The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXXVII. A SCENE OF HOME.

  If the climate of northern Ireland be habitually one of storm andseverity, it must be confessed that, in the rare but happy intervals ofbetter weather, the beauty of the coast scenery is unsurpassed. Indentedwith little bays, whose sides are formed of immense cliffs of chalk,or the more stately grandeur of that columnar basalt which extends formiles on either side of the Causeway, the most vivid coloring uniteswith forms the wildest and most fantastic; crag and precipice, sandybeach and rocky shore, alternate in endless variety; while islands arethere, some, green and sheep-clad, others, dark and frowning, form thehome of nothing but the sea-gull.

  It was on such an evening of calm as displayed the scene to its greatestadvantage, when a long column of burnished golden light floated over thesea, tipping each crested wave, and darkened into deeper beauty betweenthem, that the Knight, Lady Eleanor, and Helen sat under the littleporch of their cottage and gazed upon the fair and gorgeous picture.

  If the leafy grove or the dark wood seem sweeter to our senses when thethrilling notes of the blackbird or the thrush sing in their solitude,so the deepest silence, the most unbroken stillness, has a wonderfuleffect of soothing to the mind beside the seashore we have so often seenterrible in the fury of the storm. A gentle calm steals over us aswe listen to the long sweeping of the waves, heaving and breaking inmeasured melody; and our thoughts, enticed by some dreaming ecstasy,wander away over the boundless ocean, not to the far-off lands of otherclimes alone, but into worlds of brighter and more beauteous mould.

  They sat in silence, at first only occupied by the lovely scene thatstretched away before them, but at last each deeply immersed in his ownthoughts,--thoughts which, unconnected with the objects around, yetby some strange mystery were tinctured by all their calm and tranquilbeauty. A fisherman was mending his net upon the little beach below,and his children were playing around him, now running merrily along thestrand, now dabbling in the white foam left by the retreating waves;the father looked up from time to time to watch them, but withoutinterrupting the low monotonous chant by which he lightened his labor.

  Towards the little group at length their eyes were turned. "Yes," saidthe Knight, as if interpreting what was passing in the minds of those athis side, "that is about as near to human happiness as life affords. Ibelieve there would be very few abortive ambitions if men were contentto see their children occupy the same station as themselves; and yet,when the time of one's own reverses arrives, how very little of truehappiness is lost by the change of fortune."

  "My dearest father!" said Helen, as in a transport of delight she threwher arms around him, "how happy your words make me! You are, then,contented?"

  "Do I not look so, my sweet Helen? And your mother, too, when have youseen her so well?--when do you remember her walking, as she did to-day,to the top of the great cliff of Dunluce?"

  "With no other ill consequence," said Lady Eleanor, smiling, "than amost acute attack of vanity; for I begin to fancy myself quite youngagain."

  "Well, Mamma, don't forget we have a visit to pay, some of these days,to Ballintray,--that's the name of the place, I think, Miss Daly residesat."

  "Yes, we really must not neglect it. There was a delicacy in her note ofwelcome to us here, judging that we might not be prepared for a personalvisit, which prepossesses me in her favor. You promised to make ouracknowledgments, but I believe you forgot all about it."

  "No, not that," said the Knight, hesitatingly; "but in the midst of somany things to do and think about, I deferred it from day to day."

  "Shall we go to-morrow, then?" cried Helen, eagerly.

  "I think it were better if your father went first, lest the way shouldprove too long for us. I am so proud of my pedestrianism, Helen, I'llnot risk any failure."

  "Be it so," said the Knight, quietly. "And now of this other matterBagenal presses so strongly upon us. I feel the greatest repugnanceto assume any name but that I have always borne, and, I hope, notdisgraced; he says we shall be objects of impertinent curiosity here tothe neighborhood."

  "Ruins to dispute the honors of lionship with Dunluce," said LadyEleanor, smiling faintly.

  "Just so; that might, however, be borne patiently; they will soonleave off talking of us when we give them little matter for speculativegossip. Besides, we are so far away from anything that could be calledneighborhood."

  "But he suggests some other reasons, if I mistake not," said LadyEleanor.

  "He does, but so darkly and mysteriously that I cannot even guess hisdrift. Here is his letter." And the Knight took several papers fromhis pocket, from among which he selected one, whose large and blottedwriting unmistakably pronounced it Bagenal Daly's. "Yes, here it is:'Bicknell says that Hickman's people are fully persuaded that you haveleft Ireland with the intention of never returning; that this impressionshould be maintained, because it will induce them to be less guardedthan if they believed you were still here, directing any legalproceeding. The only case, therefore, he will prepare for trial will beone respecting the leases falsely signed. The bond and its details mustbe unravelled by time; here also your incognito is all-essential,--itneed only be for a short time, and on scruples of delicacy so easily gotover: your grandfather called himself Gwynne, and wrote it also.'That is quite true, Eleanor, so he did; his letters are signed MatthewGwynne, Knight of--------. I remember the signature well."

  "I think, with Mr. Daly," said Lady Eleanor, "it will save us a world ofobservant impertinence; this place is tranquil and solitary enough justnow, but in summer the coast and the Causeway have many visitors, andalthough 'the Corvy' is out of the common track, if our names be bruitedabout, we shall not escape that least graceful of all attentions, thetender commiseration of mere acquaintances."

  "Mamma is right," said Helen; "we should be hunted out by every touristto report on how we bore our reverses, and tormented with anonymouscondolences in prose, and short stanzas on the beauty of resignation."

  "Well, and, my dear Helen, perhaps the lessons might not be so veryinapplicable," said the Knight, smiling affectionately.

  "But very inefficient, sir," replied Helen, with a toss of her head;"I'm not a bit resigned."

  "Helen, dearest," interposed Lady Eleanor, rebukingly.

  "Not a bit, Mamma; I am happy,--happier than I ever knew myself before,if you like that phrase better,--because we are together, because thislife realizes to me all I ever dreamed of,--that quiet and tranquilpleasure people might, but somehow never please to, taste of; but if youask me am I resigned to see you and my dear father in a station so muchbeneath your expectations and your habits, I cannot say that I am."

  "Then, my dear girl, you accuse us of bearing our misfortunes badly,if we cannot partake of your enjoyments on account of our own vainregrets?"

  "No, no, Papa, don't mistake me; if I grieve over the altered fortunesthat limit your sphere of usefulness as well as of pleasure, it isbecause I know how well you understood the privileges and demands ofyour high station, and how little a life so humble as this is can exactof qualities that were not given to be wasted in obscurity."

  "My sweet child," said the Knight, fondly, "it is a very dangerouspractice to blend up affection with principle; depend upon it, theformer will always coerce the latter, and bend it to its will; and asfor those good gifts you speak of, had I really as many of them as yourfond heart would endow me with, believe me there is no station so humbleas not to admit of their exercise. There never yet was a walk in lifewithout its sphere of duties; now I intend that not only are we to behappy here, but that we should contribute to the well-being of thoseabout us."

  There was a pause after the Knight had done speaking, during which hebusied himself in turning over some letters, the seals of which werestill unbroken; he knew the handwriting on most of them, and yethesitated about inflicting on himself the pain of reading allusions tothat condition he had once occupied. "Yes," muttered he to himself, "weare always flattering ourselves of how essential we are to our friends,our party,
and so forth; and yet, when any events occur which despoil usof our brief importance, we see the whole business of the world go on ascurrently as ever. What a foretaste this gives one of death! So it is,the stream of life flows on, whether the bubble on its surface float orburst."

  "That's Lord Netherby's hand, is it not?" said Lady Eleanor, as shelifted a letter which had fallen to the ground.

  "Yes," said Darcy, carelessly; "written probably soon after his returnto England. I have no doubt it contains a most courtly acknowledgment ofour poor hospitality, and an assurance of undying regard."

  "If it be of that tenor, I have no curiosity to read it," said LadyEleanor, handing the letter to the Knight.

  "Helen would like to study so great a master of epistolary flatteries,"said the Knight, smiling; "and provided she will keep the whole for herprivate reading, I am willing to indulge her."

  "I accept the favor with thanks," said Helen, receiving the letter;"you know I plead guilty to liking our noble relative. I 'm not skilledenough to distinguish between an article trebly gilded and one of puregold, and his Lordship, to my eyes, looked as like the true metal aspossible: he said so many pretty things to Mamma, and so many finethings of you and Lionel--"

  "And paid so many compliments to the fair Helen herself," interposed theKnight.

  "With so much of good tact--"

  "And good taste, Helen," added Lady Eleanor, smiling; "why not saythat?"

  "Well, I see I shall have to defend myself as well as my champion, so I'll even go and read my letter."

  And so saying, she arose, and sauntered down to the shore; under theshelter of a tall rock, from whence the view extended for miles along,she sat down. "What a contrast!" said she, as she broke the seal, "acourtier's letter in such a scene as this!"

  Lord Netherby's letter was, as the Knight suspected, written soon afterhis return to England, expressing, in his own most courtly phrase,the delightful memory he retained of his visit to Ireland. Gracefullycontrasting the brilliant excitement of that brief period with the morestaid quietude of the life to which he returned, he lightly suggestedthat none other than one native to the soil could support an existenceso overflowing with pleasurable emotions. With all the artifice ofa courtier, he recalled certain little incidents, too small, as merematters of memory, to find a resting-place in the mind, but all of themindicative of the deep impression made, upon him who remarked them.

  He spoke also of the delight with which his Royal Highness the Princelistened to his narrative of life in Ireland. "In truth," wrote hisLordship, "I do not believe that the exigencies of his station ever costhim more than when he reflected on the impossibility of his witnessingsuch perfection in the life of a country house as I feebly endeavored toconvey to him. Again and again has he asked me to repeat the tale of thehunt--the brilliant ball the night of your arrival--and I have earned acharacter for story-telling of which Kelly and Sheridan are beginning tofeel jealous, by the mere retail of your anecdotes. Lionel's returnis anxiously looked for by all here, and the Prince has more than onceexpressed himself impatient to see him back again. My sweet favoriteHelen, too,--when is she to be presented? There will be a court in theearly part of next month, of which I shall not fail to apprise you, mostearnestly entreating that my cousin Eleanor will not think the journeytoo far which shall bring her once again among those scenes she sogracefully adorned, and where her triumphs will be renewed in theadmiration of her lovely daughter. I need not tell you that my housein town is entirely at her disposal, either as _my_ guests, or, if youprefer it, I shall be _theirs_, whenever I am not in waiting."

  Here the writer detailed, with an eloquence all his own, the advantageto Helen of making her _entree_ into life under circumstances sofavorable, remarking, with that conventional philosophy just then thepopular cant of the day, that the enthusiasm of the world was neverlong-lived, and that even his beautiful cousin Helen should not be aboveprofiting by the favorable reception the kindly disposition of the courtwas sure to procure for her. This was said in a tone of half-seriousbanter, but at the same time the invitation was reiterated with anevident desire for its acceptance.

  As the letter drew near its conclusion, the lines became more closelywritten, as though some circumstances hitherto forgotten had suddenlyoccurred to the writer; and so it proved.

  "I was about, my dear Knight, to write myself, with what truth I willnot say, your 'most affectionate friend, Netherby,' when I received aletter which requires some mention at my hands. It is, indeed, oneof the most extraordinary documents I have ever perused; nothingvery wonderful in that, when I tell you from whom it comes,--your oldsweetheart, Julia Wallincourt, or, as you will better remember her,Julia d'Esterre; she is still very beautiful, and just as capricious,just as _maligne_, as when she endeavored, by every artifice of hercoquetry, to make you jilt my cousin Eleanor. There 's no doubt ofit, Darcy, this woman loved you! at least, as much as she could loveanything, except the pleasure of torturing her fellow-creatures. Well,it would seem that a younger son of hers, popularly known as DickForester, paid you a visit in Ireland, and, no very unnaturaloccurrence, fell desperately in love with your daughter,--not so Helenwith him. She probably regarded him as one of that class upon whichLondon has so stamped its impress of habit and manner that allindividualism is lost in the quiet observance of certain proprieties.He must have been a rare contrast to the high-souled enthusiasm andwaywardness of her own brother! Certain it is she refused him; and he,taking the thing much more to heart than a young Guardsman usually doesa similar catastrophe, hastened home, and endeavored to interest hismother in his suit. Lady Julia had an old vengeance to exact, and, likea true woman, could not forego it; she not only positively refused allintercession on her part, but went what you and I will probably feelto be a very unnecessary length, and actually declared she never wouldconsent to such an alliance. We used to remember (some years ago), atEton, of a certain Dido who never forgave, and we are told how, for manyyears after, the _lethalis arundo lateri adhosit_; but assuredly thepoet was speaking less of the woes of an individual than of the sorrowsof fine ladies in all ages. Unfortunately, the similitude between herladyship and Dido ends here; the classic fair one exhibited, as we aretold, the most delicate fondness for the son of her lover. But, to growserious, Lady Wallincourt's conduct must have been peremptory and harsh;she actually went the length of writing to the Duke of York to requestan exchange for her son into a regiment serving in India: whetherForester obtained some clew to this manouvre or not, he anticipated thestroke by selling out and leaving the army altogether; whither he isgone, or what has become of him since, no one can tell. Such, my dearKnight, is the emergency in which Lady Wallincourt addresses her letterto me,--a letter so peculiarly her own, so full of reproaches againstyou, and vindication of herself, that I actually scruple to transmit toyou this palpable evidence of still enduring affection.

  "Were you both thirty years younger, I should claim great credit to mymorality for the forbearance. Let that pass, however, and let me ratherask you if you know, or have heard anything, of this wayward boy?Personally, I am unacquainted with him; but his friends agree in sayingthat he is high-spirited, honorable, and brave; and it would be a greatpity that his affection for a young lady, and his anger with an old one,should mar all the prospects of his life. Could you, by any means, finda clew to him? I do not, of course, ask you to interfere in person, lestit might seem that you encouraged an attachment which you have far morereason to discountenance for your daughter than has Lady Wallincourt forher son; however, your doing so would go far to reconcile the young manto his mother by showing that, if there was a difficulty on one side, astill greater obstacle existed on the other."

  Requesting a speedy answer, and begging that the whole might be instrict confidence between them, the letter concluded.

  "I do not doubt, my dear Knight," said the postscript, "that youwill see in all this a reason the more for coming up to town. Helen'sappearance at the Drawing-Room would be the best, if not the only,rebuke Lad
y Wallin-court's insolence could receive. By all means, come.

  "Another complication! Lady W., on first hearing of her son's duel, andthe kind treatment he met with after being wounded, wrote a letter ofgrateful acknowledgments, which she enclosed to her son, neither knowingnor caring for the address of his benefactor. When she did hear it atlength, she was excessively angry that she had been, as she terms it,'the first to make advances.' Ainsi, telles sont les femmes du monde!"

  Such was Lord Netherby's letter. With what a succession of emotionsHelen read it we confess ourselves unable to depict. If she sometimeshesitated to read on, an influence, too powerful to control, impelledher to continue, while a secret interest in Forester's fortunes--afeeling she had never known till now--induced her to learn his fate.More than once, in the alteration of her condition, had she recalled theproffer of affection she had with such determination rejected, and withwhat gratitude did she remember the firmness of her decision!

  "Poor fellow!" thought she, "I deemed it the mere caprice of one whosegratitude for kindness had outrun his calmer convictions. And so hereally loved me!"

  We must avow the fact: Helen's indifference to Forester had, in themain, proceeded from a false estimate of his character; she saw in himnothing but a well-bred, good-looking youth, who, with high connectionsand moderate abilities, had formed certain ambitious views, to berealized rather by the adventitious aid of fortune than his own merits.He was, in her eyes, a young politician, cautions and watchful, trainedup to regard Lord Castlereagh as the model of statesmen, and politicalintrigue as the very climax of intellectual display. To know that shehad wronged him was to make a great revolution in her feelings towardshim, to see that this reserved and calmly minded youth should havesacrificed everything--position, prospects, all--rather than resign hishope, faint as it was, of one day winning her affection!

  If these were her first thoughts on reading that letter, those thatfollowed were far less pleasurable. How should she ever be able to showit to her father? The circumstances alluded to were of a nature he nevercould be cognizant of without causing the greatest pain both to him andherself. To ask Lady Eleanor's counsel would be even more difficult.Helen witnessed the emotion the sight of Lady Wallincourt's name hadoccasioned her mother the day Forester first visited them; the oldrivalry had, then, left its trace on her mind as well as on that of LadyJulia! What embarrassment on every hand! Where could she seek counsel,and in whom? Bagenal Daly, the only one she could have opened herheart to, was away; and was it quite certain she would have venturedto disclose, even to him, the story of that affection which alreadyappeared so different from at first? Forester was not now in her eyesthe fashionable guardsman, indulging a passing predilection, or whilingaway the tedious hours of a country-house by a flirtation, in which hefelt interested because repulsed; he was elevated in her esteem by hismisfortunes, and the very uncertainty of his fate augmented her concern.And yet she must forego the hope of saving him, or else, by showingthe letter to her father, acknowledge her acquaintance with events sheshould never have known, or, knowing, should never reveal.

  There was no help for it, the letter could not be shown. In alllikelihood neither the Knight nor Lady Eleanor would ever think moreabout it; and if they did, there was still enough to speak of in thecourteous sentiments of the writer, and the polite attention of hisinvitation,--a civility which even Helen's knowledge of life informedher was rather proffered in discharge of a debt than as emanating fromany real desire to play their host in London.

  Thus satisfying herself that no better course offered for the present,she turned homewards, but with a heavier heart and more troubled mindthan had ever been her fortune in life to have suffered.

  END OF VOL. I.