These instincts of our nature are not to be undervalued, nor confounded with the weak and groundless terrors of the frivolous. The closing petals of the flower as the storm draws nigh, the wild cry of the sea-bird as the squall is gathering, the nestling of the sheep within the fold while yet the hurricane has not broke, are signs that, to the observant instincts, peril comes not unannounced.
“Shall I read it, papa?” said she, as she raised her head, and turned towards him a look of calm and beaming affection.
“You need n't,” said he, roughly. “Of course, it 's full of all the elegant phrases women like to cheat each other with. You said she will go; that's enough.”
Nelly tried to speak, but the words would not come, and she merely nodded an acquiescence.
“And, of course, too, you told her Ladyship that if it wasn't to a near relation of the family one that had a kind of right, as I may say, to ask her that I 'd never have given my consent. Neither would I!”
“I said that you could give no higher proof of your confidence in Lady Hester's goodness and worth, than in committing to her charge all that we hold so dear. I spoke of our gratitude” her voice faltered here, and she hesitated a second or so; our gratitude! strange word to express the feeling with which we part from what we cling to so fondly! “and I asked of her to be the mother of her who had none!”
“Oh, Nelly, I cannot go I cannot leave you!” burst out Kate, as she knelt down, and buried her head in her sister's lap. “I feel already how weak and how unable I am to live among strangers, away from you and dear papa. I have need of you both!”
“May I never leave this spot if you're not enough to drive me mad!” exclaimed Dalton. “You cried two nights and a day because there was opposition to your going. You fretted till your eyes were red, and your cheeks all furrowed with tears; and now that you get leave to go now that I consent to to to sacrifice ay, to sacrifice my domestic enjoyments to your benefit you turn short round and say you won't go!”
“Nay, nay, papa,” said Nelly, mildly; “Kate but owns with what fears she would consent to leave us, and in this shows a more fitting mind to brave what may come, than if she went forth with a heart brimful of its bright anticipations, and only occupied with a future of splendor and enjoyment.”
“I ask you again, is it into the backwoods of Newfoundland is it into the deserts of Arabia she is going?” said Dalton, ironically.
“The country before her has perils to the full as great, if not greater than either,” rejoined Nelly, lowly.
“There's a ring at the bell,” said Dalton, perhaps not sorry to cut short a discussion in which his own doubts and fears were often at variance with his words; for while opposing Nelly with all his might, he was frequently forced to coincide secretly with that he so stoutly resisted. Vanity alone rose above every other motive, and even hardened his heart against separation and absence from his favorite child, vanity to think that his daughter would be the admired beauty in the salons of the great and highly born; that she would be daily moving in a rank the most exalted; that his dear Kate would be the attraction of courts, the centre of adulation wherever she went. So blinded was he by false reasoning, that he actually fancied himself a martyr to his daughter's future advancement, and that this inveterate egotism was a high and holy self-denial! “My worst enemy never called me selfish,” was the balm that he ever laid on his chafed spirit, and always with success. It would, however, have been rather the part of friend, than of enemy, to have whispered that selfishness was the very bane and poison of his nature. It was his impulse in all the wasteful extravagance of his early life; it was his motive in all the struggles of his adversity. To sustain a mock rank, to affect a mock position, to uphold a mock standard of gentility, he was willing to submit to a thousand privations of his children and himself; and to gratify a foolish notion of family pride, he was ready to endure anything, even to separation from all he held dearest.
“Lady Hester's courier has come for the answer to her note, papa,” said Nelly, twice over, before Dalton heard her, for he was deep sunk in his own musings.
“Let him come in and have a glass of wine,” said Dalton. “I 'd like to ask him a few questions about these people.”
“Oh, papa!” whispered Nelly, in a tone at once so reproachful, that the old man colored and looked away.
“I meant about what time they were to start on the journey,” said he, confusedly.
“Lady Hester told us they should leave this to-morrow, sir.”
“Short notice for us. How is Kate to have all her clothes packed, and everything arranged? I don't think that is treating us with much respect, Nelly.”
“They have waited four days for our decision, papa remember that.”
“Ay, to be sure. I was forgetting that; and she came every day to press the matter more and more; and there was no end to the note-writing besides. I must say that nothing could beat their politeness. It was a mighty nice attention, the old man coming himself to call here; and a fine, hale, good-looking man he is! a better figure than ever his son will be. I don't much like Mr. George, as they call him.”
“Somewhat colder, and more reserved, I think, than the other,” said Nelly. “But about this answer, papa?”
“What a hurry they're in. Is it a return to a writ, that they must press for it this way? Well, well, I ought to be used to all manner of interruptions and disturbances by this time. Fetch me a caudle, till I seal it;” and he sighed, as he drew forth his old-fashioned watch, to which, by a massive steel chain, the great family seal was attached', firmly persuaded that in the simple act he was about to perform he was achieving a mighty labor, at the cost of much fatigue.
“No rest for the wicked! as my old father used to say,” muttered he, in a happy ignorance whether the philosophy emanated from his parent, or from some higher authority. “One would think that at my time of life a man might look for a little peace and ease; but Peter Dalton has n't such luck! Give me the letter,” said he, querulously. “There is Peter Dalton's hand and seal, his act and will,” muttered he, with a half-solemnity, as he pressed the wax with his heavy signet. “'Semper eadem;' there 's the ancient motto of our house, and, faith, I believe Counsellor O'Shea was right when he translated it 'The devil a better!'”
He read the address two or three times over to himself, as if there was something pleasurable in the very look of the words, and then he turned his glance towards Hans, as in a dreamy half-consciousness he sat still, contemplating the little statue of Marguerite.
“Is n't it droll to think we 'd be writing to the first in the land, and an old toy-maker sitting beside the fire all the time,” said Dalton, as he shook his head thoughtfully, in the firm conviction that he had uttered a very wise and profound remark. “Well well well! Life is a queer thing!”
“Is it not stranger still that we should have won the friendship of poor Hanserl than have attracted the notice of Lady Hester?” said Nelly. “Is it not a prouder thought that we have drawn towards us from affectionate interest the kindness that has no touch of condescension?”
“I hope you are not comparing the two,” said Dalton, angrily. “What's the creature muttering to himself?”
“It 'B Gretchen's song he 's trying to remember,” said Kate.
“Nach ihm nur schau' ich
Zum Feuster hinaus!”
said Hans, in a low, distinct voice. “'Was kommt nach,' what comes next, Fraulein?”