# Duty and Inclination/Chapter 43

CHAPTER XXII.
". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Can it be,
That modesty may more betray our sense,
Than woman's lightness?"
Shakspeare.
Before we proceed in the course of our narrative we will digress awhile to give some account of Harcourt, who, though still young, had arrived to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel. His property was considerable, and his family of high extraction.
Heartily tired of his profession, in the career of which he had met with various hardships, he had gladly dropped the military title, awaiting but an opportunity of resigning his commission and the profession of arms altogether; having been led to embrace it merely by the desire of his friends, who had supposed that the business, gaiety, and change of scene attendant upon a military life, might conduce to dissipate that thoughtful abstraction of mind to which they were inclined to think he was constitutionally subject. He had become weary of a pursuit which gave him little ​leisure for contemplation, and which often involved much languor, regret, and disappointment, and resolved to devote the rest of his days to the pursuits of literature; for to his intervals of melancholy, possessing genius, he was equally subject to the high and lofty flights of a vigorous fancy.
It was at this period that, of sketching plans for the future occupation of his time, upon his having withdrawn to a retired walk in Kensington Gardens, he beheld Rosilia. How warmly he become captivated we have already seen. Had his passion been crowned with success, he might possibly have arrived at that enviable summit of happiness his imagination had often pictured, but which, in his hours of depression, he had fatally foreboded never would be his.
After the accident his curricle had met with, leaving it in the hands of his servant to get repaired, the one sole idea preponderating over his mind was to fly the spot, to fly immediately from a place, where, did he remain, he might feel impelled to force himself a second time into the presence of her whom his prolific fancy had endowed with such transcendant and eminent attraction. To fly, where the sound could never reach his ears that Rosilia De Brooke had become the ​wife of another. "And can it be possible," thought he, "that the son of her to whom I spoke can be destined to become so happy a man. Can he be worthy of her? I much doubt it, for who on earth can be worthy of such an angel!"
In this untoward event that had occurred to him, his reigning, strong disposition to melancholy returned with increased force, so as to cause him to suppose his earthly happiness blasted for ever. All future events were alike indifferent to him: "Fate," he exclaimed, "do with me what you please; dispose of me and my fortunes, for indeed I seem marked out to be thy sport and victim!"
Thus, ever in the extremes of happiness or grief, he sunk into one of his habitual fits of gloom and despair: when an order was issued, stating that all officers absent from such and such regiments were immediately to repair to head quarters, there to hold themselves in readiness to embark for foreign service. Not having yet sold out, Harcourt could not think of leaving the army at such a critical juncture; voluntarily therefore, and without hesitation, he submitted to the necessity of rejoining his regiment. Time might heal the recent wound his heart had received; but whether or not, he left England frustrated in his pursuits ​and plans, little suspecting that he had been made the dupe of an artful and designing woman.
While Harcourt had been thus unsuccessful in gaining access to Rosilia, it happened that Sir Howard Sinclair did so without difficulty. In combining his schemes for this purpose, his first object was to obtain an introduction to the General, which, from his extensive acquaintance, he found no difficulty in accomplishing. An exchange of cards being the result, the next step of Sir Howard, on a better acquaintance, was to prevail on the General to form one amongst a small party of gentlemen he had invited to dine with him; but which the General, though sensible of the attention paid him, politely declined, under the plea of not wishing to break through the rules he had established of not accepting invitations unaccompanied by his wife and daughter.
Rather than be discomforted by this failure of ready invention, Sir Howard turned it to his profit, by resolving to form amongst his more particular friends a party, in which he could, with all seeming propriety, invite Mrs. De Brooke and Rosilia to accompany the General, whose objection to leaving home being thus obviated, might yield a willing assent. Not long recovered from an attack of indisposition Sir Howard had brought ​upon himself by irregular hours and the over-indulgences of fashionable life, being still convalescent, for the benefit of living quiet and of breathing purer air than the centre of the town could afford, he had taken lodgings in the vicinity of Portland Place.
Pleased with the ease, suavity, and facetious humour of the Baronet, the General failed not to call at his lodgings, when Sir Howard seizing an occasion remarked, that he had once the honour of an introduction to his daughter—it was at Sir Charles and Lady Valpée's—and should esteem himself happy upon an occasion of renewing it, and, at the same time, of becoming known to his Lady, adding, "I am engaged to-morrow, on a water excursion up the Thames; will you do me, General, the favour of accompanying me? and perhaps—but I can scarcely allow myself to hope that Mrs. and Miss De Brooke will join our party, but if—they—and you can be prevailed upon to favour us, General, your company will be a great acquisition to the party."
Whilst uttering these scattered words, concealing by an outward complacency the strong interest he felt in the Genera's acquiescence, he awaited with impatience his reply.
"My dear Sir Howard," the General said, ​pleased with such a mark of politeness, "I am always gratified, as an old family man, to partake of pleasures in which my wife and daughter share, and therefore willingly, in behalf of myself and them, accept the invitation," promising, at the same time, to be with him at the place and hour appointed the following morning.
In concurrence with the advice of Mrs. Herbert, ever since the affair of Mr. Harcourt, and the fear of again meeting him, Rosilia had confined herself to the house, except, indeed, when the necessity of air and exercise induced her to walk with either, or both her parents, in some adjacent nursery-gardens. This extreme seclusion, voluntarily imposed upon herself, caused her parents to rejoice that the excursion proposed by Sir Howard would open to her some recreation—aware how much the taste of Rosilia inclined to such diversions, in preference to those more splendid the town afforded.
Formed to indulge in the most exquisite sensations of delight, she was ever quickly alive to those of which youth, health and innocence allowed her to partake. Accustomed to an invariable monotony of existence, unlike those satiated by continual indulgence, the most simple pleasures gave zest to Rosilia, and she then, when her father announced the engagement he had made, looked ​forward to the coming of the morning with joyful expectation.
Scarcely had the morning dawned, than Rosilia, awaking from sleep, beheld a cloudless sky—the welcome signal of a day of amusement. Simply arrayed, let us behold her at the water's side—the company assembled—the various barges just in readiness to launch down the smooth and glassy river. Of all the party, Sir Howard alone is missing; the boatmen give the summons—the tide admits not of delay; the gentlemen hand the ladies to their seats; General De Brooke is requested to do the same, but he declines: he feels himself embarrassed; he is a stranger, and depended on Sir Howard for introduction, who does not appear.
Giving an arm to Mrs. De Brooke and his daughter, they turn towards home. The gay group have departed. The boats are floating upon the water,—the splashing of the oars are drowned by the full and lively peal, the concord of harmonious tones resounding from the band of musicians which form the rear; the sun's rays play upon the rippled surface. Rosilia no longer views the jocund scene; like everything else that ever promised pleasure, it has vanished; calm, dejected and silent, she continues with her parents to move towards home.
When on a sudden, driving his curricle in full ​speed, Sir Howard appears; reining in his horses, he stops, upon reaching and recognizing the General. He begs a thousand pardons; he has been detained on account of a friend, upon whom he had been appointed to call, in the previous promise given of his joining the party, but who, from some unexpected occurrence, has been prevented fulfilling his engagement. Giving the reins to his servant, Sir Howard leaped with agility from his seat, and, in the next instant, the General introduced Mrs. De Brooke and Rosilia.
A veil partly concealed the features of Rosilia; nevertheless, he fixed upon her a look of intense scrutiny, and, in a sort of under voice, he said something of having before had that honour; when the scene between Captain Douglas and himself, at Sir Charles's Lodge, rushed rapidly over her memory. Rosilia had never known to what degree Sir Howard had been implicated in that affair; some confused ideas, however, crossing her recollection, as to the cause of her having fainted, she sought to shun his gaze,—when casting his eyes downwards, and after an interval of silence, equally expressive on the part of either, turning himself suddenly about, he proposed to the General immediately following the party, to which the General consenting, Sir Howard stepped forward to lend ​his assistance to Mrs. De Brooke, while the General took charge of his daughter.
Seated in a small boat, the tide favourable, in the space of half an hour they found themselves within sight of the party, which as they hailed and the signal was returned, they rested leisurely on their oars until they drew near, and one of the barges received them. Cordial greetings were given by most of the party upon the arrival of Sir Howard, as also rejoicings on account of the agreeable addition he had brought with him. They again continued their course, and the sound of music again exhilarates Rosilia.
Sir Howard, by the side of Mrs. De Brooke, paid her (according to the finesse of worldly men, who often court the mother for the sake of the daughter) his exclusive attention; which leaving Rosilia at liberty, her thoughts could take that range such as the various pleasing objects of nature blooming around her might excite; the sweet effects of early spring, the verdant fields that lined the river, the young hedge-rows and early blossoms. Though unperceived by her, the eye of Sir Howard often wandered towards her. He was anxious to converse with her. He thought of the charm he had experienced in doing so, even when her mind might have been supposed less ​cultivated than at the present; and from which he had received a summons so abrupt as that given by the jealous, furious, and enraged Douglas! His thoughts, from a natural coincidence, reverted to Harcourt,—another flighty and impetuous spirit, thought he; for himself he was cool and determined, intrepid and daring; and, whilst he drew the comparison in his own favour at the expense of the others, he thought, at the same time, how enviable was his situation, how rejoiced would each have been to have found himself placed in so near proximity to an object affecting him so powerfully!
Thus musing, he instinctively approached her. Modulating, as was usual to him, the tones of his voice into a perfect softness, he addressed her several questions; he exerted himself to please her, passing lightly, with infinite address, from subject to subject. Sir Howard was by nature volatile, but in his intercourse with life, he had acquired sophistry and the art of moulding his words and actions to whatever shape he chose; and could at pleasure, in assimilating with the taste of those he conversed with, become either gay, winning, and seductive, or serious, rational, and reflective. The latter qualities he was aware would best recommend him to Rosilia.
​ "How delightful," said she, "is nature in this sweet season of spring, when every object looks so fresh and green!"
"They seem truly to smile upon us," returned Sir Howard, "and are enchanting to the eye of taste. We have every reason to congratulate ourselves when no longer bending under the sway of hoary-headed winter—chilled as we are by his presence, trembling and shaking with his cold. I rejoice to bask in the genial ray of beauty," his eye, with expression, resting on Rosilia; "and never did I enjoy such happy sunshine more than now."
"The horizon is glowing," added she; "Phoebus never seemed to shine more brightly; nevertheless, the lawns, the valleys, the soft foliage of the trees, the cows and sheep as they peaceably graze in the rich meadow—even the humble primroses and violets which bloom along the banks as we pass them by—more particularly charm my attention, because all things of every kind, animate and inanimate, seem to be rejoicing in the early spring."
"To the refined and contemplative mind," said Sir Howard, "every observation is attended with delight and pleasure. Folly and ignorance stalk abroad, as if blindfold, unheeding the beauties scattered in profusion around them."
"It is much to be lamented," replied Rosilia, ​"that there are any so thoughtless as to explore the country, without, at the same time, exploring or discerning the wonders of nature. Creation, at every step we tread, seems ever varied and new; the grass which springs up under our feet, flowers mingling their infinite diversity of tints, the dewdrops which refresh them and sparkle amongst them like diamonds, the reviving perfumes we breathe, the millions on millions of trees, shrubs, and flowers,—and none of these, not even a blade of grass, or herb, or leaf, atoms as they appear, could be useful, or please, unless created by Infinite Wisdom, from whom they receive form, verdure, and life."
Rosilia paused; and charmed as was the attention of Sir Howard, he preserved silence, hoping she would be led to renew her remarks; but not doing so, he continued the subject: "How gratified," said he, "will be the owners of these lands that lie before us, when the fruits of their toils ripen, and when their senses are not only regaled, but with glad hands they reap their treasures!"
"The branches of their luxuriant orchards are laden with buds and blossoms," added Rosilia, "and it will not be many months before these will expand into fruit. A tree thus adorned, I have been instructed, has been not unaptly compared ​by the ancients to man, and thus we are taught a lesson of wisdom, leading even to subjects divine."
"Allow me to catechize you," said Sir Howard, fixing on her a doubting yet penetrating eye, "that I may see fully illustrated this emblematical knowledge, novel I must confess in the present age, yet not so possibly in a former one; and if your comparison is plausible, I may for the future adopt you for my fair and tutelar angel: and first, with respect to the trees having their roots fixed in the earth—what is thence implied?"
"That man dwells below from his birth," answered Rosilia, "and that by nature his views have an earthly tendency."
"And what by the branches aspiring upwards?" again asked Sir Howard.
"That man looks up to a higher world."
"Then the branches which extend around?" continued he.
"So man, in his utility to the human race, extends his power of doing good to his neighbour—no matter whether friend or foe."
"Then the leaves," added Sir Howard, "how numberless are they to be found!"
"They may bring home to our view," returned she, "the numberless truths and sciences which by degrees we may cultivate if we choose."
"Let us come to the fruits of autumn bearing ​down the boughs," exclaimed Sir Howard with vivacity; "and here finish my queries."
"May they not expressively mean," said Rosilia, with equal animation, "the virtues,—such the delightful, the resplendent fruit mankind may bear, shining bright in the autumn of life?"
"Excellent, admirable moralist?" again exclaimed Sir Howard.
"Say rather," returned she, smiling, "I have said my catechism well. Perhaps you are not aware that my maternal grandfather was in the Church, and that some of his lessons of wisdom have descended to me in right of inheritance; and also that I have a learned friend of the same profession and opinions, a neighbour in the country."
The insinuating mildness of Sir Howard's accents, the sensible topics he discussed in the course of the conversation which followed, were undoubtedly calculated, for the time, to flatter, please, and win upon Rosilia's attention, who, in her turn, expressed herself with unaffected ease, combined with an effusion of intelligence, a glow of imagery, a fervour of sentiment—not only breathed in language, but transmitted from eyes so full of alternately pensive interest, brilliancy, and charm, that Sir Howard, had he been even less infatuated, might have still acknowledged that, notwithstanding her comparatively juvenile understanding, few ​of her sex could enter into the lists of conversation with her, or like her exhibit the exhaustless treasures of refinement and culture, in association with such lovely and truly feminine graces.
It was his custom to carry, as a pocket companion, a small edition of some favourite author, which he seldom looked into, excepting when desirous of shining as a man gifted with taste and intellectual endowment. Thomson's Seasons happened to be the volume on this occasion, and which, as applicable in some of its parts to the remarks that had passed, he opened; and with apt quotations, delivered with the precision of one who had made oratory his study, occupied the time until the barge arrived at its destination.
Sir Howard sprang to shore with the view of assisting Rosilia, who, not perceiving his design, was in the act of precipitating her light and agile person from the barge. Bending one knee to the earth, Sir Howard extended his arms; too late to avoid it, she was caught within them, but instantly disentangled herself. "'Twas dangerous, upon my life?" exclaimed Sir Howard; "'pon my soul, such a leap was venturesome in the extreme."
As the gentle but affrighted dove no sooner is set free than it adjusts its silken plumage and wings its flight—so Rosilia, with perturbed bosom, was no sooner disengaged than she drew her ​flowing scarf more closely around her, and screening herself from observation by the gathered folds of her veil, mixed amongst the ladies, and sought the support of her father's arm.
Sir Howard felt the silent rebuke, and attempted not to follow, but gazed after her with a sentiment of surprise and rapture!
It was but a short walk to the house where the company assembled, usually frequented by such parties. An elegant collation was soon in readiness, of which they partook with that festivity attendant upon meetings so little ceremonious.
The latter part of the day past as agreeably as the former, until the General, as the elder of the party, proposed returning.
Rosilia, for the remainder of the evening, apparently claimed no further attention from Sir Howard, who seemed to prefer chatting away the interval with the married ladies, but more especially with Mrs. De Brooke.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
PRINTED BY RICHARD AND JOHN E. TAYLOR, RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.