"SEEKING REST AND FINDING NONE"
But great nations do not plunge recklessly into war, nor even do
mountain tribes rise suddenly in rebellion because an elderly gentleman
is suffering like some sentimental school-girl from a disappointment of
the heart. General St. Josephs extorted, indeed, from a great personage
the promise that if anything turned up he would not be forgotten, and
was fain to content himself, for the time, with a pledge in which he
knew he could place implicit trust. So the weary, hot months dragged
on, and he remained in London, solitary, silent, preoccupied, wandering
about the scenes of his former happiness, like a ghost. He went
yachting, indeed, with one friend, and agreed on a pedestrian excursion
through Switzerland with another; but the "sad sea waves" were too
sad for him to endure, and the energy that should have taken him over
a mountain, or up a glacier, seemed to fail with the purchase of a
knapsack and the perusal of a foreign Bradshaw, so the walking tour was
abandoned, and the friend rather congratulated himself on escaping such
a mournful companion.
When autumn came round with its many temptations to Scotland, where the
muir-fowl were crowing about their heathery knolls, and the red-deer
sunning their fat backs on the leeward side of the corrie, he did
indeed avail himself of certain invitations to the hospitable North;
and the General, who could level rifle or fowling-piece, breast a hill,
or plunge through a moss with his juniors by twenty years, strove
hard in fatigue of body to earn repose for the mind. But he did not
stay long; the grand, grave beauty of those silent hills oppressed
and tortured him. He pitied the wild old cock, flapping its life out
on its own purple heather, fifty yards off, mowed down by his deadly
barrel, even as it rose. When he had stalked the "muckle red hart" with
antlered front of royalty, and three inches of fat on those portly
sides, up the burn, and under the waterfall, and through the huge
grey boulders of eternal rock, to sight the noble beast fairly from a
leeward ambush, and bring it down, pierced through the heart with a
long and "kittle" shot, his triumph was all merged in sorrow for the
dead monarch lying so calm and stately in the quiet glen, not perhaps
without a something of envy, for a creature thus insensible, and at
rest for evermore.
The foresters wondered to see him in no way triumphant, and when they
heard next morning he was gone, shook their heads, opining that "It was
a peety! She was a pratty shot, and a fery tight shentlemans on a hill."
It was _work_ the General required, not amusement; so he journeyed
sadly back, to await in London the command he hoped would ere long
recall him to a profession he had always loved, that seemed now to
offer the sympathy and solace of a home.
Sometimes, but this only in moments of which he was ashamed, he would
speculate on the possibility of meeting Miss Douglas by accident in the
great city, and it soothed him to fancy the explanations that would
ensue. He never dreamed of their resuming their old footing; for the
General's forbearance hitherto had sprung from the strength, not the
weakness of his character, and the same stubborn gallantry that held
his position was available to cover his defeat; but it would be a keen
pleasure, he thought, though a sad one, to look in her face just once
more. After that he might turn contentedly Eastward, go back into
harness, and never come to England again.
In the meantime, the days that dragged so wearily with St. Josephs,
danced like waves in the sunshine through many of those other lives
with which he had been associated in his late history. Amongst all
gregarious animals, it is the custom for a sick or wounded beast to
withdraw from the herd, who in no way concern themselves about its
fate, but continue their browsings, baskings, croppings, waterings,
and friskings, with a well-bred resignation to another's plight worthy
of the human race. If the General's friends and acquaintance asked
each other what had become of him, and waited for an answer, they were
satisfied with the conventional surmise--
"Gone to Scotland, I fancy. They tell me it's a wonderful year for
grouse!"
Mrs. Lushington, yachting at Cowes, and remaining a good deal at
anchor, because it was "blowing fresh outside," thought of him perhaps
more than anybody else. Not that she felt the least remorseful for the
break-up she believed to have originated solely in her own manoeuvres.
She was persuaded that her information conveyed through the anonymous
letter had aroused suspicions which, becoming certainties on inquiry,
detached him from Satanella, and, completely mistaking his character,
considered it impossible, but that their dissolution of partnership
originated with the gentleman. How the lady fared interested her but
little, and in conversation with other dearest friends, she usually
summed up the fate of this one by explaining--
"It was _impossible_ to keep poor Blanche straight. Always excitable,
and unlike other people, you know. Latterly, I am afraid, _more_ than
flighty, my dear, and _more_ than odd."
Besides, Mrs. Lushington, as usual, had a great deal of business on
hand. For herself and her set Cowes was nothing in the world but London
gone down to the sea. Shorter petticoats, and hats instead of bonnets,
made the whole difference. There were the same attractions, the same
interests, the same intrigues. Even the same bores went to and fro,
and bored, as they breathed, more freely in the soft, Channel air.
Altogether, it was fresher and quieter, but, if possible, stupider than
Pall Mall.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Lushington, being in her natural element, exercised
her natural functions. She was hard at work, trying to mate Bessie
Gordon, nothing loth, with a crafty widower, who seemed as shy of
the bait as an old gudgeon under Kew Bridge. She had undertaken, in
conspiracy with other frisky matrons, to spoil poor Rosie Barton's game
with young Wideacres, the catch of the season; and they liked each
other so well that this job alone kept her in constant employment. She
had picnics to organise, yachting parties to arrange, and Frank to keep
in good humour; the latter no easy task, for Cowes bored him extremely,
and, to use his own words, "he wished the whole place at the devil!"
She felt also vexed and disappointed that the General had withdrawn
himself so entirely from the sphere of her attractions, reflecting that
she saw a great deal more of him before he was free. Added to her other
troubles was the unpardonable defection of Soldier Bill. That volatile
light dragoon had never been near her since Daisy's marriage--a
ceremony in which he took the most lively interest, comporting himself
as "best man" with an unparalleled audacity, and a joyous flow of
spirits, that possessed, for a gathering composed of Hibernians, the
greatest attractions. People said, indeed, that Bill had shown himself
not entirely unaffected by the charms of a lovely bridesmaid, the
eldest of Lady Mary's daughters; and it was impossible to over-estimate
the danger of his position under such suggestive circumstances as must
arise from a wedding in the house.
Then a grey hair or two had lately shown themselves in her abundant
brown locks; while of the people she chose to flirt with, some
neglected her society for a cruise, others afforded her more of the
excitement produced by rivalry than she relished, none paid her the
devoted attention she had learned to consider her due. Altogether, Mrs.
Lushington began to find life less _couleur de rose_ than she could
wish, and to suspect the career she had adopted was not conducive to
happiness, or even comfort. Many people make the same discovery when it
is too late to abandon the groove in which they have elected to run.
Daisy, in the meantime, true to his expressed intention of turning over
a new leaf, found no reason to be dissatisfied with his lot. You might
search Ireland through, and it is saying a good deal, without finding
a more joyous couple than Captain and Mrs. Walters. The looked-for
promotion arrived at last, and the bridegroom had the satisfaction of
seeing himself gazetted to a troop on the very morning that provided
him with a wife. Old Macormac was pleased, Lady Mary was pleased,
everybody was pleased. The Castle blazed with light and revelry, the
tenants drank, danced, and shouted. The "boys" burnt the mountain with
a score of bonfires, consuming whisky, and breaking each other's heads
to their own unbounded satisfaction. In short, to use the words of
Peter Corrigan, the oldest solvent tenant on the estate, "The masther's
wedding was a fool to't! May I never see glory av' it wasn't betther
divarsion than a wake!"
But Norah's gentle heart, even in her own new-found happiness, had
a thought for the beautiful and stately Englishwoman, whom, if she
somewhat feared her as a rival, she yet loved dearly as a friend.
"What's gone with her, Daisy?" she asked her young husband, before they
had been married a fortnight. "Sure she would never take up with the
nice old gentleman, a general he was, that marked the race-cards for us
at Punchestown. Oh, Daisy! how I cried that night, because you didn't
win!"
They were walking by the river-side, where they landed the big fish at
an early period of their acquaintance, and Norah brought the gaff to
bear in more ways than she suspected; where they parted so hopelessly,
when, because of his very desolation, the true and generous girl had
consented to plight him her troth; and where they had hardly dared to
hope they would meet again in such a glow of happiness as shone round
them to-day. It was bright spring weather when they wished each other
that sorrowful good-bye. Now, the dead leaves were falling thick and
fast in the grey autumn gloom. Nevertheless, this was the real vernal
season of joy and promise for both those loving hearts.
"What a goose you were to back me!" observed Daisy, with a pressure of
the arm that clung so tight round his own. "It served you right, and I
hope cured you of betting once for all!"
"That's no answer to my question," persisted Mrs. Walters. "I'm asking
you to tell me about my beautiful Blanche Douglas, and why wouldn't the
old General marry her if she'd have him."
"That's it, dear!" replied her husband. "She _wouldn't_ have him!
She--she accepted him, I _know_, and then she threw him over."
"What a shame!" exclaimed Norah. "Though, to be sure, he might have
been her father." Then a shadow passed over her fair young brow, and
she added wistfully, "Ah, Daisy! I'm thinking I know who she wanted all
the time."
"Meaning _me_?" said Daisy, with a frank, saucy smile, that brought the
mirth back to her face, and the sunshine to her heart.
"Meaning _you_, sir!" she repeated playfully. "But it's very conceited
of you to think it, and very wrong to let it out. It's not so
wonderful, after all," she added, looking proudly in his handsome young
face. "I suppose I'm not the only girl that's liked you, dear, by a
many. I oughtn't to expect it!"
"The only one that's _landed_ the fish," laughed Daisy, stopping in
the most effectual manner a little sigh with which she was about to
conclude her peroration. "You're mistaken about Miss Douglas, though,"
he added, "I give you my word. She hadn't your good taste, my dear, and
didn't _see_ it! Look, Norah, there's the very place I left Sullivan's
fishing-rod. He'll never get it again, so it's lucky I bought his
little brown horse. I wonder who found it? What a day that was! Norah,
do you remember?"
"_Remember!_"
So the conversation turned on that most interesting of
topics--themselves, and did not revert to Satanella nor her doings. If
Norah was satisfied, Daisy felt no wish to pursue the subject. However
indiscreet concerning his successes, I think when a man has been
refused by another lady, he says nothing about it to his wife.