Vellenaux A Novel by Edmund William Forrest (phonics reading books TXT) 📕

And The Invalid,  And Was Untiring In Her Efforts To Teach The Young

Children. She Had Often Been Thanked By The Clergyman For Her Valuable

Assistance,  Without Which,  He Was Wont To Observe,  He Scarcely Knew What

He Should Do.

When The Rector Was Removed From This Sublunary Sphere,  The Rev. Charles

Denham,  Through The Interest Of Lord Patronage,  Whose Fag He Had Been

While At Eton,  Obtained The Vacant Rectorship. This Was Considered By

The Good Folks Of The District To Be A Fortunate Circumstance,  And

Things Went Smoothly On As In The Good Old Time. But On The Death Of Her

Parents Emily Barton,  As The Reader Already Knows,  Left Vellenaux To

Reside In London. The Rev. Gentleman Did Not Know Which Way To Turn; He

Was Sorely Puzzled; He Had Depended So Much On Emily That He Began To

Think Seriously Of The Possibility Of Being Able To Induce Miss Barton

To Exchange That Name For The One Of Denham. This Matter Had Been

Revolving In His Mind For Some Time Past,  Though He Had Given No

Utterance To His Feelings,  And Now She Was About To Leave That Part Of

The Country,  Perhaps For A Lengthened Period. "If," Thought He,  "The

Sunday School Had Emily At Its Head,  It Would Materially Assist Me," And

He Felt Convinced That The Rectory,  Without A Wife To Superintend It,

Would Be,  After All,  A Very Lonely Place To Pass His Days In,  Would She

Not Consent To Undertake The Double Duties. "I Have Never Spoken To

Her," He Said Musingly,  As He Paced Up And Down His Study,  "But I Shall,

When Grief For The Loss Of Her Parents Will Allow Her To Listen To Such

A Proposal."

On Parting With Him On The Morning Of Her Departure,  She Was Somewhat

Embarassed At His Altered Manner Towards Her. She Could Not But Notice

His Warm Pressure Of Her Hand,  And His Earnestness Of Manner,  When

Asking Permission To Visit Her In London.

"My Aunt And Sister Will,  I Am Sure,  Be Always Happy To Receive You When

In London," She Quietly Replied,  And After A Moment's Pause,  Continued:

"I Shall Likewise Still Take An Interest In The School,  And Shall Be

Glad To Learn How My Little Scholars Are Getting On."

The Young Rector Found It Necessary To Visit London On Several Occasions

During The Next Twelvemonth.

In One Of The Broad Gravelled Avenues Of Kensington Gardens,  Slowly

Walking Beneath The Magnificent Trees,  The Soft Mossy Grass,  Yellow And

White Daisy,  Bending Beneath Their Footsteps,  Were Two Figures,--The One

A Gentleman Dressed In Black,  With A White Clerical Neck-Tie,  The Other

A Lady About The Medium Height,  With Pretty Features,  And Decidedly

Elegant Figure,  Which Was Set Off To Advantage By The Cut And Fit Of The

Pale Lavender Silk Dress She Wore. They Were Progressing Slowly Towards

The Gate Leading Into Hyde Park; Their Conversation Was Somewhat

Interrupted By A Knot Of Passing Guardsmen And Other Fashionable

Loungers,  To Be Again Resumed When They Were Beyond Ear Shot. They

Continued Their Walk Along The Bank Of The Serpentine,  And Could The

Passer By Have Peered Through The Lady's Veil,  He Would Have Found Her

Face Suffused With Blushes At Different Turns In The Conversation,  But

They Were Those Of Pleasure,  For Certainly The Crimson Flush Of Anger

Found No Place There. They Crossed The Park And Passed Out At Stanhope

Gate And Turned In The Direction Of Berkly Square.

"You Have Made Me So Happy,  Dear Emily,  Since You Grant Me Permission To

Speak To Your Aunt And Brother On The Subject Nearest My Heart," And The

Rev. Charles Denham Pressed The Little Hand Within His Own,  Made His

Bow,  And Walked In The Direction Of Harley Street,  While Emily Barton

Entered The House Of Her Brother Horace.

There Is An Old Saying,  Familiar To Most Of Us As Household Words,  Which

Tends To Show That The Course Of True Love Never Does Run Smooth. Now

With All Due Deference To The Talented Authority Who Promulgated This

Startling Announcement,  We Beg To Differ With Him On The Subject. It May

Be As He Says,  As A Rule,  But Our Belief Is That There Are Exceptions To

This Rule,  As Well As To Others; For We Say Without Fear Of

Contradiction,  That The Loves Of The Pretty Emily Barton And Her Very

Devoted Lover,  The Rev. Charles Denham,  Glided Smoothly And Sweetly

Along Its Unruffled Course,  Until It Eventuated In That Fountain Of

Human Happiness Or Misery,  Marriage. On The Lady's Side There Was No

Stern,  Selfish Parent Who Would Burden The Young Shoulders,  And Drive

From Her Path Those Inmost Pleasures So Natural To The Young And

Light-Hearted,  And Cause Her To Lose Her Freshness And Bloom,  By

Attending Solely To His Whims And Wishes,  Or Crush Her Young Heart With

Hope Deferred. There Was No Ambitious Match Making Mother,  Ready To

Sacrifice The Hearts Best Affections,  In Order That She Might Become The

Unloved Wife Of Some Shallow Pated Young Dandy,  With More Aristocratic

Blood Than Brains,  And A Coronet In Perspective.

Nor Was The Reverend Lover Subjected To Any Trials Of A Similar Nature;

He Was An Orphan,  With But One Near Relative,  A Bachelor Uncle,  Who Was

Fond Of His Nephew,  And Proud Of His Talent And The Position He Had

Attained As Rector Of Vellenaux. The Old Gentleman Had Intended To Leave

Him His Property,  Amounting To Some Five Thousand Pounds,  In The Five

Per Cents.,  At His Death; But The Kind-Hearted Relative On Learning That

His Brother's Son Had Secured So Estimable A Lady For His Wife;

Belonging To A Family Who For So Many Years Had Resided In The

Neighborhood Of Vellenaux,  The Scene Of The Young Rector's Labours; He

Altered His Will,  Placing Half Of The Original Sum To Charles Denham's

Credit,  At Drummond's Bank In London,  Subject To His Cheque Or Order,  So

That The Rectory Could Be Furnished And Fitted Up With All The

Requisites Befitting The Position Of The Young Couple.

It Was A Right Joyous Group That Gathered Around The Wedding Breakfast

Table At 54 Harley Street,  On That Bright Summer Morn,  That Saw Emily

Barton Made The Happy Bride Of The Equally Happy Rector Of Vellenaux. A

Friendly Bishop Tied The Connubial Knot In One Of The Most Aristocratic

Churches In London,  And A Few Hours Afterwards Emily And Charles

Departed,  Not By Rail,  To Some Uncomfortable Foreign Hotel,  But By

Travelling,  Carriage And Post Horses To Their Home At Vellenaux. For The

Guests Who Had Assembled To Witness The Wedding Ceremony,  There Was

Another Treat In Store,  They Were Invited To A Ball Given In Honor Of

The Occasion By The Brother Of The Bride,  At His Mansion In Berkly

Square,  Concerning Which More Anon.

The Term For Which The Willows Had Been Rented,  Now Expired,  And Horace

Determined To No Longer Delay His Departure For Devonshire. This Had

Been Ever In His Mind While Serving In India. He Loved The Old Place And

There Were Now Fresh Inducements For Him To Give Up The House In London,

And Repair To The Willows. His Brother Tom Was Married And Settled At

Vellenaux,  And Emily Had Just Become The Wife Of The Rector,  And Lived

Within A Stone's Throw Of Her Old Home. Thus,  With The Visits Of His

Aunt And The Ashburnham's,  Pauline Would Not Be Without Society; Besides

He Would Take Her And Edith,  Whom He Now Looked Upon As A Sister,  To

London During The Height Of The Gay Season,  And This He Thought Would

Not Fail To Please All Parties.

Mrs. Barton Was To Give A Farewell Entertainment Prior To Her Departure,

Which Should Exceed Anything That She Had Hitherto Attempted,  And The

Evening Of The Day Of Emily's Marriage Was Fixed For The Occasion.

It Was Somewhat Late In The Afternoon When Captain Carlton And Doctor

Draycott Reached London,  Where The Two Friends And Travelling Companions

Parted--Draycott For His Father's House In Finsbury Pavement,  And

Carlton For His Hotel In Bond Street. His First Idea Was To Go Direct To

Berkly Square And Inform Edith And The Bartons Of The Death Of Sir

Ralph,  And The Declaration He Had Made Concerning The Will Of The Late

Sir Jasper; But While Waiting In The Coffee Room Of The Hotel,  Looking

Over The Morning Paper,  He Chanced To Hear The Following Conversation

Between Two Gentlemen Standing At The Bow Window That Looked Out On The

Street.

"And So The Bartons Give Their Farewell Spread This Evening? Are You

Going?"

"Well,  I Rather Think So," Was The Other's Reply. "It Is A Thousand

Pities,  However,  To Bury That Lovely Woman,  Miss Effingham,  In The

Country. There Is Not Her Equal In Town. If She Only Had A Decent

Allowance Of Cash Or Other Property,  She Would Have Been Sought For By A

Coronet,  You May Depend On That."

"But I Heard," Continued His Friend,  "That She Was Engaged To An Indian

Officer,  Who Is Expected In England Shortly," And With These Words They

Passed Out Into The Street.

On Hearing This,  Arthur Determined To Defer His Visit A Few Hours

Longer. There Was A Great Rush Of Vehicles That Night On The South Side

Of Berkly Square. The Heavy Family Carriage,  With Its Sleek Horses,

Driven At A Sober Pace By Old John,  The Dashing Curricle And Smart

Barouche,  With The Elegant Private Cab With Its Busy Little Tiger In Top

Boots,  Whose Single Arm Stops The Thorough Bred Animal When His Master

Drops The Reins.

"Is Them 'Ere Hangels," Enquired The Butcher Boy Of His Crony,  Tom

Drops,  The Pot Boy At The Crown And Sceptre,  Just Round The Corner,  As

The Two Young Ladies,  Who Had Acted In The Character Of Bridesmaids In

The Morning,  Stepped From Their Carriage On To The Indian Matting Which

Had Been Stretched Across The Pavement To The Hall Steps,  All Tarletan

And Rose Buds,  And Ascended The Grand Staircase Leading To The Ball

Room.

"Well,  If They Ain't They Ought To Be," Was The Response Of Tom Drops.

At This Moment A Very Stout And Elaborately Turbaned Dowager Passed

Slowly From Her Brougham Along The Matting And Entered The Hall.

"Is She A Hangel Too,  Do You Think? Don't Look Much Like One Now,"

Enquired The Young Butcher.

"In Course Not," Said Tom,  "They Loses All The Hangel When They Marries,

Leastways So I Have Heard. But Who It This Swell? He Is Bang Up