Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 05

								

own peaceful thoughts,--the spontaneous children of a contemplative
spirit and a quiet conscience.  His was the age when we most sensitively
enjoy the mere sense of existence,--when the face of Nature and a passive
conviction of the benevolence of our Great Father suffice to create a
serene and ineffable happiness, which rarely visits us till we have done
with the passions; till memories, if more alive than heretofore, are yet
mellowed in the hues of time, and Faith softens into harmony all their
asperities and harshness; till nothing within us remains to cast a shadow
over the things without; and on the verge of life, the Angels are nearer
to us than of yore.  There is an old age which has more youth of heart
than youth itself!
As the old man thus sat, the little gate through which, on Sabbath days,
he was wont to pass from the humble mansion to the house of God
noiselessly opened, and Lady Vargrave appeared.
The curate rose when he perceived her; and the lady's fair features were
lighted up with a gentle pleasure, as she pressed his hand and returned
his salutation.
There was a peculiarity in Lady Vargrave's countenance which I have
rarely seen in others.  Her smile, which was singularly expressive, came
less from the lip than from the eyes; it was almost as if the brow
smiled; it was as the sudden and momentary vanishing of a light but
melancholy cloud that usually rested upon the features, placid as they
were.
They sat down on the rustic bench, and the sea-breeze wantoned amongst
the quivering leaves of the chestnut-tree that overhung their seat.
"I have come, as usual, to consult my kind friend," said Lady Vargrave;
"and, as usual also, it is about our absent Evelyn."
"Have you heard again from her, this morning?"
"Yes; and her letter increases the anxiety which your observation, so
much deeper than mine, first awakened."
"Does she then write much of Lord Vargrave?"
"Not a great deal; but the little she does say, betrays how much she
shrinks from the union my poor husband desired: more, indeed, than ever!
But this is not all, nor the worst; for you know that the late lord had
provided against that probability--he loved her so tenderly, his ambition
for her only came from his affection; and the letter he left behind him
pardons and releases her, if she revolts from the choice he himself
preferred."
"Lord Vargrave is, perhaps, a generous, he certainly seems a candid, man,
and he must be sensible that his uncle has already done all that justice
required."
"I think so.  But this, as I said, is not all; I have brought the letter
to show you.  It seems to me as you apprehended.  This Mr. Maltravers has
wound himself about her thoughts more than she herself imagines; you see
how she dwells on all that concerns him, and how, after checking herself,
she returns again and again to the same subject."
The curate put on his spectacles, and took the letter.  It was a strange