CHAPTER III. CONFERENCES.
The next day Sir Miles did not appear at breakfast,--not that he wasunwell, but that he meditated holding certain audiences, and on suchoccasions the good old gentleman liked to prepare himself. He belongedto a school in which, amidst much that was hearty and convivial, therewas much also that nowadays would seem stiff and formal, contrasting theother school immediately succeeding him, which Mr. Vernon represented,and of which the Charles Surface of Sheridan is a faithful and admirabletype. The room that Sir Miles appropriated to himself was, properlyspeaking, the state apartment, called, in the old inventories, "KingJames's chamber;" it was on the first floor, communicating with thepicture-gallery, which at the farther end opened upon a corridoradmitting to the principal bedrooms. As Sir Miles cared nothing forholiday state, he had unscrupulously taken his cubiculum in thischamber, which was really the handsomest in the house, except thebanquet-hall, placed his bed in one angle with a huge screen before it,filled up the space with his Italian antiquities and curiosities; andfixed his favourite pictures on the faded gilt leather panelled on thewalls. His main motive in this was the communication with the adjoininggallery, which, when the weather was unfavourable, furnished ampleroom for his habitual walk. He knew how many strides by the help of hiscrutch made a mile, and this was convenient. Moreover, he liked tolook, when alone, on those old portraits of his ancestors, which hehad religiously conserved in their places, preferring to thrust hisFlorentine and Venetian masterpieces into bedrooms and parlours,rather than to dislodge from the gallery the stiff ruffs, doublets, andfarthingales of his predecessors. It was whispered in the house thatthe baronet, whenever he had to reprove a tenant or lecture a dependant,took care to have him brought to his sanctum, through the full length ofthis gallery, so that the victim might be duly prepared and awed by theimposing effect of so stately a journey, and the grave faces of all thegenerations of St. John, which could not fail to impress him with thedignity of the family, and alarm him at the prospect of the injuredfrown of its representative. Across this gallery now, following thesteps of the powdered valet, strode young Ardworth, staring now and thenat some portrait more than usually grim, more often wondering why hisboots, that never creaked before, should creak on those particularboards, and feeling a quiet curiosity, without the least mixture of fearor awe as to what old Squaretoes intended to say to him. But all feelingof irreverence ceased when, shown into the baronet's room, and the doorclosed, Sir Miles rose with a smile, and cordially shaking his hand,said, dropping the punctilious courtesy of Mister: "Ardworth, sir, if Ihad a little prejudice against you before you came, you have conqueredit. You are a fine, manly, spirited fellow, sir; and you have an oldman's good wishes,--which are no bad beginning to a young man's goodfortune."
The colour rushed over Ardworth's forehead, and a tear sprang to hiseyes. He felt a rising at his throat as he stammered out some not veryaudible reply.
"I wished to see you, young gentleman, that I might judge myself whatyou would like best, and what would best fit you. Your father is in thearmy: what say you to a pair of colours?"
"Oh, Sir Miles, that is my utmost ambition! Anything but law, except theChurch; anything but the Church, except the desk and a counter!"
The baronet, much pleased, gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Ha,ha! we gentlemen, you see (for the Ardworths are very well born, very),we gentlemen understand each other! Between you and me, I never likedthe law, never thought a man of birth should belong to it. Take moneyfor lying,--shabby, shocking! Don't let that go any farther! TheChurch-Mother Church--I honour her! Church and State go together! Butone ought to be very good to preach to others,--better than you and Iare, eh? ha, ha! Well, then, you like the army,--there's a letter foryou to the Horse Guards. Go up to town; your business is done. And, asfor your outfit,--read this little book at your leisure." And Sir Milesthrust a pocketbook into Ardworth's hand.
"But pardon me," said the young man, much bewildered. "What claim haveI, Sir Miles, to such generosity? I know that my uncle offended you."
"Sir, that's the claim!" said Sir Miles, gravely. "I cannot live long,"he added, with a touch of melancholy in his voice; "let me die in peacewith all! Perhaps I injured your uncle,--who knows but, if so, he hearsand pardons me now?"
"Oh, Sir Miles!" exclaimed the thoughtless, generous-hearted young man;"and my little playfellow, Susan, your own niece!"
Sir Miles drew back haughtily; but the burst that offended him roseso evidently from the heart, was so excusable from its motive and theyouth's ignorance of the world, that his frown soon vanished as he said,calmly and gravely,--
"No man, my good sir, can allow to others the right to touch on hisfamily affairs; I trust I shall be just to the poor young lady. And so,if we never meet again, let us think well of each other. Go, my boy;serve your king and your country!"
"I will do my best, Sir Miles, if only to merit your kindness."
"Stay a moment: you are intimate, I find, with young Mainwaring?"
"An old college friendship, Sir Miles."
"The army will not do for him, eh?"
"He is too clever for it, sir."
"Ah, he'd make a lawyer, I suppose,--glib tongue enough, and can talkwell; and lie, if he's paid for it?"
"I don't know how lawyers regard those matters, Sir Miles; but if youdon't make him a lawyer, I am sure you must leave him an honest man."
"Really and truly--"
"Upon my honour I think so."
"Good-day to you, and good luck. You must catch the coach at the lodge;for I see by the papers that, in spite of all the talk about peace, theyare raising regiments like wildfire."
With very different feelings from those with which he had entered theroom, Ardworth quitted it. He hurried into his own chamber to thrusthis clothes into his portmanteau, and while thus employed, Mainwaringentered.
"Joy, my dear fellow, wish me joy! I am going to town,--into the army;abroad; to be shot at, thank Heaven! That dear old gentleman! Just throwme that coat, will you?"
A very few more words sufficed to explain what had passed to Mainwaring.He sighed when his friend had finished: "I wish I were going with you!"
"Do you? Sir Miles has only got to write another letter to the HorseGuards. But no, you are meant to be something better than food forpowder; and, besides, your Lucretia! Hang it, I am sorry I cannot stayto examine her as I had promised; but I have seen enough to know thatshe certainly loves you. Ah, when she changed flowers with you, you didnot think I saw you,--sly, was not I? Pshaw! She was only playing withVernon. But still, do you know, Will, now that Sir Miles has spoken tome so, that I could have sobbed, 'God bless you, my old boy!' 'ponmy life, I could! Now, do you know that I feel enraged with you forabetting that girl to deceive him?"
"I am enraged with myself; and--"
Here a servant entered, and informed Mainwaring that he had beensearching for him; Sir Miles requested to see him in his room.Mainwaring started like a culprit.
"Never fear," whispered Ardworth; "he has no suspicion of you, I'msure. Shake hands. When shall we meet again? Is it not odd, I, who ama republican by theory, taking King George's pay to fight against theFrench? No use stopping now to moralize on such contradictions. John,Tom,--what's your name?--here, my man, here, throw that portmanteauon your shoulder and come to the lodge." And so, full of health, hope,vivacity, and spirit, John Walter Ardworth departed on his career.
Meanwhile Mainwaring slowly took his way to Sir Miles. As he approachedthe gallery, he met Lucretia, who was coming from her own room. "SirMiles has sent for me," he said meaningly. He had time for no more, forthe valet was at the door of the gallery, waiting to usher him to hishost. "Ha! you will say not a word that can betray us; guard yourlooks too!" whispered Lucretia, hurriedly; "afterwards, join me by thecedars." She passed on towards the staircase, and glanced at the largeclock that was placed there. "Past eleven! Vernon is never up beforetwelve. I must see him before my uncle sends for me, as he will sendif he suspects--" She paus
ed, went back to her room, rang for her maid,dressed as for walking, and said carelessly, "If Sir Miles wants me,I am gone to the rectory, and shall probably return by the village, sothat I shall be back about one." Towards the rectory, indeed, Lucretiabent her way; but half-way there, turned back, and passing through theplantation at the rear of the house, awaited Mainwaring on the benchbeneath the cedars. He was not long before he joined her. His face wassad and thoughtful; and when he seated himself by her side, it was witha weariness of spirit that alarmed her.
"Well," said she, fearfully, and she placed her hand on his.
"Oh, Lucretia," he exclaimed, as he pressed that hand with an emotionthat came from other passions than love, "we, or rather I, have donegreat wrong. I have been leading you to betray your uncle's trust, toconvert your gratitude to him into hypocrisy. I have been unworthy ofmyself. I am poor, I am humbly born, but till I came here, I was richand proud in honour. I am not so now. Lucretia, pardon me, pardon me!Let the dream be over; we must not sin thus; for it is sin, and theworst of sin,--treachery. We must part: forget me!"
"Forget you! Never, never, never!" cried Lucretia, with suppressed butmost earnest vehemence, her breast heaving, her hands, as he dropped theone he held, clasped together, her eyes full of tears,--transformed atonce into softness, meekness, even while racked by passion and despair.
"Oh, William, say anything,--reproach, chide, despise me, for mine isall the fault; say anything but that word 'part.' I have chosen you, Ihave sought you out, I have wooed you, if you will; be it so. I clingto you, you are my all,--all that saves me from--from myself," she addedfalteringly, and in a hollow voice. "Your love--you know not what it isto me! I scarcely knew it myself before. I feel what it is now, when yousay 'part.'"
Agitated and tortured, Mainwaring writhed at these burning words, benthis face low, and covered it with his hands.
He felt her clasp struggling to withdraw them, yielded, and saw herkneeling at his feet. His manhood and his gratitude and his heart allmoved by that sight in one so haughty, he opened his arms, and she fellon his breast. "You will never say 'part' again, William!" she gaspedconvulsively.
"But what are we to do?"
"Say, first, what has passed between you and my uncle."
"Little to relate; for I can repeat words, not tones and looks.Sir Miles spoke to me, at first kindly and encouragingly, about myprospects, said it was time that I should fix myself, added a fewwords, with menacing emphasis, against what he called 'idle dreams anddesultory ambition,' and observing that I changed countenance,--for Ifelt that I did,--his manner became more cold and severe. Lucretia,if he has not detected our secret, he more than suspects my--mypresumption. Finally, he said dryly, that I had better return home,consult with my father, and that if I preferred entering into theservice of the Government to any mercantile profession, he thoughthe had sufficient interest to promote my views. But, clearly anddistinctly, he left on my mind one impression,--that my visits here areover."
"Did he allude to me--to Mr. Vernon?"
"Ah, Lucretia! do you know him so little,--his delicacy, his pride?"
Lucretia was silent, and Mainwaring continued:--
"I felt that I was dismissed. I took my leave of your uncle; I camehither with the intention to say farewell forever."
"Hush! hush! that thought is over. And you return to yourfather's,--perhaps better so: it is but hope deferred; and in yourabsence I can the more easily allay all suspicion, if suspicion exist.But I must write to you; we must correspond. William, dear William,write often,--write kindly; tell me, in every letter, that you loveme,--that you love only me; that you will be patient, and confide."
"Dear Lucretia," said Mainwaring, tenderly, and moved by the pathosof her earnest and imploring voice, "but you forget: the bag is alwaysbrought first to Sir Miles; he will recognize my hand. And to whom canyou trust your own letters?"
"True," replied Lucretia, despondingly; and there was a pause. Suddenlyshe lifted her head, and cried: "But your father's house is not far fromthis,--not ten miles; we can find a spot at the remote end of the park,near the path through the great wood: there I can leave my letters;there I can find yours."
"But it must be seldom. If any of Sir Miles's servants see me, if--"
"Oh, William, William, this is not the language of love!"
"Forgive me,--I think of you!"
"Love thinks of nothing but itself; it is tyrannical, absorbing,--itforgets even the object loved; it feeds on danger; it strengthens byobstacles," said Lucretia, tossing her hair from her forehead, and withan expression of dark and wild power on her brow and in her eyes. "Fearnot for me; I am sufficient guard upon myself. Even while I speak, Ithink,--yes, I have thought of the very spot. You remember that hollowoak at the bottom of the dell, in which Guy St. John, the Cavalier, issaid to have hid himself from Fairfax's soldiers? Every Monday I willleave a letter in that hollow; every Tuesday you can search for it, andleave your own. This is but once a week; there is no risk here."
Mainwaring's conscience still smote him, but he had not the strength toresist the energy of Lucretia. The force of her character seized uponthe weak part of his own,--its gentleness, its fear of inflictingpain, its reluctance to say "No,"--that simple cause of misery to theover-timid. A few sentences more, full of courage, confidence, andpassion, on the part of the woman, of constraint and yet of soothed andgrateful affection on that of the man, and the affianced parted.
Mainwaring had already given orders to have his trunks sent to him athis father's; and, a hardy pedestrian by habit, he now struck across thepark, passed the dell and the hollow tree, commonly called "Guy's Oak,"and across woodland and fields golden with ripening corn, took his wayto the town, in the centre of which, square, solid, and imposing,stood the respectable residence of his bustling, active, electioneeringfather.
Lucretia's eye followed a form as fair as ever captivated maiden'sglance, till it was out of sight; and then, as she emerged from theshade of the cedars into the more open space of the garden, her usualthoughtful composure was restored to her steadfast countenance. On theterrace, she caught sight of Vernon, who had just quitted his own room,where he always breakfasted alone, and who was now languidly stretchedon a bench, and basking in the sun. Like all who have abused life,Vernon was not the same man in the early part of the day. The spiritsthat rose to temperate heat the third hour after noon, and expanded intoglow when the lights shone over gay carousers, at morning were flat andexhausted. With hollow eyes and that weary fall of the muscles of thecheeks which betrays the votary of Bacchus,--the convivial three-bottleman,--Charley Vernon forced a smile, meant to be airy and impertinent,to his pale lips, as he rose with effort, and extended three fingers tohis cousin.
"Where have you been hiding? Catching bloom from the roses? You have theprettiest shade of colour,--just enough; not a hue too much. And thereis Sir Miles's valet gone to the rectory, and the fat footman puffingaway towards the village, and I, like a faithful warden, from my post atthe castle, all looking out for the truant."
"But who wants me, cousin?" said Lucretia, with the full blaze of herrare and captivating smile.
"The knight of Laughton confessedly wants thee, O damsel! The knight ofthe Bleeding Heart may want thee more,--dare he own it?"
And with a hand that trembled a little, not with love, at least, ittrembled always a little before the Madeira at luncheon,--he lifted hersto his lips.
"Compliments again,--words, idle words!" said Lucretia, looking downbashfully.
"How can I convince thee of my sincerity, unless thou takest my life asits pledge, maid of Laughton?"
And very much tired of standing, Charley Vernon drew her gently tothe bench and seated himself by her side. Lucretia's eyes were stilldowncast, and she remained silent; Vernon, suppressing a yawn, feltthat he was bound to continue. There was nothing very formidable inLucretia's manner.
"'Fore Gad!" thought he, "I suppose I must take the heiress after all;the sooner 't is over, the sooner I can get bac
k to Brook Street."
"It is premature, my fair cousin," said he, aloud,--"premature, afterless than a week's visit, and only some fourteen or fifteen hours'permitted friendship and intimacy, to say what is uppermost in mythoughts; but we spendthrifts are provokingly handsome! Sir Miles, yourgood uncle, is pleased to forgive all my follies and faults upon onecondition,--that you will take on yourself the task to reform me. Willyou, my fair cousin? Such as I am, you behold me. I am no sinner in thedisguise of a saint. My fortune is spent, my health is not strong; buta young widow's is no mournful position. I am gay when I am well,good-tempered when ailing. I never betrayed a trust,--can you trust mewith yourself?"
This was a long speech, and Charley Vernon felt pleased that it wasover. There was much in it that would have touched a heart even closedto him, and a little genuine emotion had given light to his eyes, andcolor to his cheek. Amidst all the ravages of dissipation, there wassomething interesting in his countenance, and manly in his tone andhis gesture. But Lucretia was only sensible to one part of hisconfession,--her uncle consented to his suit. This was all of whichshe desired to be assured, and against this she now sought to screenherself.
"Your candour, Mr. Vernon," she said, avoiding his eye, "deservescandour in me; I cannot affect to misunderstand you. But you take me bysurprise; I was so unprepared for this. Give me time,--I must reflect."
"Reflection is dull work in the country; you can reflect more amusinglyin town, my fair cousin."
"I will wait, then, till I find myself in town."
"Ah, you make me the happiest, the most grateful of men," criedMr. Vernon, rising, with a semi-genuflection which seemed to imply,"Consider yourself knelt to,"--just as a courteous assailer, with amotion of the hand, implies, "Consider yourself horsewhipped."
Lucretia, who, with all her intellect, had no capacity for humour,recoiled, and looked up in positive surprise.
"I do not understand you, Mr. Vernon," she said, with austere gravity.
"Allow me the bliss of flattering myself that you, at least, areunderstood," replied Charley Vernon, with imperturbable assurance. "Youwill wait to reflect till you are in town,--that is to say, the dayafter our honeymoon, when you awake in Mayfair."
Before Lucretia could reply, she saw the indefatigable valet formallyapproaching, with the anticipated message that Sir Miles requested tosee her. She replied hurriedly to this last, that she would be with heruncle immediately; and when he had again disappeared within the porch,she said, with a constrained effort at frankness,--
"Mr. Vernon, if I have misunderstood your words, I think I do notmistake your character. You cannot wish to take advantage of myaffection for my uncle, and the passive obedience I owe to him, toforce me into a step of which--of which--I have not yet sufficientlyconsidered the results. If you really desire that my feelings should beconsulted, that I should not--pardon me--consider myself sacrificed tothe family pride of my guardian and the interests of my suitor--"
"Madam!" exclaimed Vernon, reddening.
Pleased with the irritating effect her words had produced, Lucretiacontinued calmly, "If, in a word, I am to be a free agent in a choiceon which my happiness depends, forbear to urge Sir Miles further atpresent; forbear to press your suit upon me. Give me the delay of a fewmonths; I shall know how to appreciate your delicacy."
"Miss Clavering," answered Vernon, with a touch of the St. Johnhaughtiness, "I am in despair that you should even think so grave anappeal to my honour necessary. I am well aware of your expectations andmy poverty. And, believe me, I would rather rot in a prison than enrichmyself by forcing your inclinations. You have but to say the word, andI will (as becomes me as a man and gentleman) screen you from all chanceof Sir Miles's displeasure, by taking it on myself to decline an honourof which I feel, indeed, very undeserving."
"But I have offended you," said Lucretia, softly, while she turned asideto conceal the glad light of her eyes,--"pardon me; and to prove thatyou do so, give me your arm to my uncle's room."
Vernon, with rather more of Sir Miles's antiquated stiffness than hisown rakish ease, offered his arm, with a profound reverence, to hiscousin, and they took their way to the house. Not till they had passedup the stairs, and were even in the gallery, did further words passbetween them. Then Vernon said,--
"But what is your wish, Miss Clavering? On what footing shall I remainhere?"
"Will you suffer me to dictate?" replied Lucretia, stopping short withwell-feigned confusion, as if suddenly aware that the right to dictategives the right to hope.
"Ah, consider me at least your slave!" whispered Vernon, as, hiseye resting on the contour of that matchless neck, partially andadvantageously turned from him, he began, with his constitutionaladmiration of the sex, to feel interested in a pursuit that now seemed,after piquing, to flatter his self-love.
"Then I will use the privilege when we meet again," answered Lucretia;and drawing her arm gently from his, she passed on to her uncle, leavingVernon midway in the gallery.
Those faded portraits looked down on her with that melancholy gloomwhich the effigies of our dead ancestors seem mysteriously to acquire.To noble and aspiring spirits, no homily to truth and honour and fairambition is more eloquent than the mute and melancholy canvas from whichour fathers, made, by death, our household gods, contemplate us still.They appear to confide to us the charge of their unblemished names. Theyspeak to us from the grave, and heard aright, the pride of family is theguardian angel of its heirs. But Lucretia, with her hard and scholasticmind, despised as the veriest weakness all the poetry that belongsto the sense of a pure descent. It was because she was proud as theproudest in herself that she had nothing but contempt for the virtue,the valour, or the wisdom of those that had gone before. So, with abrain busy with guile and stratagem, she trod on, beneath the eyes ofthe simple and spotless Dead.
Vernon, thus left alone, mused a few moments on what had passed betweenhimself and the heiress; and then, slowly retracing his steps, his eyeroved along the stately series of his line. "Faith!" he muttered, "ifmy boyhood had been passed in this old gallery, his Royal Highness wouldhave lost a good fellow and hard drinker, and his Majesty would have hadperhaps a more distinguished soldier,--certainly a worthier subject. IfI marry this lady, and we are blessed with a son, he shall walk throughthis gallery once a day before he is flogged into Latin!"
Lucretia's interview with her uncle was a masterpiece of art. What pitythat such craft and subtlety were wasted in our little day, and on suchpetty objects; under the Medici, that spirit had gone far to the shapingof history. Sure, from her uncle's openness, that he would plunge atonce into the subject for which she deemed she was summoned, she evincedno repugnance when, tenderly kissing her, he asked if Charles Vernon hada chance of winning favour in her eyes. She knew that she was safe insaying "No;" that her uncle would never force her inclinations,--safeso far as Vernon was concerned; but she desired more: she desiredthoroughly to quench all suspicion that her heart was pre-occupied;entirely to remove from Sir Miles's thoughts the image of Mainwaring;and a denial of one suitor might quicken the baronet's eyes to theconcealment of the other. Nor was this all; if Sir Miles was seriouslybent upon seeing her settled in marriage before his death, the dismissalof Vernon might only expose her to the importunity of new candidatesmore difficult to deal with. Vernon himself she could use as the shieldagainst the arrows of a host. Therefore, when Sir Miles repeated hisquestion, she answered, with much gentleness and seeming modest sense,that Mr. Vernon had much that must prepossess in his favour; that inaddition to his own advantages he had one, the highest in her eyes,--heruncle's sanction and approval. But--and she hesitated with becoming andnatural diffidence--were not his habits unfixed and roving? So it wassaid; she knew not herself,--she would trust her happiness to her uncle.But if so, and if Mr. Vernon were really disposed to change, would itnot be prudent to try him,--try him where there was temptation, not inthe repose of Laughton, but amidst his own haunts of London? Sir Mileshad friends who would honestly inform
him of the result. She did butsuggest this; she was too ready to leave all to her dear guardian'sacuteness and experience.
Melted by her docility, and in high approval of the prudence whichbetokened a more rational judgment than he himself had evinced, thegood old man clasped her to his breast and shed tears as he praised andthanked her. She had decided, as she always did, for the best; Heavenforbid that she should be wasted on an incorrigible man of pleasure!"And," said the frank-hearted gentleman, unable long to keep any thoughtconcealed,--"and to think that I could have wronged you for a moment, myown noble child; that I could have been dolt enough to suppose thatthe good looks of that boy Mainwaring might have caused you to forgetwhat--But you change colour!"--for, with all her dissimulation, Lucretialoved too ardently not to shrink at that name thus suddenly pronounced."Oh," continued the baronet, drawing her still nearer towards him, whilewith one hand he put back her face, that he might read its expressionthe more closely,--"oh, if it had been so,--if it be so, I will pity,not blame you, for my neglect was the fault: pity you, for I have knowna similar struggle; admire you in pity, for you have the spirit of yourancestors, and you will conquer the weakness. Speak! have I touched onthe truth? Speak without fear, child,--you have no mother; but in age aman sometimes gets a mother's heart."
Startled and alarmed as the lark when the step nears its nest, Lucretiasummoned all the dark wile of her nature to mislead the intruder. "No,uncle, no; I am not so unworthy. You misconceived my emotion."
"Ah, you know that he has had the presumption to love you,--thepuppy!--and you feel the compassion you women always feel for suchoffenders? Is that it?"
Rapidly Lucretia considered if it would be wise to leave that impressionon his mind. On one hand, it might account for a moment's agitation; andif Mainwaring were detected hovering near the domain, in the exchange oftheir correspondence, it might appear but the idle, if hopeless, romanceof youth, which haunts the mere home of its object,--but no; onthe other hand, it left his banishment absolute and confirmed. Herresolution was taken with a promptitude that made her pause notperceptible.
"No, my dear uncle," she said, so cheerfully that it removed all doubtfrom the mind of her listener; "but M. Dalibard has rallied me on thesubject, and I was so angry with him that when you touched on it, Ithought more of my quarrel with him than of poor timid Mr. Mainwaringhimself. Come, now, own it, dear sir! M. Dalibard has instilled thisstrange fancy into your head?"
"No, 'S life; if he had taken such a liberty, I should have lost mylibrarian. No, I assure you, it was rather Vernon; you know true love isjealous."
"Vernon!" thought Lucretia; "he must go, and at once." Sliding from heruncle's arms to the stool at his feet, she then led the conversationmore familiarly back into the channel it had lost; and when at lastshe escaped, it was with the understanding that, without promise orcompromise, Mr. Vernon should return to London at once, and be put uponthe ordeal through which she felt assured it was little likely he shouldpass with success.