THE CAPTURE IN THE SNOW.
I do not recollect anything happening for a good while. Our chief
event was the perfect success of Mr. Yolland's concentrated fuel, which
did not blow up anything or anybody, and the production of some lovely
Etruscan vases and tiles, for which I copied the designs out of a book
I happily discovered in the library. They were sent up to the
porcelain shops in London, and orders began to come in, to the great
exultation of Harold and Co., an exultation which I could not help
partaking, even while it seemed to me to be plunging him deeper and
deeper in the dangerous speculation.
We put the vases into a shop in the town and wondered they did not
sell; but happily people at a distance were kinder, and native genius
was discovered in a youth, who soon made beautiful designs. But I do
not think the revived activity of the unpopular pottery did us at that
time any good with our neighbours.
Harold and Eustace sent in their subscriptions to the hunt and were not
refused, but there were rumours that some of the Stympsons had
threatened to withdraw.
I had half a mind to ride with them to the meet, but I could not tell
who would cut me, and I knew the mortification would be so keen to them
that I could not tell how they would behave, and I was afraid Eustace's
pride in his scarlet coat might be as manifest to others as to us, and
make me blush for him. So I kept Dora and myself at home.
I found that by the management of Dermot Tracy and his friends, the
slight had been less apparent than had been intended, when all the
other gentlemen had been asked in to Mr. Stympson's to breakfast, and
they had been left out with the farmers; Dermot had so resented this
that he had declined going into the house, and ridden to the village
inn with them.
To my surprise, Eustace chose to go on hunting, because it asserted his
rights and showed he did not care; and, besides, the hard riding was
almost a necessity to both the young men, and the Foling hounds, beyond
Biston, were less exclusive, and they were welcomed there. I believe
their horsemanship extorted admiration from the whole field, and that
they were gathering acquaintance, though not among those who were most
desirable. The hunting that was esteemed hard exercise here was
nothing to them. They felt cramped and confined even when they had had
the longest runs, and disdained the inclosures they were forced to
respect. I really don't know what Harold would have done but for
Kalydon Moor, where he had a range without inclosures of some twelve
miles. I think he rushed up there almost every day, and thus kept
himself in health, and able to endure the confinement of our civilised
life.
A very hard winter set in unusually early, and with a great deal of
snow in December. It was a great novelty to our Australians, and was
not much relished by Eustace, who did not enjoy the snow-balling and
snow fortification in which Harold and Dora revelled in front of the
house all the forenoon. After luncheon, when the snowstorm had come on
too thickly for Dora to go out again, Harold insisted on going to see
how the world looked from the moor. I entreated him not to go far,
telling him how easy it was to lose the way when all outlines were
changed in a way that would baffle even a black fellow; but he listened
with a smile, took a plaid and a cap and sallied forth. I played at
shuttle-cock for a good while with Dora, and then at billiards with
Eustace; and when evening had closed darkly in, and the whole outside
world was blotted out with the flakes and their mist, I began to grow a
little anxious.
The hall was draughty, but there was a huge wood fire in it, and it
seemed the best place to watch in, so there we sat together, and
Eustace abused the climate and I told stories--dismal ones, I
fear--about sheep and shepherds, dogs and snowdrifts, to the tune of
that peculiar howl that the wind always makes when the blast is
snow-laden; and dinner time came, and I could not make up my mind to go
and dress so as to be out of reach of--I don't know what I expected to
happen. Certainly what did happen was far from anything I had pictured
to myself.
Battling with the elements and plunging in the snow, and seeing,
whenever it slackened, so strange and new a world, was a sort of sport
to Harold, and he strode on, making his goal the highest point of the
moor, whence, if it cleared a little, he would be able to see to a vast
distance. He was curious, too, to look down into the railway cutting.
This was a sort of twig from a branch of the main line, chiefly due to
Lord Erymanth, who, after fighting off the railway from all points
adjacent to his estate, had found it so inconvenient to be without a
station within reasonable distance, that a single line had at last been
made from Mycening for the benefit of the places in this direction, but
not many trains ran on it, for it was not much frequented.
Harold came to the brow of the cutting, and there beheld the funnel of
a locomotive engine, locomotive no more, but firmly embedded in the
snowdrift into which it had run, with a poor little train of three or
four carriages behind it, already half buried. Not a person was to be
seen, as Harold scrambled and slid down the descent and lighted on the
top of one of the carriages; for, as it proved, the engineer, stoker,
and two or three passengers had left the train an hour before, and were
struggling along the line to the nearest station. Harold got down on
the farther side, which was free of snow, and looked into all the
carriages. No one was there, till, in a first-class one, he beheld an
old gentleman, well wrapped up indeed, but numb, stiff, and dazed with
the sleep out of which he was roused.
"Tickets, eh?" he said, and he dreamily held one out to Harold and
tried to get up, but he stumbled, and hardly seemed to understand when
Harold told him it was not the station, but that they had run into the
snowdrift; he only muttered something about being met, staggered
forward, and fell into Harold's arms. There was a carriage-bag on the
seat, but Harold looked in vain there for a flask. The poor old man
was hardly sensible. Ours was the nearest house, and Harold saw that
the only chance for the poor old gentleman's life was to carry him home
at once. Even for him it was no small effort, for his burthen was a
sturdy man with the solidity of years, and nearly helpless, save that
the warmth of Harold's body did give him just life and instinct to hold
on, and let himself be bound to him with the long plaid so as least to
impede his movements; but only one possessed of Harold's almost giant
strength could have thus clambered the cutting at the nearest point to
Arghouse and plodded through the snow. The only wonder is that they
were not both lost. Their track was marked as long as that snow lasted
by mighty holes.
It was at about a quarter-past seven that all the dogs barked, a
fumbling was heard at the door, and a muffled voice, "Let me in."
Then in stumbled a heap of snow, panting, and amid Spitz's frantic
barks, we saw it was Harold, bent nearly double by the figure tied to
him. He sank on his knee, so as to place his burthen on the great
couch, gasping, "Untie me," and as I undid the knot, he rose to his
feet, panting heavily, and, in spite of the cold, bathed in
perspiration.
"Get something hot for him directly," he said, falling back into an
arm-chair, while we broke out in exclamations. "Who--where did you
find him? Some poor old beggar. Not too near the fire--call
Richardson--hot brandy-and-water--bed. He's some poor old beggar," and
such outcries for a moment or two, till Harold, recovering himself in a
second, explained, "Snowed up in the train. Here, Lucy, Eustace, rub
his hands. Dora, ask Richardson for something hot. Are you better
now, sir?" beginning to pull off the boots that he might rub his feet;
but this measure roused the traveller, who resisted, crying out,
"Don't, don't, my good man, I'll reward you handsomely. I'm a justice
of the peace."
Thick and stifled as it was, the voice was familiar. I looked again,
and screamed out, "Lord Erymanth, is it you?"
That roused him, and as I took hold of both hands and bent over him, he
looked up, dazzled and muttering, "Lucy, Lucy Alison! Arghouse! How
came I here?" and then as the hot cordial came at last, in the hand of
Richardson, who had once been in his service, he swallowed it, and then
leant back and gazed at me as I went on rubbing his hands. "Thank you,
my dear. Is it you? I thought I was snowed up, and I have never
signed that codicil about little Viola, or I could die easily. It is
not such a severe mode, after all."
"But you're not dying, you're only dreaming. You are at Arghouse.
Harold here found you and brought you to us."
And then we agreed that he had better be put to bed at once in
Eustace's room, as there was already a fire there, and any other would
take long in being warmed.
Harold and Eustace got him upstairs between them, and Richardson
followed, while I looked out with dismay at the drifting snow, and
wondered how to send either for a doctor or for Lady Diana in case of
need. He had been a childless widower for many years, and had no one
nearer belonging to him. Dora expressed her amazement that I did not
go to help, but I knew this would have shocked him dreadfully, and I
only sent Colman to see whether she could be of any use.
Harold came out first, and on his way to get rid of his snow-soaked
garments, paused to tell me that the old gentleman had pretty well come
round, and was being fed with hot soup and wine, while he seemed half
asleep. "He is not frost-bitten," added Harold; "but if he is likely
to want the doctor, I'd better go on to Mycening at once, before I
change my things."
But I knew Lord Erymanth to be a hale, strong man of his years, little
given to doctors, and as I heard he had said "No, no," when Eustace
proposed to send for one, I was glad to negative the proposal from a
man already wet through and tired--"well, just a little."
Our patient dropped asleep almost as soon as he had had his meal, in
the very middle of a ceremonious speech of thanks, which sent Eustace
down to dinner more than ever sure that there was nothing like the
aristocracy, who all understood one another; and we left Richardson to
watch over him, and sleep in the dressing-room in case of such a
catastrophe as a rheumatic waking in the night.
We were standing about the fire in the hall, our usual morning
waiting-place before breakfast, and had just received Richardson's
report that his lordship had had a good night, seemed none the worse,
and would presently appear, but that he desired we would not wait
breakfast, when there was a hasty ring at the door, and no sooner was
it opened than Dermot Tracy, battered and worn, in a sou'-wester
sprinkled with snow and with boots up to his thighs, burst into the
hall.
"Alison, you there? All right, I want you," shaking hands in an
agitated way all round, and speaking very fast with much emotion. "I
want you to come and search for my poor uncle. He was certainly in the
train from Mycening that ran into a drift. Men went to get help;
couldn't get back for three hours. He wasn't there--never arrived at
home. My mother is in a dreadful state. Hogg is setting all the men
to dig at the Erymanth end. I've got a lot to begin in the Kalydon
cutting; but you'll come, Alison, you'll be worth a dozen of them. He
might be alive still, you see."
"Thank you, Dermot, I am happy to say that such is the case," said a
voice from the oak staircase, and down it was slowly proceeding Lord
Erymanth, as trim, and portly, and well brushed-up as if he had arrived
behind his two long-tailed bays.
Dermot, with his eyes full of tears, which he was squeezing and winking
away, and his rapid, broken voice, had seen and heard nothing in our
faces or exclamations to prepare him. He started violently and sprang
forward, meeting Lord Erymanth at the foot of the stairs, and wringing
both his hands--nay, I almost thought he would have kissed him, as he
broke out into some incoherent cry of scarcely-believing joy, which
perhaps surprised and touched the old man. "There, there, Dermot, my
boy, your solicitude is--is honourable to you; but restrain--restrain
it, my dear boy--we are not alone." And he advanced, a little
rheumatically, to us, holding out his hand with morning greetings.
"I must send to my mother. Joe is here with the sleigh," said Dermot.
"Uncle, how did you come here?" he added, as reflection only made his
amazement profounder.
"It is true, as you said just now, that Mr. Harold Alison is equal to a
dozen men. I owe my preservation, under Providence, to him," said Lord
Erymanth, who, though not a small man, had to look far up as Harold
stood towering above us all. "My most earnest acknowledgments are due
to him," he added, solemnly holding out his hand.
"I might have expected that!" ejaculated Dermot, while Harold took the
offered hand with a smile, and a mutter in his beard of "I am very
glad."
"I'll just send a line to satisfy my mother," said Dermot, taking a pen
from the inkstand on the hall-table. "Joe's here with the sleigh, and
we must telegraph to George St. Glear."
Lord Erymanth repeated the name in some amazement, for he was not
particularly fond of his heir.
"Hogg telegraphed to him this morning," and as the uncle observed,
"Somewhat premature," he went on: "Poor Hogg was beside himself; he
came to Arked at ten o'clock last night to look for you, and, luckily,
I was there, so we've been hallooing half the night along the line, and
then getting men together in readiness for the search as soon as it was
light. I must be off to stop them at once. I came in to get the
Alisons' help--never dreamt of such a thing as finding you here. And,
after all, I don't understand--how did you come?"
"I cannot give you a detailed account," said his lordship. "Mr. Harold
Alison roused me from a drowsiness which might soon, very probably,
have been fatal, and brought me here. I have no very distinct
recollection of the mode, and I fear I must have been a somewhat
helpless and encumbering burthen."
Dora put in her oar. "Harry can carry anything," she said; "he brought
you in so nicely on his back--just as I used to ride."
"On his back!"
"Yes," said Dora, who was fond of Mr. Tracy, and glad to impart her
information, "on his back, with his boots sticking out on each side, so
funnily!"
Lord Erymanth endeavoured to swallow the information suavely by the
help of a classical precedent, and said, with a gracious smile, "Then I
perceive we must have played the part of AEneas and Anchises--" But
before he had got so far, the idea had been quite too much for Dermot,
who cried out, "Pick-a-back! With his boots sticking out on both
sides! Thank you, Dora. Oh! my uncle, pick-a-back!" and went off in
an increasing, uncontrollable roar of laughter, while Harold, with a
great tug to his moustache, observed apologetically to Lord Erymanth,
"It was the only way I could do it," which speech had the effect of so
prolonging poor Dermot's mirth, that all the good effect of the feeling
he had previously displayed for his uncle was lost, and Lord Erymanth
observed, in his most dry and solemn manner, "There are some people who
can see nothing but food for senseless ridicule in the dangers of their
friends."
"My dear Lord Erymanth," I said, almost wild, "do just consider Dermot
has been up all night, and has had nothing to eat, and is immensely
relieved to find you all safe. He can't be expected to quite know what
he is about when he is so shaken. Come to breakfast, and we shall all
be better."
"That might be a very sufficient excuse for you or for Viola, my dear
Lucy," returned Lord Erymanth, taking, however, the arm I offered.
"Young _ladies_ may be very amiably hysterical, but a young man, in my
day, who had not trifled away his manliness, would be ashamed of such
an excuse."
There was a certain truth in what he said. Dermot was not then so
strong, nor had he the self-command he would have had, if his life had
been more regular; but he must always have had a much more sensitive
and emotional nature than his uncle could ever understand. The
reproach, however, sobered him in a moment, and he followed us gravely
into the dining-room, without uttering a word for the next quarter of
an hour; neither did Harold, who was genuinely vexed at having made the
old man feel himself ridiculous, and was sorry for the displeasure with
his friend. Nobody did say much except Eustace, who was delighted at
having to play host to such distinguished guests, and Lord Erymanth
himself, who was so gracious and sententious as quite to restore
Dermot's usual self by the time breakfast was over, and he saw his
servant bringing back his sleigh, in which he offered to convey his
uncle either home or to Arked. But it was still fitfully snowing, and
Lord Erymanth was evidently not without touches of rheumatism, which
made him lend a willing ear to our entreaties to him not to expose
himself. Harold then undertook to go in search of his portmanteau
either to the scene of the catastrophe or the Hall.
"My dear sir, I could not think of exposing you to a repetition of such
inclement weather as you have already encountered. I am well supplied
here, my young friend--I think I may use the term, considering that two
generations ago, at least, a mutual friendship existed between the
houses, which, however obscured for a time--hum--hum--hum--may be said
still to exist towards my dear friend's very amiable young daughter;
and although I may have regretted as hasty and premature a decision
that, as her oldest and most experienced--I may say paternal--friend, I
ventured to question--you will excuse my plain speaking; I am always
accustomed to utter my sentiments freely--yet on better
acquaintance--brought about as it was in a manner which, however
peculiar, and, I may say, unpleasant--cannot do otherwise than command
my perpetual gratitude--I am induced to revoke a verdict, uttered,
perhaps, rather with a view to the antecedents than to the individuals,
and to express a hope that the ancient family ties may again assert
themselves, and that I may again address as such Mr. Alison of
Arghouse."
That speech absolutely cleared the field of Harold and Dermot both. One
strode, the other backed, to the door, Dermot hastily said, "Good-bye
then, uncle, I shall look you up to-morrow, but I must go and stop
George St. Glear," and Harold made no further ceremony, but departed
under his cover.
Probably, Richardson had spoken a word or two in our favour to his
former master, for, when Lord Erymanth was relieved from his nephew's
trying presence, he was most gracious, and his harangues, much as they
had once fretted me, had now a familiar sound, as proving that we were
no longer "at the back of the north wind," while Eustace listened with
rapt attention, both to the long words and to anything coming from one
whose name was enrolled in his favourite volume; who likewise
discovered in him likenesses to generations past of Alisons, and seemed
ready to admit him to all the privileges for which he had been six
months pining.
At the first opportunity, Lord Erymanth began to me, "My dear Lucy, it
is a confession that to some natures may seem humiliating, but I have
so sedulously cultivated candour for my whole term of existence, that I
hope I may flatter myself that I am not a novice in the great art of
retracting a conclusion arrived at under premises which, though
probable, have proved to be illusory. I therefore freely confess that
I have allowed probability to weigh too much with me in my estimation
of these young men." I almost jumped for joy as I cried out that I
knew he would think so when he came to know them.
"Yes, I am grateful to the accident that has given me the opportunity
of judging for myself," quoth Lord Erymanth, and with a magnanimity
which I was then too inexperienced to perceive, he added, "I can better
estimate the motives which made you decide on fixing your residence
with your nephews, and I have no reluctance in declaring them natural
and praiseworthy." I showed my satisfaction in my old friend's
forgiveness, but he still went on: "Still, my dear, you must allow me
to represent that your residence here, though it is self-innocent,
exposes you to unpleasant complications. I cannot think it well that a
young lady of your age should live entirely with two youths without
female society, and be constantly associating with such friends as they
may collect round them."
I remember now how the unshed tears burnt in my eyes as I said the
female society had left me to myself, and begged to know with whom I
had associated. In return I heard something that filled me with
indignation about his nephew, Dermot Tracy, not being exactly the
companion for an unchaperoned young lady, far less his sporting
friends, or that young man who had been Dr. Kingston's partner. He was
very sorry for me, as he saw my cheeks flaming, but he felt it right
that I should be aware. I told him how I had guarded myself--never
once come across the sportsmen, and only seen Mr. Yolland
professionally when he showed me how to dress Harold's hand, besides
the time when he went over the pottery with us. Nay, Dermot himself
had only twice come into my company--once about his sister, and once to
inquire after Harold after the adventure with the lion.
There I found I had alluded to what made Lord Erymanth doubly convinced
that I must be blinded; my sight must be amiably obscured, as to the
unfitness--he might say, the impropriety of such companions for me. He
regretted all the more where his nephew was concerned, but it was due
to me to warn, to admonish, me of the true facts of the case.
I did not see how I could want any admonition of the true facts I had
seen with my own eyes.
He was intensely astonished, and did not know how to believe that I had
actually seen the lion overpowered; whereupon I begged to know what he
had heard. He was very unwilling to tell me, but it came out at last
that Dermot and Harold--being, he feared, in an improperly excited
condition--had insisted on going to the den with the keeper, and had
irritated the animal by wanton mischief, and he was convinced that this
could not have taken place in my presence.
I was indignant beyond measure. Had not Dermot told him the true
story? He shook his head, and was much concerned at having to say so,
but he had so entirely ceased to put any confidence in Dermot's
statements that he preferred not listening to them. And I knew it was
vain to try to show him the difference between deliberate falsehood,
which was abhorrent to Dermot, and the exaggerations and mystifications
to which his uncle's solemnity always prompted him. I appealed to the
county paper; but he had been abroad at the time, and had, moreover,
been told that the facts had been hushed up.
Happily, he had some trust in my veracity, and let me prove my perfect
alibi for Harold as well as for Dermot. When I represented how those
two were the only men among some hundreds who had shown either courage
or coolness, he granted it with the words, "True, true. Of course, of
course. That's the way good blood shows itself. Hereditary qualities
are sure to manifest themselves."
Then he let me exonerate Harold from the charge of intemperance,
pointing out that not even after the injury and operation, nor after
yesterday's cold and fatigue, had he touched any liquor; but I don't
think the notion of teetotalism was gratifying, even when I called it a
private, individual vow. Nor could I make out whether his Australian
life was known, and I was afraid to speak of it, lest I should be
betraying what need never be mentioned. Of Viola's adventure, to my
surprise, her uncle did not make much, but he had heard of that from
the fountain-head, unpolluted by Stympson gossip; and, moreover, Lady
Diana had been so disproportionately angry as to produce a reaction in
him. Viola was his darling, and he had taken her part when he had
found that she knew her brother was at hand. He allowed, too, that she
might fairly be inspired with confidence by the voice and countenance
of her captor, whom he seemed to view as a good-natured giant. But
even this was an advance on "the prize-fighter," as Lady Diana and the
Stympsons called him.
It was an amusing thing to hear the old earl moralising on the
fortunate conjunction of circumstances, which had brought the property,
contrary to all expectation, to the most suitable individual. Much did
I long for Harold to return and show what he was, but only his
lordship's servant, letters, and portmanteau came on an improvised
sleigh. He had an immense political, county, and benevolent
correspondence, and was busied with it all the rest of the day.
Eustace hovered about reverentially and obligingly, and secured the
good opinion which had been already partly gained by the statement of
the police at the Quarter Sessions, whence Lord Erymanth had been
returning, that they never had had so few cases from the Hydriot
potteries as during this last quarter. Who could be complimented upon
this happy state of things save the chairman? And who could
appropriate the compliment more readily or with greater delight? Even
I felt that it would be cruel high treason to demonstrate which was the
mere chess king.
Poor Eustace! Harold had infected me enough with care for him to like
to see him in such glory, though somewhat restless as to the
appearances of this first state dinner of ours, and at Harold's
absence; but, happily, the well-known step was in the hall before our
guest came downstairs, and Eustace dashed out to superintend the
toilette that was to be as worthy of meeting with an earl as nature and
garments would permit. "Fit to be seen?" I heard Harold growl. "Of
course I do when I dine with Lucy, and this is only an old man."
Eustace and Richardson had disinterred and brushed up Harold's only
black suit (ordered as mourning for his wife, and never worn but at his
uncle's funeral); but three years' expansion of chest and shoulder had
made it pinion him so as to lessen the air of perfect ease which,
without being what is called grace, was goodly to look upon. Eustace's
studs were in his shirt, and the unnatural shine on his tawny hair too
plainly revealed the perfumeries that crowded the young squire's
dressing-table. With the purest intentions of kindness Eustace had
done his best to disguise a demigod as a lout.
We had a diner a la Russe, to satisfy Eustace's aspirations as to the
suitable. I had been seeking resources for it all the afternoon and
building up erections with Richardson and Colman; and when poor Harold,
who had been out in the snow with nothing to eat since breakfast,
beheld it, he exclaimed, "Lucy, why did you not tell me? I could have
gone over to Mycening and brought you home a leg of mutton."
"Don't expose what a cub you are!" muttered the despairing Eustace. "It
is a deena a la Roos."
"I thought the Russians ate blubber," observed Harold, somewhat
unfeelingly, though I don't think he saw the joke; but I managed to
reassure him, sotto voce, as to there being something solid in the
background. He was really ravenous, and it was a little comedy to see
the despairing contempt with which he regarded the dainty little
mouthfuls that the cook viewed with triumph, and Eustace in equal
misery at his savage appetite; while Lord Erymanth, far too real a
gentleman to be shocked at a man's eating when he was hungry, was quite
insensible of the by-play until Harold, reduced to extremity at sight
of one delicate shaving of turkey's breast, burst out, "I say,
Richardson, I must have some food. Cut me its leg, please, at once!"
"Harry," faintly groaned Eustace, while Lord Erymanth observed, "Ah!
there is no such receipt for an appetite as shooting in the snow. I
remember when a turkey's leg would have been nothing to me, after being
out duck-shooting in Kalydon Bog. Have you been there to-day? There
would be good sport."
"No," said Harold, contented at last with the great leg, which seemed
in the same proportion to him as a chicken's to other men. "I have
been getting sheep out of the snow."
I elicited from him that he had, in making his way to Erymanth, heard
the barking of a dog, and found that a shepherd and his flock had taken
refuge in a hollow of the moor, which had partly protected them from
the snow, but whence they could not escape. The shepherd, a drover who
did not know the locality, had tried with morning light to find his way
to help, but, spent and exhausted, would soon have perished, had not
Harold been attracted by the dog. After dragging him to the nearest
farm, Harold left the man to be restored by food and fire, while
performing his own commission at the castle, and then returned to spend
the remainder of the daylight hours in helping to extricate the sheep,
and convey them to the farmyard, so that only five had been lost.
"An excellent, not to say a noble, manner of spending a winter's day,"
quoth the earl.
"I am a sheep farmer myself," was the reply.
Lord Erymanth really wanted to draw him out, and began to ask about
Australian stock-farming, but Harold's slowness of speech left Eustace
to reply to everything, and when once the rage of hunger was appeased,
the harangues in a warm room after twenty miles' walk in the snow, and
the carrying some hundreds of sheep one by one in his arms, produced
certain nods and snores which were no favourable contrast with
Eustace's rapt attention.
For, honestly, Eustace thought these speeches the finest things he had
ever heard, and though he seldom presumed to understand them, he
listened earnestly, and even imitated them in a sort of disjointed way.
Now Lord Erymanth, if one could manage to follow him, was always
coherent. His sentences would parse, and went on uniform
principles--namely, the repeating every phrase in finer words, with all
possible qualifications; whereas Eustace never accomplished more than
catching up some sonorous period; but as his manners were at their best
when he was overawed, and nine months in England had so far improved
his taste that he did not once refer to his presentation at Government
House, he made such an excellent impression that Lord Erymanth
announced that he was going to give a ball to introduce his niece, Miss
Tracy, on her seventeenth birthday, in January, and invited us all
thereto.
Eustace's ecstacy was unbounded. He tried to wake Harold to share it,
but only produced some murmurs about half-inch bullets: only when the
"Good-night" came did Harold rouse up, and then, of course, he was wide
awake; and while Eustace was escorting the distinguished guest to his
apartment, we stood over the hall fire, enjoying his delight, and the
prospect of his being righted with the county.
"And you will have your friends again, Lucy," added Harold.
"Yes, I don't suppose Lady Diana will hold out against him. He will
prepare the way."
"And," said Eustace, coming downstairs, "it is absolutely necessary
that you go and be measured for a dress suit, Harry."
"I will certainly never get into this again," he said, with a thwarted
sigh; "it's all I can do to help splitting it down the back. You must
get it off as you got it on."
"Not here!" entreated Eustace, alarmed at his gesture. "Remember the
servant. Oh Harold, if you could but be more the gentleman! Why
cannot you take example by me, instead of overthrowing all the
advantageous impressions that such--such a service has created? I
really think there's nothing he would not do for me. Don't you think
so, Lucy?"
"Could he do anything for Prometesky?" asked Harold.
"He could, more than anyone," I said; "but I don't know if he would."
"I'll see about that."
"Now, Harold," cried Eustace in dismay, "don't spoil everything by
offending him. Just suppose he should not send us the invitation!"
"No great harm done."
Eustace was incoherent in his wrath and horror, and Harold, too much
used to his childish selfishness to feel the annoyance, answered, "I
am not you."
"But if you offend him?"
"Never fear, Eu, I'll take care you don't fare the worse."
And as he lighted his candle he added to poor Eustace's discomfiture by
the shocking utterance under his beard:
"You are welcome to him for me, if you can stand such an old bore."