CHAPTER VII.

I visit Castlewood once more.

Thus, for a third time, Beatrix’s ambitious hopes were circumvented, and she might well believe that a special malignant fate watched and pursued her, tearing her prize out of her hand just as she seemed to grasp it, and leaving her with only rage and grief for her portion.  Whatever her feelings might have been of anger or of sorrow, (and I fear me that the former emotion was that which most tore her heart,) she would take no confidant, as people of softer natures would have done under such a calamity; her mother and her kinsman knew that she would disdain their pity, and that to offer it would be but to infuriate the cruel wound which fortune had inflicted.  We knew that her pride was awfully humbled and punished by this sudden and terrible blow; she wanted no teaching of ours to point out the sad moral of her story.  Her fond mother could give but her prayers, and her kinsman his faithful friendship and patience to the unhappy, stricken creature; and it was only by hints, and a word or two uttered months afterwards, that Beatrix showed she understood their silent commiseration, and on her part was secretly thankful for their forbearance.  The people about the Court said there was that in her manner which frightened away scoffing and condolence:  she was above their triumph and their pity, and acted her part in that dreadful tragedy greatly and courageously; so that those who liked her least were yet forced to admire her.  We, who watched her after her disaster, could not but respect the indomitable courage and majestic calm with which she bore it.  “I would rather see her tears than her pride,” her mother said, who was accustomed to bear her sorrows in a very different way, and to receive them as the stroke of God, with an awful submission and meekness.  But Beatrix’s nature was different to that tender parent’s; she seemed to accept her grief and to defy it; nor would she allow it (I believe not even in private and in her own chamber) to extort from her the confession of even a tear of humiliation or a cry of pain.  Friends and children of our race, who come after me, in which way will you bear your trials?  I know one that prays God will give you love rather than pride, and that the Eye all-seeing shall find you in the humble place.  Not that we should judge proud spirits otherwise than charitably.  ’Tis nature hath fashioned some for ambition and dominion, as it hath formed others for obedience and gentle submission.  The leopard follows his nature as the lamb does, and acts after leopard law; she can neither help her beauty, nor her courage, nor her cruelty; nor a single spot on her shining coat; nor the conquering spirit which impels her; nor the shot which brings her down.