Read the book: «The Entail», page 23

CHAPTER LXVII

Walkinshaw found his uncle alone, who, after some slight inquiries, relative to unimportant matters of business, said to him, —

‘I have been desirous to see you, because I am anxious to make some family arrangements, to which, though I do not anticipate any objection on your part, as they will be highly advantageous to your interests, it is still proper that we should clearly understand each other respecting. It is unnecessary to inform you, that, by the disinheritance of your father, I came to the family estate, which, in the common course of nature, might have been yours – and you are quite aware, that, from the time it became necessary to cognosce your uncle, I have uniformly done more for your mother’s family than could be claimed or was expected of me.’

‘I am sensible of all that, sir,’ replied Walkinshaw, ‘and I hope there is nothing which you can reasonably expect me to do, that I shall not feel pleasure in performing.’

His uncle was not quite satisfied with this; the firmness with which it was uttered, and the self-reservation which it implied – were not propitious to his wishes, but he resumed, —

‘In the course of a short time, you will naturally be looking to me for some establishment in business, and certainly if you conduct yourself as you have hitherto done, it is but right that I should do something for you – much, however, will depend, as to the extent of what I may do, on the disposition with which you fall in with my views. Now, what I wish particularly to say to you is, that having but one child, and my circumstances enabling me to retire from the active management of the house, it is in my power to resign a considerable share in your favour – and this it is my wish to do in the course of two or three years; if’ – and he paused, looking his nephew steadily in the face.

‘I trust,’ said Walkinshaw, ‘it can be coupled with no condition that will prevent me from availing myself of your great liberality.’

His uncle was still more damped by this than by the former observation, and he replied peevishly, —

‘I think, young man, considering your destitute circumstances, you might be a little more grateful for my friendship. It is but a cold return to suppose I would subject you to any condition that you would not gladly agree to.’

This, though hastily conceived, was not so sharply expressed as to have occasioned any particular sensation; but the train of Walkinshaw’s reflections, with his suspicion of the object for which he was that evening invited to the country, made him feel it acutely, and his blood mounted at the allusion to his poverty. Still, without petulance, but in an emphatic manner, he replied, —

‘I have considered your friendship always as disinterested, and as such I have felt and cherished the sense of gratitude which it naturally inspired; but I frankly confess, that, had I any reason to believe it was less so than I hope it is, I doubt I should be unable to feel exactly as I have hitherto felt.’

‘And in the name of goodness!’ exclaimed his uncle, at once surprised and apprehensive; ‘what reason have you to suppose that I was not actuated by my regard for you as my nephew?’

‘I have never had any, nor have I said so,’ replied Walkinshaw; ‘but you seem to suspect that I may not be so agreeable to some purpose you intend as the obligations you have laid me under, perhaps, entitle you to expect.’

‘The purpose I intend,’ said the uncle, ‘is the strongest proof that I can give you of my affection. It is nothing less than founded on a hope that you will so demean yourself, as to give me the pleasure, in due time, of calling you by a dearer name than nephew.’

Notwithstanding all the preparations which Walkinshaw had made to hear the proposal with firmness, it overcame him like a thunder-clap – and he sat some time looking quickly from side to side, and unable to answer.

‘You do not speak,’ said his uncle, and he added, softly and inquisitively, ‘Is there any cause to make you averse to Robina? – I trust I may say to you, as a young man of discretion and good sense, that there is no green and foolish affection which ought for a moment to weigh with you against the advantages of a marriage with your cousin – Were there nothing else held out to you, the very circumstance of regaining so easily the patrimony, which your father had so inconsiderately forfeited, should of itself be sufficient. But, besides that, on the day you are married to Robina, it is my fixed intent to resign the greatest part of my concern in the house to you, thereby placing you at once in opulence.’

While he was thus earnestly speaking, Walkinshaw recovered his self-possession; and being averse to give a disagreeable answer, he said, that he could not but duly estimate, to the fullest extent, all the advantages which the connexion would insure; ‘But,’ said he, ‘have you spoken to Robina herself?’

‘No,’ replied his uncle, with a smile of satisfaction, anticipating from the question something like a disposition to acquiesce in his views. ‘No; I leave that to you – that’s your part. You now know my wishes; and I trust and hope you are sensible that few proposals could be made to you so likely to promote your best interests.’

Walkinshaw saw the difficulties of his situation. He could no longer equivocate with them. It was impossible, he felt, to say that he would speak on the subject to Robina, without being guilty of duplicity towards his uncle. Besides this, he conceived it would sully the honour and purity of his affection for Ellen Frazer to allow himself to seek any declaration of refusal from Robina, however certain of receiving it. His uncle saw his perplexity, and said, —

‘This proposal seems to have very much disconcerted you – but I will be plain; for, in a matter on which my heart is so much set, it is prudent to be candid. I do not merely suspect, but have some reason to believe, that you have formed a schoolboy attachment to Mrs. Eadie’s young friend. Now, without any other remark on the subject, I will only say, that, though Miss Frazer is a very fine girl, and of a most respectable family, there is nothing in the circumstances of her situation compared with those of your cousin, that would make any man of sense hesitate between them.’

So thought Walkinshaw; for, in his opinion, the man of sense would at once prefer Ellen.

‘However,’ continued his uncle, – ‘I will not at present press this matter further. I have opened my mind to you, and I make no doubt, that you will soon see the wisdom and propriety of acceding to my wishes.’

Walkinshaw thought he would be acting unworthy of himself if he allowed his uncle to entertain any hope of his compliance; and, accordingly, he said, with some degree of agitation, but not so much as materially to affect the force with which he expressed himself, —

‘I will not deny that your information with respect to Miss Frazer is correct; and the state of our sentiments renders it impossible that I should for a moment suffer you to expect I can ever look on Robina but as my cousin.’

‘Well, well, James,’ interrupted his uncle, – ‘I know all that; and I calculated on hearing as much, and even more; but take time to reflect on what I have proposed; and I shall be perfectly content to see the result in your actions. So, let us go to your aunt’s room, and take tea with her and Robina.’

‘Impossible! – never!’ exclaimed Walkinshaw, rising; – ‘I cannot allow you for a moment longer to continue in so fallacious an expectation. My mind is made up; my decision was formed before I came here; and no earthly consideration will induce me to forgo an affection that has grown with my growth, and strengthened with my strength.’

His uncle laughed, and rubbed his hands, exceedingly amused at this rhapsody, and said, with the most provoking coolness, —

‘I shall not increase your flame by stirring the fire – you are still but a youth – and it is very natural that you should have a love fit – all, therefore, that I mean to say at present is, take time – consider – reflect on the fortune you may obtain, and contrast it with the penury and dependence to which your father and mother exposed themselves by the rash indulgence of an inconsiderate attachment.’

‘Sir,’ exclaimed Walkinshaw, fervently, ‘I was prepared for the proposal you have made, and my determination with respect to it was formed and settled before I came here.’

‘Indeed!’ said his uncle coldly; ‘and pray what is it?’

‘To quit Glasgow; to forgo all the pecuniary advantages that I may derive from my connexion with you – if’ – and he made a full stop and looked his uncle severely in the face, – ‘if,’ he resumed, ‘your kindness was dictated with a view to this proposal.’

A short silence ensued, in which Walkinshaw still kept his eye brightly and keenly fixed on his uncle’s face; but the Laird was too much a man of the world not to be able to endure this scrutiny.

‘You are a strange fellow,’ he at last said, with a smile, that he intended should be conciliatory; ‘but as I was prepared for a few heroics I can forgive you.’

‘Forgive!’ cried the hot and indignant youth; ‘what have I done to deserve such an insult? I thought your kindness merited my gratitude. I felt towards you as a man should feel towards a great benefactor; but now it would almost seem that you have in all your kindness but pursued some sinister purpose. Why am I selected to be your instrument? Why are my feelings and affections to be sacrificed on your sordid altars?’

He found his passion betraying him into irrational extravagance, and, torn by the conflict within him, he covered his face with his hands, and burst into tears.

‘This is absolute folly, James,’ said his uncle soberly.

‘It is not folly,’ was again his impassioned answer. ‘My words may be foolish, but my feelings are at this moment wise. I cannot for ten times all your fortune, told a hundred times, endure to think I may be induced to barter my heart. It may be that I am ungrateful; if so, as I can never feel otherwise upon the subject than I do, send me away, as unworthy longer to share your favour; but worthy I shall nevertheless be of something still better.’

‘Young man, you will be more reasonable to-morrow,’ said his uncle, contemptuously, and immediately left the room. Walkinshaw at the same moment also took his hat, and, rushing towards the door, quitted the house; but in turning suddenly round the corner, he ran against Robina, who, having some idea of the object of his visit, had been listening at the window to their conversation.

CHAPTER LXVIII

The agitation in which Walkinshaw was at the moment when he encountered Robina, prevented him from being surprised at meeting her, and also from suspecting the cause which had taken her to that particular place so late in the evening. The young lady was more cool and collected, as we believe young ladies always are on such occasions, and she was the first who spoke.

‘Where are you running so fast?’ said she. ‘I thought you would have stayed tea. Will you not go back with me? My mother expects you.’

‘Your father does not,’ replied Walkinshaw tersely; ‘and I wish it had been my fortune never to have set my foot within his door.’

‘Dear me!’ exclaimed Miss Robina, as artfully as if she had known nothing, nor overheard every word which had passed. ‘What has happened? I hope nothing has occurred to occasion any quarrel between you. Do think, James, how prejudicial it must be to your interests to quarrel with my father.’

‘Curse that eternal word “interests”!’ was the unceremonious answer. ‘Your father seems to think that human beings have nothing but interests; that the heart keeps a ledger, and values everything in pounds sterling. Our best affections, our dearest feelings, are with him only as tare, that should pass for nothing in the weight of moral obligations.’

‘But stop,’ said Robina, ‘don’t be in such a hurry; tell me what all this means – what has affections and dear feelings to do with your counting-house affairs? – I thought you and he never spoke of anything but rum puncheons and sugar cargoes.’

‘He is incapable of knowing the value of anything less tangible and vendible!’ exclaimed her cousin – ‘but I have done with both him and you.’

‘Me!’ cried Miss Robina, with an accent of the most innocent admiration, that any sly and shrewd miss of eighteen could possibly assume. – ‘Me! what have I to do with your hopes and your affections, and your tangible and vendible commodities?’

‘I beg your pardon, I meant no offence to you, Robina – I am overborne by my feelings,’ said Walkinshaw; ‘and if you knew what has passed, you would sympathize with me.’

‘But as I do not,’ replied the young lady coolly, ‘you must allow me to say that your behaviour appears to me very extravagant – surely nothing has passed between you and my father that I may not know?’

This was said in a manner that instantly recalled Walkinshaw to his senses. The deep and cunning character of his cousin he had often before remarked – with, we may say plainly, aversion – and he detected at once in the hollow and sonorous affectation of sympathy with which her voice was tuned, particularly in the latter clause of the sentence, the insincerity and hypocrisy of her conduct. – He did not, however, suspect that she had been playing the eavesdropper; and, therefore, still tempered with moderation his expression of the sentiments she was so ingeniously leading him on to declare.

‘No,’ said he, calmly, ‘nothing has passed between your father and me that you may not know, but it will come more properly from him, for it concerns you, and in a manner that I can never take interest or part in.’

‘Concerns me! concerns me!’ exclaimed the actress; ‘it is impossible that anything of mine could occasion a misunderstanding between you.’

‘But it has,’ said Walkinshaw; ‘and to deal with you, Robina, as you ought to be dealt with, for affecting to be so ignorant of your father’s long-evident wishes and intents – he has actually declared that he is most anxious we should be married.’

‘I can see no harm in that,’ said she, adding dryly, ‘provided it is not to one another.’

‘But it is to one another,’ said Walkinshaw, unguardedly, and in the simplicity of earnestness, which Miss perceiving, instantly with the adroitness of her sex turned to account – saying with well-feigned diffidence, —

‘I do not see why that should be so distressing to you.’

‘No!’ replied he. ‘But the thing can never be, and it is of no use for us to talk of it – so good night.’

‘Stay,’ cried Robina, – ‘what you have told me deserves consideration. – Surely I have given you no reason to suppose that in a matter so important, I may not find it my interest to comply with my father’s wishes.’

‘Heavens!’ exclaimed Walkinshaw, raising his clenched hands in a transport to the skies.

‘Why are you so vehement?’ said Robina.

‘Because,’ replied he solemnly, ‘interest seems the everlasting consideration of our family – interest disinherited my father – interest made my uncle Walter consign my mother to poverty – interest proved the poor repentant wretch insane – interest claims the extinction of all I hold most precious in life – and interest would make me baser than the most sordid of all our sordid race.’

‘Then I am to understand you dislike me so much, that you have refused to accede to my father’s wishes for our mutual happiness?’

‘For our mutual misery, I have refused to accede,’ was the abrupt reply – ‘and if you had not some motive for appearing to feel otherwise – which motive I neither can penetrate nor desire to know, you would be as resolute in your objection to the bargain as I am – match I cannot call it, for it proceeds in a total oblivion of all that can endear or ennoble such a permanent connexion.’

Miss was conscious of the truth of this observation, and with all her innate address, it threw her off her guard, and she said, —

‘Why do you suppose that I am so insensible? My father may intend what he pleases, but my consent must be obtained before he can complete his intentions.’ She had, however, scarcely said so much, when she perceived she was losing the vantage-ground that she had so dexterously occupied, and she turned briskly round and added, ‘But, James, why should we fall out about this? – there is time enough before us to consider the subject dispassionately – my father cannot mean that the marriage should take place immediately.’

‘Robina, you are your father’s daughter, and the heiress of his nature as well as of his estate – no such marriage ever can or shall take place; nor do you wish it should – but I am going too far – it is enough that I declare my affections irrevocably engaged, and that I will never listen to a second proposition on that subject, which has to-night driven me wild. I have quitted your father – I intend it for ever – I will never return to his office. All that I built on my connexion with him is now thrown down – perhaps with it my happiness is also lost – but no matter, I cannot be a dealer in such bargaining as I have heard to-night. I am thankful to Providence that gave me a heart to feel better, and friends who taught me to think more nobly. However, I waste my breath and spirits idly; my resolution is fixed, and when I say Good night, I mean Farewell.’

With these words he hurried away, and, after walking a short time on the lawn, Robina returned into the house; and going up to her mother’s apartment, where her father was sitting, she appeared as unconcerned and unconscious of the two preceding conversations, as if she had neither been a listener to the one, nor an actress in the other.

On entering the room, she perceived that her father had been mentioning to her mother something of what had passed between himself and her cousin; but it was her interest, on account of the direction which her affections had taken, to appear ignorant of many things, and studiously to avoid any topic with her father that might lead him to suspect her bent; for she had often observed, that few individuals could be proposed to him as a match for her that he entertained so strong a prejudice against; although really, in point of appearance, relationship, and behaviour, it could hardly be said that the object of her preference was much inferior to her romantic cousin. The sources and motives of that prejudice she was, however, regardless of discovering. She considered it in fact as an unreasonable and unaccountable antipathy, and was only anxious for the removal of any cause that might impede the consummation she devoutly wished. Glad, therefore, to be so fully mistress of Walkinshaw’s sentiments as she had that night made herself, she thought, by a judicious management of her knowledge, she might overcome her father’s prejudice; – and the address and dexterity with which she tried this we shall attempt to describe in the following chapter.

CHAPTER LXIX

‘I thought,’ said she, after seating herself at the tea-table, ‘that my cousin would have stopped to-night; but I understand he has gone away.’

‘Perhaps,’ replied her father, ‘had you requested him, he might have stayed!’

‘I don’t think he would for me,’ was her answer. – ‘He does not appear particularly satisfied when I attempt to interfere with any of his proceedings.’

‘Then you do sometimes attempt to interfere?’ said her father, somewhat surprised at the observation, and not suspecting that she had heard one word of what had passed, every syllable of which was carefully stored in the treasury of her bosom.

The young lady perceived that she was proceeding a little too quickly, and drew in her horns.

‘All,’ said she, ‘that I meant to remark was, that he is not very tractable, which I regret;’ and she contrived to give a sigh.

‘Why should you regret it so particularly?’ inquired her father, a little struck at the peculiar accent with which she had expressed herself.

‘I cannot tell,’ was her adroit reply; and then she added, in a brisker tone, – ‘But I wonder what business I have to trouble myself about him?’

For some time her father made no return to this; but, pushing back his chair from the tea-table till he had reached the chimney-corner, he leant his elbow on the mantelpiece, and appeared for several minutes in a state of profound abstraction. In the meantime, Mrs. Walkinshaw had continued the conversation with her daughter, observing to her that she did, indeed, think her cousin must be a very headstrong lad; for he had spoken that night to her father in such a manner as had not only astonished but distressed him. ‘However,’ said she, – ‘he is still a mere boy; and, I doubt not, will, before long is past, think better of what his uncle has been telling him.’

‘I am extremely sorry,’ replied Robina, with the very voice of the most artless sympathy, though, perhaps, a little more accentuated than simplicity would have employed – ‘I am very sorry, indeed, that any difference has arisen between him and my father. I am sure I have always heard him spoken of as an amiable and very deserving young man. I trust it is of no particular consequence.’

‘It is of the utmost consequence,’ interposed her father; ‘and it is of more to you than to any other besides.’

‘To me, Sir! how is that possible? – What have I to do with him, or he with me? I am sure, except in being more deficient in his civilities than those of most of my acquaintance, I have had no occasion to remark anything particular in his behaviour or conduct towards me.’

‘I know it – I know it,’ exclaimed her father; ‘and therein lies the source of all my anxiety.’

‘I fear that I do not rightly understand you,’ said the cunning girl.

‘Nor do I almost wish that you ever should; but, nevertheless, my heart is so intent on the business, that I think, were you to second my endeavours, the scheme might be accomplished.’

‘The scheme? – What scheme?’ replied the most unaffected Robina.

‘In a word, child,’ said her father, ‘how would you like James as a husband?’

‘How can I tell?’ was her simple answer. ‘He has never given me any reason to think on the subject.’

‘You cannot, however, but long have seen that it was with me a favourite object?’

‘I confess it; – and, perhaps, I have myself,’ she said, with a second sigh – ‘thought more of it than I ought to have done; but I have never had any encouragement from him.’

‘How unhappy am I,’ thought her father to himself – ‘The poor thing is as much disposed to the match as my heart could hope for. – Surely, surely, by a little address and perseverance, the romantic boy may be brought to reason and to reflect;’ and he then said to her – ‘My dear Robina, you have been the subject of my conversation with James this evening; but I am grieved to say, that his sentiments, at present, are neither favourable to your wishes nor to mine. – He seems enchanted by Mrs. Eadie’s relation, and talked so much nonsense on the subject that we almost quarrelled.’

‘I shall never accept of a divided heart,’ said the young lady despondingly; ‘and I entreat, my dear father, that you will never take another step in the business; for, as long as I can recollect, he has viewed me with eyes of aversion – and in all that time he has been the playmate, and the lover, perhaps, of Ellen Frazer. – Again I implore you to abandon every idea of promoting a union between him and me: It can never take place on his part but from the most sordid considerations of interest; nor on mine without feeling that I have been but as a bale bargained for.’

Her father listened with attention to what she said – it appeared reasonable – it was spirited; but there was something, nevertheless, in it which did not quite satisfy his mind, though the sense was clear and complete.

‘Of course,’ he replied, guardedly; ‘I should never require you to bestow your hand where you had not already given your affections; but it does not follow that because the headstrong boy is at this time taken up with Miss Frazer, that he is always to remain of the same mind. On the contrary, Robina, were you to exert a little address, I am sure you would soon draw him from that unfortunate attachment.’

‘What woman,’ said she, with an air of supreme dignity, ‘would submit to pilfer the betrothed affections of any man? No, sir, I cannot do that – nor ought I; and pardon me when I use the expression, nor will I. Had my cousin made himself more agreeable to me, I do not say that such would have been my sentiments; but having seen nothing in his behaviour that can lead me to hope from him anything but the same constancy in his dislike which I have ever experienced, I should think myself base, indeed, were I to allow you to expect that I may alter my opinion.’

Nothing further passed at that time; for to leave the impression which she intended to produce as strong as possible, she immediately rose and left the room. Her father soon after also quitted his seat, and after taking two or three turns across the floor, went to his own apartment.

‘I am the most unfortunate of men,’ said he to himself, ‘and my poor Robina is no less frustrated in her affections. I cannot, however, believe that the boy is so entirely destitute of prudence as not to think of what I have told him. I must give him time. Old heads do not grow on young shoulders. But it never occurred to me that Robina was attached to him; on the contrary, I have always thought that the distaste was stronger on her part than on his. But it is of no use to vex myself on the subject. Let me rest satisfied to-night with having ascertained that at least on Robina’s part there is no objection to the match. My endeavours hereafter must be directed to detach James from the girl Frazer. It will, however, be no easy task, for he is ardent and enthusiastic, and she has undoubtedly many of those graces which readiest find favour in a young man’s eye.’

He then hastily rose, and hurriedly paced the room.

‘Why am I cursed,’ he exclaimed, ‘with this joyless and barren fate? Were Robina a son, all my anxieties would be hushed; but with her my interest in the estate of my ancestors terminates. Her mother, however, may yet’ – and he paused. ‘It is very weak,’ he added in a moment after, ‘to indulge in these reflections. I have a plain task before me, and instead of speculating on hopes and chances, I ought to set earnestly about it, and leave no stone unturned till I have performed it thoroughly.’

With this he composed his mind for the remainder of the evening, and when he again joined Robina and her mother, the conversation by all parties was studiously directed to indifferent topics.