Francesca Carrara/Chapter 72
CHAPTER XIII.
"The tears of youth dry as quickly as the dews in summer; and the young heart rebounds from grief as quickly as the arrow from the bow."
The Buccaneer.
Time passed as time ever does when passed monotonously, that is, with a degree of rapidity which only astonishes us when it is recalled to mind by some chance circumstance. Time should he reckoned by events, not hours; the heart is its truest time-piece, at least as concerns ourselves. Spring came and found Francesca's situation unchanged. Lord Avonleigh had been still retained a prisoner in the Tower; Robert Evelyn was still in Ireland; and hope, somewhat wearied by feeding but "on its own sweet life," had taken a deeper tone of anxiety. Lucy's marriage was only waiting till the repairs were finished at the vicarage; and preparations occupied all her thoughts, and most of her time. But a great change was at hand. It would seem as if calm were necessary to convulsion; for the tranquillity of the last few months was again to be disturbed by political commotion.
It matters little to the progress of this narrative to trace how the reins of government fell, rather than were taken, from the hands of the incompetent Richard; and how the dull caution and straight-forward devotion to expediency of George Monck replaced the Stuarts on the throne: thus giving a nation the fairest opportunity that was ever thrown away of adjusting ancient privileges and existing rights, of limiting power, yet preserving authority, and of realising those many theories of liberty and justice which to this day remain theories. But England at the period of the Restoration was, like a child escaped from school, weary of restraint, impatient for amusement, and little inclined to balance the future against the present. The whole island became one festival, to welcome the return of the man whom they had banished, and whose father they had executed. Heaven knows, consistency ought to be valued, were it only for its rarity.
Lord Avonleigh was at once liberated from his imprisonment, well prepared to be considered, and to consider himself, a martyr to the cause of loyalty; and as the services of the rich nobleman, who wants nothing, are more easily requited than those of the real and poor sufferer, the attached and needy exile, his claims to notice and favour were most graciously acknowledged. Accordingly, he returned to his seat in a little fever of royal devotedness—it was the fashionable epidemic; and who coming from Whitehall could be without it?
Bells ringing, flags waving, may-poles—so long unseen—bonfires in due preparation for night, morris-dancers, who had practised for the last four-and-twenty hours unremittingly to refresh their ancient craft, an ox roasted whole, cakes, ale, crowds, confusion,—all assembled in and about Avonleigh Park, to greet the master's return. A procession was arranged, and perhaps Francesca was the only individual in the whole country that did not go forth to join either actors or spectators. Lucy, full of girlish delight, eagerly pressed her to accompany her and Charles Aubyn to the park; but she refused. She felt that her place was not among her father's dependants; some chance might bring them in contact, and to her it would only be with a sense of degradation. Perhaps, too, an aversion to what had fallen under her own observation of the kind of amusement likely to be found, or contempt, which called itself distaste, strengthened her resolution not a little. Still, when the care of watching Lucy's toilette, advising and altering, was completed—no sinecure office, for Lucy, hitherto confined to the most quiet and staid costume, was rather inclined to run into the extreme of bright colours—when she had watched her walk down the field with Charles Aubyn, looking as pretty and as pleased as possible, and returned into their deserted chamber, its silence and solitude struck her forcibly. The gay peal of the bells came upon the air, mingled with music, which owed much of its melody to being afar off. She could observe flags waving in the distance, and now and then a gaily dressed group crossing one of the heights; but these were soon past. And as the view of their house was chiefly bounded by the forest, there was soon nothing to be seen—nothing, save the ringing bells, recalled the festivity to her mind.
Francesca was alone, quite alone in the house, and the consciousness of this was inexpressibly dreary; not perhaps but that on any other day she would have sat, read, and thought by herself quite as much as she had done to-day; still, the knowledge that there was no one near—that all others but herself were employed in one peculiar and cheerful pursuit, could not but force her into a vein of ungracious comparison. The extreme stillness of everything around jarred upon her nerves, instead of soothing them. She would have given the world for some one to speak to; she opened a book, but she could not keep her attention to the page; she touched her lute, but its music was distasteful; she went into the garden, but it wearied her to pace up and down the well-known walks,—"I know every plant by heart," thought she, and returned listlessly to the house. Then the ringing of the bells in the distance became so irritating—they kept perpetually distracting her mind. At length the peals ceased—dinner attracted even the ringers—and the stillness was now unbroken. But the one painful idea which had taken possession of Francesca's imagination haunted her.
"Alas!" murmured the lonely girl, "others have kindred and friends, with whom gaiety becomes indeed pleasure, for it is shared. Many a happy circle will gather together to-day, exchange hopes, and lay up recollections for months to come. But I, how neglected—how isolated do I feel! not one living being at this moment of mutual gratulations even thinks of my existence; no one knows or cares that I am sitting in melancholy seclusion, while all but myself are glad around. What have I done to be so shut out from human affection and sympathy?"
Almost for the first time since his brother's disclosure, she found no comfort in thinking of Evelyn. Never had the chances of their re-union seemed so precarious; never before had she felt so hopeless. Unfortunate as she had hitherto been, how could she believe that destiny would yet relent? She unlocked the casket which contained her mother's picture, and gazed even more earnestly than usual on that beautiful face; its frank, glad smile was too painful; it seemed an omen of all that could make a joyous and beloved existence; and yet how had her's terminated! The memory of what others have suffered makes us tremble for ourselves. Her peculiar course had never seemed so difficult as it did now, on the very verge of its termination. What would be her father's reception? Perhaps, all old love forgotten, he would look upon her but as an intruder from an unwelcome past, recalling all he wished to forget—all that he had forgotten. Could she bear to wring from him a cold acknowledgment, dictated but by justice! And yet affection, could it spring up at a moment's warning! How could he love a stranger who for attraction brought before him the remembrance of all the faults and the follies of his youth!
Francesca rose and paced the room in an agony of doubt. The more she thought of her situation, the more she saw the necessity of advancing her claims. Lucy would soon be married, and then Lawrence Aylmer's could be no home for her; and her cheek burnt with sudden fire at the thought, that in a little while the slender remains of the money they had brought from Italy would be exhausted. She knew how helpless then would be her condition—young, a female, a stranger, without acquaintance or introduction, what could she do? The idea that she would not seek her father, which had sprung up in the despondency of the moment, faded away. However painful, the task must be accomplished.
She was awakened from her gloomy reverie by the beating of a sudden shower against the lattice; some books lay on the window-seat, and she went to shut the open casement. She stood looking out, involuntarily attracted by the beauty of the scene. The sunshine glittered through the diamond shower, which came like a flight of radiant arrows; while, outlined on a dim purple cloud, a magnificent rainbow spanned the mighty forest; instantly a second, but fainter, spread beneath the first; but even while she looked, the vast cloud dispersed, broken fragments of delicious hues coloured the atmosphere, a soft violet faded into pale primrose, and touches of rose deepened into red. Gradually the sky cleared into one deep blue, over which a mass of white clouds, broken into a thousand fantastic shapes, went sailing slowly by.
The freshness of the fragrant hour was irresistible, and Francesca again sought the garden; but now the influence of the lovely day was upon her, and her step unconsciously grew lighter. Grass, leaf, and flower caught new life from the genial rain; a thousand odours unperceived before were abroad; a thousand colours bright with the noon now shone out upon the greener painted foliage; every breath was aromatic, and not a spray but mirrored a sunbeam in the hanging rain-drop. Francesca gazed around, and hope and reliance arose within her. She looked up touchingly and gratefully to heaven, while.her late discontent seemed almost as a sin in her own eyes.