A Book for the Young | Page 7

at times, a reserve she attributed to pride. If not well born, he was quite au fait in all the usages of well-bred society. He never spoke of his family, but Mrs. Fortescue once asked him if he had any sisters, when he replied, "Two, such as any brother might be proud of;" but, while he spoke, the blood mantled in his forehead, and fearing it might result from pride, she dropped the subject, and, for the future, avoided saying anything that might recall it, trusting that, in time, she might win his confidence.
Almost unconsciously to herself, was Ethelind, under the garb of friendship, indulging a preference from which her delicacy shrank. She could plainly see a growing attachment in Mr. Barclay to Beatrice, and could not, for a moment, suppose he could be insensible to her friend's fascinations, which certainly were very great. She was the more convinced that Mr. Barclay loved Beatrice, for his manners evidently changed, and, at times, he was absent and thoughtful, and she sometimes fancied unhappy. Once it struck her, his affections might be engaged elsewhere, and that Beatrice had shaken his faith to her to whom it was plighted. She observed Beatrice using all her efforts to attract and win Mr. Barclay, and yet she doubted if she were sincere. Many things in her conduct led to this conclusion, and showed no little coquetry in her disposition. Be it as it may, she met Mr. Barclay's attentions more than half way, and seemed never in such spirits as when with him; at any rate, poor Ethelind's delicacy took the alarm, and she resolved to crush her own growing attachment in the bud, and hide her feelings in reserve, and so great was her self-command, that her love for Mr. Barclay, was unsuspected by all save her mother.
As Beatrice and Ethelind were returning one evening from a long walk, and being very tired, they sat down on a bank facing the Towy to rest themselves, and watch the setting sun sink behind the undulating mountains that almost surrounded them. They were, for some minutes, so absorbed in the scene before them, that neither spoke; at last Beatrice exclaimed:--
"What a pity it is, Ethelind, that you and Mr. Barclay never took it into your heads to fall in love with each other; you would make such a capital clergyman's wife."
"Beatrice!" said Ethelind, "why talk thus; do you mean to say that you have been insensible to his attachment to you?"
"I do not mean to say that," replied she, "but I can assure you, that if there is such a feeling, it is only on his side."
"And yet, you have not only received, but met his attentions with such evident pleasure, and given him such decided encouragement."
"Now, Ethy, how could I resist a flirtation with such an interesting character?"
"Oh, Beatrice, did you never think of the pain you might inflict by leading him to suppose his affection was reciprocated."
"Never, my consciencious little Ethelind, he is too poor, nay, too good, for me to think seriously of becoming his wife."
"Oh, Beatrice! I thought you had a more noble heart than to trifle with the affections of such a man, particularly now there is a chance of recovering your property; you might be so happy, and make him so too."
"And do, you think, if I do recover it, I should throw myself away on a poor curate, and that I should like to lead such a quiet hum-drum life. No, my dear girl, I was never made to appreciate such goodness or imitate it either."
"Then, of course, you will alter your conduct, ere you go too far, and not render him wretched, perhaps for life."
"Of course, I shall do no such thing, his attentions are too pleasing; it does not appear he will be here long, so I must make the most of the time."
"Oh, Beatrice, think what havoc you may make in the happiness of a worthy man; look at his character; see his exemplary conduct; and could you, for the paltry gratification of your vanity, condemn him to the pangs of unrequited love. He has now, I fear, the ills of poverty to struggle against; did you notice his emotion when speaking of his mother and sisters? perhaps they are dependant on him,--you must not, shall not trifle with him thus."
"And why not, dearest Ethelind; I shall really begin to suspect you like him yourself; oh, that tell tale blush, how it becomes you."
"I think," said Ethelind, "any one would colour at such an accusation."
"Well then, to be honest, I have no heart to give."
"No heart to give! surely you are not engaged, and act thus?"
"I am, indeed."
"Cruel, heartless Beatrice," said Ethelind, "you cannot mean what you say."
"I do most solemnly affirm it; but I will