“Near some fen shall my nameless tomb be seen:
It shall arise without song. My lone spirit,
Wrapped in mist, shall sail o’er the reedy pool,
And never on their clouds with heroes join.”
The body of Henry arrived. The day of the funeral came, and passed. Still the silence of Fitz-Ullin towards Julia continued, and her’s towards him was equally remarkable. Not that he now avoided her, as he had done on board the Euphrasia; on the contrary, he rather sought to be near her; but his close attention to all she said or did, seemed a sort of scrutiny, and gave her more pain than pleasure. He now indeed appeared even to court occasions of being alone with her; yet, when such did occur, he spoke little, and on indifferent[344] subjects, and maintained the air of one who expected some communication to be made to him. While Julia met his strange manner with a studied coldness of deportment, which seemed to forbid all recurrence to the past, the ungenerous determination he appeared to have formed of reading her heart, whilst he refrained from entitling himself to do so, at length aroused her to self-defence at least, if not to indignation. She was weary of the inward humiliation of feeling, that her heart beat responsive to every alternation of his manner; that the tone of his voice, the turn of his eye, could make her happy or miserable. Yet, was she still weak enough to be less positively wretched than she would else have been, from the idea that, unworthy and impertinent as his conduct appeared, she could not be quite an object of indifference to him, or he would not study her as he did. He did not watch every look, every word when Frances spoke,[345] or was spoken to. The subject, however, was one on which she now shrank from speaking, even to Frances; and one on which that kind and considerate sister felt that, it would be as indelicate as useless to speak to her. Frances did certainly more than once observe, with a warmth which Julia but too well understood, how disagreeable rank and fortune had made Edmund; with his Lady Julia L?, and Lady Frances L?, adding, “I declare I am sometimes going to laugh, only I am so angry I could almost cry; it does seem so ridiculous!”
While Julia’s manners were such as we have described, in those of Lord L? there was a daily increasing haughtiness, and in his politeness an attention to forms, calculated to remind a guest that he was not at home. Frances, too, though still friendly, was less a sister than formerly. Fitz-Ullin seemed to feel all this, for he began to talk of leaving Lodore,[346] though the Euphrasia was not ready for sea, Mrs. Montgomery, indeed, was still kind, and, while he sat at her bed-side, she would still call him Edmund, look anxiously in his face, shake her head, and tell him he was not happy. She would then rally him about Lady Susan; calling the affair his boyish disappointment. Then she would wish he could make a second choice, and give her the joy of seeing him happy before she died.
A secret association of ideas in the good old lady’s mind, would lead her to talk, very soon after, of Julia.
On such occasions Fitz-Ullin’s colour would come and go; yet, even with this affectionate friend, he continued silent. At length his spirits becoming evidently more depressed, he announced his determination of taking his departure immediately, as he wished, he said, to visit Ayrshire before the Euphrasia was ready for sea, that he might make one[347] more effort on behalf of Arthur, though with scarcely a hope of success; Lady Oswald having already made every exertion. But, young Oswald having no title to show, it was found impossible to disturb the present possessors. If, however, the title-deeds could be found, it was the opinion of counsel, that there would be no difficulty in recovering the property, as the papers themselves would shew (what was well known, though it could not be legally proved,) that Sir Archibald had no power to dispose of more than his life interest in the estates.