Mary Brunton - Self-control - A Novel

A profligate! Must she apply such a name to Hargrave. The enthusiasm of the moment expired at the word, and the glow of virtuous resolution faded to the paleness of despondency and pain.

From a long and melancholy reverie, Laura was awakened by the sound of the garden gate, and she perceived that it was entered by Colonel Hargrave. Instinctively she was retreating from the window, when she saw him joined by her father; and, trembling lest candour was about to confess, or inadvertence to betray, what she so much wished to conceal, she continued with breathless anxiety to watch their conference.

Though Colonel Hargrave was certainly one of the best bred men in the kingdom, and, of consequence, entirely divested of the awkwardness of mauvaise honte , it must be confessed, that he entered the presence of the father of Laura with rather less than his accustomed ease; but the cordial salutation of Captain Montreville banishing all fear that the lady had been too communicative, our lover proceeded, without any remaining embarrassment, to unfold the purpose of his visit. Nor could any one have conjectured, from the courtly condescension of the great man, that he conceived he was bestowing a benefit; nor from the manly frankness of the other, that he considered himself as receiving a favour. Not but that the Colonel was in full possession of the pleasures of conscious generosity and condescension. So complete, indeed, was his self-approbation, that he doubted not but his present magnanimous resolve would efface from the mind of Laura all resentment for his offence. Her displeasure he thought would be very short lived, if he were able to convince her that his fault was not premeditated. This he conceived to be an ample excuse, because he chose to consider the insult he had offered, apart from the base propensities, the unbridled selfishness which it indicated. As Laura had so well concealed his indiscretion, he was too good a politician himself to expose it; and he proceeded to make such offers in regard to settlements, as suited the liberality of his character.

Captain Montreville listened with undisguised satisfaction to proposals apparently so advantageous to his beloved child; but, while he expressed his entire approbation of the Colonel's suit, regard to feminine decorum made him add, 'that he was determined to put no constraint on the inclinations of his daughter.' The Colonel felt a strong conviction, that no constraint would be necessary: nevertheless, turning a neat period, importing his willingness to resign his love, rather than interfere with the happiness of Miss Montreville, he closed the conference, by entreating that the Captain would give him an immediate opportunity of learning his fate from the lips of the fair Laura herself.

Laura had continued to follow them with her eyes, till they entered the house together; and the next minute Captain Montreville knocked at her door.

'If your head-ache is not quite gone,' said he, with a significant smile, 'I will venture to recommend a physician. Colonel Hargrave is waiting to prescribe for you; and you may repay him in kind, for he tells me he has a case for your consideration.'

Laura was on the point of protesting against any communication with Colonel Hargrave; but instantly recollecting the explanation that would be necessary, 'I will go to him this instant,' she exclaimed with an eagerness that astonished her father.

'Surely, you will first smooth these reddish locks of yours,' said he, fondly stroaking his hand over her dark auburn hair. 'I fear so much haste may make the Colonel vain.'

Laura coloured violently; for, amidst all her fears of a discovery, she found place for a strong feeling of resentment, at the easy security of forgiveness that seemed intimated by a visit so immediately succeeding the offence. Having employed the few moments she passed at her toilette in collecting her thoughts, she descended to the parlour, fully resolved to give no countenance to the hopes her lover might have built on her supposed weakness.

The Colonel was alone; and as she opened the door, eagerly advanced towards her. 'My adored Laura,' cried he, 'this condescension – .' Had he staid to read the pale, but resolute countenance of his 'adored' Laura, he would have spared his thanks for her condescension.

She interrupted him. 'Colonel Hargrave,' said she, with imposing seriousness, 'I have a request to make to you. Perhaps the peace of my life depends upon your compliance.'

'Ah, Laura! what request can I refuse, where I have so much to ask?'

'Promise me, that you will never make known to my father – that you will take every means to conceal from him the – ,' she hesitated, 'the – our meeting last night,' she added, rejoiced to have found a palliative expression for her meaning.

'Oh! dearest Laura! forget it; – think of it no more.'

'Promise – promise solemnly. If indeed,' added she shuddering, while an expression of anguish crossed her features, 'if indeed promises can weigh with such a one as you.'

'For pity's sake, speak not such cutting words as those.'

'Colonel Hargrave, will you give me your promise?'

'I do promise – solemnly promise. Say, but that you forgive me.'

'I thank you, Sir, for so far ensuring the safety of my father, since he might have risked his life to avenge the wrongs of his child. You cannot be surprised, if I now wish to close our acquaintance, as speedily as may be consistent with the concealment so unfortunately necessary.'

Impatient to conclude an interview which tasked her fortitude to the utmost, Laura was about to retire. Hargrave seized her hand. 'Surely, Laura, you will not leave me thus. You cannot refuse forgiveness to a fault caused by intemperate passion alone. The only atonement in my power, I now come to offer: my hand – my fortune – my future rank.'

The native spirit, and wounded delicacy of Laura, flashed from her eyes, while she replied: 'I fear, Sir, I shall not be suitably grateful for your generosity, while I recollect the alternative you would have preferred.'

This was the first time that Laura had ever appeared to her lover, other than the tender, the timid girl. From this character she seemed to have started at once into the high-spirited, the dignified woman; and, with a truly masculine passion for variety, Hargrave thought he had never seen her half so fascinating. 'My angelic Laura,' cried he, as he knelt before her, 'lovelier in your cruelty, suffer me to prove to you my repentance – my reverence – my adoration; – suffer me to prove them to the world, by uniting our fates for ever.'

'It is fit the guilty should kneel,' said Laura, turning away, 'but not to their fellow mortals. Rise, Sir, this homage to me is but mockery.'

'Say, then, that you forgive me; say, that you will accept the tenderness, the duty of my future life.'

'What! rather than control your passions, will you now stoop to receive as your wife, her whom so lately you thought vile enough for the lowest degradation? Impossible! yours I can never be. Our views, our principles, are opposite as light and darkness. How shall I call heaven to witness the prostitution of its own ordinances? How shall I ask the blessing of my Maker, on my union with a being at enmity with him?'

'Good heavens, Laura, will you sacrifice to a punctilio – to a fit of Calvinistic enthusiasm, the peace of my life, the peace of your own? You have owned that you love me – I have seen it – delighted seen it a thousand times – and will you now desert me for ever?'

'I do not act upon punctilio,' returned Laura calmly; – 'I believe I am no enthusiast. What have been my sentiments, is now of no importance; to unite myself with vice would be deliberate wickedness – to hope for happiness from such an union would be desperate folly.'