“If thou dost marry, I’ll give thee this plague for thy dowry.
Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.”
--- Shakspeare
I was born in Ireland, on an estate which had been in the possession of my family for five generations. My father was not a rich man; but his income was scarcely less than fifteen hundred a year---a sum which with care enabled us to live comfortably, and occasionally be very hospitable. My father had held a commission in a dragoon regiment; but as the number of that regiment is not to be found in the Army List, having been erased therefrom, I need not insert it in this narrative. Let it suffice, that the circumstance of this regiment being “erased for ever,” deprived my father of the honour of serving the King in future. Several years after this unfortunate affair, my father married the only daughter of an admiral, who was distinguished for his gallantry in several naval engagements.
My father and mother were both singularly handsome people. The former was tall, but slightly made, with light blue eyes and brown hair, an aquiline nose, and remarkably white teeth. My mother was about the middle height. She had large black eyes, and raven hair, and a neck and arms as white as snow.
I had a brother, who was two years older, and a sister a year younger than myself. My brother, when he was nine years of age, was sent to school---a boarding-school---and a governess was engaged for myself and my younger sister. Nothing could exceed the pains and care taken with our education.
When my brother was seventeen, an ensigncy was procured for him in a regiment of foot, then quartered in Yorkshire---at Huddersfield. He joined, and remained in England for three years. At the end of that time he obtained leave, and paid us a visit. How altered in that space of time was my brother in appearance! When he left us he was a mere boy; he was now quite a man, with a look that betokened he had indulged in every species of dissipation. My mother, I remember, was sadly shocked at the change which so few years had worked in her “dear Frank;” but upon my father it did not appear to make any great impression. My brother, when he came home was accompanied by a “brother officer,” and “great friend” of his---a Captain Merrydale, the son of Sir George Merrydale, of Merrydale Hall, in Lancashire.
Captain Merrydale was then about twenty-four, and, according to my idea, the handsomest man in existence. He was, moreover, very lively, and brilliant in conversation, and had the softest and most fascinating voice imaginable. My father and mother were enchanted with their guest, notwithstanding they both entertained the opinion that his example had not been particularly beneficial to their son; for Captain Merrydale’s look, like that of my brother Frank, betrayed that he was addicted to late hours, and pleasures which invariably undermine the constitution. As for my sister Julia, and myself, we liked him exceedingly, and, to tell the truth, he had not been three days under our roof before we both entertained an affection for him. I do not mean to say that we were in love with Captain Merrydale; but his attentions afforded us extreme pleasure, and, in our secret hearts, we were beginning to grow jealous of each other; for, be it known to the reader, Captain Merrydale’s attentions were so evenly divided between Julia and myself that it was impossible to say which of the two he preferred, while it was very evident he greatly admired both of us.
A week passed away and Julia and I became rivals. We suddenly ceased to confide in each other, as formerly. The more we saw of Captain Merrydale the more we liked him: to be candid, we were now both in love with him, and longing for a declaration. But he never talked to either of us of love---never alluded to that subject in any of his conversations, and never addressed to Julia or myself any of those complimentary speeches which are usually so pleasing to marriageable girls. I must here, difficult as the task may be, draw a comparison between my sister and myself---and now that my charms are numbered with things that were---now that I am past the meridian of life---I trust that my impartiality will not be questioned. In a word, then, both Julia and myself were handsome---extremely handsome girls---and, like the rest of the family, tall and well proportioned. We were, moreover, very like each other in person, and in disposition, though I had the credit of having a somewhat more even temper. I was a better musician than my sister, while her voice was proportionately superior to mine. I, too, was more apt in learning languages, and more clever with my pencil, while she had a more refined taste for poetry. She excelled me also in horsewomanship. Captain Merrydale, while with us, must often have thought and felt with Captain Macheath in the Beggar’s Opera,
How happy could I be with either
Were t’other dear charmer away!
for he had rarely or never an opportunity of talking to either of us alone. This will not surprise the reader, since I have stated that Julia was jealous of me, and I of her. Neither seemed disposed to give the other a chance, or rather an advantage, while we mutually accused each other of endeavouring to “catch” our charming guest.
At the end of the third week of his stay with us Captain Merrydale received a letter from his mother, announcing the serious illness of Sir George, and requesting him to come home without delay. In obedience to this summons, Captain Merrydale made immediate preparation for leaving us, and on the morning of his departure took an opportunity of thanking Julia and myself, in the warmest terms, for the kindness we had shown to him, and for the many delightful hours and days he had spent in our company. He little fancied how valueless were these general acknowledgments to either of us girls, who were respectively anxious for some exclusive and specific declaration of his regard.
No sooner was Captain Merrydale out of the house, than Julia and myself began to warm towards each other. Our belief was that we should never see Captain Merrydale again, and I am not quite sure, considering our own jealous feelings and his apparent inability to choose between us, that the thought occasioned either of us any great pain. One morning, however, I received a letter which was addressed to the care of my brother, who was still with us. This letter was given to me at the breakfast table. I placed it under my plate, and, whilst I did so, felt my face suffused with blushes, and an indescribable confusion take possession of me.
“It is from Merrydale,” said my brother, smiling, as he threw the letter across the table. “See if he gives us any regimental news.”
“By and bye,” was my answer.
“It cannot contain any secrets,” suggested my sister. “Why not open it now, and satisfy Frank’s curiosity at once?”
“Because I do not please,” said I, somewhat angry with Julia, though my heart was leaping with joy.
“That’s right, my girl,” said my father, who was always the most kind-hearted and considerate being in the world. “Open it at your convenience, Eva; and only tell us as much of its contents as you may think proper.”
Here the conversation on the subject of the letter ended.
I was ashamed to be the first to rise from the table, and yet I fancied the breakfast on that morning would, never be ended. I was literally dying to know why Captain Merrydale had written to me, and not to any other member of the family? and why he should have addressed his letter to the care of Francis? At length the party made a move. Mamma went to give the housekeeper some directions about the dinner (we had invited company). Papa and Frank went to the stables to look at a sick horse; and Julia left the room, shutting the door after her with much more violence than was necessary. I then broke the seal and read as follows
“Dear Miss ——,
I wish you to be the first to inform your brother of his promotion. Ere this reaches you he will be gazetted as a lieutenant. I have sent in my papers to retire from the army. I have done this at the request of my mother, who is disconsolate at the approaching dissolution of my father. It is feared that he cannot survive many days.
Believe me, ever thine, sincerely,
George Merrydale.”
“Is that all?” thought I. “He might have told my brother of this himself. Why should he wish me to be the first to tell Frank of his good fortune?” And then I read the letter over and over again until I had it by heart. The words---the only words---that I really cared for, and liked, were “ever thine;” but then the “sincerely” was so cold and formal, it almost robbed them of their charm. Still---having previously satisfied myself that I was unobserved---I kissed the letter several times, and then hurried to the stables.
“Frank! Frank dear!” said I. “You have got the step you so much coveted. Let me congratulate you, my dear brother.”
“Nonsense!” ejaculated Frank. “Who has died, or sold?”
“Captain Merrydale,” said I, handing him the letter, “has retired from the service.”
“Eva,” said my brother, “remember the whole of the Merrydale family to-night in your prayers---especially the old man!”
“Let me, too, congratulate you, my dear boy,” said my father---and, turning to me, ho added, “and you, Eva dearest.”
“Why, papa?” I asked.
“Sure, my girl, this Captain Merrydale, who is heir to the baronetcy and fortune of a dying man, is your lover. You will be Lady Merrydale to a moral, provided you do not reject him, which is not very likely. This is nothing more or less than a love letter.”
“Nonsense, papa!” I exclaimed. “A love letter without a single word of love in it? Not even ‘my love to your family,’ or ‘my kind regards.’”
“No, but there’s a lot of meaning in it,” said my father. “Lose not a moment in thanking Captain Merrydale from the bottom of your heart; for I’ll be bound he has calculated the very hour that he ought to receive your answer; and don’t forget to say how much we all regret to hear of the illness of Sir George.”
My sister’s mind was seemingly a good deal relieved when she became informed of the contents of Captain Merrydale’s letter, and when she observed that I was not quite pleased with its tone; still she was not perfectly happy, when she came to reflect that the fact of the captain having selected me as his correspondent was undoubted evidence that, of the two sisters, he had for me a preference. It may be conceived that my sister was not a very amiable person to envy me on this occasion; but, for my part, I freely forgave her---for, judging from my own feelings, I was convinced that she acted only in accordance with the dictates of human nature. Any rival in a matter relating to the affections is bad enough, but such rival a sister---none but those who have experienced the agonies can form even the faintest idea of them.
But, what was I to say to Captain Merrydale? That was a question which puzzled me very much, under the circumstances; and I sat with my pen in my hand, and his letter open on my desk, for at least an hour before I could put a single word to paper. In the first place, whether to say “My dear Sir,” or “Dear Captain Merrydale,” was a matter which I debated for at least twenty minutes. Then I could not be amusing, for the subject was a grave one; nor could I be discursive, for his letter was curt as well as cold. At last, however, I contrived to write what occurred to me to be a very proper reply.
This letter provoked another epistle from Captain Merrydale, and in a tone much warmer than that of the first. He told me of several of his plans, and was particularly eloquent in praise of his mother, whom he said I should like, and with whom he was sure I should be a great favourite. To this letter I, of course, replied; and, at his own request, made him cognizant of all our doings.
We soon began to tell each other of our feelings and opinions on a variety of subjects; and, to say the truth, they were very similar on most points. Our correspondence extended thus, on ordinary matters, for upwards of six months. Not even the death of Sir George (which took place about seven weeks after the dispatch of the first letter) interrupted our communications.
My sister had gradually grown to dislike me; for she was herself in love with Captain Merrydale, although she, on several occasions, picked out a weak point or two in his character, and dwelt thereon in the presence of my father, mother, and brother, all of whom were perfectly convinced that before long the Captain (now Sir George) would make me an offer of marriage. This was also my own opinion, as well as my hope---albeit, he had not as yet been guilty of a single love passage in any one of his numerous letters.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
One morning I was seated in the drawing-room alone. My father had gone to a meeting in Belfast, and my mother and sister were paying visits, when the door was opened, and the servant announced “Sir George Merrydale!” I rose and welcomed him with a warmth which betrayed my regard for him, and I was frank enough to tell him that the surprise was, indeed, a delightful one. He speedily informed me that the object of his visit to Ireland was to make me an offer of his hand; and before my family returned home that day I was pledged to become Sir George’s wife.
Poor Julia! From my heart I pitied her, notwithstanding she was frequently extremely rude to Sir George as well as to myself.
Sir George remained with us for three weeks, and at the end of that time carried me away as his bride into Lancashire. I had no fortune. Few Irish girls have; but I knew that I was very beautiful, and that my husband was immensely proud of me.
Nothing could exceed the affection which the Dowager Lady Merrydale exhibited unto me. And to the wife of any man, what can be more gratifying than being well-received by his relatives? Lady Merrydale herself had been very handsome and likewise penniless, and therefore looked upon my want of fortune as no sort of blemish in my character. She, however, had not been well received by her husband’s parents; for the late Sir George at the time of his marriage was a younger son, with small chance of ever inheriting the title and estates, and to marry a poor beauty was, in his case, regarded as a supreme folly---especially as there were at least a score of cotton spinners’ daughters in Preston, with large fortunes, any one of whom would have gladly accepted a younger son of that family for the sake of the connexion alone.
(To Be Continued)