He had scarcely spoken when she
entered. I was seized with certain misgivings and flutterings which a
clownish education may account for. I so far conquered my timidity,
however, as to snatch a look at her. I was not born to execute her
portrait. Perhaps the turban that wreathed her head, the brilliant
texture and inimitable folds of her drapery, and nymphlike port, more
than the essential attributes of her person, gave splendour to the
celestial vision. Perhaps it was her snowy hues, and the cast rather
than the position of her features, that were so prolific of enchantment;
or perhaps the wonder originated only in my own ignorance. She did not immediately notice me. When she did she almost shrieked with
surprise. She held up her hands, and, gazing upon me, uttered various
exclamations which I could not understand. I could only remark that her
accents were thrillingly musical. Her perturbations refused to be
stilled. It was with difficulty that she withdrew her regards from me. Much conversation passed between her and Welbeck, but I could comprehend
no part of it. I was at liberty to animadvert on the visible part of
their intercourse. I diverted some part of my attention from my own
embarrassments, and fixed it on their looks. In this art, as in most others, I was an unpractised simpleton. In the
countenance of Welbeck, there was somewhat else than sympathy with the
astonishment and distress of the lady; but I could not interpret these
additional tokens. When her attention was engrossed by Welbeck, her eyes
were frequently vagrant or downcast; her cheeks contracted a deeper hue;
and her breathing was almost prolonged into a sigh. These were marks on
which I made no comments at the time. My own situation was calculated to
breed confusion in my thoughts and awkwardness in my gestures. Breakfast
being finished, the lady, apparently at the request of Welbeck, sat down
to a piano-forte. Here again I must be silent. I was not wholly destitute of musical
practice and musical taste. I had that degree of knowledge which enabled
me to estimate the transcendent skill of this performer. As if the
pathos of her touch were insufficient, I found after some time that the
lawless jarrings of the keys were chastened by her own more liquid
notes. She played without a book, and, though her bass might be
preconcerted, it was plain that her right-hand notes were momentary and
spontaneous inspirations. Meanwhile Welbeck stood, leaning his arms on
the back of a chair near her, with his eyes fixed on her face. His
features were fraught with a meaning which I was eager to interpret, but
unable. I have read of transitions effected by magic; I have read of palaces and
deserts which were subject to the dominion of spells; poets may sport
with their power, but I am certain that no transition was ever conceived
more marvellous and more beyond the reach of foresight than that which I
had just experienced. Heaths vexed by a midnight storm may be changed
into a hall of choral nymphs and regal banqueting; forest glades may
give sudden place to colonnades and carnivals; but he whose senses are
deluded finds himself still on his natal earth. These miracles are
contemptible when compared with that which placed me under this roof and
gave me to partake in this audience. I know that my emotions are in
danger of being regarded as ludicrous by those who cannot figure to
themselves the consequences of a limited and rustic education. CHAPTER VI. In a short time the lady retired. I naturally expected that some
comments would be made on her behaviour, and that the cause of her
surprise and distress on seeing me would be explained; but Welbeck said
nothing on that subject. When she had gone, he went to the window and
stood for some time occupied, as it seemed, with his own thoughts. Then
he turned to me, and, calling me by my name, desired me to accompany him
up-stairs. There was neither cheerfulness nor mildness in his address,
but neither was there any thing domineering or arrogant. We entered an apartment on the same floor with my chamber, but separated
from it by a spacious entry. It was supplied with bureaus, cabinets, and
bookcases. "This," said he, "is your room and mine; but we must enter it
and leave it together. I mean to act not as your master but your friend. My maimed hand" (so saying, he showed me his right hand, the forefinger
of which was wanting) "will not allow me to write accurately or
copiously. For this reason I have required your aid, in a work of some
moment. Much haste will not be requisite, and, as to the hours and
duration of employment, these will be seasonable and short. "Your present situation is new to you, and we will therefore defer
entering on our business. Meanwhile you may amuse yourself in what
manner you please. Consider this house as your home and make yourself
familiar with it. Stay within or go out, be busy or be idle, as your
fancy shall prompt: only you will conform to our domestic system as to
eating and sleep; the servants will inform you of this. Next week we
will enter on the task for which I designed you. You may now withdraw." I obeyed this mandate with some awkwardness and hesitation. I went into
my own chamber not displeased with an opportunity of loneliness. I threw
myself on a chair and resigned myself to those thoughts which would
naturally arise in this situation. I speculated on the character and
views of Welbeck. I saw that he was embosomed in tranquillity and
grandeur. Riches, therefore, were his; but in what did his opulence
consist, and whence did it arise? What were the limits by which it was
confined, and what its degree of permanence? I was unhabituated to ideas
of floating or transferable wealth. The rent of houses and lands was the
only species of property which was, as yet, perfectly intelligible. My
previous ideas led me to regard Welbeck as the proprietor of this
dwelling and of numerous houses and farms. By the same cause I was fain
to suppose him enriched by inheritance, and that his life had been
uniform. I next adverted to his social condition. This mansion appeared to have
but two inhabitants besides servants. Who was the nymph who had hovered
for a moment in my sight? Had he not called her his daughter? The
apparent difference in their ages would justify this relation; but her
guise, her features, and her accents, were foreign. Her language I
suspected strongly to be that of Italy. How should he be the father of
an Italian? But were there not some foreign lineaments in his
countenance? This idea seemed to open a new world to my view. I had gained, from my
books, confused ideas of European governments and manners. I knew that
the present was a period of revolution and hostility. Might not these be
illustrious fugitives from Provence or the Milanese? Their portable
wealth, which may reasonably be supposed to be great, they have
transported hither. Thus may be explained the sorrow that veils their
countenance.