Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete

								

yourself that you must be unhappy in a union with him. Compose your
mind, think seriously upon the choice before you, refuse all decision at
the present moment; wait until the appointed time arrives, or, at least,
more nearly approaches. Meanwhile, I understand that Lord Vargrave is
to be a frequent visitor at Mrs. Merton's; there you will see him
with others, his character will show itself. Study his principles, his
disposition; examine whether he is one whom you can esteem and render
happy: there may be a love without enthusiasm, and yet sufficient for
domestic felicity, and for the employment of the affections. You will
insensibly, too, learn from other parts of his character which he does
not exhibit to us. If the result of time and examination be that you can
cheerfully obey the late lord's dying wish, unquestionably it will be
the happier decision. If not, if you still shrink from vows at which
your heart now rebels, as unquestionably you may, with an acquitted
conscience, become free. The best of us are imperfect judges of the
happiness of others. In the woe or weal of a whole life, we must decide
for ourselves. Your benefactor could not mean you to be wretched; and if
he now, with eyes purified from all worldly mists, look down upon you,
his spirit will approve your choice; for when we quit the world, all
worldly ambition dies with us. What now to the immortal soul can be
the title and the rank which on earth, with the desires of earth, your
benefactor hoped to secure to his adopted child? This is my advice. Look
on the bright side of things, and wait calmly for the hour when Lord
Vargrave can demand your decision."
The words of the priest, which well defined her duty, inexpressibly
soothed and comforted Evelyn; and the advice upon other and higher
matters, which the good man pressed upon a mind so softened at that
hour to receive religious impressions, was received with gratitude and
respect. Subsequently their conversation fell upon Lady Vargrave,--a
theme dear to both of them. The old man was greatly touched by the poor
girl's unselfish anxiety for her mother's comfort, by her fears that she
might be missed, in those little attentions which filial love alone can
render; he was almost yet more touched when, with a less disinterested
feeling, Evelyn added mournfully,--
"Yet why, after all, should I fancy she will so miss me? Ah, though I
will not dare complain of it, I feel still that she does not love me
as I love her."
"Evelyn," said the curate, with mild reproach, "have I not said that
your mother has known sorrow? And though sorrow does not annihilate
affection, it subdues its expression, and moderates its outward signs."
Evelyn sighed, and said no more.
As the good old man and his young friend returned to the cottage, Lord
Vargrave and Caroline approached them, emerging from an opposite part
of the grounds. The former hastened to Evelyn with his usual gayety and