_ WHILE Mr. Markland was brooding over his own unhappy state, and
seeking to shut out the light shining too strongly in upon his real
quality of mind, Mrs. Markland was living, in some degree, the very
life that seemed so unattractive to him, and receiving her measure
of reward. While he wandered, with an unquiet spirit, over his
fields, or sat in cool retreats by plashing fountains, his thoughts
reaching forward to embrace the coming future, she was active in
works of love. Her chief desire was the good of her beloved ones,
and she devoted herself to this object with an almost entire
forgetfulness of self. Home was therefore the centre of her thoughts
and affections, but not the selfish centre: beyond that happy circle
often went out her thoughts, laden with kind wishes that died not
fruitless.
The family of Mr. Markland consisted of his wife, four children, and
a maiden sister--Grace Markland,--the latter by no means one of the
worst specimens of her class. With Agnes, in her seventh year, the
reader has already a slight acquaintance. Francis, the baby, was two
years old, and the pet of every one but Aunt Grace, who never did
like children. But he was so sweet a little fellow, that even the
stiff maiden would bend toward him now and then, conscious of a
warmer heart-beat. George, who boasted of being ten--quite an
advanced age, in his estimation--might almost be called a thorn in
the flesh to Aunt Grace, whose nice sense of propriety and decorum
he daily outraged by rudeness and want of order. George was boy all
over, and a strongly-marked specimen of his class--"as like his
father, when at his age, as one pea to another," Aunt Grace would
say, as certain memories of childhood presented themselves with more
than usual vividness. The boy was generally too much absorbed in his
own purposes to think about the peculiar claims to respect of age,
sex, or condition. Almost from the time he could toddle about the
carpeted floor, had Aunt Grace been trying to teach him what she
called manners. But he was never an apt scholar in her school. If he
mastered the A B C to-day, most probably on her attempt to advance
him to-morrow into his a-b ab's, he had wholly forgotten the
previous lesson. Poor Aunt Grace! She saw no hope for the boy. All
her labour was lost on him.
Fanny, the oldest child, just completing her seventeenth year, was
of fair complexion and delicate frame; strikingly beautiful, and as
pure in mind as she was lovely in person. All the higher traits of
womanhood that gave such a beauty to the mother's character were as
the unfolding bud in her. Every one loved Fanny, not even excepting
Aunt Grace, who rarely saw any thing in her niece that violated her
strict sense of propriety. Since the removal of the family to
Woodbine Lodge, the education of Fanny had been under the direction
of a highly accomplished governess. In consequence, she was quite
withdrawn from intercourse with young ladies of her own age. If,
from this cause, she was ignorant of many things transpiring in city
life, the purer atmosphere she daily breathed gave a higher moral
tone to her character. In all the sounder accomplishments Fanny
would bear favourable comparison with any; and as for grace of
person and refinement of manners, these were but the expression of
an inward sense of beauty.
As Fanny unfolded toward womanhood, putting forth, like an opening
blossom, some newer charms each day, the deep love of her parents
began to assume the character of jealous fear. They could not long
hide from other's eyes the treasure they possessed, and their hearts
grew faint at the thought of having it pass into other hands. But
very few years would glide away ere wooers would come, and seek to
charm her ears with songs sweeter than ever thrilled them in her own
happy home. And there would be a spell upon her spirit, so that she
could not help but listen. And, mayhap, the song that charmed her
most might come from unworthy lips. Such things had been, alas!
Thus it was with the family of Mr. Markland at the time of our
introduction to them. We have not described each individual with
minuteness, but sufficiently indicated to give them a place in the
reader's mind. The lights and shadows will be more strongly marked
hereafter.
The effect of Mr. Allison's conversation was, as has been seen, to
leave Markland in a still more dissatisfied state of mind. After
various fruitless efforts to get interested in what was around him,
and thus compel self-forgetfulness, he thought of some little matter
in the city that required his attention, and forthwith ordered the
carriage.
"I shall not be home till evening," he said, as he parted with his
wife.
During the day, Mrs. Markland paid another visit to the humble home
of Mrs. Elder, and ministered as well to her mental as to her bodily
wants. She made still closer inquiries about her daughter's family;
and especially touching the husband's character for industry,
intelligence, and trustworthiness. She had a purpose in this; for
the earnest desire expressed by Mrs. Elder to have her daughter with
her, had set Mrs. Markland to thinking about the ways and means of
effecting the wished-for object. The poor woman was made happier by
her visit.
It was near sundown when the carriage was observed approaching
through the long, shaded avenue. Mrs. Markland and all the children
stood in the porch, to welcome the husband and father, whose
absence, though even for the briefest period, left for their hearts
a diminished brightness. As the carriage drew nearer, it was seen to
contain two persons.
"There is some one with your father," said Mrs. Markland, speaking
to Fanny.
"A gentleman--I wonder who it can be?"
"Your Uncle George, probably."
"No; it isn't Uncle George," said Fanny, as the carriage reached the
oval in front of the house, and swept around towards the portico.
"It's a younger man; and he is dressed in black."
Further conjecture was suspended by the presence of the individual
in regard to whom they were in doubt. He was a stranger, and Mr.
Markland presented him as Mr. Lyon, son of an old and valued
business correspondent, residing in Liverpool. A cordial welcome
awaited Mr. Lyon at Woodbine Lodge, as it awaited all who were
introduced by the gentlemanly owner. If Mr. Markland thought well
enough of any one to present him at home, the home-circle opened
smilingly to receive.
The stranger was a young man, somewhere between the ages of
twenty-five and thirty; above the medium height; with a well-formed
person, well-balanced head, and handsome countenance. His mouth was
the least pleasing feature of his face. The lips were full, but too
firmly drawn back against his teeth. Eyes dark, large, and slightly
prominent, with great depth, but only occasional softness, of
expression. His was a face with much in it to attract, and something
to repel. A deep, rich voice, finely modulated, completed his
personal attractions.
It so happened that Mr. Lyon had arrived from New York that very
day, with letters to Mr. Markland. His intention was to remain only
until the next morning. The meeting with Mr. Markland was
accidental; and it was only after earnest persuasion that the young
man deferred his journey southward, and consented to spend a day or
two with the retired merchant, in his country home. Mr. Lyon was
liberally educated, bad travelled a good deal, and been a close
observer and thinker. He was, moreover, well read in human nature.
That he charmed the little circle at Woodbine Lodge on the first
evening of his visit. there, is scarcely a matter of wonder. Nor was
he less charmed. Perhaps the only one not altogether pleased was
Aunt Grace. By habit a close reader of all who came within range of
her observation, she occupied quite as much time in scanning the
face of Mr. Lyon, and noting each varying expression of eyes, lips,
and voice, as in listening to his entertaining description of things
heard and seen.
"I don't just like him." Thus she soliloquized after she had retired
to her own room.' "He's deep--any one can see that--deep as the sea.
And he has a way of turning his eyes without turning his head that
don't please me exactly. Edward is wonderfully taken with him; but
he never looks very far below the surface. And Fanny--why the girl
seemed perfectly fascinated!"
And Aunt Grace shook her head ominously, as she added--
"He's handsome enough; but beauty's only skin-deep, and he may be as
black as Lucifer inside."
A greater part of the next day Mr. Markland and Mr. Lyon spent
alone, either in the library or seated in some one of the many shady
arbours and cool retreats scattered invitingly over the pleasant
estate. The stranger had found the mind of his host hungering for
new aliment, and as his own mind was full stored with thought and
purpose, he had but to speak to awaken interest. Among other things,
he gave Mr. Markland, a minute detail of certain plans for acquiring
an immense fortune, in the prosecution of which, in company with
some wealthy capitalists, he was now engaged. The result was sure;
for every step had been taken with the utmost cautions and every
calculation thrice verified.
"And what a dreaming idler I am here!" said Markland, half to
himself, in one of the conversational pauses, as there was presented
to his mind a vivid contrast of his fruitless inactivity with the
vigorous productive industry of others. "I half question, at times,
whether, in leaving the busy world, I did not commit a serious
error."
"Have you given up all interest in business?" asked Mr. Lyon.
"All."
"Ah!" with slight evidence of surprise. "How do you live?"
"The life of an oyster, I was going to say," replied Markland, with
a faint smile.
"I would die if not active. True enjoyment, a wise friend has often
said to me, is never found in repose, but in activity. To me a
palace would be a prison, if I could find nothing to do; while a
prison would be a palace, if mind and hands were fully employed."
"I lack the motive for renewed effort," said Markland. "Wealth
beyond my present possession I do not desire. I have more than
enough safely invested to give me every comfort and luxury through
life."
"But your children?" remarked the guest.
"Will have ample provision."
"There is another motive."
"What?"
"Money is power."
"True."
"And by its proper use a man may elevate himself into almost any
position. It is the lever that moves the world."
Markland only shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"Have you no ambition?" inquired the other, in a familiar way.
"Ambition!" The question awakened surprise.
"To stand out prominently in the world's eye, no matter for what, so
the distinction be honourable," said Mr. Lyon. "Of the thousands and
tens of thousands who toil up the steep and often rugged paths to
wealth, and attain the desired eminence, how few are ever heard of
beyond the small community in which they live! Some of these, to
perpetuate a name, establish at death some showy charity, and thus
build for themselves a monument not overshadowed by statelier
mausoleums amid the rivalries of a fashionable cemetery. Pah! All
this ranges far below my aspiring. I wish to make a name while
living. Wealth in itself is only a toy. No true man can find
pleasure in its mere glitter for a day. It is only the miser who
loves gold for its own sake, and sees nothing beautiful or desirable
except the yellow earth he hoards in his coffers. Have you found
happiness in the mere possession of wealth?"
"Not in its _mere_ possession," was answered.
"Nor even in its lavish expenditure?"
"I have great pleasure in using it for the attainment of my wishes,"
said Mr. Markland.
"The narrower the bound of our wishes, the quicker comes their
consummation, and then all is restlessness again, until we enter
upon a new pursuit."
"Truly spoken."
"Is it not wise, then, to give a wide sweep to our aspirations? to
lift the ideal of our life to a high position; so that, in its
attainment, every latent power may be developed? Depend upon it, Mr.
Markland, we may become what we will; and I, for one, mean to become
something more than a mere money-getter and money-saver. But first
the money-getting, as a means to an end. To that every energy must
now be devoted."
Mr. Lyon's purpose was to interest Mr. Markland, and he was entirely
successful. He drew for him various attractive pictures, and in the
contemplation of each, as it stood vividly before him, the retired
merchant saw much to win his ardent admiration. Very gradually, and
very adroitly, seeming all the while as if he had not the slightest
purpose to interest Mr. Markland in that particular direction, did
Mr. Lyon create in his mind a strong confidence in the enlarged
schemes for obtaining immense wealth in which he was now engaged.
And the tempter was equally successful in his efforts to awaken a
desire in Mr. Markland to have his name stand out prominently, as
one who had shown remarkable public spirit and great boldness in the
prosecution of a difficult enterprise.
One, two, three days went by, and still Mr. Lyon was a lingerer at
Woodbine Lodge; and during most of that time he was alone and in
earnest conference with Mr. Markland. The evenings were always
pleasant seasons in the family circle. Fanny's voice had been well
cultivated, and she sung with fine taste; and as Mr. Lyon was also a
lover of music, and played and sung exquisitely, the two very
naturally spent a portion of their time at the piano. If it crossed
the father's mind that an attachment might spring up between them,
it did not disturb his feelings.
At the end of a week Mr. Lyon found it necessary to tear himself
away from the little paradise into which he had been so unexpectedly
introduced. Every day that he lingered there diminished the ardour
of his ambition, or robbed of some charm the bright ideal he had
worshipped. And so he broke the silken bonds that wove themselves
around him, at first light as gossamer, but now strong as twisted
cords.
Mr. Markland accompanied him to the city, and did not return home
until late in the evening. He was then much occupied with his own
thoughts, and entered but little into conversation. Fanny was
absent-minded, a fact that did not escape the mother's observation.
Aunt Grace noted the change which the stranger's coming and
departure had occasioned, and, shaking her wise head, spoke thus
within herself--
"He may be very handsome, but he casts a shadow, for all that. I
don't see what Edward was thinking about. He'd better let Fanny go
right into the world, where she can see dozens of handsome young
men, and contrast one with another, than hide her away here, until
some attractive young Lucifer comes along--a very Son of the
Morning! How can the girl help falling in love, if she sees but one
man, and he elegant, accomplished, handsome, and full of winning
ways, even though his hidden heart be black with selfishness?"
But Aunt Grace always looked at the shadowy side. Even if the sun
shone bright above, she thought of the clouds that were gathering
somewhere, and destined ere long to darken the whole horizon.
On the day following, Mr. Markland went again to the city, and was
gone until late in the evening. His mind was as much occupied as on
the evening previous, and he spent the hours from tea-time until
eleven o'clock in the library, writing. If Mrs. Markland did not
appear to notice any change in her husband since Mr. Lyon came to
Woodbine Lodge, it was not that the change had escaped her. No--she
was too deeply interested in all that concerned him to fail in
noting every new aspect of thought or feeling. He had said nothing
of awakened purpose, quickened into activity by long conferences
with his guest, but she saw that such purposes were forming. Of
their nature she was in entire ignorance. That they would still
further estrange him from Woodbine Lodge, she had too good reason,
in a knowledge of his character, to fear. With him, whatever became
a pursuit absorbed all others; and he looked to the end with a
visions so intent, that all else was seen in obscurity. And so, with
a repressed sigh, this gentle, true-hearted, loving woman, whose
thought rarely turned in upon herself, awaited patiently the time
when her husband would open to her what was in his thoughts. And the
time, she knew, was not distant. _