Patience by Barbara Hofland (ebook offline reader .TXT) đ
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antient hall he lived in, and one who seemed to hold the trust as a
hardship, was not likely to interfere in any way so long as he was let
alone; and this idea unhappily combining with the desire of secrecy
expressed in the will, and his own necessities, which urged him to make
a property of his alienated child, altogether led to the conduct thus
adoptedâa conduct in which his family readily concurred, from the
stimulus of envy in the daughters, and a sense of necessity in the
expensive mother.
At the time when young Stancliffe suddenly made his appearance, and as
suddenly became the admirer of that daughter whom they had decreed to a
life of celibacy, Mr. and Mrs. Hemingford were not more vexed with an
occurrence which thwarted all their plans, than ashamed of the part they
had acted, and fearful of the discovery which was inevitable; well aware
that the excuse of compliance with the will of Mrs. Downe, though it
might operate in their favour with poor Dora, would not do so in the
eyes of either young Stancliffe or any other person who might address
herâthey considered whether it would be possible to secure her from
future admirers, in case her present attachment was broken; and after
due deliberation, came to the conclusion, that as her marriage with some
one was inevitable, it would be better to take place with him by whom
they could be most benefitted, and whose future wealth would be in some
measure useful to them; nor had they the courage to meet those evils
which a breach with Stancliffe must inevitably draw upon them. Of course
they consented reluctantly to the marriage; and in the confusion arising
from conscious disingenuousness, neglected that power of making a good
bargain which the state of their daughterâs fortune fully warranted, and
left the future to chance.
In fact, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Hemingford were cunning, much less
systematically dishonest. In the endeavour to make a property of their
daughter, they had reasoned themselves in the first place, into an idea
that it was only right, one so disproportionately endowed, should
contribute to the support of her family; and from accustoming themselves
to consider her too fortunate, they were led to the sin of really
rendering her unfortunate, by making her unhappy; but they had by no
means the power of carrying any regular design against her, or any other
person, into execution. They contracted a sense of guilt on their
consciences, subjected themselves justly to suspicion from their
disingenuous conduct, and lost all due influence over a young man whom
they knew to be headstrong, and had proved to be unfeeling, without
doing themselves or their child any good, or gaining those advantages
which were in their power. In fact, Mr. Hemingford had too much
integrity for his own intentions; he became confused and embarrassed,
when his dread of poverty forced upon him sinister intentions, and
exhibited a melancholy proof that the fear of want will derange the
clearest intellect, and warp the most upright views; therefore it is
alike wisdom, and virtue, to guard against it.
The following morning Mrs. Hemingford and Catharine, (whose pride, but
by no means her affections, had been somewhat wounded by Stancliffeâs
preference of Dora,) made their appearance early, being alike eager to
arrange the parties, and partake the gaieties, of a marriage they had so
lately considered an irreparable misfortune. Mrs. Hemingford brought
with her a reticule full of letters from her husband for his partner to
look over, observing, âshe understood most of them were from Smyrna.â
Stancliffe took them with a silent sneer on his countenance, so
different from his usually free and polite carriage, as to communicate a
pang even to her thoughtless mind; but it fell with much more effect on
that of poor Dora, who, after all, felt that she was her mother, and
could not bear to consider her an object of contempt to her husband;âin
order to open the late occurrence in a pleasanter way than he seemed
likely to do, she observed,â
âWe were surprised yesterday by the visit of a Mr. Blackwell.â
âIndeed! what sort of a person is he? I have never seen himâbut I
suppose he is quite an oddity? hi, hi, hi.â
âNot so odd, madam, as some of our acquaintance, who bottle up heiresses
in garrets and counting-houses, and leave it to chance whether they fly
out to cobblers, or are saved in pity by gentlemen,â said Stancliffe.
âSoâh!â said Mrs. Hemingford, with a long drawn breath, which with
difficulty she prevented being the prelude to hysteric tears, though
little subject to emotion of so powerful a character, âSoh! so!âthen I
suppose he has been telling you what he ordered us to keep a profound
secret; thatâs some peopleâs consistencyâwell! Iâm very glad itâs all
out, for Iâm sure it has been at the point of my tongue a thousand
times.â
âAnd mine too,â said Catharine warmly, and truly.
âI donât doubt it, for little Frank told me you called Dora âheiressâ
often in derision; but we both fancied it applied to her expectations
from Mrs. Aylmerâthe fact is, that the insincerity, and cruelty of
conduct observed towards Dora, is utterly inexcusable, and could be
adopted only for the purpose of robbing andââ
âRobbing!!â exclaimed Catharine in a rage.
âYes, Catharine, robbing her, and cajoling meâshe has been in the
most distressing situation amongst you, andââ
âHas been!âyou mean she is; for no man of feeling would so speak to
her mother; but Everton Stancliffeâs temper is no secret to any
oneâif she had a thousand pounds for every twenty she will ever see,
she would still be a miserable woman with such a man as you.â
Stancliffe gazed on Catharine with looks indicative of rage and fury,
that were absolutely ferocious, and so terrified Dora, that although
she rose as if to supplicate him for mercy on them all, she sunk back
pale and almost fainting on her seat; whilst he, though generally a man
of fluency in speech, appeared unable to utter reply, from the passion,
which shook him almost to phrenzy.
âAt all events you have much to be thankful for,â said Mrs.
Hemingford; âwe are the losers every wayâand even supposing we had done
wrong, which it is certain we did not, yet it is all in your favour, Mr.
Stancliffe:âif Dora had remained in Wales, (which was what Mr.
Blackwell very much wished for,) undoubtedly she would have married
young Sydenham, (and been lady Sydenham some time,) so that at any rate
you have reason to be thankful.â
Dora opened her half closed eyes, and gazed at her mother with an air of
astonishment, which recalled her husband to his senses, by presenting
him with a new and painful subject of surmise; but the quick and rapid
glances of his brilliant eyes still continued to infuse terror, as,
gathering his letters together in haste, he waived the subject for the
present, by sayingâ
âThese letters are, (as you said, maâam,) of the utmost importanceâif
I mistake not, they will lead some of us a longer journey than
agreeableâbut you, Miss Hemingford, are amazingly well calculated for
playing eastern princessâyour beauty will become an Haram.â
âWhat can he mean?â said Mrs. Hemingford, as Stancliffe left the room,
and immediately afterwards the houseââhe cannot surely think of sending
your father to travel at his time of life! well, however, I am glad he
is gone; but I am very sorry old Blackwell has been, for I certainly did
expect to get the next half yearâs income for Dora, and so I ought,
because of her wedding thingsâbut come, child, pray donât sit there as
if you were frightened to deathâwomen anât so soon killed, take my word
for it; come, let us go up stairs and see what pretty things you have
brought from Buxton.â
Dora obeyed; but she could not, like her thoughtless mother, recover
from the shock she had received, nor readily forgive Catharine for
offending her husband to such a degree as to render him the being she
had described; and she was really glad when they departed, for she
sought for solitude in which to commune with her own heart, to
prostrate herself at the throne of Mercy, and intreat divine aid and
guidance in the new and difficult path which she perceived to be before
her. Believing the great duty of woman to consist in the practice of
forbearance, meekness, and humble endurance, the prayer of her heart was
that in her âPatience might have its perfect work.â
When Stancliffe returned, he was gloomy, dispirited, and evidently
either angry or ashamed; sensations which alike tend to make a man
appear sullen when the former is suppressed, and the latter unavowed.
Dora concluded that he had seen her father, and she naturally wished to
know what had passed between them, and made every possible excuse in her
mind for the ill-humour her husband was still affected by, but she did
not venture to ask any questions.
At length Everton began to make eager enquiries respecting Arthur
Sydenhamâhis person, manners, situation, expectations, and intimacy
with her, all passed in reviewâthe answers of Dora were all dictated by
that simple truth which left no pretext for anger, and no shadow of
doubt on the score of that jealousy her motherâs declaration had
temporarily awakened. Stancliffe was not a man subject to feeling this
passion much; for his personal vanity was considerable, and had a
natural tendency to render his errors rather those of self-confidence
than of suspicion:âhe was also apparently conscious of the nature of
his own faults, for their conversation ended by an assurance âthat the
kindness and patience she had evinced towards him at a time when he was
terribly annoyed, should never be forgotten by him:ââhe lamented with
much feeling the errors of his early education, which had nurtured the
faults it ought to have corrected, from which he had become irritable
when opposed, but maintained, âthat gentleness never failed to disarm
him.â To this Dora replied by an assurance given with firmness and
solemnity, âthat she would always endeavour to subdue all anger in
herself, and consider his vexations as flying storms, which it was her
duty to bear:ââshe would have added her hope, âthat he would endeavour
to gain that self-conquest so necessary for both,â but such was the
generosity and delicacy of her nature, that she would not, in the moment
of humiliation, utter one word on the subject beyond what was
necessaryâshe could neither at this period doubt the power nor the
will of her beloved, to rectify his errors, and of course render her as
happy as she could desire.
But though Stancliffe thus professed to be merely a petulant man, whose
passions subjected him to the ebullitions of rage, blameably indulged,
but speedily removed; it soon appeared that he added to this, _abiding
resentment_; and although Mrs. Hemingford had truly observed, âthat he
had little to complain of, in finding his wife rich when he had expected
her to be unportioned,â he yet continued to dilate on the secrecy,
insincerity, and intentional fraud, of his wifeâs family, in a manner
which was extremely painful to her, and drew upon them those
animadversions from others to which no one ought to expose their
connections:âif Dora ventured to excuse them, he reproached her for it,
as arguing affectation, âsince it was not in the nature of things that
she could love them,â or accused her of ingratitude to himself, who had
proved the sincerity of his regard, by taking her without a portion.
Had he said âthe violence of
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