London Pride, Or, When the World Was Younger

by M. E. Braddon

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  PATIENT, NOT PASSIONATE.

  The quiet days went on, and the old Cavalier settled down into a tranquilhappiness, which comforted his daughter with the feeling of dutyprosperously fulfilled. To make this dear old man happy, to be hiscompanion and friend, to share in his rides and rambles, and of an eveningto play the games he loved on the old shovel-board in the hall, or anold-fashioned game at cards, or backgammon beside the fire in the panelledparlour, reconciled her to the melancholy of an existence from which hopehad vanished like a light extinguished. It seemed to her as if she haddropped back into the old life with her great-aunt. The Manor House wasjust a little gayer than the Flemish Convent--for the voices and footstepsof the few inhabitants had a freer sound, which made the few seem morepopulous than the many. And then there were the dogs. What a powerfulfactor in home life those four-footed friends were! Out-of-doors a stonebarn had been turned into a kennel for five couple of foxhounds; indoors acouple of setters, sent by a friend over sea from Waterford, had insinuatedthemselves into the parlour, where they established themselves as householdfavourites, to the damage of those higher hereditary qualities which fittedthem for distinction with the guns. Indeed, the old Knight was too fond ofhis fireside companions to care very much if he missed a bird now and thenbecause Cataline was over-fed or Caesar disobedient. They stood sentinel oneach side of his chair at dinner, like supporters to a coat-of-arms. Angelahad her own particular favourite in a King Charles's spaniel. It was thevery dog which had first greeted her in the silence of the plague-strickenhouse. She had chosen this one from the canine troop when her sisteroffered her the gift of a dog at parting, though Hyacinth had urged her totake something younger than this, which was over five years old.

  "He will die just when you love him best," she said.

  "Nay; but such partings must come. I love this one because he was with mein fear and sadness. He used to cling to me, and look up and lick my face,as if he were telling me to hope, when my brother seemed marked for death."

  "Poor Fareham! Did you desire every dog in the house--and my spaniels areof the same breed as the King's, and worth fifty pound apiece--you havea right to take them. But, indeed, I would rather you chose a youngerdog--and with a shorter nose; but, of course, if you like this onebest----"

  Angela held by her first choice, and Ganymede was the companion of all herhours, walked and lived with her, and slept on a satin cushion at the footof her spacious four-post bed, and fretted and whined if she left him shutin an empty room for half an hour; yet with all his refinements, and hisair of being as dainty a gentleman as any spark of quality, he had a grosspassion for the kitchen, and after nibbling sweet cakes delicately outof his mistress's taper fingers, he would waddle through a labyrinth ofpassages, and find his way to the hog-tub, there to wallow in slush andbroken victuals, till he all but drowned himself in a flood of pot-liquor.It was hard to reconcile so much beauty and grace, such eloquent eyes andsatin coat, with tastes and desires so vulgar; and Angela sighed over himwhen a scullion brought him to her, greasy and penitent, to crouch at herfeet, and deprecate her disgust with an abject tail.

  Oh, tranquil, duteous life, how fair it might have seemed, as springadvanced, and the garden smiled with the promise of summer, were it not forthat aching sense of loss, the some one missing, whose absence made allthings grey and cold!

  Yes, she knew now, fully realising as she had never done before, how longand how utterly her life had been influenced by an affection which even tocontemplate was mortal sin. Yet to extinguish memory was not within herpower. She looked back and remembered how Fareham's protecting love hadenfolded her with its gentle warmth, in those happy days at Chilton; howall she knew of poetry and the drama, of ethics and philosophy, had beenlearnt from him. She recalled his evident delight in opening the richtreasures of a mind which he had never ceased to cultivate, even amidst thevicissitudes of a soldier's life, in making her familiar with the writershe loved, and teaching her to estimate, and to discuss them. And inall their talk together he had been for the most part careful to avoiddisparagement of the religion in which she believed--so that it was onlysome chance revelation of the infidel's narrow outlook that reminded her ofhis unbelief.

  Yes, his love had been round her like an atmosphere; and she had beenexquisitely happy while that unquestioning affection was hers. On her partthere had been neither doubt nor fear. It seemed the most natural thing inthe world that he should be fond of her and she of him. Affinity had madethem brother and sister; and then they had been together in sickness and inperil of death. It might be true, as he himself had affirmed, that herso happy arrival had saved his life; since just those hours between thedeparture of his attendants and the physician's evening visit may have beenthe crisis of his disease.

  Well, it was past--the exquisite bliss, the unconscious sin, theconfidence, the danger. All had vanished into the grave of irrecoverabledays.

  She had heard nothing from Denzil since she left London, nor had sheacknowledged his letter. Her silence had doubtless angered him, and allwas at an end between them, and this was what she wished. Hyacinth and herchildren were at Chilton, whence came letters of complaining against thedulness of the country, where his lordship hunted four times a week, andspent all the rest of his time in his library, appearing only "at ourstupid heavy meals; and that not always, since on his hunting days he isfar afield when I have to sit down to the intolerable two-o'clock dinner,and make a pretence of eating--as if anybody with more intellectuals thana sheep could dine; or as if appetite came by staring at green fields! Youremember how in London supper was the only meal I ever cared for. Thereis some grace in a repast that comes after conversation and music, or thetheatre, or a round of visits--a table dazzling with lights, and men andwomen ready to amuse, and be amused. But to sit down in broad daylight,when one has scarce swallowed one's morning chocolate, and face asweltering sirloin, or open a smoking veal pie! Indeed, dearest, our wholemethod of feeding smacks of a vulgar brutishness, more appropriate to acompany of Topinambous than to persons of quality. Why, oh, why must thesereeking hecatombs load our tables, when they might as easily be kept out ofsight upon a buffet? The spectacle of huge mountains of meat, the steam andodour of rank boiled and roast under one's very nostrils, change appetiteto nausea, and would induce a delicate person to rise in disgust and flyfrom the dining-room. Mais, je ne fais que divaguer; and almost forget whatit was I was so earnest to tell thee when I began my letter.

  "Sir Denzil Warner has been over here, his ostensible motive a civilinquiry after my health; but I could see that his actual purpose was tohear of you. I told him how happily your simple soul has accommodateditself to an almost conventual seclusion, and a very inferior style ofliving--whereupon he smiled his rapture, and praised you to the skies.'Would that she could accommodate herself to my house as easily,' he said;'she should have every indulgence that an adoring husband could yield her.'And then he said much more, but as lovers always sing the same repetitivesong, and have no more strings to their lyre than the ancients had beforeMercury expanded it, I confess to not listening over carefully, and willleave you to imagine the eloquence of a manly and honourable love. Ah,sweetheart! you do wrong to reject him. Thou hast a quiet soothingprettiness of thine own, but art no blazing star of beauty, like theStewart, to bring a King to thy feet--he would have married her if poorCatherine had not disappointed him by her recovery--and to take a Duke as_pis aller_. Believe me, love, it were wise of you to become Lady Warner,with an unmortgaged estate, and a husband who, in these Republican times,may rise to distinction. He is your only earnest admirer; and a love sosteadfast, backed by a fortune so respectable, should not be discardedlightly."

  Over all these latter passages in her sister's letter Angela's eye ranwith a scornful carelessness. Her womanly pride revolted at such pettyschooling--that she should be bidden to accept this young man gratefully,because he was her only suitor. No one else had ever cared for her paleinsignificance. She looked at her c
louded image in the oblong glass thathung on the panel above her secretaire, and whose reflection made anyidea of her own looks rather speculative than precise. It showed her athoughtful face, too pale for beauty; yet she could but note the harmony oflines which recalled that Venetian type familiar to her eye in the Titiansand Tintorets at Fareham House.

  "I doubt I am good-looking enough for any one to be satisfied with theoutward semblance who valued the soul within," she thought, as she turnedfrom the glass with a mournful sigh.

  It was not of Denzil she was thinking, but of that other who in slowcontemplative days in the library where he had taught her what booksshe ought to love, and where she might never more enter, must naturallysometimes remember her, and cast some backward thoughts to the hours theyhad spent together.

  Hyacinth's letter of matronly counsel was but a week old when SirJohn surprised his daughter one morning, as they sat at table, by theannouncement of a visitor to stay in the house.

  "You will order the west room to be got ready, Angela, and bid Marjory Cookserve us some of her savourest dishes while Sir Denzil stays here."

  "Sir Denzil!"

  "Yes, ma mie, Sir Denzil! Ventregris, the girl stares as if I had said SirBevis of Southampton, or Sir Guy of Warwick! I knew this young gentleman'sfather before the troubles--an honest man, though he took the wrong side Hepaid for his perversity with his life; so we'll say requiescat. The youngman is a fine young man, whom I would fain have something nearer to me thanhe is. So at a hint from your sister I have asked him to bring his fishingtackle and whip our streams for a May trout or two. He may catch a finerfish than trout, perhaps, while he is a-fishing; if you will be his guidethrough the meadows."

  "Father, how could you----"

  "Ah! thou art a sly one, fair mistress. Who was it told me there was noone? 'No one, dear father, and indeed, sir, I was thinking of the conventwhen you came to London,' while here was as handsome a spark as one wouldmeet in a day's march, sighing and dying for you."

  "Father, I do protest to you----" she began, with a pale distressed lookthat vouched for her earnestness; but the Knight had his face in thetankard, and set it down only to pursue his own train of thought.

  "If it had not have been for that little bird at Chilton you might havehoodwinked me as blind as ever gerfalcon was hooded. Well, the young manwill be here before evening. I would not force your inclinations, but it isthe dearest desire of my heart to see you happily married before I blow outthe candle, and bid my last good night. And a man of honour, handsome andof handsomest fortune, is not to be slighted."

  Angela's spirit rose against this recurrence of her sister's sermon.

  "If Sir Denzil is coming to this house as my suitor, I will go to Louvainwithout an hour's delay that I can help," she said resolutely.

  "Why, what a vixen! Nay, dearest, there is no need for that angry flush.The young man is too courteous to plague you with unwelcome civilities.I saw him in London at the tennis court, and was friendly to him for hisfather's memory, knowing nothing of his desire to be my son-in-law. He is afine player at that royal game, and a fine man. He comes here this eveningas my friend; and if you please to treat him disdainfully, I cannot helpit. But, indeed, I wonder as much as your sister why you should notreciprocate this gentleman's love."

  "When you were young, father, did you love the first comer; only becauseshe was handsome and civil?"

  "No, child; I had seen many handsome women before I met your mother. Shecame over in '35 with the Marquise, who had been lady of honour to QueenMarie before the Princess Henriette married our King, and Queen Henriettewas fond of her, and invited her to come to London, and she divided herlife between the two countries till the troubles, when she was one of thefirst to scamper off, as you know. My wife was little more than a childwhen I saw her at Court, hiding behind her mother's large sleeves. I hadseen handsomer women; but she was the first whose face went straight tomy heart. And it has dwelt there ever since," he concluded, with a suddenbreak in his voice.

  "Then you can comprehend, dear sir, that a man may be honourable, andcourteous, and handsome, and yet not win a woman's love."

  "Ah, it is not the man; it is love that should win, sweetheart. Love isworthy of love. When that is the true coin it should buy its reward. IndeedI have rarely seen it otherwise. Love begets love. Louise de la Valliere isnot the handsomest woman at the French Court. Her complexion has sufferedfrom small-pox, and she has a defective gait; but the King discovered a sofond and romantic attachment to his person, a love ashamed of loving, thevery poetry of affection; and that discovery made him her slave. The Courtbeauties--sultanas splendid as Vashti--look on in angry wonder. Louise isadored because she began by adoring. Mind, I do not praise or excuse her,for 'tis a mortal sin to love a married man, and steal him from his wife.Foolish child, how your cheek crimsons! I do wrong to shock your innocencewith my babble of a King's mistress."

  Denzil arrived at sunset, on horseback, with a mounted servant inattendance, carrying his saddle-bags and fishing tackle. It was but a shortday's ride from Oxford. Fareham's rides with the hounds must have broughthim sometimes within a few miles of the Manor Moat Hyacinth and herchildren might have ridden over in their coach; and indeed she had promisedher sister a visit in more than one of her letters. But there had beenalways something to postpone the expedition--company at home, or badweather, or a fit of the vapours--so that the sisters had been as muchasunder as if the elder had been in Yorkshire or Northumberland.

  Denzil brought news of the household at Chilton. Lady Fareham was ascharming as ever, and though she had complained very often of bad health,she had been so lively and active whenever the whim took her, riding withhawk and hound, visiting about the neighbourhood, driving into Oxford, thatDenzil was of opinion her ailments were of the spirits only, a kind ofrustic malady to which most fine ladies were subject, the nostalgia ofpaving-stones and oil lamps. Henriette--she now insisted upon discardingher nick-name--was less volatile than in London, and missed her auntsorely, and quarrelled with mademoiselle, who was painfully strict upon allpoints of speech and manners. George's days of unalloyed idleness were alsoended, for the Roman Catholic priest was now a resident in the house asthe little boy's tutor, besides teaching 'Henriette the rudiments, andinstructing her in her mother's religion.

  Denzil told them even of the guests he had met at the Abbey; but of themaster of the house his lips spoke not, till Sir John questioned him.

  "And Fareham? Has he that same air of not belonging to the family which Iremarked of him in London?"

  "His lordship has ever an air of being aloof from everybody," Denzilanswered gravely. "He is solitary even in his sports, and his indoor lifeis mostly buried in a book."

  "Ah, those books, they will be the ruin of nations! As books multiply,great actions will grow less. Life's golden hours will be wasted indreaming over the fancies of dead men; and the world will be over-full ofbrooding philosophers like Descartes, or pamphleteers like your friend Mr.Milton."

  "Nay, sir, the world is richer for such a man as John Milton, who hascomposed the grandest poem in our language--an epic on a scale and subjectas sublime as the Divine Comedy of Dante."

  "I never saw Mr. Dante's comedy acted, and confess myself ignorant of itsmerits."

  "Comedy, sir, with Dante, is but a name. The Italian poem is an epic, andnot a play. Mr. Milton's poem will be given to the world shortly, though,alas! he will reap little substantial reward for the intellectual labourof years. Poetry is not a marketable commodity in England, save when itflatters a royal patron, or takes the vulgarer form of a stage-play. Butthis poem of Mr. Milton's has been the solace of his darkened life. Youhave heard, perhaps, of his blindness?"

  "Yes, he had to forego his office as Latin Secretary to that villain. To mymind the decay of sight was a judgment upon him for having written againsthis murdered King, even to the denial of his Majesty's own account of hissufferings. But I confess that even if the man had been a loyal subject,I have little admiration for
that class; scribblers and pamphleteers,brooders over books, crouchers in the chimney-corner, who have nevertrailed a pike or slept under the open sky. And seeing this vast increaseof book-learning, and the arising of such men as Hobbes, to question ourreligion--and Milton to assail monarchy--I can but believe those whosay that this old England has taken the downward bent; that, as we aredwindling in stature, so we are decaying in courage and capacity foraction."

  Denzil listened respectfully to the old man's disquisitions over hismorning drink; while Reuben stood at the sideboard carving a ham or around of powdered beef; and while Angela sipped her chocolate out of theporcelain cup which Hyacinth had bought for her at the Middle Exchange,where curiosities from China and the last inventions from Paris were alwaysto be had before they were seen anywhere else. Nothing could be morereverential than the young man's bearing to his host, while his quietfriendliness set Angela at her ease, and made her think that he hadabandoned his suit, and henceforward aspired only to such a tranquilfriendship as they had enjoyed at Chilton before any word of love had beenspoken.

  Apart from the question of love and marriage, his presence was in no mannerdispleasing to her; indeed, the long days in that sequestered valley lostsomething of their grey monotony now that she had a companion in all herintellectual occupations. Fondly as she loved her father, she had not beenable to hide from herself the narrowness of his education and the blindprejudice which governed his ideas upon almost every subject, from politicsto natural history. Of the books which make the greater part of a solitarylife she could never talk to him; and it was here that she had so sorelymissed the counsellor and friend, who had taught her to love and tocomprehend the great poets of the past--Homer and Virgil, Dante andTasso, and the deep melancholy humour of Cervantes, and, most of all, theinexhaustible riches of the Elizabethans.

  Denzil was of a temper as thoughtful, but his studies had taken a differentdirection. He was not even by taste or apprehension a poet. Had he beencalled upon to criticise his tutor's compositions, he might, like Johnson,have objected to the metaphoric turns of Lycidas, and have missed themelody of lines as musical as the nightingale. In that great poem of whichhe had been privileged to transcribe many of the finest passages from thelips of the poet, he admired rather the heroic patience of the blindauthor than the splendour of the verse. He was more impressed by theschoolmaster's learning than by that God-given genius which lifted that oneEnglishman above every other of his age and country. No, he was eminentlyprosaic, had sucked prose and plain-thinking from his mother's breast; buthe was not the less an agreeable companion for a girl upon whose youth anunnatural solitude had begun to weigh heavily.

  All that one mind can impart to another of a widely different fibre, Denzilhad learnt from Milton in that most impressionable period of boyhood whichhe had spent in the small house in Holborn, whose back rooms looked outover the verdant spaces of Lincoln's Inn Fields, where Lord Newcastle'spalace had not yet begun to rise from its foundations, and where thesinging birds had not been scared away by the growth of the town. A theatrenow stood where the boy and a fellow-scholar had played trap and ball,and the stately houses of Queen Street hard by were alive with rank andfashion.

  In addition to the classical curriculum which Milton had taught with thesolemn earnestness of one in whom learning is a religion, Denzil hadacquired a store of miscellaneous knowledge from the great Republican;and most interesting among these casual instructions had been the closeacquaintance with nature gained in the course of many a rustic ramble inthe country lanes beyond Gray's Inn, or sauntering eastward along the banksof the limpid Lee, or in the undulating meadows beside Sir Hugh Middleton'sriver. Mixed with plain facts about plant or flower, animal or insect,Milton's memory was stored with the quaint absurdities of the Hermeticphilosophy, that curious mixture of deep-reaching theories and old women'ssuperstitions, the experience of the peasant transmuted by the imaginationof the adept. Sound and practical as the poet had ever shown himself--savewhere passion got the upper hand of common sense, as in his advocacyof divorce--he was yet not entirely free from a leaning to Baconiansuperstitions, and may, with Gesner, have believed that the pickerel weedcould engender pike, and that frogs could turn to slime in winter, andbecome frogs again in spring. Whatever rags of old-world fatuity may havelingered in that strong brain, he had been not the less a delightfulteacher, and had imparted an ardent love of nature to his little family ofpupils in that peripatetic school between hawthorn hedges or in the openfields by the Lee.

  And now, in quiet rambles with Angela, in the midst of a landscapetransfigured by that vernal beauty which begins with the waning of April,and is past and vanished before the end of May, Denzil loved to expound thewonders of the infinitesimal; the insect life that sparkled and hummed inthe balmy air, or flashed like living light among the dewy grasses; thelife of plant and flower, which seemed almost as personal and conscious aform of existence; since it was difficult to believe there was no sense ofstruggle or of joy in those rapid growths which shot out from a tangle ofdark undergrowth upward to the sunlight, no fondness in the wild vines thatclung so close to some patriarchal trunk, covering decay with thebeautiful exuberance of youth. Denzil taught her to realise the wonders ofcreation--most wonderful when most minute--for beyond the picturesqueand lovely in nature, he showed her those marvels of order, and law, andadaptation, which speak to the naturalist with a stronger language thanbeauty.

  There was a tranquil pleasure in these rustic walks, which beguiled herinto forgetfulness that this man had ever sought to be more to her than hewas now--a respectful, unobtrusive friend. Of London, and the tumultuouslife going on there, he had scarcely spoken, save to tell her that he meantto stand for Henley at the next Parliament; nor had he alluded to the pastat Chilton; nor ever of his own accord had he spoken Lord Fareham's name;indeed, that name was studiously avoided by them both; and if Denzil hadnever before suspected Angela of an unhappy preference for one whom shecould not love without sin, he might have had some cause for such suspicionin the eagerness with which she changed the drift of the conversationwhenever it approached that forbidden subject.

  From his Puritanical bringing up, the theory of self-surrender anddeprivation ever kept before him, Denzil had assuredly learnt to possesshis soul in patience; and throughout all that smiling month of May, whilehe whipped the capricious streams that wound about the valley, with Angelafor the willing companion of his saunterings from pool to pool, he neveronce alarmed her by any hint of a warmer feeling than friendship; indeed,he thought of himself sometimes as one who lived in an enchanted world,where to utter a certain fatal word would be to break the spell; andwhatever momentary impulse or passionate longing, engendered by a look, asmile, the light touch of a hand, the mere sense of proximity, might movehim to speak of his love, he had sufficient self-command to keep the fatalwords unspoken. He meant to wait till the last hour of his visit. Only whenseparation was imminent would he plead his cause again. Thus at the worsthe would have lost no happy hours of her company. And, in the mean time,since she was always kind, and seemed to grow daily more familiar and atease in his society, he dared hope that affection for him and forgetfulnessof that other were growing side by side in her mind.

  In this companionship Angela learnt many of the secrets and subtleties ofthe angler's craft, as acquired by her teacher's personal experience, orexpounded in that delightful book, then less than twenty years old, whichhas ever been the angler's gospel. Often after following the meanderingwater till a gentle weariness invited them to rest, Angela and Denzilseated themselves on a sheltered bank and read their Izaak Walton together,both out of the same volume, he pleased to point out his favourite passagesand to watch her smile as she read.

  Before May was ended, she knew old Izaak almost as well as Denzil, and hadlearnt to throw a fly, and to choose the likeliest spot and the happiesthour of the day for a good trout; had learnt to watch the clouds andcloud-shadows with an angler's keen interest; and had amused herself withthe manufacture of an arti
ficial minnow, upon Walton's recipe, devotingcareful labour and all the resources of her embroidery basket--silks andsilver thread--to perfecting the delicate model, which, when completed, shepresented smilingly to Denzil, who was strangely moved by so childish atoy, and had some difficulty in suppressing his emotion as he held theglistening silken fish in his hands, and thought how her tapering fingershad caressed it, and how much of her very self seemed, as he watched her,to have been enwrought with the fabric. So poor, so trivial a thing; buther first gift! If she had tossed him a flower, plucked that moment, hewould have treasured it all his life; but this, which had cost her somuch careful work, was far more than any casual blossom. Something of themagnetism of her mind had passed into the silver thread drawn so daintilythrough her rosy fingers--something of the soft light in her eyes had mixedwith the blended colours of the silk. Foolish fancies these, but in thegravest man's love there is a vein of folly.

  Sometimes they rode with Sir John, and in this way explored theneighbourhood, which was rich in historical associations--some of theremote past, as when King John kept Christmas at Brill; but chiefly ofthose troubled times through which Sir John Kirkland had lived, an activeparticipator in that deadly drama. He showed them the site of the garrisonat Brill, and trod every foot of the earthworks to demonstrate how the hillhad been fortified. He had commanded in the defence against Hampden andhis greencoats--that regiment of foot raised in his pastoral shire, whosestandard bore on one side the watchword of the Parliament, "God with us,"and on the other Hampden's own device, "_Vestigia nulla retrorsum_."

  "'Twas a legend to frighten some of us, who had no Latin," said Sir John;"but we put his bumpkin greencoats to the rout, and trampled that insolentflag in the mire."

  All was peaceful now in the hamlet on the hill. Women and children weresitting upon sunny doorsteps, with their pillows on their knees and theirbobbins moving quickly in dexterous fingers, busy at the lace-making whichhad been established in Buckinghamshire more than a century before byCatherine of Aragon, whose dowry was derived from the revenues of SteepleClaydon. The Curate had returned to the grey old church, and rural lifepursued its slumbrous course, scarce ruffled by rumours of maritime war,or plague, or fire. They rode to Thame--a stage on the journey to Oxford,Angela thought, as she noted the figures on a milestone, and at a flash hermemory recalled that scene in the gardens by the river, when Fareham hadspoken for the first time of his inner life, and she had seen the manbehind the mask. She thought of her sister, so fair, so sweet, charming inher capriciousness even, yet not the woman to fill that unquiet heart,or satisfy that sombre and earnest nature. It was not by many words thatFareham had revealed himself. Her knowledge of his character and feelingswent deeper than the knowledge that words can impart. It came from thatconstant unconscious study which a romantic girl devotes to the characterof the man who first awakens her interest.

  Angela was grave and silent throughout the drive to Thame and the returnhome, riding for the most part in the rear of the two men, leaving Denzilto devote all his attention to Sir John, who was somewhat loquacious thatafternoon, stimulated by the many memories of the troubled time which theroad awakened. Denzil listened respectfully, and went never astray in hisanswers, but he looked back very often to the solitary rider who kept atsome distance to avoid the dust.

  Sometimes in the early morning they all went with the otter hounds, theKnight on horseback, Denzil and Angela on foot, and spent two or threevery active hours before breakfast in rousing the otter from his holt, andfollowing every flash of his head upon the stream, with that briskness andactive enjoyment which seem a part of the clear morning atmosphere, theinspiring breath of dewy fields and flowers unfaded by the sun. All thatthere was of girlishness in Angela's spirits was awakened by those merrymorning scampers by the margin of the stream, which had often to be fordedby the runners, with but' little heed of wet feet or splashed petticoat.The Parson and his daughters from the village of St Nicholas joined in thesport, and were invited to the morning drink and substantial breakfastafterwards, where the young ladies were lost in admiration of Angela'ssilver chocolate-pot and porcelain cups, while their clerical father ownedto a distaste for all morning drinks except such as owed their flavour andstrength to malt and hops.

  "If you had lived among green fields and damp marshes as long as I have,miss, you would know what poor stuff your chocolate is to fortify a man'sbones against ague and rheumatism. I am told the Spaniards brought it fromMexico, where the natives eat nothing else, from which comes the coppercolour of their skins."

  * * * * *

  Denzi's visit lasted over a month, during which time he rode intoOxfordshire twice, to see Lady Warner, stopping a night each time, lestthat worthy person should fancy herself neglected.

  Sir John derived the utmost pleasure from the young man's company, who borehimself towards his host with a respectful courtesy that had gone out offashion after the murder of the King, and was rarely met with in an agewhen elderly men were generally spoken of as "old puts," and consideredproper subjects for "bubbling."

  To Denzil the old campaigner opened his heart more freely than he had everdone to any one except a brother in arms; and although he was resolute inupholding the cause of Monarchy against Republicanism, he owned to thenatural disappointment which he had felt at the King's neglect of oldfriends, and reluctantly admitted that Charles, sauntering along Pall Mallwith ruin at his heels, and the wickedest men and women in England for hischosen companions, was not a monarch to maintain and strengthen the publicidea of the divinity that doth hedge a King.

  "Of all the lessons danger and adversity can teach he has learnt butone," said Sir John, with a regretful sigh. "He has learnt the Horatianphilosophy--to snatch the pleasures of the day, and care nothing what mayhappen on the morrow. I do not wonder that predictions of a sudden end tothis globe of ours should have been bruited about of late; for if lustand profaneness could draw down fire from heaven, London would be in asperilous a case as Gomorrah. But I doubt such particular judgments belongedbut to the infancy of this world, when men believed in a Personal God,interested in all their concerns, watchful to bless or to punish. We havenow but the God of Spinoza--a God who is in all things and everywhere aboutus, of whom this Creation in which we move is but the garment--a UniversalEssence which should govern and inform all we are and all we do; but notthe Judge and Father of His people, to be reached by prayer and touched bypity."

  "Ah, sir, our life here and hereafter is encompassed with mystery. To thinkis to be lost on the trackless ocean of doubt. The Papists have the easiestcreed, for they believe that which they are taught, and take the mysteriesof the unseen world at second hand from their Priests. A year ago, had Ibeen happy enough to win your daughter, I should have tried my hardest towean her from Rome; but I have lived and thought since then, and I havecome to see that Calvinism is a religion of despair, and that the doctrineof Predestination involves contradictions as difficult to swallow as anyfable of the Roman Church."

  "It is well that you should be prepared to let her keep her religion; forI doubt she has a stubborn affection for the creed she learnt in herchildhood. Indeed, it was but the other day she talked of the cloister; andI fear she has all the disposition to that religious prison in which hergreat aunt lived contentedly for the space of a long lifetime. But it isfor you, Denzil, to cure her of that fancy, and to spare me the pain ofseeing my best-beloved child under the black veil."

  "Indeed, sir, if a love as earnest as man ever experienced--"

  "Yes, Denzil, I know you love her; and I love you almost as if you were myvery son. In the years that went by after Hyacinth was born, before thebeginning of trouble, I used to long for a son, and I am afraid I didsometimes distress my dear wife by dwelling too persistently upondisappointed hopes. And then came chaos--England in arms, a rebelliouspeople, a King put upon his defence--and I had leisure to think of none butmy royal master. And in the thick of the strife my poor lamb was born tome--the bringer of
my life's great sorrow--and there was no more thought ofsons. So, you see, friend, the place in my heart and home has waited emptyfor you. Win but yonder shy dove to consent, and we shall be of one familyand of one mind, and I as happy as any broken-down campaigner in Englandcan be--content to creep to the grave in obscurity, forgotten by the Princewhose father it is my dear memory to have served."

  "You loved your King, sir, I take it, with a personal affection."

  "Ah, Denzil, we all loved him. Even the common people--led as they wereby hectoring preachers of sedition, of no more truth or honesty than themountebanks that ply their knavish trade round Henry's statue on the PontNeuf--even they, the very rabble, had their hours of loyalty. I rode withhis Majesty from Royston to Hatfield, in '47, when the people filled themidsummer air with his name, from hearts melting with love and pity. Theystrewed the ways with boughs, and strewed the boughs with roses. So greathonour has been seldom shown to a royal captive."

  "I take it that the lower class are no politicians, and loved their Kingfor his private virtues."

  "Never was monarch worthier to be so esteemed. He was a man of deepaffections, and it was perhaps his most fatal quality where he lovedto love too much. I have no grudge against that beautiful and mostaccomplished woman he so worshipped, and who was ever gracious to me; but Icannot doubt that Henrietta Maria was his evil star. She had the fire anddaring of her father, but none of his care and affection for the people.The daughter of the most beloved of kings had the instincts of a tyrant,and was ever urging her too pliant husband to unpopular measures. Shewanted to set that little jewelled shoe of hers on the neck of rebellion,when she should have held out her soft white hand to make friends of herfoes. Her beauty and her grace might have done much, had she inherited withthe pride of the Medici something of their finesse and suavity. But heloved her, Denzil, forgave all her follies, her lavish spending andwasteful splendour. 'My wife is a bad housekeeper,' I heard him say once,when she was hanging upon his chair as he sat at the end of the Counciltable. The palace accounts were on the table--three thousand pounds fora masque--extravagance only surpassed by Nicholas Fouquet twenty yearsafterwards, when he was squandering the public money. 'My wife is a badhousekeeper,' his Majesty said gently, and then he drew down the littleFrench museau with a caressing hand, and kissed her in the presence ofthose greybeards."

  "His son is strangely unlike him in domestic matters."

  "His son has the manners of a Frenchman and the morals of a Turk. He is adespot to his wife and a slave to his mistress. There never was greatercruelty to a woman than his Majesty's treatment of Catherine while she wasstill but a stranger in the land, and when he forced his notorious paramourupon her as her lady of honour. Of honour, quotha! There was sorry store ofhonour in his conduct. He had need feel the sting of remorse t'other daywhen the poor lady was thought to be on her death-bed--so gentle,so affectionate, so broken to the long-suffering of consort-queens,apologising for having lived to trouble him. Ned Hyde has given me thewhole story of that poor lady's subjugation, for he was behind the scenes,and in their secrets. Poor soul! Blood rushed from her ears and nostrilswhen that shameless woman was brought to her, and she was carried swooningto her chamber. And then she was sullen, and the King threatened her, andsent away all her Portuguese, save one ancient waiting woman. I grantyou they were ugly devils, fit to set in a field to frighten crows;but Catherine loved them. Royal treatment for a Christian Queen from aChristian King! Could the Sophy do worse? And presently the poor ladyyielded (as most women will, for at heart they are slavish and love to bebeaten), and after holding herself aloof for a long time--a sad, silent,neglected figure where all the rest were loud and merry--she made friendswith the lady, and even seemed to fawn upon her."

  "And now I dare swear the two women mingle their tears when Charles isunfaithful to both; or Catherine weeps while Barbara curses. That would bemore in character. Fire and not water is her ladyship's element."

  "Ah, Denzil, 'tis a curious change; and to have lived to see Buckinghammurdered, and Stafford sacrificed, and the Rebellion, and the Commonwealth,and the Restoration, and the Plague, and the Fire, and to have skirmishedin the battles of Parliaments and Princes, t'other side the Channel, andseen the tail of the Thirty Years' War, towns ruined, villages laid waste,where Tilly passed in blood and fire, is to have lived through as wild avariety of fortunes as ever madman invented in a dream."

  * * * * *

  Denzil lingered at the Manor, urged again and again by his host to stayover the day fixed for departure, and so lengthening his visit with a mostwilling submission till late in June, when the silence of the nightingalesmade sleep more possible, and the sunset was so late and the sunrise soearly that there seemed to be no such thing as night. He had made up hismind to plead for a hearing in the hour of farewell; and it may have beenas much from apprehension of that fateful hour as even from the delight ofbeing in his mistress's company that he acceded with alacrity when Sir Johndesired him to stay. But an end must come at last to all hesitations, and afamiliar verse repeated itself in his brain with the persistent iterationof cathedral chimes--

  "He either fears his fate too much, Or his desert is small, Who fears to put it to the touch, And win or lose it all."

  Sir John pushed him towards his fate with affectionate urgency.

  "Never be dastardised by a girl's refusal, man," said the Knight, warm withhis morning draught, on that last day, when the guest's horses had beenfed for a journey, and the saddle-bags packed. "Don't let a simpleton'scoldness cow your spirits. The wench likes you; else she would scarce haveendured your long sermons upon weeds and insects, or been smiling andcontented in your company all these weeks. Take heart of grace, man; andremember that though I am no tyrannical father to drag an unwilling brideto the altar, I have all a father's authority, and will not have my dearestwishes baulked by the capricious humours of a coquette."

  "Not for worlds, sir, would I owe to authority what love cannot freelygrant--"

  "Don't chop logic, Denzil. You want my daughter; and by God you shall haveher! Win her with pretty speeches if you can. If she turn stubborn sheshall have plain English from me. I have promised not to force herinclination; but if I am driven to harsh measures 'twill be for her owngood I am severe. Ventregris! What can fortune give her better than ahandsome and virtuous husband?"

  Angela was in the garden when Denzil went to take leave of her. She waswalking up and down beside a long border of June flowers, screened fromrough winds by those thick walls of yew which gave such a comfortablesheltered feeling to the Manor gardens, while in front of flowers and turfthere sparkled the waters of a long pond or stew, stocked with tench andcarp, some among them as ancient and as greedy as the scaly monsters ofFontainebleau.

  The sun was shining on the dark green water and the gaudy flower-bed,and Angela's favourite spaniel was running about the grass, barking hisloudest, chasing bird or butterfly with impotent fury, since he nevercaught anything. At sight of Denzil he tore across the greensward, hissilky ears flying, and barked at him as if the young man's appearance inthat garden were an insufferable impertinence; but, on being taken up inone strong hand, changed his opinion, and slobbered the face of the foe inan ecstasy of affection.

  "Soho, Ganymede, thou knowest I bear thee a good heart, plaything and merepretence of a dog as thou art," said Denzil, depositing their little bundleof black-and-tan flossiness at Angela's feet.

  He might have carried and nursed his mistress's favourite with pleasureduring any casual sauntering and random talk; but a man could hardly ask tohave his fate decided for good or ill with a toy spaniel in his arms.

  "My horse is at the door, Angela, and I am come to bid you good-bye," hesaid in a grave voice.

  The words were of the simplest; but there was something in his tone thattold her all was not said. She paled at the thought of an approachingconflict; for she knew her father was against her, and that there must behard fighting.

&nbs
p; They walked the length of flower border and lawn in silence; and then, whenthey were furthest from the house, and from the hazard of eyes looking outof windows, he stopped suddenly, and took her unresisting hand, which laycold in his.

  "Dearest, I have kept silence through all those blessed days in which youand I have been together; but I have not left off loving you or hoping foryou. Things have changed since I spoke to you in London last winter. I havea powerful advocate now whose pleading ought to prevail with you--a fatherwhose anxious affection urges what my passionate love so ardently desires.Indeed, dear heart, if you will be kind, you can make a father and loverhappy with one breath. You have but to say 'Yes' to the prayer you knowof----"

  "Alas! Denzil, I cannot. I am your true and faithful friend. If you weresick and alone--as his lordship was--I would go to you and nurse you, asyour friend and sister. If you were poor and I were rich, I would divide myfortune with you. I shall always think of you with affection--always takepleasure in your society, if you will let me; but it must be as yoursister. You have no sister, Denzil--I no brother. Why cannot we be to eachother as brother and sister?"

  "Only because from the hour when your beauty and sweetness began to growinto my mind I have been your lover, and nothing else--your adoring lover.I cannot change my fervent hope for the poor name of friend. I can neveragain dare be to you what I have been in this happy season last past,unless you will let me be more than I have been."

  "Alas!"

  Only that one word, with a sorrowful shake of the graceful head, coveredwith feathery ringlets in the dainty fashion of that day, so becoming inyouth, so inappropriate to advancing years, when the rich profusion ofcurls came straight from Chedreux, or some of his imitators, and baldnesswas hidden by the spoils of the dead.

  "Alas!"

  No need for more than that sad dissyllable.

  "Then I am no nearer winning this dear hand than I was at Fareham House?"he said heartbrokenly, for he had built high hopes upon her kindness andwilling companionship in that Arcadian valley.

  "I told you then that I should never marry. I have not changed my mind. Inever can change. I am to be Henriette's spinster aunt."

  "And Fareham's spinster sister?" said Denzil. "I understand. We are neitherof us cured of our malady. It is my disease to love you in spite of yourdisdain. It is your disease to love where you should not. Farewell!"

  He was gone before she could reply. The livid anger of his face, thedeep resentment in his voice, haunted her memory, and made life almostintolerable.

  "My sin has found me out!" she said to herself, as she paced the gardenwith the rapid steps that indicate a distempered spirit. "What right has heto pry into the depths of my mind, and ferret out all that there is of evilin my nature? Well, he goes the surest way to make me hate him. If ever hecomes here again, I will run away and hide from all who know me. I wouldrather be a farm-servant, and rise at daybreak to work in the fields, thanendure his insolence."

  She had to bear worse pain before Denzil had ridden far upon his journey;for her father came to the garden to seek her, eager to know the result ofhis _protege's_ wooing.

  "Well, sweetheart," he began, taking her to his bosom and kissing her. "DoI salute the future Lady Warner?"

  "No, sir; I am too well content with the name I inherit to desire anyother."

  "That is gracefully said, cherie; but I want to see my ewe lamb happilywedded. Has thy sweetheart stolen away without finding courage to ask thequestion that has been on the tip of his tongue for the last six weeks?"

  "He has been both importunate and impertinent, sir, and he has had hisanswer. I hope I may never see him again."

  "What! you have refused him? You must be mad!"

  "No, sir; sober and sane enough to know when I am happy. I told you beforethis gentleman came here that I did not mean to marry. Surely I am not sounloving a daughter that I must be driven to take a husband, because myfather will not have me."

  "Angela, it is for your own safety and welfare I would see you married.What have you to succeed to when I am gone? An impoverished estate, in acountry that has seen such rough changes within a score of years that onedare scarcely calculate upon a prolonged time of safety, even in thissequestered valley. God only knows when cannon-balls may tear up ourfields, and bullets whistle through the copses. This Monarchy, restoredwith such a clamorous approval, may endure no longer than the Commonwealth,which was thought to be lasting. His Majesty's trivial life and grossextravagance have disgusted and alarmed some who loved him dearly, and haveset the common people questioning whether the rough rule of the Protectorwere not better than the ascendency of shameless women and dissolute men.The pageantry of Whitehall may vanish like a parchment scroll in a furnace,and Charles, who has tasted the sours of exile, may be again a wanderer,dependent on the casual munificence of foreign states; and in such an evilhour," continued the Knight, his mind straying from the contemplation ofhis daughter's future to the memory of his own wrongs, "Charles Stuartmay remember the old puts who fought and suffered for his father, and howscurvy a recompense they had for their services."

  He reverted to Denzil's offer after a brief silence, Angela walkingdutifully by his side, prepared to suffer any harshness upon his partwithout complaining.

  "I love the young man, and he would be to me as a son," he said; "thecomrade and support of my old age. I am poor, as the world goes now; havebut just enough to live modestly in this retreat, where life costs butlittle. He is rich, and can give you a handsome seat near your sister'smansion; and a house in London if you desire one; less splendid, doubtless,than Fareham's palace on the Thames, but more befitting the habits andmanners of an English gentleman's wife. He can give you hounds and hawks,your riding-horses, and your coach-and-six. What more, in God's name, canany reasonable woman desire?"

  "Only one thing, sir. To live my own life in peace, as my conscience and myreason bid me. I cannot love Denzil Warner, though of late I have grownto like and respect him as a friend and most intelligent companion. Yourpersistence is fast changing friendship into dislike; and the very name ofthe man would speedily become hateful to me."

  "Oh, I have done!" retorted Sir John. "I am no tyrant. You must take yourown way, mistress. I can but lament that Providence gave me only twodaughters, and one of them an arrant fool."

  He left her in a huff, and had it not been for an astonishing event, whichconvulsed town and country, and suspended private interests and privatequarrels in the excitement of public affairs, she would have heard muchmore of his discontent.

  The Dutch ships were at Chatham. English men-of-war were blazing at thevery mouth of the Thames, and there was panic lest the triumphant foeshould sail their fire-ships up the river to London, besiege the Tower,relight the fire whose ashes were scarce grown cold, pillage, slaughter,destroy--as Tilly had destroyed the wretched Provinces in the religiouswar.

  Here, in this sheltered haven, amidst green fields, under the lee of theBrill, the panic and consternation were as intense as if the village of St.Nicholas were the one spot the Dutch would make for after landing; and,indeed, there were rustics who went to the placid scene where the infantThame rises in its cradle of reed and lily, half expectant of seeingNetherlandish vessels stranded among the rushes.

  The Dutch fleet was at Chatham. Ships were being sunk across the Medway, tostop the invader.

  Sheerness was to be fortified. London was in arms; and Brill rememberedits repulse of Hampden's regiment with a proud consciousness of beinginvincible.

  The Dutch fleet saved Angela many a paternal lecture; for Sir John rodepost-haste towards London, and did not return until the end of the month.

  In London he found Hyacinth, much disturbed about her husband, who hadgone as volunteer with General Middleton, and was in command of a cavalryregiment at Chatham.

  "I never saw him in such spirits as when he left me," Lady Fareham told herfather. "I believe he is ever happiest when he breathes gunpowder."

  * * * *
*

  Sir John's leave-taking had been curt and moody, for Angela's offencerankled deep in his mind; and it was as much as he could do to command hisanger, even in bidding her good-bye.

  "Did I not tell you that we live in troubled times, and that no man canforesee the coming evil, or how great our woes and distractions may be?" heasked, with a gloomy triumph. "Whoever thought to hear De Ruyter's guns atSheerness, or to see the Royal Charles led captive? Absit omen! Who knowswhat destruction may come upon that other Royal Charles, for whose safetywe pray morning and night, and who lolls across a basset-table, perhaps,with his wantons around him, while we are on our knees supplicating theCreator for him? Who knows? We may have London in flames again, and aconflagration more fatal than the last, thou obstinate wench, before thouart a week older, and every able-bodied man called away from plough andpasture to serve the King, and desolation and famine where plenty nowsmiles at us. And is this a time in which to refuse a valiant and wealthyprotector, a lover as honest as ever God made; a pious, conformingChristian, of unsullied name; a young man after my own pattern; a finehorseman and a good farmer; one who loves a pack of hounds and a well-bredhorse, a flight of hawks and a match at bowls, better than to give chase toa she-rake in the Mall, or to drink himself stark mad at a tavern in CoventGarden with debauchees from Whitehall?"

  Sir John prosed and grumbled to the last moment, but could not refuse tobend down from his saddle and kiss the fair, pale face that looked at himin piteous deprecation at the moment of parting.

  "Well, keep a brave heart, Mistress Wilful. Thou art safe here yet awhilefrom Dutch marauders. I go but to find out how much truth there is in thesepanic rumours."

  She begged him not to fatigue himself with too long stages, and went backto the silent house, thankful to be alone in her despondency. She felt asif the last page in her worldly life had been written. She had to turnher thoughts backward to that quiet retreat where there would at least bepeace. She had promised her father that she would not return to the Conventwhile he wanted her at home. But was that promise to hold good if he wereto embitter her life by urging her to a marriage that would only bring herunhappiness?

  She had ample leisure for thought in one summer day of a solitude soabsolute that she began to shiver in the sultry stillness of afternoon,and scarce ventured to raise her eyes from her embroidery frame, lest someshadowy presence, some ghost out of the dead past, should hover near,watching her as she sat alone in scenes where that pale spirit had beenliving flesh. The thought of all who had lived and died in that house--menand women of her own race, whose qualities of mind and person she hadinherited--oppressed her in the long hours of silent reverie. Beforeher first day of loneliness had ended, her spirits had sunk to deepestmelancholy; and in that weaker condition of mind she had begun to askherself whether she had any right to oppose her father's wishes by denyingherself to a suitor whom she esteemed and respected, and whose filialaffection would bring new sunshine into that dear father's declining years.She had noted their manner to each other during Denzil's protracted visit,and had seen all the evidences of a warm regard on both sides. She had toocomplete a faith in Denzil's sterling worth to question the reality of anyfeeling which his words and manner indicated. He was above all things aman of truth and honesty. She was roaming about the gardens with her dogtowards noon in the second day of her solitude, when across the yew hedgesshe saw white clouds of dust rising from the high-road, and heardthe clatter of hoofs and roll of wheels--a noise as of a troop ofcavalry--whereat Ganymede barked himself almost into an apoplexy, andrushed across the grass like a mad thing.

  A great cracking of whips and sound of voices, horses galloping, horsestrotting, dust enough to whiten all the hedges and greensward! Angela stoodat gaze, wondering if the Dutch were coming to storm the old house, or thecounty militia coming to garrison it.

  The Manor Moat was the destination of that clamorous troop, whoever theywere. Wheels and horses stopped sharply at the great iron gate in front ofthe house, and the bell began to ring furiously, while other dogs, withvoices that resembled Ganymede's, answered his shrill bark with evenshriller yelpings.

  Angela ran towards the gate, and was near enough to see it opened toadmit three black-and-tan spaniels, and one slim personage in a longflame-coloured brocatelle gown and a large beaver hat, who approached withstately movements, a small, pert nose held high, and rosy upper lip curledin patrician disdain of common things, while a fan of peacock's plumage,that flashed sapphire and emerald in the fierce noonday sun, was wavedslowly before the dainty face, scattering the tremulous life of summer thatbuzzed and fluttered in the sultry air.

  In the rear of this brilliant figure appeared a middle-aged person ina grey silk gown and hood, and a negro page in the Fareham livery, awaiting-woman, and a tall lackey, so many being the necessary adjuncts tothe Honourable Henrietta Maria Revel's state when she went abroad.

  Angela ran to receive her niece with a cry of rapture, and the tall slip ofa girl in the flame-coloured frock was clasped to her aunt's heart with aruthless disregard of the beaver hat and cataract of ostrich plumage.

  "Prends garde d'abimer mon chapeau, p'tite tante," cried Henriette, "'tisone of Lewin's Nell Gwyn hats, and cost twenty guineas, without the buckle,which I stole out of father's shoe t'other day. His lordship is so carelessabout his clothes that he wore the shoes two days and never knew there wasa buckle missing, and those lazy devils his servants never told him. Ibelieve they meant to rook him of t'other buckle."

  "Chatterer, chatterer, how happy I am to see thee! But is not your motherwith you?"

  "Her ladyship is in London. Everybody of importance is scampering off toLondon; and no doubt will be rushing back to the country again if the Dutchtake the Tower; but I don't think they will while my father is able toraise a regiment."

  "And mademoiselle"--with a curtsy to the lady in grey--"has brought you allthis long way through the heat to see me?"

  "I have brought mademoiselle," Henrietta answered contemptuously, beforethe Frenchwoman had finished the moue and the shrug which with her alwayspreceded speech; "and a fine plague I had to make her come."

  "Madame will conceive that, in miladi's absence, it was a prodigiousinconvenience to order two coaches, and travel so far. His lordship's groomof the chambers is my witness that I protested against such an outrageousproceeding."

  "Two coaches!" exclaimed Angela.

  "A coach-and-six for me and my dogs and my gouvernante, and acoach-and-four for my people," explained Henriette, who had modelled herequipage and suite upon a reminiscence of the train which attended LadyCastlemaine's visit to Chilton, as beheld from a nursery window.

  "Come, child, and rest, out of the sun; and you, mademoiselle, must needrefreshment after so long a drive."

  "Our progress through a perpetual cloud of dust and a succession of narrowlanes did indeed suggest the torments of purgatory; but the happinessof madame's gracious welcome is an all-sufficient compensation for ourfatigue," mademoiselle replied, with a deep curtsey.

  "I was not tired in the least," asserted Henriette. "We stopped at theCrown at Thame and had strawberries and milk."

  "_You_ had strawberries and milk, mon enfant. I have a digestion which willnot allow such liberties."

  "And our horses were baited, and our people had their morning drink," saidHenriette, with her grown-up air. "One ought always to remember cattle andservants. May we put up our horses with you, auntie? We must leave you soonafter dinner, so as to be at Chilton by sunset, or mademoiselle willbe afraid of highwaymen, though I told Samuel and Peter to bring theirblunderbusses in case of an attack. Ma'amselle has no valuables, and at theworst I should but have to give them my diamond buckle, and my locket withhis lordship's portrait."

  Angela's cheeks flushed at that chance allusion to Fareham's picture. Itbrought back a vision of the Convent parlour, and she standing there withFareham's miniature in her hand, wonderingly contemplative of the dark,strong face. At that stage of her life she had seen so fe
w men's faces;and this one had a power in it that startled her. Did she divine, by somesupernatural foreknowledge, that this face held the secret of her destiny?

  She went to the house, with Henriette's lissom form hanging upon her, andthe grey governess tripping mincingly beside them, tottering a little uponher high heels.

  Old Reuben had crept out into the sunshine, with a rustic footman followinghim, and the cook was looking out at a window in the wing where kitchen andservants' hall occupied as important a position as the dining-parlour andsaloon on the opposite side. A hall with open roof, wide double staircase,and music gallery, filled the central space between the two projectingwings, and at the back there was a banqueting-chamber or ball-room, wherein more prosperous days, the family had been accustomed to dine on allstately occasions--a room now shabby and grey with disuse.

  While the footman showed the way to the stables, Angela drew Reuben asidefor a brief consultation as to ways and means for a dinner that must be thebest the house could provide, and which might be served at two o'clock, thelater hour giving time for extra preparation. A capon, larded after theFrench fashion, a pair of trouts, the finest the stream could furnish, or acarp stewed in clary wine, and as many sweet kickshaws as cook's ingenuitycould furnish at so brief a notice. Nor were waiting-woman, lackey, andpostillions to be neglected. Chine and sirloin, pudding and beer must beprovided for all.

  "There are six men besides the black boy," sighed Reuben; they will devourus a week's provision of butcher's meat."

  "If you have done your housekeeping, tante, let me go to your favouritesummer-house with you, and tell you my secrets. I am perishing for a_tete-a-tete!_ Ma'amselle"--with a wave of the peacock fan--"can take asiesta, and forget the dust of the road, while we converse."

  Angela ushered mademoiselle to the pretty summer-parlour, looking out upona geometrical arrangement of flower-beds in the Dutch manner. Chocolateand other light refreshments were being prepared for the travellers; butHenrietta's impatience would wait for nothing.

  "I have not driven along these detestable roads to taste your chocolate,"she protested. "I have a world to say to you: en attendant, mademoiselle,you will consider everything at your disposal in the house of mygrandfather, jusqu'a deux heures."

  She sank almost to the ground in a Whitehall curtsy, rose swift as anarrow, tucked her arm through Angela's, and pulled her out of the room,paying no attention to the governess's voluble injunctions not to exposeher complexion to the sun, or to sit in a cold wind, or to spoil her gown.

  "What a shabby old place it is!" she said, looking critically round her asthey went through the gardens. "I'm afraid you must perish with _ennui_here, with so few servants and no company to speak of. Yes"--contemplatingher shrewdly, as they seated themselves in a stone temple at the end of thebowling-green--"you are looking moped and ill. This valley air does notagree with you. Well, you can have a much finer place whenever you choose.A better house and garden, ever so much nearer Chilton. And you willchoose, won't you, dearest?" nestling close to her, after throwing off thebig hat which made such loving contact impossible.

  "I don't understand you, Henriette."

  "If you call me Henriette I shall be sure you are angry with me."

  "No, love, not angry, but surprised."

  "You think I have no right to talk of your sweetheart, because I am onlythirteen--and have scarce left off playing with babies--I have hated themfor ages, only people persist in giving me the foolish puppets. I know moreof the world than you do, auntie, after being shut in a Convent the bestpart of your life. Why are you so obstinate, ma cherie, in refusing agentleman we all like?"

  "Do you mean Sir Denzil?"

  "Sans doute. Have you a crowd of servants?"

  "No, child, only this one. But don't you see that other people's likinghas less to do with the question than mine? And if I do not like him wellenough to be his wife----"

  "But you ought to like him. You know how long her ladyship's heart has beenset on the match; you must have seen what pains she took in London to haveSir Denzil always about you. And now, after a most exemplary patience,after being your faithful servant for over a year, he asks you to be hiswife, and you refuse, obstinately refuse. And you would rather mope herewith my poor old grandfather--in abject poverty--mother says 'abjectpoverty'--than be the honoured mistress of one of the finest seats inOxfordshire."

  "I would rather do what is right and honest, my dearest It is dishonest tomarry without love."

  "Then half mother's fine friends must be dishonest, for I dare swear thatvery few of them love their husbands."

  "Henriette, you talk of things you don't know."

  "Don't know! Why, there is no one in London knows more. I am alwayslistening, and I always remember. De Malfort used to say I had a plagueylong memory, when I told him of things he had said a year ago."

  "My dear, I love you fondly, but I cannot have you talk to me of what youdon't understand; and I am sorry Sir Denzil Warner had no more courtesythan to go and complain of me to my sister."

  "He did not come to Chilton to complain. Her ladyship met him on the wayfrom Oxford in her coach. He was riding, and she called to him to cometo the coach door. It was the day after he left you, and he was lookingmiserable; and she questioned him, and he owned that his suit had beenrejected, and he had no further hope. My mother came home in a rage. Butwhy was she angry with his lordship? Indeed, she rated him as if it werehis fault you refused Sir Denzil."

  Angela sat silent, and the hand Henriette was clasping grew cold as ice.

  "Did my father bid you refuse him, aunt?" asked the girl, scrutinising heraunt's countenance, with those dark grey eyes, so like Fareham's in theirfalcon brightness.

  "No, child. Why should he interfere? It is no business of his."

  "Then why was mother so angry? She walked up and down the room in atowering passion. 'This is your doing,' she cried. 'If she were not youradoring slave, she would have jumped at so handsome a sweetheart. This isyour witchcraft. It is you she loves--you--you--you!' His lordship stooddumb, and pointed to me. 'Do you forget your child is present?' he said. 'Iforget everything except that everybody uses me shamefully,' she cried.'I was only made to be slighted and trampled upon.' His lordship madeno answer, but walked to the door in that way he ever has when he isangered--pale, frowning, silent. I was standing in his way, and he grippedme by the arm, and dragged me out of the room. I dare venture there is abruise on my arm where he held me. I know his fingers hurt me with theirgrip; and I could hear my lady screaming and sobbing as he took me away.But he would not let me go back to her. He would only send her women. 'Yourmother has an interval of madness,' he said; 'you are best out of herpresence.' The news of the Dutch ships came the same evening, and my fatherrode off towards London, and my mother ordered her coach, and followed anhour after. They seemed both distracted; and only because you refused SirDenzil."

  "I cannot help her ladyship's foolishness, Papillon. She has no occasionfor any of this trouble. I am her dutiful, affectionate sister; but myheart is not hers to give or to refuse."

  "But was it indeed my father's fault? Is it because you adore him that yourefused Sir Denzil?"

  "No--no--no. My affection for my brother--he has been to me as abrother--can make no difference in my regard for any one else. One cannotfall in love at another's ordering, or be happy with a husband of another'schoice. You will discover that for yourself, Papillon, perhaps, when youare a woman."

  "Oh, I mean to marry for wealth and station, as all the clever women do,"said Papillon, with an upward jerk of her delicate chin. "Mrs. Lewin alwayssays I ought to be a duchess. I should like to have married the Duke ofMonmouth, and then, who knows, I might have been a Queen. The King's othersons are too young for me, and they will never have Monmouth's chance. But,indeed, sweetheart, you ought to marry Sir Denzil, and come and live nearus at Chilton. You would make us all happy."

  "Ma tres chere, it is so easy to talk--but when thou thyself art awoman----"

&nbs
p; "I shall never care for such trumpery as love. I mean to have a grandhouse--ever so much grander than Fareham House. Perhaps I may marry aFrenchman, and have a salon, and all the wits about me on my day. I wouldmake it gayer than Mademoiselle de Scudery's Saturdays, which my governessso loves to talk of. There should be less talk and more dancing. Butlisten, p'tite tante," clasping her arms suddenly round Angela's neck, "Iwon't leave this spot till you have promised to change your mind aboutDenzil. I like him vastly; and I'm sure there's no reason why you shouldnot love him--unless you really are his lordship's adoring slave,"emphasising those last words, "and he has forbidden you."

  Angela sat dumb, her eyes fixed on vacancy.

  "Why, you are like the lady in those lines you made me learn, who 'sat likepatience on a monument, smiling at grief.' Dearest, why so sad? Rememberthat fine house--and the dairy that was once a chapel. You could turn itinto a chapel again if you liked, and have your own chaplain. His Majestytakes no heed of what we Papists do--being a Papist himself at heart, theysay--though poor wretches are dragged off to gaol for worshipping in aconventicle. What is a conventicle? Will you not change your mind, dearest?Answer, answer, answer!"

  The slender arms tightened their caress, the pretty little brown facepressed itself against Angela's pale, cold cheek.

  "For my sake, sweetheart, say thou wilt have him. I will go to see theeevery day."

  "I have been here for months and you have not come, though I begged you ina dozen letters."

  "I have been kept at my book and my dancing lessons. Mademoiselle told herladyship that I was a monster of ignorance. I have been treated shamefully.I could not have come to-day had my lady been at home; but I would notbrook a hireling's dictation. Voyons, p'tite tante, tu seras miladi Warner.Dis, dis, que je te fasse mourir de baisers."

  She was almost stifling her aunt with kisses in the intervals of her eagerspeech.

  "The last word has been spoken, Papillon. I have sent him away--and it wasnot the first time. I had refused him before. I cannot call him back."

  "But he shall come without calling. He is your adoring slave," criedHenriette, leaping up from the stone bench, and clapping her hands inan ecstasy. "He will need no calling. Dearest, dearest, most exquisite,delectable auntie! I am so happy! And my mother will be content. And no oneshall ever say you are my father's slave."

  "Henriette, if you repeat that odious phrase I shall hate you!"

  "Now you are angry. God, what a frown! I will repeat no word that angersyou. My Lady Warner--sweet Lady Warner. I vow 'tis a prettier name thanRevel or Fareham."

  "You are mad, Henriette! I have promised nothing."

  "Yes, you have, little aunt. You have promised to drop a curtsy, and say'Yes' when Sir Denzil rides this way. You sent him away in a huff. He willcome back smiling like yonder sunshine on the water. Oh, I am so happy! Mydoing, all my doing!"

  "It is useless to argue with you."

  "Quite useless. Il n'y a pas de quoi. Nous sommes d'accord. I shall beyour chief bridesmaid. You must be married in her Majesty's chapel at St.James's. The Pope will give his dispensation--if you cannot persuade Denzilto change his religion. Were he my suitor I would twist him round myfingers," with an airy gesture of the small brown hand.

  There is nothing more difficult than to convince a child that she pleads invain for any ardently desired object. Nothing that Angela could say wouldreconcile her niece to the idea of failure; so there was no help but to lether fancy her arguments conclusive, and to change the bent of her thoughtsif possible.

  It wanted nearly an hour of dinner-time, so Angela suggested an inspectionof the home farm, which was close by, trusting that Henriette's love ofanimals would afford an all-sufficient diversion; nor was she disappointed,for the little fine lady was quite as much at home in stable and cowshed asin a London drawing-room, and spent a happy hour in making friends withthe live stock, from the favourite Hereford cow, queen of the herd, to thesmallest bantam in the poultry-yard.

  To this rustic entertainment followed dinner, in the preparation of whichbanquet Marjory Cook had surpassed herself; and Papillon, being by thistime seriously hungry, sat and feasted to her heart's content, discussingthe marrow pudding and the stewed carp with the acumen and authority of aprofessed gourmet.

  "I like this old-fashioned rustic diet," she said condescendingly.

  She reproached her governess with not doing justice to a syllabub; butshowed herself a fine lady by her complaint at the lack of ice for herwine.

  "My grandfather should make haste and build an icehouse before nextwinter," she drawled. "One can scarce live through this weather withoutice," fanning herself, with excessive languor.

  "I hope, dear, thou wilt not expire on the journey home."

  The coaches were at the gate before Papillon had finished dinner, andMademoiselle was in great haste to be gone, reminding her pupil that shehad travelled so far against her will and at the hazard of angering Madamela Baronne.

  "Madame la Baronne will be enraptured when she knows what I have done toplease her," answered Papillon, and then, with a last parting embrace,hugging her aunt's fair neck more energetically than ever, she whispered,"I shall tell Denzil. You will make us all happy."

  A cloud of dust, a clatter of hoofs, Ma'amselle's screams as the carriagerocked while she was mounting the steps, and with much cracking of whipsand swearing at horses from the postillions who had taken their fill ofhome-brewed ale, hog's harslet, and cold chine, and, lo, the brilliantvision of the Honourable Henrietta Maria and her train vanished in the dustof the summer highway, and Angela went slowly back to the long green walkbeside the fish-pond, where she was in as silent a solitude, but for alingering nightingale or two, as if she had been in the palace of thesleeping beauty. If all things slumbered not, there was at least as markeda pause in life. The Dutch might be burning more ships, and the noise ofwar might be coming nearer London with every hour of the summer day. Herethere was a repose as of the after-life, when all hopes and dreams andloves and hates are done and ended, and the soul waits in darkness andsilence for the next unfolding of its wings.

  Those hateful words, "your adoring slave," and all that speech ofHyacinth's which the child had repeated, haunted Angela with an agonisingiteration. She had not an instant's doubt as to the scene being faithfullyreported. She knew how preternaturally acute Henriette's intellect hadbecome in the rarified atmosphere of her mother's drawing-room, howaccurate her memory, how sharp her ears, and how observant her eyes.Whatever Henriette reported was likely to be to the very letter and spiritof the scene she had witnessed. And Hyacinth, her sister, had put thisshame upon her, had spoken of her in the cruelest phrase as loving one whomit was mortal sin to love. Hyacinth, so light, so airy a creature, whom heryounger sister had ever considered as a grown-up child, had yet been shrewdenough to fathom her mystery, and to discover that secret attachment whichhad made Denzil's suit hateful to her. "And if I do not consent to marryhim she will always think ill of me. She will think of me as a wretch whotried to steal her husband's love--a worse woman than Lady Castlemaine--forshe had the King's affection before he ever saw the Queen's poor plainface. His adoring slave!"

  Evening shadows were around her. She had wandered into the woods, wasslowly threading the slender cattle tracks in the cool darkness; while thatpassionate song of the nightingales rose in a louder ecstasy as the quietof the night deepened, and the young moon hung high above the edge of awooded hill.

  "His adoring slave," she repeated, with her hands clasped above heruncovered head.

  Hateful, humiliating words! Yet there was a keen rapture in repeating them.They were true words. His slave--his slave to wait upon him in sickness andpain; to lie and watch at his door like a faithful dog; to follow him tothe wars, and clean his armour, and hold his horse, and wait in his tentto receive him wounded, and heal his wounds where surgeons failed to cure,wanting that intensity of attention and understanding which love alone cangive; to be his Bellario, asking nothing of him, hoping for nothing
, hardlyfor kind words or common courtesy, foregoing woman's claim upon man'schivalry, content to be nothing--only to be near him.

  If such a life could have been--the life that poets have imagined fordespairing love! It was less than a hundred years since handsome Mrs.Southwell followed Sir Robert Dudley to Italy, disguised as a page. Butthe age of romance was past. The modern world had only laughter for suchdreams.

  That revelation of Hyacinth's jealousy had brought matters to a crisis.Something must be done, Angela told herself, and quickly, to set herright with her sister, and in her own esteem. She had to choose between aloveless marriage and the Convent. By accepting one or the other she mustprove that she was not the slave of a dishonourable love.

  Marriage or the Convent? It had been easy, contemplating the step from adistance, to choose the Convent. But when she thought of it, to-night, amidthe exquisite beauty of these woods, with the moonlit valley lying at herfeet, the winding streams reflecting that silvery light, or veiled in apale haze--to-night, in the liberty and loveliness of the earth, the visionof Convent walls filled her with a shuddering horror. To be shut in thatFlemish garden for ever; her life enclosed within the straight lines ofthat long green alley leading to a dead wall, darkened over by flowerlessivy. How witheringly dull the old life showed, looking back at it afteryears of freedom and enjoyment, action and variety. No, no, no! She couldnot bury herself alive, could not forego the liberty to wander in a woodlike this, to gaze upon scenes as beautiful as yonder valley, to read thepoets she loved, to see, perhaps, some day those romantic scenes whichshe knew but as dreams--Florence, Vallombrosa--to follow the footsteps ofMilton, to see the Venice she had read of in Howell's Letters, to kneel atthe feet of the Holy Father, in the City of Cities. All these things wouldbe for ever forbidden to her if she chose the common escape from earthlysorrow.

  She thought of her whose example had furnished the theme of many adiscourse at the Convent, Mazarin's lovely niece, the Princess de Conti,who, in the bloom of early womanhood, was awakened from the dream of thislife to the reality of Heaven, and had renounced the pleasures of the mostbrilliant Court in the world for the severities of Port Royal. She thoughtof that sublime heretic Ferrar, whose later existence was one long prayer.Of how much baser a clay must she be fashioned when her too earthly heartclung so fondly to the loveliness of earth, and shrank with aversion fromthe prospect of a long life within those walls where her childhood had beenso peaceful and happy.

  "How changed, how changed and corrupted this heart has become!" shemurmured, in her dejection, "when that life which was once my most ardentdesire now seems to me worse than the grave. Anything--any life of duty inthe world, rather than that living death."

  She was in the garden next morning at six, after a sleepless night, andshe occupied herself till noon in going about among the cottagers carryingthose small comforts which she had been in the habit of taking them, andlistening patiently to those various distresses which they were very gladto relate to her. She taught the children, and read to the sick, andwas able in this round of duties to keep her thoughts from dwelling toopersistently upon her own trouble. After the one o'clock dinner, at whichshe offended old Reuben by eating hardly anything, she went for a woodlandramble with her dogs, and it was near sunset when she returned to thehouse, just in time to see two road-stained horses being led away from thehall door.

  Sir John had come home. She found him in the dining parlour, sitting gloomyand weary looking before the table where Reuben was arranging a hasty meal.

  "I have eaten nothing upon the road, yet I have but a poor stomach foryour bacon-ham," he said, and then looked up at his daughter with a moodyglance, as she went towards him.

  "Dear sir, we must try to coax your appetite when you have rested a little.Let me unbuckle your spurs and pull off your boots, while Reuben fetchesyour easiest shoes."

  "Nay, child, that is man's work, not for such fingers as yours. The bootsare nowise irksome--'tis another kind of shoe that pinches, Angela."

  She knelt down to unbuckle the spur-straps, and while on her knees shesaid--

  "You look sad, sir. I fear you found ill news at London."

  "I found such shame as never came before upon England, such confusion asonly traitors and profligates can know; men who have cheated and lied andwasted the public money, left our fortresses undefended, our ships unarmed,our sailors unpaid, half-fed, and mutinous; clamorous wives crying aloud inthe streets that their husbands should not fight and bleed for a King whostarved them. They have clapped the scoundrel who had charge of the Yard atChatham in the Tower--but will that mend matters? A scapegoat, belike, tosuffer for higher scoundrels. The mob is loudest against the Chancellor,who I doubt is not to blame for our unreadiness, having little power oflate over the King. Oh, there has been iniquity upon iniquity, and men knownot whom most to blame--the venal idle servants, or the master of all."

  "You mean that men blame his Majesty?"

  "No, Angela. But when our ships were blazing at Chatham, and the Dutchtriumphing, the cry was 'Oh, for an hour of old Noll!' Charles has playedhis cards so that he has made the loyalest hearts in England wish theBrewer back again. They called him the Tiger of the Seas. We have no tigersnow, only asses and monkeys. Why, there was scarce a grain of sense left inLondon. The beat of the drums calling out the train-bands seemed to havestupefied the people. Everywhere madness and confusion. They have sunktheir richest argosies at Barking Creek to block the river; but the Dutchbreak chains, ride over sunken ships, laugh our petty defences to scorn."

  "Dear sir, this confusion cannot last."

  "It will last as long as the world's history lasts. Our humiliation willnever be forgotten."

  "But Englishmen will not look on idle. There must be brave men up in arms."

  "Oh, there are brave men enough--Fairfax, Ingoldsby, Bethell, Norton. ThePresbyterians come to the front in our troubles. Your brother-in-law iswith Lord Middleton. There is no lack of officers; and regiments are beingraised. But our merchant-ships, which should be quick to help us, hangback. Our Treasury is empty, and half the goldsmiths in London arebankrupt. And our ships that are burnt, and our ships that are taken, willnot be conjured back again. The _Royal Charles_ carried off with insultingtriumph! Oh, child, it is not the loss that galls; it is the dishonour!"

  He took a draught of claret out of the tankard which Angela placed at hiselbow, and she carved the ham for him, and persuaded him to eat.

  "Is it the public misfortune that troubles you so sadly, sir?" she asked,presently, when her father flung himself back in his chair with a heavysigh.

  "Nay, Angela, I have my peck of trouble without reckoning the ruin of mycountry. But my back is broad. It can bear a burden as well as any."

  "Do you count a disobedient daughter among your cares, sir?"

  "Disobedient is too harsh a word. I told you I would never force yourinclinations. But I have an obstinate daughter, who has disappointed me,and well-nigh broken my spirit."

  "Your spirit shall not rest broken if my obedience can mend it, sir," shesaid gently, dropping on her knees beside his chair.

  "What! has that stony heart relented! Wilt thou marry him, sweetheart? Wiltgive me a son as well as a daughter, and the security that thou wilt besafe and happy when I'm gone?"

  "No one can be sure of happiness, father; it comes strangely, and goes weknow not why. But if it will make your heart easier, sir, and Denzil bestill of the same mind----"

  "His mind his rock, dearest. He swore to me that he could never change. Ah,love, you have made me happy! Let the fleet burn, the _Royal Charles_fly Dutch colours. Here, in this quiet valley, there shall be a peacefulhousehold and united hearts. Angela, I love that youth! Fareham, with allhis rank and wealth, has never been so dear to me. That black visagerepels love. But Denzil's countenance is open as the day. I can say 'NuncDimittis' with a light heart. I can trust Denzil Warner with my daughter'shappiness."