PEREGRINE'S ELOQUENCE.
In the last chapter Peregrine Orme called at Orley Farm with the
view of discussing with Lucius Mason the conduct of their respective
progenitors; and, as will be remembered, the young men agreed in
a general way that their progenitors were about to make fools of
themselves. Poor Peregrine, however, had other troubles on his mind.
Not only had his grandfather been successful in love, but he had
been unsuccessful. As he had journeyed home from Noningsby to The
Cleeve in a high-wheeled vehicle which he called his trap, he had
determined, being then in a frame of mind somewhat softer than was
usual with him, to tell all his troubles to his mother. It sounds as
though it were lack-a-daisical--such a resolve as this on the part
of a dashing young man, who had been given to the pursuit of rats,
and was now a leader among the sons of Nimrod in the pursuit of
foxes. Young men of the present day, when got up for the eyes of the
world, look and talk as though they could never tell their mothers
anything,--as though they were harder than flint, and as little in
want of a woman's counsel and a woman's help as a colonel of horse
on the morning of a battle. But the rigid virility of his outward
accoutrements does in no way alter the man of flesh and blood who
wears them; the young hero, so stern to the eye, is, I believe, as
often tempted by stress of sentiment to lay bare the sorrow of his
heart as is his sister. On this occasion Peregrine said to himself
that he would lay bare the sorrow of his heart. He would find out
what others thought of that marriage which he had proposed to
himself; and then, if his mother encouraged him, and his grandfather
approved, he would make another attack, beginning on the side of the
judge, or perhaps on that of Lady Staveley.
But he found that others, as well as he, were labouring under a
stress of sentiment; and when about to tell his own tale, he had
learned that a tale was to be told to him. He had dined with Lady
Mason, his mother, and his grandfather, and the dinner had been very
silent. Three of the party were in love, and the fourth was burdened
with the telling of the tale. The baronet himself said nothing on the
subject as he and his grandson sat over their wine; but later in the
evening Peregrine was summoned to his mother's room, and she, with
considerable hesitation and much diffidence, informed him of the
coming nuptials.
"Marry Lady Mason!" he had said.
"Yes, Peregrine. Why should he not do so if they both wish it?"
Peregrine thought that there were many causes and impediments
sufficiently just why no such marriage should take place, but he
had not his arguments ready at his fingers' ends. He was so stunned
by the intelligence that he could say but little about it on that
occasion. By the few words that he did say, and by the darkness of
his countenance, he showed plainly enough that he disapproved. And
then his mother said all that she could in the baronet's favour,
pointing out that in a pecuniary way Peregrine would receive benefit
rather than injury.
"I'm not thinking of the money, mother."
"No, my dear; but it is right that I should tell you how considerate
your grandfather is."
"All the same, I wish he would not marry this woman."
"Woman, Peregrine! You should not speak in that way of a friend whom
I dearly love."
"She is a woman all the same." And then he sat sulkily looking at the
fire. His own stress of sentiment did not admit of free discussion
at the present moment, and was necessarily postponed. On that other
affair he was told that his grandfather would be glad to see him on
the following morning; and then he left his mother.
"Your grandfather, Peregrine, asked for my assent," said Mrs. Orme;
"and I thought it right to give it." This she said to make him
understand that it was no longer in her power to oppose the match.
And she was thoroughly glad that this was so, for she would have
lacked the courage to oppose Sir Peregrine in anything.
On the next morning Peregrine saw his grandfather before breakfast.
His mother came to his room door while he was dressing to whisper
a word of caution to him. "Pray, be courteous to him," she
said. "Remember how good he is to you--to us both! Say that you
congratulate him."
"But I don't," said Peregrine.
"Ah, but, Peregrine--"
"I'll tell you what I'll do, mother. I'll leave the house altogether
and go away, if you wish it."
"Oh, Peregrine! How can you speak in that way? But he's waiting now.
Pray, pray, be kind in your manner to him."
He descended with the same sort of feeling which had oppressed him on
his return home after his encounter with Carroty Bob in Smithfield.
Since then he had been on enduring good terms with his grandfather,
but now again all the discomforts of war were imminent.
"Good morning, sir," he said, on going into his grandfather's
dressing-room.
"Good morning, Peregrine." And then there was silence for a moment or
two.
"Did you see your mother last night?"
"Yes; I did see her."
"And she told you what it is that I propose to do?"
"Yes, sir; she told me."
"I hope you understand, my boy, that it will not in any way affect
your own interests injuriously."
"I don't care about that, sir--one way or the other."
"But I do, Peregrine. Having seen to that I think that I have a right
to please myself in this matter."
"Oh, yes, sir; I know you have the right."
"Especially as I can benefit others. Are you aware that your mother
has cordially given her consent to the marriage?"
"She told me that you had asked her, and that she had agreed to it.
She would agree to anything."
"Peregrine, that is not the way in which you should speak of your
mother."
And then the young man stood silent, as though there was nothing more
to be said. Indeed, he had nothing more to say. He did not dare to
bring forward in words all the arguments against the marriage which
were now crowding themselves into his memory, but he could not induce
himself to wish the old man joy, or to say any of those civil things
which are customary on such occasions. The baronet sat for a while,
silent also, and a cloud of anger was coming across his brow; but he
checked that before he spoke. "Well, my boy," he said, and his voice
was almost more than usually kind, "I can understand your thoughts,
and we will say nothing of them at present. All I will ask of you is
to treat Lady Mason in a manner befitting the position in which I
intend to place her."
"If you think it will be more comfortable, sir, I will leave The
Cleeve for a time."
"I hope that may not be necessary--Why should it? Or at any rate, not
as yet," he added, as a thought as to his wedding day occurred to
him. And then the interview was over, and in another half-hour they
met again at breakfast.
In the breakfast-room Lady Mason was also present. Peregrine was the
last to enter, and as he did so his grandfather was already standing
in his usual place, with the book of Prayers in his hand, waiting
that the servants should arrange themselves at their chairs before he
knelt down. There was no time then for much greeting, but Peregrine
did shake hands with her as he stept across to his accustomed corner.
He shook hands with her, and felt that her hand was very cold; but he
did not look at her, nor did he hear any answer given to his muttered
words. When they all got up she remained close to Mrs. Orme, as
though she might thus be protected from the anger which she feared
from Sir Peregrine's other friends. And at breakfast also she sat
close to her, far away from the baronet, and almost hidden by the urn
from his grandson. Sitting there she said nothing; neither in truth
did she eat anything. It was a time of great suffering to her, for
she knew that her coming could not be welcomed by the young heir. "It
must not be," she said to herself over and over again. "Though he
turn me out of the house, I must tell him that it cannot be so."
After breakfast Peregrine had ridden over to Orley Farm, and there
held his consultation with the other heir. On his returning to The
Cleeve, he did not go into the house, but having given up his horse
to a groom, wandered away among the woods. Lucius Mason had suggested
that he, Peregrine Orme, should himself speak to Lady Mason on this
matter. He felt that his grandfather would be very angry, should he
do so. But he did not regard that much. He had filled himself full
with the theory of his duties, and he would act up to it. He would
see her, without telling any one what was his purpose, and put it
to her whether she would bring down this destruction on so noble a
gentleman. Having thus resolved, he returned to the house, when it
was already dark, and making his way into the drawing-room, sat
himself down before the fire, still thinking of his plan. The room
was dark, as such rooms are dark for the last hour or two before
dinner in January, and he sat himself in an arm-chair before the
fire, intending to sit there till it would be necessary that he
should go to dress. It was an unaccustomed thing with him so to place
himself at such a time, or to remain in the drawing-room at all till
he came down for a few minutes before dinner; but he did so now,
having been thrown out of his usual habits by the cares upon his
mind. He had been so seated about a quarter of an hour, and was
already nearly asleep, when he heard the rustle of a woman's garment,
and looking round, with such light as the fire gave him, perceived
that Lady Mason was in the room. She had entered very quietly, and
was making her way in the dark to a chair which she frequently
occupied, between the fire and one of the windows, and in doing so
she passed so near Peregrine as to touch him with her dress.
"Lady Mason," he said, speaking, in the first place, in order that
she might know that she was not alone, "it is almost dark; shall I
ring for candles for you?"
She started at hearing his voice, begged his pardon for disturbing
him, declined his offer of light, and declared that she was going up
again to her own room immediately. But it occurred to him that if it
would be well that he should speak to her, it would be well that he
should do so at once; and what opportunity could be more fitting than
the present? "If you are not in a hurry about anything," he said,
"would you mind staying here for a few minutes?"
"Oh no, certainly not." But he could perceive that her voice trembled
in uttering even these few words.
"I think I'd better light a candle," he said; and then he did light
one of those which stood on the corner of the mantelpiece,--a
solitary candle, which only seemed to make the gloom of the large
room visible. She, however, was standing close to it, and would have
much preferred that the room should have been left to its darkness.
"Won't you sit down for a few minutes?" and then she sat down. "I'll
just shut the door, if you don't mind." And then, having done so, he
returned to his own chair and again faced the fire. He saw that she
was pale and nervous, and he did not like to look at her as he spoke.
He began to reflect also that they might probably be interrupted by
his mother, and he wished that they could adjourn to some other room.
That, however, seemed to be impossible; so he summoned up all his
courage, and began his task.
"I hope you won't think me uncivil, Lady Mason, for speaking to you
about this affair."
"Oh no, Mr. Orme; I am sure that you will not be uncivil to me."
"Of course I cannot help feeling a great concern in it, for it's very
nearly the same, you know, as if he were my father. Indeed, if you
come to that, it's almost worse; and I can assure you it is nothing
about money that I mind. Many fellows in my place would be afraid
about that, but I don't care twopence what he does in that respect.
He is so honest and so noble-hearted, that I am sure he won't do me a
wrong."
"I hope not, Mr. Orme; and certainly not in respect to me."
"I only mention it for fear you should misunderstand me. But there
are other reasons, Lady Mason, why this marriage will make me--make
me very unhappy."
"Are there? I shall be so unhappy if I make others unhappy."
"You will then,--I can assure you of that. It is not only me, but
your own son. I was up with him to-day, and he thinks of it the same
as I do."
"What did he say, Mr. Orme?"
"What did he say? Well, I don't exactly remember his words; but he
made me understand that your marriage with Sir Peregrine would make
him very unhappy. He did indeed. Why do you not see him yourself, and
talk to him?"
"I thought it best to write to him in the first place."
"Well, now you have written; and don't you think it would be well
that you should go up and see him? You will find that he is quite as
strong against it as I am,--quite."
Peregrine, had he known it, was using the arguments which were of all
the least likely to induce Lady Mason to pay a visit to Orley Farm.
She dreaded the idea of a quarrel with her son, and would have made
almost any sacrifice to prevent such a misfortune; but at the present
moment she feared the anger of his words almost more than the anger
implied by his absence. If this trial could be got over, she would
return to him and almost throw herself at his feet; but till that
time, might it not be well that they should be apart? At any rate,
these tidings of his discontent could not be efficacious in inducing
her to seek him.
"Dear Lucius!" she said, not addressing herself to her companion, but
speaking her thoughts. "I would not willingly give him cause to be
discontented with me."
"He is, then, very discontented. I can assure you of that."
"Yes; he and I think differently about all this."
"Ah, but don't you think you had better speak to him before you quite
make up your mind? He is your son, you know; and an uncommon clever
fellow too. He'll know how to say all this much better than I do."
"Say what, Mr. Orme?"
"Why, of course you can't expect that anybody will like such a
marriage as this;--that is, anybody except you and Sir Peregrine."
"Your mother does not object to it."
"My mother! But you don't know my mother yet. She would not object to
have her head cut off if anybody wanted it that she cared about. I
do not know how it has all been managed, but I suppose Sir Peregrine
asked her. Then of course she would not object. But look at the
common sense of it, Lady Mason. What does the world always say when
an old man like my grandfather marries a young woman?"
"But I am not--." So far she got, and then she stopped herself.
"We have all liked you very much. I'm sure I have for one; and I'll
go in for you, heart and soul, in this shameful law business. When
Lucius asked me, I didn't think anything of going to that scoundrel
in Hamworth; and all along I've been delighted that Sir Peregrine
took it up. By heavens! I'd be glad to go down to Yorkshire myself,
and walk into that fellow that wants to do you this injury. I would
indeed; and I'll stand by you as strong as anybody. But, Lady Mason,
when it comes to one's grandfather marrying, it--it--it--. Think what
people in the county will say of him. If it was your father, and if
he had been at the top of the tree all his life, how would you like
to see him get a fall, and be laughed at as though he were in the mud
just when he was too old ever to get up again?"
I am not sure whether Lucius Mason, with all his cleverness, could
have put the matter much better, or have used a style of oratory more
efficacious to the end in view. Peregrine had drawn his picture with
a coarse pencil, but he had drawn it strongly, and with graphic
effect. And then he paused; not with self-confidence, or as giving
his companion time to see how great had been his art, but in want of
words, and somewhat confused by the strength of his own thoughts. So
he got up and poked the fire, turning his back to it, and then sat
down again. "It is such a deuce of a thing, Lady Mason," he said,
"that you must not be angry with me for speaking out."
"Oh, Mr. Orme, I am not angry, and I do not know what to say to you."
"Why don't you speak to Lucius?"
"What could he say more than you have said? Dear Mr. Orme, I would
not injure him,--your grandfather, I mean,--for all that the world
holds."
"You will injure him;--in the eyes of all his friends."
"Then I will not do it. I will go to him, and beg him that it may not
be so. I will tell him that I cannot. Anything will be better than
bringing him to sorrow or disgrace."
"By Jove! but will you really?" Peregrine was startled and almost
frightened at the effect of his own eloquence. What would the baronet
say when he learned that he had been talked out of his wife by his
grandson?
"Mr. Orme," continued Lady Mason, "I am sure you do not understand
how this matter has been brought about. If you did, however much it
might grieve you, you would not blame me, even in your thoughts.
From the first to the last my only desire has been to obey your
grandfather in everything."
"But you would not marry him out of obedience?"
"I would--and did so intend. I would, certainly; if in doing so I did
him no injury. You say that your mother would give her life for him.
So would I;--that or anything else that I could give, without hurting
him or others. It was not I that sought for this marriage; nor did I
think of it. If you were in my place, Mr. Orme, you would know how
difficult it is to refuse."
Peregrine again got up, and standing with his back to the fire,
thought over it all again. His soft heart almost relented towards the
woman who had borne his rough words with so much patient kindness.
Had Sir Peregrine been there then, and could he have condescended so
far, he might have won his grandson's consent without much trouble.
Peregrine, like some other generals, had expended his energy in
gaining his victory, and was more ready now to come to easy terms
than he would have been had he suffered in the combat.
[Illustration: Peregrine's Eloquence.]
"Well," he said after a while, "I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you
for the manner in which you have taken what I said to you. Nobody
knows about it yet, I suppose; and perhaps, if you will talk to the
governor--"
"I will talk to him, Mr. Orme."
"Thank you; and then perhaps all things may turn out right. I'll go
and dress now." And so saying he took his departure, leaving her to
consider how best she might act at this crisis of her life, so that
things might go right, if such were possible. The more she thought of
it, the less possible it seemed that her affairs should be made to go
right.