LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

with all the ardour of a sanguine temperament, success for the future. Mrs McAlpin was naturally disposed to regard errors like his with indulgence. Herbert Lindsey had been ‘more sinned against than sinning’ and would, probably, have obtained forgiveness from a sterner judge than the amiable Lucy.

      Flora, at that time seventeen years of age, was always present during the visits of the young artist, and he was occasionally permitted to accompany her on her rambles if the distance happened to be too great for the declining health of the delicate mother.

      At first their conversation was of art, of poetry; then, as will readily be imagined, of love. Herbert Lindsey, with all the frankness and loyalty of his nature, immediately informed Mrs McAlpin of his passion for her daughter and, after some persuasion, obtained her consent to their future union. It is true that the lover had not a shilling beyond what his pencil procured; but what did that signify? Could they not live on love? So at least thought Flora.

      “And on my exertions – my untiring exertions,” said Herbert.

      “Such genius as yours must surely meet its reward,” added the mother whose fading eyes rekindled with enthusiasm as she spoke. Alas, and alack! It may chance that the young girl’s dreams were not more idle than those of the travelled artist; or of the mature and accomplished woman. Mrs McAlpin, however, was not altogether imprudent in sanctioning this attachment; in the first place, she relied on the good principles, as well as the genius of her future son-in-law; in the second, on a competency that it was in her own power to bestow, and on which the young couple could exist till the death of Herbert’s uncle, when the artist would become possessed of a considerable property.

      In this manner Herbert and Flora were betrothed, and passed several months very happily in each other’s society. Suddenly, however, Mrs McAlpin’s complaint developed itself in an alarming manner, and in a few days she was no more.

      Poor Flora, who had never yet witnessed death, was frantic with grief and fear; but a kind matronly lady took charge of her; and, accompanied by her lover, she returned to England immediately after her mother’s funeral. Scarcely had she landed ere a letter was received from her father, ordering the presence of his wife and child.

      His wife!

      Perhaps he repented his imperious command, on finding that she was forever beyond his control; but the recollection of past severity did not render him more gentle towards his daughter, when she, in compliance with his request, joined him in Australia.

      The irritable temper of McAlpin was excited by the knowledge of the engagement Flora had contracted; and still more increased by a visit a few months later, from Herbert Lindsey.

      “An artist, indeed!” exclaimed the enraged Highlander. “What a fool the fellow must be to think he can make a living by painting pictures in a colony like this!”

      Herbert Lindsey had certainly given proof of his folly in fancying anything to be improbable, but he had also proved his honourable love, having resisted his inclination to accompany his betrothed on that long voyage. For when she refused to marry him without her father’s knowledge, he let her depart in the care of a respectable family, and the next week, followed on her track.

      McAlpin forbade Lindsey access to his house. But Flora, though unwilling to disobey her father, resolved that if Herbert was not to be her husband, nobody else should. In this manner these three years passed away, during which time the lovers continued occasionally to meet; and it was to see Flora that Lindsey had now traversed many a weary mile of plain and forest, his ostensible object being an artist’s tour.

      Pierce Silverton, their mutual friend, as the agent of McAlpin, was a frequent visitor of his house, and he had therefore been enabled to convey to the lover the intelligence that the father of his betrothed was about to absent himself for a few days. And so, with a joyful heart, Herbert Lindsey, now found himself close to the extremity of the forest that skirted one boundary of McAlpin’s station.

      It was early morning, and fresh and pure as dawn was the fair girl who came tripping over the light brushwood. A fit subject for an artist’s love was Flora McAlpin, with her soft eyes that spake a world of sweet tranquil thought; her dark brown hair which, as it waved back in the breeze, reflected a golden tint of that peculiar hue, so rare, but so appreciated by a painter; the colour of her cheek – the carnation of which Titian himself might have worshipped; and her graceful figure arrayed in that pretty flowered muslin.

      On she comes, and Herbert Lindsey, springing over fence and scrub, caught her in his arms.

      “Flora, my darling girl!”

      “Herbert! Dear Herbert!”

      They mutually exclaimed, and felt a long absence forgotten in that happy meeting.

      They sat under the shade of a spreading tree, talking for a little while of the past, but their conversation, like that of all true lovers, soon turned to the future. They spoke of happy years yet in store, when no barrier should exist, to mar their bliss; when the father’s opposition should be surmounted, the fortune gained, and life become one scene of hope and joy.

      “Six weeks,” said the happy girl, “and I shall be of age, Herbert, and then–”

      “You will be my wife – my own wife – my Flora,” interrupted the lover.

      “I do not mean that; at least, not quite so soon. I should not like Papa to think that the first use I made of my liberty was to run away from him. No, I intend to be very submissive for a little while, and if that does not soften his heart, perhaps I may show him what I can do.”

      Flora drew herself up; and the artist, who had studied all sorts of attitudes and expressions, thought she looked very queenly, and said in a jesting tone, “You inherit your father’s love of power, but I hope you do not mean to be tyrannical, Flory.”

      “No, not if you behave yourself. But Herbert, it is very pleasant to know we can do what we like.”

      “Dear Flora, your money is your own, I would not touch a farthing of it for the world; no, not even to enable me to marry you!”

      “O, Herbert! Can you suppose that I was thinking of such a vile thing as money?” asked Flora, in an accent of reproach.

      “Ah, Flora, I once thought money a vile thing, but I have learned that we cannot live without it.”

      “At all events, we will not talk of it. Papa’s friends have scarcely another idea in their heads. But I mean to give you my money – that is, if I do marry you.”

      “If you do, Flora?”

      “Very well, when I do. But Herbert, which is worth the most – my hand or my fortune?”

      “Your hand a thousand times, Flora, and you know it.”

      “Well then if I give you my hand, surely I may give you what is so very inferior. But not another word of my fortune, or I’ll go back this minute, and talk to one of Papa’s old money-grubbers.”

      “I little thought that the quiet retiring girl I once met at Baden would ever exhibit such an independent spirit.”

      “Baden is a very different sort of place to Australia, and when poor dear mamma was alive, I submitted everything to her. Besides, people grow very independent in this colony.”

      Herbert Lindsey told his betrothed that he would take her back to Baden, and tame her, and then he uttered a few more threats, demonstrating how well bachelors can rule their wives.

      Gaily and happily the hours passed away, but at length the lovers knew that they must part, or they would be observed by the labourers returning to their dinner. Herbert, unwilling as he had ever been that the conduct of Flora should be open to censure, tenderly bid her farewell, entreating her to meet him on the same spot, on the following day.

      To this she cheerfully assented and, with light step and still lighter heart, returned to her father’s house.

      Either it must be that presentiments do not foreshadow

Скачать книгу