MARGARET CAPEL.
A NOVEL.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE."
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1846.
LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
MARGARET CAPEL.
CHAPTER I.
For not to think of what I need's must feel,
But to be still and patient all I can,
And haply, by abstruse research, to steal
From my own nature all the natural man:
This was my sole resource, my only plan.
COLERIDGE.
And time, that mirrors on its stream aye flowing
Hope's starry beam, despondency's dark shade;
Green early leaves, flowers in warm sunshine blowing,
Boughs by sharp winter's breath all leafless made.
ANON.
Margaret remained for more than a year in the most perfect retirement.The solitude of Ashdale was nothing to that of Mrs. Fitzpatrick'scottage. This tranquillity [Pg 2]was well adapted to her state offeeling: she never experienced a wish to interrupt it. She was sincerelyattached to her hostess. Although reserved, Mrs. Fitzpatrick waseven-tempered; and she became very fond of Margaret, whose societyfilled up such a painful blank in her home. Both had suffered much,though neither ever alluded to her sufferings: and sorrow is always abond of union. When first she came to Mrs. Fitzpatrick's, her health wasso delicate, that the poor lady feared she was to go through a secondordeal, similar to the one she had lately submitted to with her ownchild. Margaret had a terrible cough and frequent pain in the side, andwhenever Mrs. Fitzpatrick saw her pause on her way down stairs with herhand pressed on her heart, or heard the well-known and distressing soundof the cough, the memory of her daughter was almost too painfullyrenewed. But Mr. Lindsay pronounced the cough to be nervous, and thepain in the side nothing of any consequence; [Pg 3]and though winterwas stealing on, his opinion was borne out by Margaret's rapidamendment.
Circumstances had long taught Margaret to suffer in silence: she foundthen no difficulty in assuming a composure of manner that she did notalways feel; and soon the healing effects of repose and time werevisible in her demeanour. The loss of her uncle was become a softenedgrief—for her other sorrow, she never named it even to herself.Yet still if any accident suggested to her heart the name of Mr.Haveloc, it would be followed by a sudden shock, as though a dagger hadbeen plunged into it. She could not bear to think of him, and it was acomfort to be in a place where she was never likely to hear him named.
And in the beautiful country, among those fading woods, on thatirregular and romantic shore, was to be found the surest antidote forall that she had endured—for all she might still suffer. In thesoft, yet boisterous autum