# Duty and Inclination/Chapter 45

CHAPTER II.
"Though smooth his voice and calm his gentle mien,
Still seems there something he would not have seen;
His features' deepening lines and varying hue
At times attracted, yet perplexed the view,
As if within that murkiness of mind
Work'd feelings fearful, and yet undefined."
Byron.
On the return of Mrs. De Brooke and Rosilia from their little excursion, how delighted were they to find their beloved Oriana waiting to receive them in company with her father!
After an affectionate embrace, they inquired to what cause they might owe her unexpected appearance. Mrs. Arden's carriage requiring some slight repair, Oriana had embraced the opportunity of its being sent to the coachmaker, to enjoy the happiness of visiting her family, having promised to return to her aunt with the vehicle.
Having taught herself to submit with greater fortitude to the chances and vicissitudes attending upon her attachment, Oriana, whose appearance had much faded since she had left her paternal home, began again to improve. The letters she received from Philimore, though less frequent than formerly, ​poured into her soul the balm of consolation; and if less impassioned or warm in the effusions of love, conceiving it his duty to support her weaknesses, strengthen her judgment, and finally raise her contemplations to the primary Author of all that was most perfect and excellent, they were generally replete with exalted sentiment and luminous intelligence, which appeared to Oriana as springing from the purest affection, guided by the discretion and rationality of one who was to become her future partner; it never occurred to her that the once enthusiastic, ardent flame of Philimore was abating.
To promote the final re-establishment of his health, Philimore had absented himself from London with his father, and as their return was not immediately expected, Oriana was denied the happiness of seeing him, a regret prevailing over her mind, notwithstanding the consolations derived from the company of her sister, who in the communications made her, dwelt upon the agreeable change in her life, in the manner of passing time, since she had renewed acquaintance with Sir Howard Sinclair.
"Do you not recollect him," said she, "when at Valpée Lodge?"
"Can he be the same Sir Howard," inquired Oriana, after replying in the affirmative, "whose character I have heard so much traduced for his gallantries; who makes it his boast that he never yet found a woman to resist his seductions?"
Rosilia started and turned pale, not from any ​suggestion either in favour of or against Sir Howard, but that there were in the world those of such a character who could make it their boast and glory to subdue and triumph over the fame and honour of her sex, cruel and unrelenting, leaving them with blasted virtue to shame and derision. Recovering herself, she told her sister she did not think Sir Howard Sinclair could be the person alluded to, from his general goodness, his love of literature, his humanity towards the poor; dwelling with pathos on the interesting scene she had so recently witnessed.
"Do not, my dear sister," replied Oriana, in her turn assuming the monitress, "place a too great reliance on such seeming worth; appearances are often deceitful."
"But," continued Rosilia, "admitting your remarks to be true in the case of Sir Howard, they can in no way affect me, since I regard him merely in the light of an agreeable acquisition to our acquaintance during the short period we remain in town."
"For my part," Oriana rejoined, "I cannot but think him the identical Sir Howard I have heard spoken of as a professed man of pleasure, and as such, what gratification could he derive from the company of either my father or mother? Be assured, Rosilia, his constant visits here are on your account."
"Well, my dear Oriana," replied Rosilia smiling, "we shall be shortly transported to the shades again and then your fears for my safety will end."
​ Scarcely had she finished speaking, when the General, entering from his morning's walk, accosted his daughters with an air of pleasure, telling them that he had accidentally met with a former acquaintance, a gentleman whom he doubted not they would be very glad to see, for which reason he had invited him to come and spend the evening with them. Oriana felt assured it could not be Philimore, and to any other visitor she felt indifferent.
"Who can he be?" exclaimed Rosilia.
"Who but Frederic Valpée," replied the General; "and, my dear children, you have each of you my carte blanche for setting your caps at him, and rendering yourselves as agreeable as you please, for I assure you the happy girl whom Frederic Valpée selects for his bride will be the envy of many a fair nymph, possessing as he does every advantage which youth, a handsome person, fortune, title in reserve, graceful and amiable manners can possibly bestow; rejoiced indeed should I be to obtain a son-in-law of such worth, so highly estimable in every respect."
There was a time when the heart of Oriana would most fervently have acknowledged and beat in unison to the merited encomiums of Frederic Valpée; but now that heart was no longer in her own possession. He might still claim her esteem, but her affections were otherwise disposed of. She recollected the flattering homage he had paid to her musical talents during the time which had fleeted so pleasantly away while celebrating his birthday, the preference by ​which he had distinguished her in handing her to the top of the room to open the ball with him. Philimore was then but little known to her, and her heart, free as the breeze which sports upon the summer meadow, had bounded with delight to the attentions of the amiable Valpée.
At the appointed hour Valpée was announced, and with ease and grace presented himself to Mrs. De Brooke. Having mixed more with the world, and entirely quitted his college avocations, his manners, though somewhat tinctured with reserve, were less so than formerly; he asked after the Misses De Brooke, whom, being seated in a back drawing-room, opening into the front by folding-doors, he did not immediately perceive.
"There they are to speak for themselves," replied their mother.
He turned, and with a mild respectful air bowed, and advanced to join them.
The conversation turned upon Sir Charles and Lady Valpée, of whom he spoke with the most filial regard. In the corner of the apartment stood the harp of Oriana, which recalled the memory of the past; he fain would renew, by a repetition of its tones, but scarce dared to express the desire he felt of being thus indulged.
A graceful negligence and disengaged ease invested Oriana, such as is seldom met with but in females whose manners have been improved by intercourse with the other sex, and have, in consequence, lost ​those feelings of restraint that often so much encumber those who have not experienced such associations. To the voluptuary or refined sensualist Oriana, fortunately for herself, having within her the germ of coquetry, was far from interesting,—appearing as a plant whose leaves were too expanded, conveying not that charm, as the unblown bud, as was imaged in Rosilia, upon which imagination might stray exhaustless, in picturing to itself its sweet unfoldings, its fragrance opening imperceptibly, as by successive developments, inhaled by none—save him who knew to estimate its value, and had dearly won it.
Nevertheless, no woman was more calculated to charm and fascinate the amiable Valpée than Oriana. Secretly flattered by the recollections of the past, or desirous of retaining his former favourable opinion of her, or perhaps from a wish merely to please, though her affections were engaged to another; she doubtless considered it no error to esteem Frederic Valpée, from whichever motive she was influenced, and succeeded in winning those attentions from him, which a more retired fair might have found some difficulty in accomplishing. It was reserved, therefore, for Oriana, who, as her animation increased, more than had been of late customary in the absence of Philimore, to draw, as it were, Valpée from himself, from the usual concentration of his feelings, to cause him to discover, by insensible degrees, those shining attainments by which he was endowed equally by ​nature as by culture,—the lustre of those unsullied morals, and depth of thought, originating in a noble, reflective, and elevated mind. He could no longer resist the inclination to solicit Oriana's skill in striking the harp he saw before him, with which she graciously complied, and the soul of Valpée vibrated responsive to each melting sound which was expiring in the last breath of song, when Sir Howard Sinclair was announced, introducing a friend by the name of Mr. Melliphant.
The former being known to Valpée, and being in the habit of meeting in the circles they frequented, entered into some short conversation; after which, conducting Melliphant to Rosilia, Sir Howard told her that he was a great amateur, if not connoisseur in painting, and that, with her permission, he would take the liberty of unfolding her portfolio, which remained closed upon an adjoining table. With an apparent humility of mien, Mr. Melliphant renounced his pretensions to such unequivocal praise, when some specimens of Rosilia's performances being laid before him, he selected from the group one which immediately struck him as a likeness of the fair artist herself, notwithstanding it seemed designed for a representation of Thomson's young Lavinia.
While gazing on it, his countenance betrayed the strongest feeling, and turning his eye upon Rosilia, he found the features similar, though she had somewhat failed in the expression. The countenance was more brilliant than touching, and did not convey to ​the soul that perfect image of chaste innocence he beheld in the original, and from which he felt confirmed in the persuasion, that it was almost impossible for an artist, in painting himself, to give the full characteristic of his own physiognomy, however great his talent, or however successful he might be in those of others.
After deep examination, another resemblance claimed his notice, infinitely more striking than the former. It was her sister herself, drawn as the goddess Euterpe. The same animated sensible countenance as he had seen her when seated at her harp, upon his first entrance.
"What a delightful talent!" said he, drawing towards Rosilia the finished piece still held in his hand; "you make the ivory live."
A modest suffusion overspread her cheek while she observed, "that the approbation of one who she heard was so great an adept in the art was extremely flattering to her, but that no doubt, notwithstanding his praise, he had seen much to criticise."
Mr. Melliphant, from his near intimacy with Sir Howard, having frequently heard Rosilia much extolled by him, had felt the most insuperable curiosity to behold her. He was endued by nature with some talent, strong and ardent in his feelings, wild and irregular in his passions, but of mild, equable, and temperate manners. Skilful in concerting plans, diligent and persevering in their execution; corrupt at heart, without principle of honour, he attached no ​real value to the esteem which virtue generally commands; such was he who then sat opposite to Rosilia, viewing her from time to time with a jealous and perturbed soul, whilst, With folded arms and head reclined, he seemed indifferent to all that passed, with the exception of those divine strains issuing from the magic fingers of Oriana.
And what was there in the countenance of Melliphant so incomprehensible to Rosilia, as she caught his momentary glance—accustomed, by her art of taking likenesses, to Lavaterise human expression, to portray the spirit of the face, either gay or pensive, serene or melancholy,—that she could not interpret his? His aspect pale, his brow lowering, still in that sombre hue and deep-searching eye there was a something not altogether repelling, a something that might excite interest, and lead to the supposition that Melliphant possessed a mind preying upon itself from some secret adverse fortune. It was sufficient to be unhappy, to claim the commiseration of Rosilia.
The person of Melliphant was nicely proportioned, and when he spoke his voice combined a modulation of tone with an eloquence rarely met with; every phrase he uttered riveted attention.
Sir Howard and Mr. Valpée also had each rendered themselves agreeable; the former, wholly unable to suppress a species of adulation common to him, had paid almost his exclusive attentions to Rosilia, and yet had not forborne to join in general ​conversation. Oriana had felt she was as well entertained as she could possibly expect to be in any company except Philimore's, and regretted the hour when the party dispersed.
"Well," said Mrs. De Brooke after the guests had retired, "and which of our girls, think you, has made the conquest of the amiable Valpée?"
"Indeed," replied the General, "they had both their beaux, and I was happy to find it was so, as I should be sorry to see my dear girls rivals of each other."
Notwithstanding the late insinuations of Oriana respecting the character of Sir Howard, Rosilia had never felt so much disposed to be pleased with him as since the evening of their excursion to the cottage. In administering to the infirmities and necessities of his late father's servants, he appeared to her in a light at once generous, humane, and filial. It was indeed an act such as any possessing goodness of heart might have been happy to perform. But as Rosilia, from her first acquaintance with Sir Howard, feared that the judgment she had passed upon him was too severe, it was now with pleasure she recalled to mind his benevolent conduct, which induced her to think that the failings she had perceived might have originated in her own want of due discrimination.
Rosilia, however, with all her nice discernment, had yet to learn how difficult it is for dim-sighted mortals to form a correct estimate of those interior motives that sway the heart and lead to human action. ​In Sir Howard's conduct Rosilia had perceived only the outward demonstrations of humanity; had it been possible for her to have penetrated the source, and to have seen revealed those vicious feelings which had induced the act she so much admired, how greatly would her sensitive nature have shuddered at the contemplation!
Those old people, it is true, had been servants of the late Sir Howard Sinclair; but those old people also had a grand-daughter, whom Sir Howard had taken into his service; she was of a simple rustic mien, but fair withal. The poor child was an orphan, and the old people had cherished the memory of her parents in the care they had bestowed upon her. Like the vulture, however, greedy of its innocent prey, Sir Howard by his arts stole from them this their only treasure, and to conceal from them the baseness of his despicable seduction, removed to a distance the deluded couple,—loaded them with his favours,—the wages of their child's prostitution. Of which being ignorant, they poured blessings upon him, whose bounties they would have spurned had they known the cause whence they had sprung,—would but have heaped upon them misery, and brought down their "grey hairs with sorrow to the grave"!
Thus it is that few can pass a definitive judgment upon the actions of their fellow-men, until by a clear relation of facts, and a complete development of cause and effect, are exhibited in their true colours the motives by which they are actuated.