Turn, gentle hermit of the dale.—GOLDSMITH.
“My child, will you do me a favour?” said Mr. Belamour the next evening, in a tone no longer formal, but paternal. “Take this packet” (he put one into the girl’s hand) “to the light and inform me what is the superscription.”
It was a thick letter, with a large red wax seal, bearing the well known arms of Belamour and Delavie, and the address was
To AMYAS BELAMOUR, ESQ., K.C.,
OF THE INNER TEMPLE, LONDON.
To be opened after my death.]
JOVIAN BELAMOUR.
Dec. 14th, 1727.
“I thought so,” said Mr. Belamour, when she returned to him with intelligence. “Little did my poor brother guess how long it would be unopened! Will my gentle friend confer another obligation on me?”
Aurelia made her ready assent, hoping to be asked to read the letter, when he continued, “I cannot read this myself. Even could I bear the light, the attempt to fix my eyes sends darts shooting through my brain, which would take away my very power of comprehension. But,” he continued, “there are only two men living to whom I could entrust my brother’s last words to me. One, your own good father, is out of reach; the other has frequently proffered his good offices and has been rejected. Would you add to your kindness that of writing to entreat my old friend, Dr. Godfrey, to favour with a visit one who has too often and ungratefully refused him admission.”
Feminine curiosity felt balked, but Aurelia was ashamed of the sensation, and undertook the task. Instructions were given her that she was to write—
“If Amyas Belamour’s old Schoolfellow and Friend can overlook and pardon the undeserved Rebuffs to His Constancy and Solicitude for a lonely and sullen Wretch, and will once more come and spend a Night at Bowstead, he will confer an inestimable Favour upon one who is more sensible of his Goodness than when it has been previously offered.”
This letter, written in Aurelia’s best Italian hand, on a large sheet of paper, she brought with her the next evening. She was bidden to fold down the exact place for the signature, which Mr. Belamour proceeded to affix, and she was then to carry it to the candles in the lobby, and there fold, seal, and address it to the Reverend Edward Godfrey, D.D., Canon of Windsor, Windsor. She found the A. Belamour very fairly written except that it was not horizontal, and she performed the rest of the task with ladylike dexterity, sealing it with a ring that had been supplied for the purpose. It did not, as she expected, bear the Belamour sheaf of arrows, but was a gem, representing a sleeping Cupid with folded wings, so beautiful that she asked leave to take another impression for Harriet, who collected seals, after the fashion of the day.
“You are welcome,” Mr. Belamour replied. “I doubt its great antiquity, since the story of Cupid and Psyche cannot be traced beyond Apuleius. I used it because Dr. Godfrey will remember it. He was with me at Rome when I purchased it.”
The ring was of the size for a lady’s finger, and Aurelia durst ask no more.
How the letter was sent she knew not, but Mrs. Aylward was summoned to Mr. Belamour’s room, and desired to have a room ready at any time for his friend.
Three days later, towards sunset, a substantial-looking clergyman, attended by two servants, rode up to the door; and was immediately appropriated by Jumbo, disappearing into the mysterious apartments; Aurelia expected no summons that night, but at the usual hour, the negro brought a special request for the honour of her society; and as she entered the dark room, Mr. Belamour said, “My fair and charitable visitor will permit me to present to her my old and valued friend, Dr. Godfrey.” He laid the hand he had taken on one that returned a little gentlemanly acknowledgment, while a kind fatherly voice said, “The lady must pardon me if I do not venture to hand her to her chair.”
“Thank you, sir, I am close to my seat.”
“Your visitors acquire blind eyes, Belamour,” said Dr. Godfrey, cheerfully.
“More truly they become eyes to the blind,” was the answer. “I feel myself a man of the world again, since this amiable young lady has conned the papers on my behalf, and given herself the trouble of learning the choicest passages of the poets to repeat to me.”
“You are very good, sir,” returned Aurelia; “it is my great pleasure.”
“That I can well believe,” said Dr. Godfrey. “Have these agreeable recitations made you acquainted with the new poem on the Seasons by Mr. James Thomson?”
“No,” replied Mr. Belamour, “my acquaintance with the belles letters ceased nine years ago.”
“The descriptions have been thought extremely effective. Those of autumn were recalled to my mind on my way.”
Dr. Godfrey proceeded to recite some twenty lines of blank verse, for in those days people had more patience and fewer books, and exercised their memories much more than their descendants do. Listening was far from being thought tedious.
“‘But see the fading many-coloured roads,
Shade deepening over shade, the country round
Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dim,
Of every hue, from wan, declining green,
To sooty dark.’”
The lines had a strange charm to one who had lived in darkness through so many revolving years. Mr. Belamour eagerly thanked his friend, and on the offer to lend him the book, begged that it might be ordered for him, and that any other new and interesting work might be sent to him that was suitable to the fair lips on which he was dependent.
“You are secure with Mr. Thomson,” said the Doctor. “Hear the conclusion of his final hymn.”
“‘When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there with new powers
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go
Where Universal Love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns,
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable;
Come then expressive Silence, mine the praise.’”
“‘Universal Love!’” repeated Mr. Belamour; “the poet sings as you do, my amiable friend! I can conceive the idea better than I could a few months ago.”
“‘From seeming evil, still educing good,’”
quoted Dr. Godfrey earnestly, as if feeling his way.
“More of this another time,” said Mr. Belamour hastily. “What say the critics respecting this new aspirant?”
The ensuing conversation much interested Aurelia, as it was on the men of letters whose names had long been familiar to her, and whom the two gentlemen had personally known. She heard of Pope, still living at Twickenham, and of his bickerings with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu; of young Horace Walpole, who would never rival his father as a politician, but who was beginning his course as a dilettante, and actually pretending to prefer the barbarous Gothic to the classic Italian. However, his taste might be improved, since he was going to make the grand tour in company with Mr. Gray, a rising young poet, in whom Dr. Godfrey took interest, as an Etonian and a Cantab.
At nine o’clock Mr. Belamour requested Miss Delavie to let him depute to her the doing the honours of the supper table to his friend, who would return to him when she retired for the night.
Then it was that she first saw the guest, a fine, dignified clergyman, in a large grey wig, with a benignant countenance, reminding her of the Dean of Carminster. When she was little, the Dean had bestowed on her comfits and kisses; but since she had outgrown these attentions, he was wont to notice her only by a condescending nod, and she would no more have thought of conversing with him at table than in his stall in the cathedral. Thus it was surprising to find herself talked to, as Betty might have been, by this reverend personage, who kindly satisfied her curiosity about the King, Queen, and Princesses, but with a discretion which did not diminish that blind loyalty which saw no defects in “our good king,” though he was George II. She likewise answered a few questions about Mr. Belamour’s tastes and habits, put in a very different manner from those of the Mistress Treforth, and as soon as supper was over she rose and retired.
She did not see Dr. Godfrey again until he was ready for a late breakfast, having been up nearly the whole night with his friend. His horses were ordered immediately after the meal, as he had an appointment in London, and he presently looked up, and said,
“Madam, you must excuse me, I was silent from thinking how I can adequately express my respect and gratitude for you.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” exclaimed Aurelia, thinking her ears mistaken.
“My gratitude,” he repeated, “for the inestimable blessing you have been to my dear and much valued friend, in rousing him from that wretched state of despondency in which no one could approach him.”
“You are too good, sir,” returned Aurelia. “It was he who sent for me.”
“I know you did it in all simplicity, my dear child—forgive the epithet, I have daughters of my own, and thankful should I be if one of them could have produced such effects. I tell you, madam, my dear friend, one of the most estimable and brilliant men of his day, was an utter wreck, both in mind and body, through the cruel machinations of an unprincipled woman. How much was to the actual injury from his wound, how much to grief and remorse, Heaven only knows, but the death of his brother, who alone had authority with him, left him thus to cut himself off entirely in this utter darkness and despair. I called at first monthly, then yearly, after the melancholy catastrophe, and held many consultations with good Mr. Wayland, but all in vain. It was reserved for your sweet notes to awaken and recall him to what I trust is indeed new life.”
Tears filled Aurelia’s eyes, and she could only murmur something about being very glad.
“Yes,” pursued Dr. Godfrey, “it is as if I saw him rising from his living tomb in all senses of the word. I find that your artless Sunday evening conversations have even penetrated the inner hopeless gloom, still more grievous than the outer darkness in which he lived.”
“Indeed, sir, I never meant to be presumptuous.”
“God’s blessing on such presumption, my good child! If you had been fully aware of his state of mind, you might never have ventured nor have touched the sealed heart, as you have done, as I perceive, in your ignorance, out of your obedient reverence to the Lord’s day. Am I not right?”
“Yes, sir, I thought one could not repeat plays and poems on Sunday, and I was frightened when I found those other things were strange to him; but he bade me go on.”
“For the sake of the music of your voice, as he tells me, at first; but afterwards because you became the messenger of hope to one who had long lain in the shadow of death, thinking pardon and mercy too much out of reach to be sought for. You have awakened prayer within him once more.”
She could not speak, and Dr. Godfrey continued, “You will be glad to hear that I am to see the curate on my way through Brentford, and arrange with him at times to read prayers in the outer room. What is it?” he added; “you look somewhat doubtful.”
“Only, sir, perhaps I ought not to say so, but I cannot think Mr. Belamour well ever care for poor Mr. Greaves. If he could only hear that gentleman who comes to Sedhurst! I never knew how much fire could be put into the service itself, and yet I have often been at Carminster Cathedral.”
“True, my dear young lady. These enthusiasts seem to be kindling a new fire in the Church, but I am not yet so convinced of their orthodoxy and wisdom as to trust them unreservedly; and zeal pushed too far might offend our poor recluse, and alienate him more than ever. He is likely to profit more by the direct words of the Church herself, read without personal meaning, than by the individual exhortations of some devout stranger.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, I never meant to question your judgment. Indeed I did not.”
The horses were here announced, and Dr. Godfrey said,
“Then I leave him to you with a grateful heart. I am beginning to hope that there is much hypochondriacism in his condition, and that this may pass away with his despondency. I hope before many weeks are over to come and visit him again, before I go to my parish in Dorsetshire.”
Then, with a fatherly blessing, the Canon took his leave.
He was scarcely gone before there was a great rustling in the hall, and Mrs. Phoebe and Mrs. Delia Treforth were announced. Aurelia was surprised, for she had been decidedly sensible of their disapproval when she made her visit of ceremony after her entertainment by them. She, however, had underrated the force of the magnet of curiosity. They had come to inquire about the visitor, who had actually spent a night at the Park. They knew who he was, for “Ned Godfrey” had been a frequent guest at Bowstead in the youth of all parties, and they were annoyed that he had not paid his respects to them.
“It would have been only fitting to have sent for us, as relations of the family, to assist in entertaining him,” said Mrs. Phoebe. “Pray, miss, did my eccentric cousin place you in the position of hostess?”
“It fell to me, madam,” said Aurelia.
“You could have asked for our support,” said Mrs. Phoebe, severely. “It would have become you better, above all then Sir Amyas Belamour himself was here.”
“He has only been here while I was with you, madam, and was gone before my return.”
“That is true,” but Mrs. Phoebe looked at the girl so inquisitively that her colour rose in anger, and exclaimed, “Madam, I know not what you mean!”
“There, sister,” said Mrs. Delia, more kindly. “She is but a child, and Bet Batley is a gossip. She would not know his Honour in the dark from the blackamoor going down to visit his sweetheart.”
Very glad was Aurelia when the ladies curtsied themselves out of her summer parlour, declaring they wished to speak to Mrs. Aylward, who she knew could assure them of the absurdity of these implied suspicions.
And Mrs. Aylward, who detested the two ladies, and repelled their meddling, stiffly assured them both of Miss Delavie’s discretion and her own vigilance, which placed visits from the young baronet beyond the bounds of possibility. Supposing his Honour should again visit his uncle, she should take care to be present at any interview with the young lady. She trusted that she knew her duty, and so did Miss Delavie.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg