She made such a report of me to her father, that Mr. Oliver himself
accompanied her next evening--a tall, massive-featured, middle-aged,
and grey-headed man, at whose side his lovely daughter looked like a
bright flower near a hoary turret. He appeared a taciturn, and
perhaps a proud personage; but he was very kind to me. The sketch
of Rosamond's portrait pleased him highly: he said I must make a
finished picture of it. He insisted, too, on my coming the next day
to spend the evening at Vale Hall.
I went. I found it a large, handsome residence, showing abundant
evidences of wealth in the proprietor. Rosamond was full of glee
and pleasure all the time I stayed. Her father was affable; and
when he entered into conversation with me after tea, he expressed in
strong terms his approbation of what I had done in Morton school,
and said he only feared, from what he saw and heard, I was too good
for the place, and would soon quit it for one more suitable.
"Indeed," cried Rosamond, "she is clever enough to be a governess in
a high family, papa."
I thought I would far rather be where I am than in any high family
in the land. Mr. Oliver spoke of Mr. Rivers--of the Rivers family--
with great respect. He said it was a very old name in that
neighbourhood; that the ancestors of the house were wealthy; that
all Morton had once belonged to them; that even now he considered
the representative of that house might, if he liked, make an
alliance with the best. He accounted it a pity that so fine and
talented a young man should have formed the design of going out as a
missionary; it was quite throwing a valuable life away. It
appeared, then, that her father would throw no obstacle in the way
of Rosamond's union with St. John. Mr. Oliver evidently regarded
the young clergyman's good birth, old name, and sacred profession as
sufficient compensation for the want of fortune.
It was the 5th of November, and a holiday. My little servant, after
helping me to clean my house, was gone, well satisfied with the fee
of a penny for her aid. All about me was spotless and bright--
scoured floor, polished grate, and well-rubbed chairs. I had also
made myself neat, and had now the afternoon before me to spend as I
would.
The translation of a few pages of German occupied an hour; then I
got my palette and pencils, and fell to the more soothing, because
easier occupation, of completing Rosamond Oliver's miniature. The
head was finished already: there was but the background to tint and
the drapery to shade off; a touch of carmine, too, to add to the
ripe lips--a soft curl here and there to the tresses--a deeper tinge
to the shadow of the lash under the azured eyelid. I was absorbed
in the execution of these nice details, when, after one rapid tap,
my door unclosed, admitting St. John Rivers.