the evening Mrs. Vyvian found herself able to proceed, and thus continued her narrative:——
"My friend Mrs. Lessington, who had now a family of children, was no longer at liberty to give me so much of her time as she had hitherto done; but, at this period, the living of Mayfield, which was in my father's gift, becoming vacant, I was fortunate enough to procure it for her husband, and had the comfort of seeing her settled within four miles of Holmwood.
"Greatly, indeed, had I need of the prudence and steadiness of a friend......Imagine, my Rosalie, how I was at this time situated. Ormsby, though he lived so much with me, was yet so sensible of the distance fortune had placed between us, that for many months after he became an inmate in our house he never breathed the most distant expression of his affection; yet, young as I was, I could not mistake the meaning of his looks, and those silent attentions he incessantly paid me. He seemed—ah! he was—too artless to disguise entirely his sentiments; but the ineffectual struggle he made to do so was a spectacle infinitely more dangerous for me than the warmest professions could have been: he had even the generosity to avoid me for some time, and, as if by tacit consent, we met only in my father's room, where he now almost always supplied my place, and sat whole days, and often whole nights, with a tenderness and patience that, in my opinion, overpaid the debt of gratitude which he owed him. But sometimes, when my father's old servant was able to give that attendance for which he was often disqualified by illness, Ormsby was unexpectedly released; and it was at one of these periods that the explanation was brought on, which afterwards cost me so dear.
"My father had been extremely ill for many days. It was spring, a season that always brought on the most painful paroxysms of the gout: his old servant, harldy less a victim to this disease than himself, had been laid up, and Ormsby had been my father's attendant for ten days, almost without taking off his clothes, and certainly without having had any interval of rest.
"Barford, my father's servant, having a little recovered, came down to his relief, for no other person was suffered into the room but Ormsby, myself, and this man.
"As at this time Ormsby was so much fatigued, that he could hardly support himself, he hastened to procure what refreshment a change of clothes afforded, and then to relieve a violent head-ache, the effect of want of sleep, he wandered into the garden for the air..........
You remember, Rosalie, the temple at the end of the avenue of stone pines—thither I have often went with my work, or with a book, when I was alone; behind it is, you recollect, a copse, which at the season of the year now present, for it was the middle of May, echoed with the music of innumerable birds. Every object breathed of peace and beauty; and as my heart had long since learned to associate the idea of Ormsby with every scene that gave me pleasure, I was meditating on future possibilities of happiness, when the object of my dangerous contemplations suddenly appeared coming towards the place where I sat.
"To the lively interest he always inspired was now added, that which arose from the fatigue he had evidently undergone. He was pale and his eyes were heavy for want of rest. I saw him with a slow and languid step ascend the little turf hill on which the temple is situated: I could not have escaped from it without his seeing me, if I had wished to have done so; but, in truth, I had no desire to fly from him; and though I trembled as he approached me, it was with a sort of delightful apprehension, for I fancied he would now speak to me, if not in direct terms—yet in such as would leave me no longer in doubt as to his real sentiments: yet while I wished this, I dreaded it; and when he entered the place where I sat, I know not which of us appeared the most confused. He had long studiously avoided me, and certainly did not now expect to meet me; but as he knew I had seen him, and perhaps had not resolution enough to deny himself the unexpected opportunity of speaking to me, he came into that wing of the temple, and, after the common salutation of the morning, sat down near me.
"I inquired after my father, though it was not an hour since I had been in the room; but it gave me occasion to say, though in a faltering voice, how much I was obliged to Ormsby for his constant attendance. I had not concluded the sentence, when he said, 'Obligations, Miss Montalbert!—surely all obligations are mine; but were it otherwise, were not your father my best friend—that he is your father would be enough to induce me to make any sacrifices: there is happiness in being able to serve him as my benefactor; but there is something more than happiness in thinking that, in attending on the respectable parent of Miss Montalbert, I save her from one hour's fatigue, or mitigate to her on hour of anxiety.'
"I will not relate the sequel of our conversation before it ended: Ormsby, while he accused himself at once of presumption and ingratitude, professed for me the most violent, though hopeless, passion. He saw too evidently, that if it depended on me it would not be hopeless: already my heart had said to me much more than Ormsby, even in making this declaration, dared to intimate. It had whispered that my father's partiality for him might very probably conquer the objections that his total want of fortune might raise. I had fancied that it was impossible my father could leave us so much together, unless he meant to give a tacit consent to an affection which was so likely to arise between two young persons. I had imagined, that, finding us both necessary to his comfort, he intended to unite us: my fortune must be such as, I supposed, made any consideration as to that of my lover entirely needless.—Alas! how little is the inexperienced mind of youth capable of judging of those motives that influence men in advanced life. Though my father was retired from the world, he had not lost in retirement the passions that influence men of that world: on the contrary, living where he was the lord of many miles, where none, either in his house or around it, ever disputed his will, he had, like a despot, entirely forgotten that others had any will at all. Of a marriage of love he had no idea; for did it ever occur to him, as a thing possible, that a dependent relation, who was indebted to his bounty for a subsistence, could dare to lift his eyes to a daughter of the house of Montalbert, for whom, though he had never yet hinted at them, my father had very different views.
"But love, too apt to listen to the voice of hope, suffered us not to see the misery we were laying up for ourselves; and even amidst the reproaches Ormsby often made himself, for what he termed treachery and ingratitude, the flattering illusions into which we were betrayed by youthful inexperience, not only quieted these alarms of conscience, but made us listen with something bordering on resentment to the remonstrances of my friend, Mrs. Lessington, who took every occasion of representing the danger of my indulging my predilection for Ormsby. I endeavoured to persuade her, as I had persuaded myself, that I should one day become his wife, with the permission of my father. Mrs. Lessington, who undoubtedly knew the world and my father's temper much better than I did, nothing unafraid that was likely to convince me of this dangerous error: she even threatened to inform my father of the truth, unless I endeavoured to conquer this fatal prepossession; and she assured me if she did, the consequence would be the immediate disgrace and dismission of Ormsby. This menace, which I knew she would never execute, had an effect exactly opposite to that which she intended. The idea of Ormsby, driven from the house, suffering poverty and mortification, and abandoned by the world only for his attachment to me, endeared him to me infinitely more than he would have been, had I seen him surrounded with affluence and prosperity. Nothing is so dangerous as pity; and my friend, in attempting to save me, hastened my ruin by exciting it.
"I cannot, Rosalie, trace the progress of this fatal passion. My confessor, who alone might have checked its progress, was surely careless of his charge, or was possibly become indifferent to the welfare of a family he was soon on the point of quitting. He went to Rome exactly at the time when he might perhaps have saved me, and it was some time before he was replaced by Mr. Hayward.
"During that interval, as Mrs. Lessington was gone into the west on a visit to her husband's relations, Ormsby was more than ever alone with me. Every hour, indeed, in which the attendance of the one or the other was not necessary in my father's room, we passed together. From an habit of indulging myself in the illusive hope that I might one day be his wife, I insensibly learned to consider myself already so in the sight of Heaven.......Ormsby was young and passionate: he was not an artful seducer; but I had no mother, I had no friend, and those who candidly reflect on my situation will surely compassionate, though they may not perhaps acquit me.
"How soon, alas! was this deviation from rectitude and honour severly and bitterly punished. Though my father had been wilfull blind or strangely negligent, the servants, and from them the neighbours, saw enough to make them suspect more. We had little or no communication with the gentlemen's families around us, divided from them as we were by the difference of religion, habit, and connections; but in ours, as in every other neighbourhood, there were officious and impertinent people, whose greatest pleasure was to inquire into the affairs of others, and disturb as much as was in their power the peace of families. The country town adjoining to Holmwood produced at that time, as indeed it has done since, but too many of this description.—I, who hardly knew that such persons existed, was, however, marked out for the victim of their malignity; and, as if the terrors that now incessantly beset me were insufficient, for I found myself likely to become a mother, one of these officious fiends completed, or rather accelerated, the evil destiny that hung over me.
"While I waited with agonising impatience the return of Mrs. Lessington, whose counsel was so necessary in my present alarming situation, Ormsby, more wretched than I was, attempted to sooth and console me, and I was insensible of any other comfort than what I derived from weeping in his arms. Little dreaming of the storm that was ready to burst upon us, I sought him as usual one morning in the plantation, where we were accustomed, as it was yet early autumn, to meet in a morning before either the family were likely to interrupt us, and before my father demanded either his attendance or mine—I found him not; supposing it earlier than I had believed, I traversed for some time the walks of the woods without uneasiness—but at length his absence surprised then alarmed me. I returned slowly toward the house, more and more amazed that Ormsby did not appear—I met the under gardner, and, without any precise design, I asked him some trifling question—the man, instead of answering, looked at me with a countenance expressive of terror and surprise; then, without answering, hurried away; while I, dreading I knew not what, quickened my steps toward the house, and was met in the lawn that immediately surrounded it by my own maid, a young woman who had been lately sent to me from France by a friend, and who was already much attached to me. Her countenance startled me infinitely more than that of the man I had just passed—I hastily inquired what was the matter?—Helene attempted to utter a few words in French, but her voice failed her, and, seizing my hands, she looked at me with such an expression of terror and anguish, that the only idea it conveyed was the death of my father: before my incoherent and breathless inquiries, or her attempts to answer them succeeded, my father's old butler came out, and, though he seemed equally terrified, he had just command enough of himself to tell me that I must immediately attend his master; without having any distinct notion of the cause for which I was thus unexpectedly summoned, I obeyed in such confusion of mind that I know not how I reached the room.
"My father was not as usual at so early an hour in his bed, but sitting in a chair—I saw that something had greatly disturbed him, and my guilty conscience whispered me that our fatal secret was discovered....Trembling, so that I could not move across the room without the assistance of Helene, I at length approached the place. My father's eyes were sternly fixed on my face; his lips quivered, and his voice falterd, while he reacheh his hands toward me, and gave me a letter he held in it.
'Read that—(said he sternly)—read it—and hear me for the first and the last time I shall ever speak again of so hateful a subject. If I thought you capable of any part of the folly, the infamy, which this letter attaches to your conduct, I would not hold even this parley with you—but I will not think it; though I severly arraign myself for my inattention, yet I know that a daughter of mine would not dare to encourage any man without my approbation; still less, is it possible that Rosalie Montalbert should think of a boy, who, though distantly my relation, and therefore a gentleman, is a beggar....He is gone—you will see him no more.'
"I heard, indeed, no more—for my senses forsook me, and I escaped from the rage and reproaches of my father; nor was I awakened from this trance till I found myself on my bed, with Helene weeping by me.—'What has happened to me, Helene?' said I; for at that moment my recollection was confused, and, though I had the impression of something very dreadful on my mind, I remembered no more than that some dreadful evil had befallen Ormsby. Helene could only answer by tears and sobs——I raised myself in my bed—'Tell me, (said I), my dear friend, what did my father mean?—what is become of Ormsby?'
'Ah! dear young lady, (replied Helene), what would become of you, what would become of us all, if our master knew the truth, which he now will not allow himself only to suspect.—Oh! he is so passionate, he is so terrible, when he is angry, that I believe, upon my honour, he would destroy us all.'
'I wish he would destroy me, Helene, (said I, sighing deeply); but, unless you now intend to suffer me to die before you, tell me, I conjure you to tell me, what my father meant by saying that I should never see Ormsby more?'
'Indeed, (replied Helene), my dear mistress, I know no more of it than you do. In this great house you know that what is done at one end of it may very easily be unknown at the other.....I am as ignorant as you are how—but Mr. Ormsby is gone, or - - - - - - -'
"She stopped and hesitated.—'They have killed him, (exclaimed I)—I know they have destroyed him—do not deceive me—I will not be deceived——but let not my father, my inhuman father, imagine that I will survive—no, I will instantly go, I will avow the truth, and follow my husband to the grave.'——The frenzy that possessed me gave me strength: I sprang from the bed, and, in a state of desperation, was rushing towards my father's room, when Helene, terrified at my attmept, threw herself before me, and shutting the door, locked it, and secured the key. This presence of mind alone saved me from the destruction on which I was throwing myself; for I believe, that had I at that moment appeared before my father, acknowledged my situation and my attachement to Ormsby, that he would without hesitation, have stabbed me to the heart.
"Such was the distracted state of my mind, that it was only when my strength was entirely exhausted that Helene could prevail upon me to listen to her arguments. At length I sunk into silent despair, because I had no longer the power of speaking, and then Helene ventured to leave me, carefully locking the door of my chamber after her, as well as that of the anti-room, and hasten away to procure not only some medicine for me, which she hoped would quiet my agitated spirits, but the benefit of the counsel she knew she should recieve from the Abbé Hayward, who, though he had not been more than a week in the house, had gained the confidence and good opinion of every one in the family.
"When she was gone, I endeavoured to recall to my mind the words, the looks, and gestures of my father.....I shuddered as they passed in my memory, and I dared not think steadily upon the scene I had passed. Even now, Rosalie—even at the distance of almost nineteen years, I find that I cannot dewll upon it without horror."
It was true the recollection affected Mrs. Vyvian so much, that a cold trembling seized her. Her voice failed, and Rosalie, terrified at the situtation in which she saw her mother, entreated her to fobear any farther exertion till she was more able to undertake it. It was more than an hour before she was sufficiently recovered for Rosalie to leave her; at length, finding Mrs. Vyvian more composed, she retired to the house she used to call her home, having settled to be again at her mother's bedside at a very early hour the following morning.
CHAP.