The Purcell Papers, vol 2 | Page 9

carelessly put on; but what completed the singularity of his appearance
was his uncut, white hair, which hung in long, but not at all neglected
curls, even so far as his shoulders, and which combined with his
regularly classic features, and fine dark eyes, to bestow upon him an air
of venerable dignity and pride, which I have never seen equalled
elsewhere. I rose as he entered, and met him about the middle of the
room; he kissed my cheek and both my hands, saying:
'You are most welcome, dear child, as welcome as the command of this
poor place and all that it contains can make you. I am most rejoiced to
see you-- truly rejoiced. I trust that you are not much fatigued--pray be
seated again.' He led me to my chair, and continued: 'I am glad to
perceive you have made acquaintance with Emily already; I see, in
your being thus brought together, the foundation of a lasting friendship.
You are both innocent, and both young. God bless you--God bless you,
and make you all that I could wish.'
He raised his eyes, and remained for a few moments silent, as if in

secret prayer. I felt that it was impossible that this man, with feelings so
quick, so warm, so tender, could be the wretch that public opinion had
represented him to be. I was more than ever convinced of his
innocence.
His manner was, or appeared to me, most fascinating; there was a
mingled kindness and courtesy in it which seemed to speak
benevolence itself. It was a manner which I felt cold art could never
have taught; it owed most of its charm to its appearing to emanate
directly from the heart; it must be a genuine index of the owner's mind.
So I thought.
My uncle having given me fully to understand that I was most welcome,
and might command whatever was his own, pressed me to take some
refreshment; and on my refusing, he observed that previously to
bidding me good-night, he had one duty further to perform, one in
whose observance he was convinced I would cheerfully acquiesce.
He then proceeded to read a chapter from the Bible; after which he took
his leave with the same affectionate kindness with which he had
greeted me, having repeated his desire that I should consider everything
in his house as altogether at my disposal. It is needless to say that I was
much pleased with my uncle--it was impossible to avoid being so; and I
could not help saying to myself, if such a man as this is not safe from
the assaults of slander, who is? I felt much happier than I had done
since my father's death, and enjoyed that night the first refreshing sleep
which had visited me since that event.
My curiosity respecting my male cousin did not long remain
unsatisfied--he appeared the next day at dinner. His manners, though
not so coarse as I had expected, were exceedingly disagreeable; there
was an assurance and a forwardness for which I was not prepared; there
was less of the vulgarity of manner, and almost more of that of the
mind, than I had anticipated. I felt quite uncomfortable in his presence;
there was just that confidence in his look and tone which would read
encouragement even in mere toleration; and I felt more disgusted and
annoyed at the coarse and extravagant compliments which he was
pleased from time to time to pay me, than perhaps the extent of the
atrocity might fully have warranted. It was, however, one consolation
that he did not often appear, being much engrossed by pursuits about
which I neither knew nor cared anything; but when he did appear, his

attentions, either with a view to his amusement or to some more serious
advantage, were so obviously and perseveringly directed to me, that
young and inexperienced as I was, even I could not be ignorant of his
preference. I felt more provoked by this odious persecution than I can
express, and discouraged him with so much vigour, that I employed
even rudeness to convince him that his assiduities were unwelcome; but
all in vain.
This had gone on for nearly a twelve- month, to my infinite annoyance,
when one day as I was sitting at some needle-work with my companion
Emily, as was my habit, in the parlour, the door opened, and my cousin
Edward entered the room. There was something, I thought, odd in his
manner--a kind of struggle between shame and impudence--a kind of
flurry and ambiguity which made him appear, if possible, more than
ordinarily disagreeable.
'Your servant, ladies,' he said, seating himself at the same time; 'sorry
to spoil your tete-a-tete, but never mind, I'll only take Emily's place for
a minute or two;