Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 02

								

connected with the early and virgin years of poetry and aspiration; words
that were as the ghosts of thoughts now far too gentle for his altered
soul.  He bowed down his head, and the dark shade left his brow.
The song ceased.  Maltravers moved with a sigh, and his eyes rested on
the form of the steward with his hand on the door.
"Shall I give your honour's message?" said Mr. Justis, gravely.
"No; take care for the future; leave me now."
Mr. Justis made one leg, and then, well pleased, took to both.
"Well," thought he, as he departed, "how foreign parts do spoil a
gentleman! so mild as he was once!  I must botch up the accounts, I
see,--the squire has grown sharp."
As Evelyn concluded her song, she--whose charm in singing was that she
sang from the heart--was so touched by the melancholy music of the air
and words, that her voice faltered, and the last line died inaudibly on
her lips.
The children sprang up and kissed her.
"Oh," cried Cecilia, "there is the beautiful peacock!"  And there,
indeed, on the steps without--perhaps attracted by the music--stood the
picturesque bird.  The children ran out to greet their old favourite, who
was extremely tame; and presently Cecilia returned.
"Oh, Carry! do see what beautiful horses are coming up the park!"
Caroline, who was a good rider, and fond of horses, and whose curiosity
was always aroused by things connected with show and station, suffered
the little girl to draw her into the garden.  Two grooms, each mounted on
a horse of the pure Arabian breed, and each leading another, swathed and
bandaged, were riding slowly up the road; and Caroline was so attracted
by the novel appearance of the animals in a place so deserted that she
followed the children towards them, to learn who could possibly be their
enviable owner.  Evelyn, forgotten for the moment, remained alone.  She
was pleased at being so, and once more turned to the picture which had so
attracted her before.  The mild eyes fixed on her, with an expression
that recalled to her mind her own mother.
"And," thought she, as she gazed, "this fair creature did not live to
know the fame of her son, to rejoice in his success, or to soothe his
grief.  And he, that son, a disappointed and solitary exile in distant
lands, while strangers stand within his deserted hall!"
The images she had conjured up moved and absorbed her; and she continued
to stand before the picture, gazing upward with moistened eyes.  It was a
beautiful vision as she thus stood, with her delicate bloom, her
luxuriant hair (for the hat was not yet replaced), her elastic form, so
full of youth and health and hope,--the living form beside the faded
canvas of the dead, once youthful, tender, lovely as herself!  Evelyn
turned away with a sigh; the sigh was re-echoed yet more deeply.  She
started: the door that led to the study was opened, and in the aperture
was the figure of a man in the prime of life.  His hair, still luxuriant