# Ethel Churchill/Chapter 20

CHAPTER XX.
THE MARRIAGE MORNING.
My heart is filled with bitter thought,  My eyes would fain shed tears; I have been thinking upon past,  And upon future years.
Years past—why should I stir the depths  Beneath their troubled stream? And years that are as yet to come,  Of them I dread to dream.
Yet wherefore pause upon our way?  'Tis best to hurry on; For half the dangers that we fear,  We face them, and they're gone.
The morning came when Norbourne Courtenaye was to marry his cousin. He and his mother had arrived at Norbourne Park the evening before, as it had been settled that the ceremony was to be performed in the little chapel Lord Norbourne had himself built. At ​one time he had spent large sums of money on the house, but that was when he had hoped for a son; of late years he obviously directed his views in another channel. He had pulled down a great part of the building, while he increased his landed property to a vast extent; but all his purchases were adjacent to the Courtenaye property, which, when united with his own, would make one of the finest estates in England. He had long gone back upon the ancient honours of his house, instead of his once hope to be the founder of another line.
In the little, as in the great things of life, are to be found the type and sign of our immortality. Every hope that looks forward is pledge of the hereafter to which it refers. Who rests content with the present? None. We have all deep within us a craving for the future. In childhood we anticipate youth; in youth manhood; in manhood old age; and to what does that turn, but to a world beyond our own? From the very first, the strong belief is nursed within us; we look ​forward and forward, till that which was desire grows faith. The to come is the universal heritage of mankind; and he claims but a small part of his portion who looks not beyond the grave.
The house was alive with bridal preparations—still there was but little mirth. Lord Norbourne had, as well as Mrs. Courtenaye, impressed his character on his household. His lordship's was quiet, obedient, and perfect in all mechanical arrangement; the lady's was staid, slow, and solemn. Merriment appeared a sort of excess to either, at least while in the atmosphere of either master or mistress. The day itself was miserably dull; a thick fog shut out the landscape, while a few of the nearer trees alone were visible, spreading out their thin spectral arms on the murky air. Over head, the sky was of that dull leaden hue to whose monotony even a dark cloud would be a relief. It was as if the most smoke-like of earth's vapours had obscured the fair face of heaven.
It was curious to look within each chamber, ​and mark the different employ of the principal individuals. Lord Norbourne was seated by a blazing fire, while the whole dressing-room was fragrant with the coffee which had just been brought to him. Mechanically, he was turning over paper, and opening letters; but his thoughts were not with his employ. He looked more anxious than he often allowed himself to look; but then, to be sure, there was no one near to observe it. Suddenly, his glance fell on a casket near; he opened it, and the fire's light shone reflected from its glittering contents.
"Ay," said he, aloud, "these toys make the destiny of woman; and I doubt whether, after all, our own be not equally worthless. Is there any thing worth the exertion of procuring it? Thank God, we grow accustomed to our daily yoke: and it is habit, and habit only, that enables us to get through life. Would that I could put my head, for a few hours, on Norbourne's shoulders. 'If young people would but consider,' says a moral essay that I have somewhere read: it would be ​putting the thing much more rationally, to say, if young people would but let us consider for them, and be satisfied. Youth would be a delightful time, if it were not so singularly absurd; and if the consequences of its vain hopes, and foolish beliefs, did not remain long after themselves had passed away. I, for one, have no wish to live my youth over again;" and the speaker sank back in a gloomy reverie.
Lord Norbourne was a very handsome man, and young-looking for his time of life. It was as if the moral energy which was the great characteristic of his mind exercised its strong control even over time, and forbade it to leave traces of internal struggle on that smooth and polished brow. But to-day the shadow of long-past years rested upon it; and in the dejected attitude, the melancholy expression, few would have recognised the bland and stately bearing which generally defied scrutiny in Lord Norbourne. Suddenly, he started from his seat.
"Folly!" exclaimed he, "to waste my ​time in these miserable recollections! I have decided that Norbourne shall marry Constance. It is life to her, and every thing that makes life worth having to him. Wealth, rank, and power—these may surely weigh in the scale against a boy's fancy:" but the speaker's countenance again darkened, and he was silent. "This is worse than foolish," said he, in a low and determined tone: "of all follies that we can commit, the greatest is to hesitate."
So saying, he took up the case of jewels; and, with his usual smile, and quiet step sought his daughter's chamber.