# The Semi-attached Couple/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III
The day of the wedding drew near. The whole Eskdale family, with the exception of the Waldegraves, were assembled for the ceremony. Lady Amelia Trevor and Helen had always been friends as well as sisters. There was a difference of little more than a year in their ages, and on every point of amusement or interest—in their childish griefs, or their youthful pleasures—their trust and confidence in each other had been unbounded. Amelia's marriage had made no difference in their relations to each other, for Helen liked Mr. Trevor, and he admired her with all Amelia's enthusiasm, and loved her with all Amelia's fondness.
Amelia was in ecstasies on her arrival at Eskdale. She thought Lord Teviot charming. Helen had never looked so beautiful. Everybody ought to marry—a married life was so happy; and then it was so lucky that she and Mr. Trevor had brought a set of emeralds for Helen, for the Waldegraves had sent a set of pearls, and she had once thought of pearls herself. Lord Teviot was quite as desperately in love as she had expected— just what he ought to be; in short, she worked herself up into such a state of prosperous cheerfulness, that when she went into Helen's room, three days before the appointed wedding, she was as childishly gay as when she had run into it five years before, with tidings of a whole holiday, or a child's ball, and now, to her utter discomfiture, she found Helen in tears.
"Helen, my darling, what is the matter? what is it, ​love? Are you tired with your long ride? I said you would be."
"No, Amy, I am not tired; we did not ride far," said Helen, trying to stifle her tears. "Have you and Alfred been out?"
"Yes—no. Oh! I do not know; never mind where we went, but tell me what is the matter. Do, dear Nell. Don't you remember how in former days I always used to tease you out of all your secrets? and you must not cry without telling me why."
"I do not know that I can tell you, dear; perhaps I do not know myself. I dare say I am tired, I often feel so now; and then I have so much, to think of"; and she leant her head on her hand with a look of painful weariness.
"Yes, so you have, but they are happy thoughts too, Helen, in most respects. Oh, dear me! how well I remember the week before my marriage, going to my own room and sitting down comfortably in my arm-chair, just as you are now, and thinking I would be thoroughly unhappy about leaving dear papa and mamma, and you and Beaufort, and I meant to cry about it, and to make a complete victim of myself. And at the end of half an hour I found I had been thinking of nothing but dear Alfred, and wondering whether there ever had been in the world any creature so happy as I was———"
"And yet you were leaving home!"
"Yes, but not for ever," said Amelia, laughing; "only for three weeks. I knew I should come back, and bring dear Alfred with me; and so will you, and bring dear Teviot. Now, Helen, do not look so deplorable; nobody can possibly pity you, I assure you."
"No, I suppose not," said Helen, in a low tone.
"Alfred and I have settled to remain here till you come back from your great castle in the north," said Amelia, determined to talk away Helen's low spirits. "So you ​need not fret about mamma's loneliness; and besides, I never saw her so pleased with anything as she is with your marriage. I had a horrible fit of jealousy yesterday, thinking poor Alfred was neglected—I may say, quite cut out; but mamma has taken a little more notice of him to-day. Oh, dear! what fun it will be when we visit you in your own house! I hear it is an actual palace. Alfred went there once for some shooting when he was a boy; and then I have never told you that I like Lord Teviot so much."
Helen raised her head, but her lips quivered, and she leaned back again without speaking.
"I was so very anxious to see him, and to make acquaintance with him; because, you know, if I had not liked him, life would not have been worth having. You would have found it out, and would have thrown me off at once as your friend."
"Never, never!" said Helen; "I am sure I never should."
"Oh yes, you would, dear; and you ought. You will soon see how naturally one acquires a distaste for any ill-judging individual who presumes not to like one's husband. You would give us all up in a moment for Lord Teviot's sake, if we——"
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Helen, clasping her hands; "I shall cling to you all more than ever, and none of you must give me up. Amelia, promise to be kind to me, to love me more than ever when I am married; indeed, indeed, I shall want your love"; and she threw her arms round Amelia's neck, and sobbed violently.
"Why now, darling, how silly this is! how can I love you more than I do? You are nervous and tired, and just see what a state you have put us into: only look at me, with my eyes as red as ferrets', and you know how I hate to cry. Now we must not have any more of this nonsense. ​There, you lie down on this sofa, and I will sit at this window, and pretend to read, while I cool my eyes. I won't speak another word; and if you fall asleep, so much the better, you will wake up quite in spirits again."
Helen threw her handkerchief over her eyes, and, leaning back on the sofa, seemed inclined to follow her sister's advice. Her sobs ceased; and Amelia sat quietly at the window, in the fond hope that her directions were all obeyed and that Helen was asleep.
In half an hour she saw Lord Teviot walking on the terrace below; he stopped under the window, and looked up at her.
"Is Helen there?" he said.
Amelia leaned forward, and, putting her finger to her lips, made signs to him to be silent.
"What is the matter? Is Helen not well. Lady Amelia?" he said, in a tone of vexation.
"Oh! bless the man," murmured Amelia, "why can't he hold his tongue? he will wake her. She's asleep—asleep, I tell you," putting her head quite out of the window, and speaking in a loud whisper.
"Who is it that you are talking to?" said Helen.
"There now, Lord Teviot, you have woke her. I told you how it would be, only nobody ever can be quiet. She was tired with that hot ride you took her."
"Well, ask her, Lady Amelia, if she will not come and sit in the shade a little while, she will find it much pleasanter than it was when we were riding."
"No; she says she is sorry, but she must keep quiet till dinner-time."
"Did you tell her it would be pleasanter?"
"Yes; but she don't seem to believe it."
"Ask her if I may come and visit her in her sitting-room.
"No; she says you are very good, but she does not wish ​you to take that trouble. There, Helen, he is gone; but why would not you let him come here? I wish you had seen him, and then you could not have said no. I cannot imagine how you could have been so unkind to such a héros de roman looking man. Whether he is more like Lord Byron, or the superbe Orosmane, or Sir Philip Sydney, or Alcibiades, I cannot decide, never having seen any of them; but he certainly is the most distinguished-looking individual I ever saw. Oh! but, Helen," she said as she passed the dressing-table, "who gave you this splendid brooch?"
"Lord Teviot; he gave it to me this morning."
"Well, I never saw such lovely rubies—no, never. And you would not even come to the window to look at the man who gave you such a brooch, and who is so extremely well worth looking at, as I tell you he is. What an unfeeling little wretch! Well, good-bye, darling, you are better now, so I will leave you."
"No, don't leave me; I am better now, as you say, and I should like to have a little talk. What was it, Amelia, that you were saying about mamma—that she is pleased with my marriage?"
"Oh! delighted with it; she said that she was the happiest mother in the world, and that she was sure it had made dear papa ten years younger."
"And yet, if they had been told only six weeks ago that I was to leave them——"
"Ah! but, my dear, if it is your happiness."
"Yes, if: what a frightful word that if is, Amelia!" said Helen, turning to the table so that her sister could not see her face. "Did it ever occur to you before your marriage, that if your engagement were broken off——"
"Oh no, dear, I never thought of such an impossibility. I should have died of it; besides, Alfred was naturally too much charmed with the precious treasure he had gained ​to think of throwing it away—he is much too sensible for that."
"Oh! I did not think of his changing his mind; but if you had found out that you did not love him as much as he expected—that he had some great fault, a bad temper, for instance, would you have broken off your engagement? Would you, Amelia?"
"No, decidedly not; I should have married him, bad temper and all, and have turned it into a good one; I could never have given him up. Fancy me going through life without Alfred. How can you put such shocking ideas into my head? Only think of the sin of breaking one's promise, and of the poor man's mortification, and of what papa and mamma would have said; and of the explanations and the disgrace of the whole business. I should have gone mad. I should have shut myself up in a nunnery, if I could have found one. I never could have shown my face again. My dear, what could have put such a notion into your head?"
"Oh, nothing," said Helen; "'it is talking for mere talking sake,' as our governess used to say."
"Helen," said Amelia, after a pause, "you have frightened me; but I see now how it is. I suspect that you and Lord Teviot have had some little quarrel to-day; indeed, I am sure of it. You were fretting about it when I came in, and he was evidently very anxious to make it up when he came under the window. Dearest Nell, a slight unmeaning quarrel may be an amusing little incident, but it should not last half an hour, and it should not happen more than once. Be kind to him, dear, when you come down to dinner. You have had your fit of dignity, and the pleasure of putting yourself rather in the wrong; and now make it up, and let it be peace and happiness for the rest of your life." She ran out of the room, thinking she had said enough, only adding as she placed the brooch in Helen's ​hands, "There, you ungracious little thing. Look and repent."
"Ay, repent indeed," said Helen, throwing it from her; "and unless I were as cold and as hard as those stones, how can I but repent? She will not understand me; she will not help me; and how can she unless I had courage to tell her all? Oh! but the disgrace would, as she says, be too great; and then papa and mamma, and the day fixed, and so near. Oh! what shall I do!"
The dressing-bell rang, so it was clear that the first thing to be done was to dress for dinner; and happy for us is it that these ordinary domestic habits of life watch over its imaginative distresses with the sagacity and decision of sheep dogs, and bark and worry them till they fall into the proper path of the flock.
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