Mark Hurdlestone | Page 9

Susanna Moodie
the correct one. Pleasing manners and affable smiles may tend
to weaken, nay, even to efface these first impressions, but they will
invariably return, and experience will attest their truth.
In her first estimate of the Squire's character, formed from his
physiognomy, Elinor was correct, for it was some time before she
could reconcile herself to his harsh countenance; but her dislike
gradually wore away, and she received his passing civilities with the
pleasure which a young girl of her age invariably feels, when regarded
with admiration by one so much her superior in rank and fortune.
His retired habits, which at the age of twenty-four his neighbors
attributed more to pride than avarice, though in truth they arose from a
mixture of both, invested him with a sort of mysterious interest. Elinor
felt her vanity flattered by the belief that her charms had touched a
heart hitherto invulnerable to female beauty. She was, indeed, his first

love, and his last.
Elinor was too romantic to think of uniting herself to a man whom she
could not love, for the sake of his wealth; and she prudently and
honorably shunned the advances of her taciturn admirer. She knew that
his father had been her father's implacable enemy; that all intimacy
between the families had been strictly prohibited at the Hall; and when
the heir of that noble demesne made their cottage a resting-place after
the fatigues of hunting, and requested a draught of milk from her hands
to allay his thirst, or a bunch of roses from her little flower plot to
adorn his waistcoat, Elinor answered his demands with secret mistrust
and terror; although, with the coquetry so natural to her sex, she could
not hate him for the amiable weakness of regarding her with
admiration.
Alas, poor Elinor! why sacrifice to this heartless vanity the peace and
integrity of your mind; and for the sake of winning a smile, to which
you attach no real value, unseal for ever the fountain of tears?
Avarice for a long time struggled with Mark Hurdlestone's growing
passion for Elinor Wildegrave; nor could he prevail upon himself to ask
the penniless daughter of an executed traitor to become his wife. He
was too proud to brave the sneers of the world; too prudent to combat
with his father's disappointed hopes and fierce anger. His fortune he
knew would be large--but when is avarice satisfied? and he abandoned
the first generous impulse he had ever felt, with the first sigh he had
ever breathed.
He contented himself with wandering, day after day around the
widow's dwelling, in the hope of catching a passing glance of the object
of his idolatry, without incurring the danger of a personal interview,
which might lead to an indiscreet avowal of the passion which
consumed him, and place him in the power of his fair enslaver. He
hovered around her path, and at church disturbed her devotions by
never removing his eyes from her face; but the tale of his love remained
untold, and was scarcely acknowledged even to himself.
This was the happiest period of Mark Hurdlestone's life. His passion for

Elinor Wildegrave, though selfish and unrefined, was deep and sincere.
He contemplated the beautiful and friendless girl, as in after years he
viewed the gold in his coffers, as a secret treasure hid from the world,
and only known to him.
From this dream he was at length aroused, by the sudden and
unexpected appearance of his brother Algernon at the Hall. With
quivering lips he congratulated him upon his return to his native land;
exchanging with cold and nerveless grasp the warm pressure of his
brother's hand, while he contemplated with envy and alarm the elegant
person of the returned prodigal. From a boy, he had never loved
Algernon; coveting with unnatural greed the property which would
accrue to him, should it please Heaven to provide for his twin brother
by taking him to itself. But when that brother stood before him in the
pride and glory of manhood; with health glowing on his cheek, and
beauty on his brow, he could scarcely conceal his envy; for he beheld
in him a formidable, and, if seen by Elinor, in all probability a
successful rival. Hatred took possession of his breast, and while he
pronounced with his lips a chilling welcome, his mind, active in malice,
had already planned his ruin. In the first joyous moments of return, and
while describing to his delighted mother the lands he had visited, and
his adventures at Paris and Rome. Algernon scarcely noticed his
brother's unkind reception. He knew that little sympathy existed
between them; but he never suspected that Mark bore him any ill-will,
still less that he was likely to act the part of an enemy, and endeavor to
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