# Duty and Inclination/Chapter 40

CHAPTER XIX.
How sweet the incense breath'd around
 By purest virtue shed;
The world where tainted vice is found,
 For her no snares can spread.
Anonymous.
Meanwhile, affairs were thus proceeding with Philimore and Oriana, when Mr. and Mrs. Arden, who had recently established themselves in a large and splendid mansion in the county of Kent, gave an invitation to the sisters to pass a few weeks with them. Mrs. Arden sent her carriage on purpose to convey them to her residence, which was but a few miles distant from town. She received them with apparent kindness, as much as might be expected from one not habituated to associate in family union. Mr. Arden, as they arrived, left his study to give them his hand, and welcome them to his house, as the common rules of politeness required.
Though Oriana might be disposed to regret this temporary absence from Philimore, yet, in ​another point of view, she considered it advantageous to the interests of her attachment, and therefore resolved to avail herself, if possible, by it. Four months had already elapsed since she had left the Bower; and at the expiration of but two more she was to return,—a thought which preyed heavily upon her; and she knew not how she could avoid being transported so far from her Philimore.
Miss Morris professed so much friendship for her,—so much pleasure in her society,—and was besides so generous and hospitable, that she might readily solicit her parents to leave her behind on a visit to her. But would they consent? Oriana justly feared they would not accept of any invitation for her excepting one offered by Mrs. Arden. Could she happily effect her wishes in this parcular, but the space of a few miles only would intervene between herself and the object of her tenderest affections. Many occurrences might give rise to her seeing him. His letters also could be conveyed to her with more facility than at the Bower. From such considerations, Oriana endeavoured to render her manners as obliging and as agreeable as possible to Mr. and Mrs. Arden.
Their elegant barouche-and-four, with outriders, was generally in requisition, affording them the ​means of diversion and of visiting during the mornings while the evening was devoted to receiving company at home. Mr. Arden could not exist without his party at cards, but since Oriana had become his visitor, his attention had been constantly engrossed by the charms of her music, which never failed to afford him a recreation of the most pleasing kind,—often tempting him to wish, notwithstanding some private feelings militated against it, that Oriana might be a perpetual inmate in his house.
Rosilia frequently amused herself by contemplating the beautiful paintings and portraits in the saloon, which had belonged to her grandfather, but which since the demise of Lady De Brooke had been removed to the house of Mr. Arden. The idea that her father might have been considered as the rightful owner of them, drew a sigh from her heart. Her thoughts, however, were diverted from such reflections when solicited by Oriana to ramble with her through the spacious park and gardens; where they could each indulge in expatiating upon those topics the most interesting to them.
Thus time passed until the period arrived that was to recall them to London.
Desirous of retaining Oriana in his family, that ​he might benefit from her musical talents, Mr. Arden, notwithstanding his princely fortune, two-thirds of which were constantly accumulating at interest, was yet so illiberal as to calculate the additional expense which such an inmate would necessarily occasion to his expenditure. "It is true", thought he, "with regard to dress, she may be conceived independent, being now of age, and in possession of the interest of the small legacy left her by Sir Aubrey."
In thus talking over the point with Mrs. Arden, it was accordingly decided to make the proposal to Oriana; and that after accompanying Rosilia home, she should return to the Park as soon as her parents could conveniently spare her. The invitation was accepted by Oriana with the utmost delight, and was extremely flattering to the self-love of her aunt.
Having attained her wishes, Oriana returned to London with a heart much lighter than when she had left it. Nevertheless, it was that one exclusive sentiment,—her attachment to Philimore alone,—that could have reconciled her to such a change as was about to take place in her destiny. The society of her beloved sister and the rustic simplicity of the cottage, she would have preferred to those etiquettes and ceremonies attendant on the ​splendid mansion she was about to inhabit, of which the luxury and affluence, she was well assured, would add nothing to her happiness. And so she expressed herself to her fond parents when about to depart.
"My dear child," said her father, "It is for your benefit only, that your mother and myself consent to make the sacrifice of your company; to bestow your accomplishments and valuable attainments upon my sister and Mr. Arden, who are for the future to reap the advantage of them—the fruit of that instruction,—that excellent education,—I have given you. What will not parents forego under the hope of a prosperous result to their children? But Rosilia is still ours!" continued he, endeavouring to cheer her, dispirited by the near separation from her sister.
The conscience of Oriana whispered in rebuke, that Rosilia alone was truly worthy of the tenderness and approbation of her parents. Alas! she was about leaving her home to reside in future with her aunt; and under what false colours! how greatly were they deceived in her! That morning her marriage-bans had been, for the third time, published in a remote parish church, in the certainty that the secret could not possibly transpire in the quarter of the town they inhabited, or ​come to the knowledge of the circumscribed few with whom they were acquainted.
Without much reluctance on the part of Oriana, Philimore had resorted to this measure under the apprehension of discovery, and that in a case of necessity, the usual forms being observed, no impediment could exist towards the fulfilment of an immediate secret union.
Oriana, bound to Rosilia by the most affectionate and endearing ties, the dear sharer of her joys and sorrows, in possession of her entire confidence, to whom she had ever opened her heart by the most unreserved communications—how poignantly did these sisters feel this first separation that had ever taken place between them! Folded in each other's arms, they mingled their tears together; until at length, gently disengaging themselves, after bidding a tender adieu to her parents, Oriana entered the carriage that was to convey her from them.
While in the company of others, Rosilia had been enabled to subdue her sorrow, but not so when the hour of rest summoned her to her solitary room;—her loved companion was gone! There, where she had been wont to indulge in entertaining converse, listen to the sprightly sally, and laugh away the flying minutes,—the vacant stillness then reigning pressed heavily upon the ​heart of Rosilia; her respiration seemed impeded, and she sat for a time absorbed and motionless; till at last tear after tear chased each other down her cheeks, not tears such as contrition sheds,—no self-accusation mingled amidst the feelings that produced them, but tears, such as the pious shed when the soul, from a state of inquietude, subsides into a sweet calm,—when it awakes to consoling ideas, when, no longer disturbed by sublunary things, it looks up with hope, gratitude, and devotion to its Maker! Under the influence of such a benign resignation, Rosilia sunk to rest, unconscious of the midnight storm which raged around her.
At the first dawn of morning, Rosilia arose from her peaceful couch. All nature seemed to smile; the sun spread its enlivening beams over her chamber; the gushing waters without, and broken fragments that met her eye, evidently announced a recent storm. Delighted with the aspect of the morning, she pencilled the following effusion:
"Hail! beauteous morn! thy cheering light
Has chased the dark, tempestuous night;
The dim o'ershadowing gloom is gone;
The blasts have ceased their dismal moan;
Hush'd is the storm; the winds have ceased;
The sun breaks forth, from clouds released,
To gild the sweet enchanting scene,
And gaily wanton o'er the green.
Soft and refreshing moves the gale;
And fragrant is the balmy vale;
The sun's refulgent, sportive beam
Plays o'er each winding, rippling stream,
Peeping through trees with dazzling gleam."
The General and Mrs. De Brooke, from motives af prudence, thought proper not to delay the departure of Oriana for the Park; which, had they consulted their private wishes, they would certainly have done, until the time allotted for their quitting London. Their tastes not leading to public amusements, they lived with Mrs. Herbert in comparative seclusion.
The ball, the opera, and theatre were every night resorted to by the admired belle of fashion; while Rosilia, supremely lovely in mind as in person,—she who in every circle, even the most distinguished, might have elicited attention as the grand-daughter of the late renowned Sir Aubrey De Brooke, continued unheard of and unknown; not that it was any subject of mortification to her that she never joined those brilliant circles of pomp and pleasure, where, she well knew, it was the adventitious circumstances of wealth or elevated rank which alone claimed superiority. It was ​the dearth of reciprocal friendship,—the pleasures of intelligence; it was the privation of those infinite sweetnesses of life; the void, the vacuum of her breast, which caused her to languish, and often transformed the populous city she inhabited into the solitude of a desert: above restraint, her vivid imagination wandered to the future, and fed on hopes, such as in this delusive world are rarely realized.
It was now the latter end of February; the season was unusually advanced; the country already assumed a verdure, which failed not to call many to dispel the vapours gathered in the midnight assembly, by a walk in Kensington Gardens, where the gay throng presented to the eye of an indifferent spectator contributed equally to the gratification of curiosity as of entertainment.
Amongst the beaux of fortune and of distinction joining in the fashionable promenade, was Harcourt, of a handsome person and elegant address: rival beauties, emulous of his notice, sought him with avidity, dwelt upon his words, were flattered by his smiles, and felt their light hearts flutter with all the consciousness of triumph, if haply they caught one glance of admiration from his animated eye.
He had been for some time engaged in frivolous ​chat with the young Lady Laura Leslie, till at lengthy weary of the common-place topics he had discussed, he added a few more complimentary speeches, and gracefully withdrew. Passing into a retired walk, contrary to the flippant coxcombs of the day, he became involved in thought; for Harcourt, notwithstanding he could trifle away time with ease and pleasantry, was of a temper given to reflection. Absorbed in contemplation, he continued his ramble, until he found himself suddenly interrupted by the voice of an acquaintance.
"Harcourt," said he, "tell me, do you know who that divine creature is?"
"Who do you mean?" returned Harcourt.
"Who but the young lady that has just passed us?" replied the other.
They turned to follow. A light and airy figure, of perfect symmetry, somewhat above the middle size, moved with slow and graceful steps before them. Another lady walked by her side, whose larger stature, equally well proportioned, aspired to the majestic; retaining, however, but those evanescent charms of youth so peculiarly engaging and attractive in her companion.
Objects so interesting could not fail to excite the deep attention of the warm, impassioned Harcourt. The younger lady in particular was formed ​to detain his silent and enraptured gaze; she stopped to admire some choice plants when he caught a view of her tout ensemble, the roseate lips, the brilliancy of her eyes, the high and polished front, ornamented by dark pencilled brows, as if formed by the archer god himself! The simple negligence of her air, her whole person, her whole attire, gave to creative fancy all that it could picture to itself of loveliness in woman!
But it was not this sweet assemblage of graces surrounding her, that had operated so powerfully to awaken the imagination of Harcourt; it was a something he scarcely knew how to define; it was, indeed, the sanctity of virtue, which cast the magic spell around her; it was innocence, delicacy, a something indescribably touching,—illumining her countenance, characterizing her whole deportment, giving birth to immediate respect, mingled with admiration, while she rivetted with increased ardour, the fond regard of her beholder. Had she displayed aught of consciousness, of confidence in her beauty and attraction, or levity, in seeking. the gratification of their display, the charm entrancing Harcourt would in one moment have dissolved.
"Who is she?" said the gentleman who had ​first noticed her; "perhaps a plant of foreign growth."
"That I am persuaded she is not!" ejaculated Harcourt, in tones of energy; "such unaffected modesty, such retired elegance, Britannia's daughters alone can boast! Who can she be?"
"Why, that is precisely the question I wish to have answered," rejoined the other. "I have no doubt she is some new star about to appear in the hemisphere of fashion; she will take, for she has succeeded admirably in person, and novelty will make her all the rage. Moderate your impatience awhile, Harcourt, and you will surely see this little magnet at some of the parties, balls, or routs you frequent: depend upon it, she is to appear this spring, and will very soon be initiated into all the fashionable gay meetings and public resorts of the Town."
Too much absorbed by attention, these airy nothings passed unheard by Harcourt, who, suddenly withdrawing his arm, hastened to follow the incomparable fair one. Admiration and rapture had been so commixed, so intensely excited, that those restraints existing in polished life, the punctilios practised, the etiquette preserved,—all, in the tumultuous thoughts of Harcourt, were banished, accounted but as cold reserve and useless forms. ​It was the most buoyant wish of his heart to throw himself instantly at the feet of that fair object,—that sudden idol of his soul! offer her his homage—acknowledge and confess to her the supreme empire she had usurped over him.
Thus impressed, he was hurrying on, when the companion he had just parted from called after him, from a sudden recollection crossing his mind, feeling perfectly assured of having seen the younger lady before. But this he chose, from reasons best known to himself, not to reveal.
"Harcourt! Harcourt!" exclaimed he; "Where are you driving to so fast? If it is after the fair enchantress, she has left the gardens; I saw her this moment, with the lady who is with her, pass the gates;—return then. What madness has taken possession of you?"
"Another time,—another time," said Harcourt peevishly.
Curiosity not allowing further reply, they left the gardens together. Soon overtaking the objects of their pursuit, they saw them at Hyde Park Corner enter a carriage in readiness to receive them; which Harcourt resolved to follow, by keeping quick pace with it along the pavement, still pursuing its many windings and turnings; his companion by his side, who felt himself urged ​to keep pace with the speed of Harcourt, as much from feelings of rivalry as from inquisitiveness to prove what might be the result.
At last the carriage stops in Portland Place; Rosilia—for it was she—alights, followed by her mother; the door closes upon them, and the carriage drives away.
Transfixed to the spot, Harcourt lost the opportunity of making his inquiries of the coachman. Spell-bound, motionless, and silent, he stood gazing at the door which had concealed the lovely Rosilia from his sight, until roused by his companion. "Well," exclaimed the latter, "we have at least gained one point; we have discovered her residence: and it is certain that here for the present the affair must rest. Come, Harcourt; come with me to St. James's."
Harcourt made no reply, but having taken a few turns before the house, and, through the closed blinds of the parlour windows, having again beheld, though indistinctly, that form to him so surpassing fair, he suffered himself to be led away, with a downcast air, indifferent as to where he went.
He who had thus intruded upon Harcourt, had recognised in Rosilia one with whom he had been struck at the fête champêtre of Sir Charles and Lady Valpée; it being no other than Sir Howard ​Sinclair. Never having seen Mrs. De Brooke, he could only suppose, by the prevailing likeness, that she might be the mother of Rosilia. Had he not been in company with Harcourt, in claiming the privilege of former acquaintance with Rosilia, he would have accosted her, and gained an introduction to her mother; but knowing it would be the means of gratifying Harcourt, he thought it better to defer so doing to a more favourable opportunity.
Recollecting how formidable a rival he had met with in Captain Douglas, he feared to run the risk of encountering the same in Harcourt. The secret malice he had borne against the former, led him to hope that his views respecting Rosilia were frustrated; and which he suspected was truly the case, as no news of his marriage had transpired since he embarked for India.
Though still covetous of wealth, and his ideas of marriage unchanged, yet his rencounter with Rosilia in the Gardens, set free, as he imagined, from the pursuit of Douglas, conferred upon him no small degree of pleasure.
Finding in his walk with Harcourt that all attempt to extract a word from him was fruitless, he left him.