Elinor hesitated for a moment, and then recollecting that this friend
was a grave staid widow of one of Oliver’s knights, wealthy, however,
and well respected, and a common acquaintance, she resolved to follow
her thither. As she entered the room, which was spacious, but dimly lit
by an old-fashioned casement window, she was surprised to see it filled
with an unusual number of persons, some of whom were seated, but the
greater number were collected in the ample recess of the window, and
among them Elinor saw a figure, remarkable rather for its height, than
its attitude or pretension,--it was that of a tall slender boy, about
eighteen, with a beautiful infant in his arms, whom he was caressing
with a tenderness that seemed rather associated with the retrospective
fondness of brotherhood, than the anticipated hope of paternity. The
mother of the infant, proud of the notice bestowed on her child, made,
however, the usual incredulous apology for its troubling him. “Troubling me!” said the boy, in tones that made Elinor think it was the
first time she had heard music. “Oh, no--if you knew how fond I am of
children,--how long it is since I had the delight of pressing one to my
breast--how long it may be again before”---- and averting his head, he
bowed it over the babe. The room was very dark, from the increasing
shades of evening, deepened by the effect of the heavy wainscotting of
its walls; but at this moment, the last bright light of an autumnal
evening, in all its rich and fading glory, burst on the casement,
powering on every object a golden and purpureal light. That end of the
apartment in which Elinor sat remained in the deepest shade. She then
distinctly beheld the figure which her heart seemed to recognize before
her senses. His luxuriant hair, of the richest brown, (its feathery
summits tinged by the light resembling the halo round some glorified
head), hung, according to the fashion of the day, in clusters on his
bosom, and half-concealed the face of the infant, as it lay like a
nestling among them. “His dress was that of a naval officer,--it was splendidly adorned with
lace, and the superb insignia of a foreign order, the guerdon of some
daring deed; and as the infant played with these, and then looked
upward, as if to repose its dazzled sight on the smile of its young
protector, Elinor thought she had never beheld association and contrast
so touchingly united,--it was like a finely coloured painting, where the
tints are so mellowed and mingled into each other, that the eye feels no
transition in passing from one brilliant hue to another, with such
exquisite imperceptibility are they graduated,--it was like a fine piece
of music, where the art of the modulator prevents your knowing that you
pass from one key to another; so softly are the intermediate tones of
harmony touched, that the ear knows not where it wanders, but wherever
it wanders, feels its path is pleasant. The young loveliness of the
infant, almost assimilated to the beauty of the youthful caresser, and
yet contrasted with the high and heroic air of his figure, and the
adornments of his dress, (splendid as they were), all emblematic of
deeds of peril and of death, seemed to the imagination of Elinor like
the cherub-angel of peace reposing on the breast of valour, and
whispering that his toils were done. She was awoke from her vision by
the voice of the widow.--“Niece, this is your cousin John Sandal.”
Elinor started, and received the salute of her kinsman, thus abruptly
introduced, with an emotion, which, if it deprived her of those courtly
graces which ought to have embellished her reception of the
distinguished stranger, gave her, at least, the more touching ones of
diffidence. “The forms of the day admitted of, and even sanctioned, a mode of
salutation since exploded; and as Elinor felt the pressure of a lip as
vermeil as her own, she trembled to think that that lip had often given
the war-word to beings athirst for human blood, and that the arm that
enfolded her so tenderly had pointed the weapons of death with
resistless and terrible aim against bosoms that beat with all the cords
of human affection. She loved her young kinsman, but she trembled in the
arms of the hero. “John Sandal sat down by her, and in a few moments the melody of his
tones, the gentle facility of his manner, the eyes that smiled when the
lips were closed, and the lips whose smile was more eloquent in silence
than the language of the brightest eyes, made her gradually feel at ease
with herself--she attempted to converse, but paused to listen--she tried
to look up, but felt like the worshippers of the sun, sickening under
the blaze she gazed on,--and _averted her eyes that she might see_. There was a mild, inoppressive, but most seductive light in the
dark-blue eyes that fell so softly on hers, like moon-light floating
over a fine landscape. And there was a young and eloquent tenderness in
the tones of that voice, which she expected to have spoken in thunder,
that disarmed and dulcified speech almost to luxury. Elinor sat, and
imbibed poison at every inlet of the senses, ear, and eye, and touch,
for her kinsman, with a venial, and to her imperceptible licence, had
taken her hand as he spoke. And he spoke much, but not of war and blood,
of the scenes where he had been so eminent, and of the events to which
his simple allusion would have given interest and dignity,--but of his
return to his family, of the delight he felt at again beholding his
mother, and of the hopes that he indulged of being not an unwelcome
visitor at the Castle. He inquired after Margaret with affectionate
earnestness, and after Mrs Ann with reverential regard; and in
mentioning the names of these relatives, he spoke like one whose heart
was at home before his steps, and whose heart could make every spot
where it rested a home to itself and to others. Elinor could have
listened for ever. The names of the relatives she loved and revered
sounded in her ears like music, but the advancing night warned her of
the necessity of returning to the Castle, where the hours were
scrupulously observed; and when John Sandal offered to attend her home,
she had no longer a motive to delay her departure. “It had appeared dark in the room where they were sitting, but it was
still rich and purple twilight in the sky, when they set out for the
Castle. “Elinor took the path through the park, and, absorbed in new feelings,
was for the first time insensible of its woodland beauty, at once gloomy
and resplendent, mellowed by the tints of autumnal colouring, and
glorious with the light of an autumnal evening,--till she was roused to
attention by the exclamations of her companion, who appeared rapt into
delight at what he beheld.