CHAPTER XXVII.
Emily was as gay as a lark. The light of love and happiness was in hereyes, the hue of health was upon her cheek, and a new spirit of hopeand joy seemed to pervade all her fair form. So Sir Philip Hastingsfound her on the terrace with Marlow when he returned from Hartwell.She was dressed in a riding habit, and one word would have explainedall the gaiety of her mood. Lady Hastings, never very consequent inher actions, had wished for some one of those things which ladies wishfor, and which ladies only can choose. She had felt too unwell to gofor it herself; and although she had not a fortnight before expressedher strong disapprobation of her daughter and Mr. Marlow even walkingout alone in the park, she had now sent them on horseback to procurewhat she wanted. They had enjoyed one of those glorious rides over thedowns, which seem to pour into the heart fresh feelings of delight atevery step, flooding the sense with images of beauty, and making theblood dance freely in the veins. It seemed also, both to her andMarlow, that a part of the prohibition was removed, and though theymight not perhaps be permitted to walk out together, Lady Hastingscould hardly for the future forbid them to ride. Thus they had comeback very well pleased, with light hearts within, and gay hopesfluttering round them.
Sir Philip Hastings, on the other hand, had passed a day ofbitterness, and hard, painful thought. On his first visit to thecounty town, he had, as I have shown, been obliged once more to putoff decision. Then came his conference with Mrs. Hazleton. Then he hadreturned to his lawyer's office, and found that the wanting evidencehad been supplied by his opponents. All that he had demanded wasthere; and no apparent flaw in the case of his adversary. He hadalways announced his attention of withdrawing opposition if suchproofs were afforded, and he did so now, with stern, rigid, andsomewhat hasty determination--but not without bitterness and regret.His ride home, too, was troubled with dull and grievous thoughts, andhis whole mind was out of tune, and unfit to harmonize with gaiety ofany kind. He forgot that poor Emily could not see what had beenpassing in his bosom, could not know all that had occurred to disturband annoy him, and her light and cheerful spirits seemed an offence tohim.
Sir Philip passed on, after he had spoken a few words to Marlow, andsought Lady Hastings in the room below, where she usually sat aftershe came down. Sir Philip, as I have shown, had not been nurtured in atender school, and he was not very apt by gentle preparation to soothethe communication of any bad tidings. Without any circumlocution,then, or prefatory remarks of any kind, he addressed his wife in thefollowing words: "This matter is decided, my dear Rachel. I am nolonger Sir Philip Hastings, and it is necessary that we should removefrom this house within a month, to your old home--the Court. It willbe necessary, moreover, that, we should look with some degree ofaccuracy into the state of our future income, and our expenditure.With your property, and the estate which I inherit from my mother,which being settled on the younger children, no one can take from me,we shall still have more than enough for happiness, but the style ofour living must be altered. We shall have plenty of time to think ofthat, however, and to do what we have to do methodically."
Lady Hastings, or as we should rather call her now, Mistress Hastings,seemed at first hardly to comprehend her husband's meaning, and shereplied, "You do not mean to say, Philip, that this horrible cause isdecided?"
"As far as I am concerned, entirely," replied Sir Philip Hastings. "Ishall offer no farther defence."
Lady Hastings fell into a fit of hysterics, and her husband knowingthat it was useless to argue with her in such circumstances, calledher maid, and left her.
There was but a dull dinner-party at the Hall that day. Sir Philip wasgloomy and reserved, and the news which had spread over the house, asto the great loss of property which he had sustained, soon robbed hisdaughter of her cheerfulness.
Marlow, too, was very grave; for he thought his friend had acted, notonly hastily, but imprudently. Lady Hastings did not come down todinner, and as soon as the meal was over Emily retired to her mother'sdressing-room, leaving Marlow and her father with their wine. SirPhilip avoided the subject of his late loss, however, and when Marlowhimself alluded to it, replied very briefly.
"It is done," he said, "and I will cast the matter entirely from mymind, Marlow. I will endeavor, as far as possible, to do in allcircumstances what is right, whatever be the anguish it costs me.Having done what is right, my next effort shall be to crush everything like regret or repining. There is only one thing in life whichcould give me any permanent pain, and that would be to have anunworthy child."
Marlow did not seem to remark the peculiar tone in which the lastwords were uttered, and he replied, "There, at least, you are mosthappy, Sir Philip; for surely Emily is a blessing which may wellcompensate for any misfortunes."
"I trust so--I think so," said Sir Philip, in a dry and hasty manner,and then changing the subject, he added, "Call me merely PhilipHastings, my good friend. I say with Lord Verulam, 'The Chancellor isgone.' I mean I am no longer a baronet. That will not distress me,however, and as to the loss of fortune, I can bear it with the mostperfect indifference."
Mr. Hastings reckoned in some degree without his host, however. Heknew not all the petty annoyances that were in store for him. Thecosts he had to pay, the back-rents which were claimed, the long andcomplicated accounts that were to be passed, the eager struggle whichwas made to deprive him of many things undoubtedly his own; all werematters of almost daily trouble and irritation during the next sixmonths. He had greatly miscalculated the whole amount of expenses.Having lived always considerably within his income, he had imaginedthat he had quite a sufficient amount in ready money to pay all thedemands that could be made upon him. But such was far from being thecase. Before all the debts were paid, and the accounts closed, he wasobliged to raise money upon his life-interest in his mother'sproperty, and to remain dependent, as it were, upon his wife's incomefor his whole means. These daily annoyances had a much greater effectupon Mr. Hastings than any great and serious misfortune could havehad. He became morose, impatient, gloomy. His mind brooded over allthat had occurred, and all that was occurring. He took perverted viewsof many things, and adhered to them with an obstinacy that nothingcould shake.
In the mean time all the neighbors and friends of the familyendeavored to show their sympathy and kindness by every means in theirpower. Even before the family quitted the Hall, the visitors were morenumerous than they had ever been before, and this was some consolationto Mistress Hastings, though quite the contrary to her husband, whodid not indeed appear very frequently amongst the guests, but remainedin his own study as much as possible.
It was a very painful day for every one, and for Emily especially,when they passed the door of the old Hall for the last time, and tooktheir way through the park towards the Court. The furniture in greatpart, the books, the plate, had gone before; the rooms looked vacantand desolate, and as Emily passed through them one by one, ere shewent down to the carriage, there was certainly nothing very attractivein their aspect. But there were spots there associated with many dearmemories--feelings--fancies--thoughts--all the bright things of early,happy youth; and it was very bitter for her to leave them all, andknow that she was never to visit them again.
She might, and probably would, have fallen into one of her deepreveries, but she struggled against it, knowing that both her fatherand her mother would require comfort and consolation in the cominghours. She exerted herself, then, steadily and courageously to bear upwithout a show of grief, and she succeeded even too well to satisfyher father. He thought her somewhat light and frivolous, and judged itvery strange that his daughter could quit her birth-place, and herearly home, without, apparently, one regretful sigh. He himself satstern, and gloomy, and silent, in the carriage, as it rolled away.Mistress Hastings leaned back, with her handkerchief over her eyes,weeping bitterly. Emily alone was calmly cheerful, and she maintainedthis demeanor all the way along till they reached the Court, andseparated till dinner-time. Then, however, she wept bitterly and long.
Before she had descended to meet her parents at dinner, she did herbest to efface all traces of her sad employment for the last hour. Shedid not succeed completely, and when she entered the drawing-room, andspoke cheerfully to her father, he raised his eyes to her face, anddetected, at once, the marks of recent tears on her swollen eyelids.
"She has been weeping," said Mr. Hastings to himself; "can I have beenmistaken?"
A gleam of the truth shot through his mind, and comforted him much,but alas, it was soon to be lost again.
From feelings of delicacy, Marlow had absented himself that day, buton the following morning he was there early, and thenceforward was adaily visitor at the Court. He applied himself particularly to cheerEmily's father, and often spent many hours with him, withdrawing Mr.Hastings' mind from all that was painful in his own situation, byleading it into those discussions of abstract propositions of which hewas so fond. But Marlow was not the only frequent visitor at theCourt. Mrs. Hazleton was there two or three times in the week, and wasall kindness, gentleness, and sympathy. She had tutored herself well,and she met Mr. Marlow as Emily's affianced husband, with an ease andindifference which was marvellously well assumed. To Mrs. Hastings sheproved the greatest comfort, although it is not be asserted that thecounsels which she gave her, proved at all comfortable to the rest ofthe household, and yet Mrs. Hazleton never committed herself. Mrs.Hastings could not have repeated one word that she said, that any oneon earth could have found fault with. She had a mode of insinuatingadvice without speaking it--of eking out her words by looks andgestures full of significance to the person who beheld them, butperfectly indescribable to others.
She was not satisfied, however, with being merely the friend andconfidante of Mrs. Hastings. She must win Emily's father also, and shesucceeded so well that Mr. Hastings quite forgot all doubts andsuspicions, and causes of offence, and learned to look upon Mrs.Hazleton as a really kind and amiable person, and as consistent ascould be expected of any woman.
Not one word, however, did Mrs. Hazleton say in the hearing of Emily'sfather which could tend in any degree to depreciate the character ofMr. Marlow, or be construed into a disapproval of the proposedmarriage. She was a great deal too wise for that, knowing thecharacter of Mr. Hastings sufficiently to see that she could effect noobject, and only injure herself by such a course.
To Emily she was all that was kind and delightful. She was completelythe Mrs. Hazleton of former days; but with the young girl she was lesssuccessful than with her parents. Emily could never forget the visitto her house, and what had there occurred, and the feelings which sheentertained towards Mrs. Hazleton were always those of doubt. Hercharacter was a riddle to Emily, as well it might be. There wasnothing upon which she could definitely fix as an indication of a badheart, or of duplicity of nature, and yet she doubted; nor did Marlowat all assist in clearing her mind; for although they often spoke ofMrs. Hazleton, and Marlow admitted all her bright and shiningqualities, yet he became very taciturn when Emily entered more deeplyinto that lady's character. Marlow likewise had his doubts, and to saysooth, he was not at all well pleased to see Mrs. Hazleton sofrequently with Mrs. Hastings. He did not well know what it was hefeared, but yet there was a something which instinctively told himthat his interests in Emily's family would not find the most favorableadvocate in Mrs. Hazleton.
Such was the state of things when one evening there was assembled atthe house of Mr. Hastings, a small dinner party--the first which hadbeen given since his loss of property. The summer had returned, theweather was beautiful, the guests were cheerful and intellectual, andthe dinner passed off happily enough. There were several gentlemen andseveral ladies present, and amongst the latter was Mrs. Hazleton.Politics at that time ran high: the people were not satisfiedaltogether with the King whom they had themselves chosen, and severalacts of intolerance had proved that promises made before theattainment of power are not always very strictly maintained when powerhas been reached. Mr. Hastings had never meddled in the strife ofparty. He had a thorough contempt for policy and politicians, but hedid not at all object to argue upon the general principles ofgovernment, in an abstract manner, and very frequently startled hishearers by opinions, not only unconstitutional, and wide and far fromany of the received notions of the day, but sometimes also, veryviolent, and sometimes, at first sight, irreconcilable with eachother. On the present occasion the conversation after dinner took apolitical turn, and straying away from their wine, the gentlemenwalked out into the gardens, which were still beautifully kept up, andprolonged their discussion in the open air. The ladies too--as allpictures show they were fond of doing in those days--were walkingamongst the flowers, not in groups, but scattered here and there.Marlow was naturally making his way to the side of Emily, who wastying up a shrub at no great distance from the door, but Mrs. Hazletonunkindly called him to her, to tell her the name of a flower which shedid not know. In the mean time Mr. Hastings took his daughter by thearm, leaning gently upon her, and walking up and down the terrace,while he continued his discussion with a Northumberland gentlemanknown in history as Sir John Fenwick. "The case seems to be this,"said Mr. Hastings, in reply to some question or the other; "all mustdepend upon the necessity. Violent means are bad as a remedy for anything but violent evils, but the greatness of the evil will oftenjustify any degree of vigor in the means. Will any one tell me thatBrutus was not justified in stabbing C?sar? Will any one tell me thatWilliam Tell was not justified in all that he did against the tyrantof his country? I will not pretend to justify the English regicides,not only because they condemned a man by a process unknown to ourlaws, and repugnant to all justice, but because they committed an actfor which there was no absolute necessity. Where an absolute necessityis shown, indeed--where no other means can be found of obtainingfreedom, justice and security, I see no reason why a King should notbe put to death as well as any other man. Nay more, he who does thedeed with a full appreciation of its importance, a conscience clear ofany private motives, and a reasoning sense of all the bearings of theact he commits, merits a monument rather than a gibbet, though inthese days he is sure to obtain the one and not the other."
"Hush, hush, do not speak so loud, my dear sir," said Sir JohnFenwick; "less than those words brought Sidney's head to the block."
"I am not afraid of mine," replied Mr. Hastings, with a faint smile;"mine are mere abstract notions with regard to such things; verylittle dangerous to any crowned heads, and if they thought fit to putdown such opinions, they would have to burn more than one half of allthe books we have derived from Rome."
Sir John Fenwick would not pursue the subject, however, and turned theconversation in another course. He thought indeed that it had gone farenough, especially when a young lady was present; for he was one ofthose men who have no confidence in any woman's discretion, and heknew well, though he did not profit much by his knowledge, that thingsvery slight, when taken abstractedly, may become very dangerous ifforced into connection with events. Philip Hastings would have saidwhat he did say, before any ears in Europe, without the slightestfear, but as it proved, he had said too much for his own safety. Noone indeed seemed to have noticed the very strong opinions he hadexpressed except Sir John Fenwick himself, and shortly after the partygathered together again, and the conversation became general and notvery interesting.