While such events as have just been described were passing in the
wood, the two travellers whom we first brought before the reader, and
to whom we must now return, rode on; but begging leave to pass over
all their farther journey, as it did not consist of more than half a
mile, we may bring them safe to the gate of the very house, whose
lights and shadows they had seen from the slope above the village.
By this time it was as dark as could well be desired. It was not
exactly Egyptian darkness, for there was nothing in it that could be
_felt_, but the sun was gone entirely; and the last fringe of his
golden robe had swept the sky some time. The moon was not yet up, so
that the stars had the sky all to themselves; but though they were
shining as brightly as they did many a thousand years ago, when they
were first sent glittering into the depths of space, they did very
little to show the travellers their way.
Edward de Vaux, indeed, had taken it into his head to go to the back
entrance of his aunt's house. But the truth is, he had worked himself
up, as he came along, into a belief that there might be some fuss made
upon his return, and had conjured up before his imagination everything
that might or could possibly occur, in which there was the least smack
of ridicule; although all the time he knew perfectly well that his
companion was of too generous and feeling a disposition even to dream
that anything was ridiculous which sprung from the heart. He well
knew, also, that those he was about to meet were by education, and
habit, and natural character, the last persons in the world to do or
say anything that was not graceful and _bienseant_. But still, as his
imagination was not the most tractable imagination in the world, but
roved hither and thither, whether he liked it or not, on all
occasions, he could not get the better of her in the present instance;
and therefore, in order that everything in the way of reception might
pass as quietly and as quickly as possible, he rode up to the gate of
the back court, and after feeling about for the bell for some time, he
rang for admittance.
After a little delay, a coachman with a powdered wig, and three rows
of curls round his ears, opened the gates with a lantern in his hand,
and demanded what the strangers wanted; but without other reply, De
Vaux rode into the yard with his companion, and springing to the
ground, exposed his well-known face to the glare of the lantern and
the wondering eyes of old Joseph, the immemorial coachman, who,
bursting forth into a loud exclamation, called vehemently to the
groom, and the helper, and the stable-boy. "The oaken doors returned a
brazen sound!" and not only those that the old curly-wigged official
of the hammercloth called to his aid appeared with ready promptitude,
but eke a footman emerged from the passage of the servants'-hall, and
two or three pippin-faced housemaids were seen "peeping from forth the
alleys green" beyond.
Thus, as usual, De Vaux's precaution in regard to not making a bustle
had, in fact, the very contrary effect in the house itself. But this
was not all: his method of proceeding had the very contrary effect
with his companion, also, to that which he had purposed. Colonel
Manners certainly did think, in the first instance, that such an
entrance was a somewhat strange one for the house he saw before him;
and when he found that it was in truth the stable-yard into which he
had been taken, he thought the conduct of his friend still stranger.
But by this time Charles Manners had known Edward de Vaux too long not
to have some slight insight into his character and into the weaknesses
thereof; and as they had ridden along together upon that day's
journey, various little traits, which might have escaped any but a
very keen and a very friendly eye, had given him the key of his
friend's feelings on his return--a key which he did not fail to apply
on the present occasion. The result was, that he soon comprehended the
general motives of De Vaux, though perhaps not all the little ins and
outs of the business--ins and outs, by-the-way, which depended as much
upon the plan and architecture of the house, and upon the fact of the
first landing of the grand staircase leading at once into the little
ante-room of the drawing-room, so that the voice and step of any one
ascending could be recognised instantly, as upon anything else in the
world.
A slight smile curled Colonel Manners's lip as he perceived what had
been passing in his friend's mind; but he would not have had that
smile seen for any recompense that could have been offered to him,
unless it had been that of curing his friend of a folly. But he knew
very well that De Vaux was not a man to be laughed out of anything on
earth; and that, with all his sensibility to ridicule, it was only so
long as the sneer was silent and suppressed that he cared anything
about it. The moment that the laugh was open, his pride took arms to
defend the position which he occupied, and every one knows that pride
would always rather blow up the place than capitulate.
Colonel Manners did, indeed, wish that his friend could be taught,
with the same sort of bold determination which he displayed in
opposing the loud laugh, to despise the silent sneer, which is as
often excited in the minds of the worldlings by traits of a good and
noble nature as by folly or by awkwardness: but he knew that the only
lessons he would receive upon the subject would be gentle ones, spoken
by the voice of friendship, without a touch of sarcasm.
"It is a pity, a great pity," thought he, "that De Vaux, who affects
to, and perhaps really does, despise the opinion of the general fool,
should thus, as it were, make himself a slave to the laugh of his own
fancy. I hope and trust that his fair future bride may have influence
enough to school him from these weaknesses."
Such was all his comment; and by the time it was made their horses
were in safe hands, and a footman, as antique as the coachman, was
leading the way up the back stairs towards the drawing-room.
De Vaux was somewhat uneasy at the back stairs, and at a distant
prospect of the kitchen, and the servants' hall, and the housekeeper's
room; but Manners, though he saw it all, appeared to see nothing,
rubbed his boot with his riding-whip, and talked of North America
with all the zeal and volubility of a Mohawk. His companion was
relieved; and following the fat legs and white stockings of the old
footman up the narrow staircase, they were soon in a small lobby which
led into the drawing-room. Soft Turkey carpets covered the floor of
the lobby; against each of the piers stood a small antique table of
tortoise-shell and brass; and in the deep recesses of the windows were
placed those immense and beautiful china jars which formed the glory
of our great-grandmothers. These again were filled with a composition
of all the sweet-scented leaves gathered from the garden during the
past year; and which, mingled with orris-root and many a fragrant
spice, diffused through the whole air a rich perfume of the eighteenth
century.
But there was music upon the air of this bower as well as perfume. It
was the music, however, of a sweet, low-toned woman's voice, speaking
some sentences of which nothing could be distinguished but the melody.
Nevertheless, it made the fitful colour come up for a moment in the
cheek of Edward de Vaux; and whether his heart beat more quickly, or
whether it maintained its even pulse, is a problem which we shall
leave others to solve; for, the next moment, the door was thrown open,
and the visiters all silently and unannounced entered the room.
It was a large handsome chamber, fitted up as unlike a modern
drawing-room as possible. There was nothing in it of the last
fashion, even of that day; but all was comfortable, and all bespoke
both taste and affluence. On the walls were a few cabinet pictures,
which at first appeared dark and dingy, but which, when any one
looked farther, turned out gems; and on the rich and massive marble
mantel-piece--which was itself nearly equal in size, and quite equal
in value, to a house in a modern square--were placed pagodas, and
feather fans, and screens, and many a little curiosity from different
parts of the world--bracelets that might have clasped the arm of
Cleopatra, and idols that had been acquainted with Captain Cook. The
room, like every clever room, had a great number of tables of all
sorts and sizes; and at two of these tables, not with hospitable cares
intent, but very busy with that sort of idleness which ladies call
work, sat two fair dames, who, in point of age, might divide between
them the apportioned years of man. The division of those seventy
years, however, was very unequal, as the one nearest the door had
monopolized at least forty-six of them to herself, and had left
her daughter--for such was the other lady--not much more than
twenty-three. They were both very handsome women nevertheless; the
mother feeling her years as light as a young king's crown, and the
daughter, in addition to a very beautiful person, and a face where all
that is fine was softened by all that is pleasing, having the advantage
of youth and all youth's graces. There was one peculiarity in her
countenance, which, as it had something to do with her mind, may
as well be noticed. It was one of those faces which love not
clouds--which smile where others frown; and as she sat with her eyes
bent upon a provoking knot in her work, which for the last ten minutes
had defied all her efforts to disentangle it, she was still
half-laughing at the perversity of the silk, which seemed to take a
pleasure in baffling her.
There was a third person in the drawing-room, younger than either, and
very different from both. As she lay upon a sofa at the other side of
the room, with a book in her hand, and her eyes bent upon the pages,
the light of the lamp falling at the same time from above upon her
clear fair forehead, on her beautiful eyelids with their long dark
eyelashes, and on the marble white chiselling of her nose and upper
lip, she did not appear to be more than eighteen; but her real age,
which we are bound to give, was twenty years, eleven months, and a few
days, the exact number of which is forgotten. Her form was light and
beautiful, and though those who did not love her might contend that
she was certainly not equal to the Medicean Venus, yet she was a great
deal more graceful than many another goddess, and as fair a specimen
of the fairest of earth's creatures as the eye of man has ever seen
since Eve's ill-fated experiment in Eden.
Her hair was of that glossy golden brown, which is so beautiful and so
seldom seen; and as the whole party had given up the expectation of
their visiters for that night, she had turned back the shining curls
which would have fallen into her eyes while reading; so that, with a
wavy line on either side, they left her fair forehead bare, and formed
a bunch of ringlets behind each ear, that might have defied the chisel
of a Chantry.
As the door which admitted De Vaux and his companion was that which
led to the back staircase, the party in the drawing-room concluded,
naturally enough, that it was opened by one of the domestics on some
of the many motives or pretexts upon which a servant can visit the
drawing-room. No one took any notice, no one looked up; and the fair
girl upon the sofa went on commenting upon the book in her hand,
without knowing that any one was listening to her gentle criticism.
Thus each of the two visiters had time to make their own observations,
if they chose it. A bright pleased smile lighted up the rough features
of Colonel Manners, as he was thus at once admitted, without the help
of an Asmodeous into the very heart of an English domestic circle, to
each member of which he was a stranger. To him it was a sight full of
pleasure and interest; it was a sight that he had seldom seen even
when in England, and which he had not seen at all for several years
while serving abroad: but it was one which fancy had often renewed for
him in his solitary wanderings, which had been painted to his eye in
the still night, and in the tented field on distant shores, which had
been to him a dream, whereunto imagination could cling without the
apprehension of disappointment; for he had ever thought of it as a
thing whereof he might be the spectator, but never a sharer in its
dearer ties.
As for Edward de Vaux, he _did not_ choose to make any observations on
the scene at all, for more fastidious in anticipation than in reality,
the moment he was in the midst of his domestic circle a host of bright
warm feelings rose up at once in his heart, and trampled every cold
calculation of Chesterfieldism beneath their feet. Passing the old
servant, who was himself amused to see the unconsciousness of the
party in the drawing-room, De Vaux at once advanced towards the fair
girl on the sofa. But there was a sound in his step different from
that of any of the servants, which only let him pass half across the
room ere her eyes were raised from the book and fell upon him. The
sight instantly called into them a gleam as bright as sunshine after a
storm, and the warm, eloquent blood rose into her cheek and brow,
while with a voice of unquestionable icy, she exclaimed, "Edward! My
dear aunt, here is Edward!"
The next moment, however, the light of her glance faded away, the
blood ebbed back from her cheek, and from that moment it was scarcely
perceivable that Edward de Vaux was anything more to her than an
intimate friend. It was all the work of an instant, and Colonel
Manners had only time to think, "This is all very odd!" ere the other
two ladies rose to welcome his companion and himself; while the one
who had spoken, gracefully but composedly drew her small foot from the
sofa to the ground, and advanced to meet her lover; contriving to
execute what is sometimes a difficult man[oe]uvre, without showing
half an inch of her ankle, though it might very well have borne the
display.
The elder lady now of course took the lead, and expressed her joy at
the return of her nephew, in a manner which showed how compatible real
dignity and grace are with every zealous and kindly feeling. "And
this," she said the next moment, "is of course Colonel Manners; though
you have not introduced him to me, Edward; but Colonel Manners indeed
requires no introduction here; for allow me to say, my dear sir, that
even were it not that you had saved the life of my nephew, and
rendered him so many inestimable services, the son of your mother, who
was my dear and early friend, would always be the most welcome of
guests at my fire-side."
Colonel Manners bowed, and replied, "I have been lucky enough to find
among my mother's papers, madam, the letters of the Honourable Mrs.
Falkland; and am aware how fortunate in a friend my parent was during
the greater part of her short life. Most proud shall I be if the son
may merit some portion of the same regard which you bestowed upon the
mother."
"You already command it, Colonel Manners," she replied:
"Isadore,--Marian--Colonel Manners! My daughter--my niece, Miss De
Vaux."
Now this introduction puzzled Colonel Manners a good deal, for reasons
which may as well be explained. He had heard long before, while
abroad, that his friend Edward de Vaux, the only son of Lord Dewry,
was affianced to his cousin, and that their marriage was to take place
as soon as the young heir of the barony could return to his native
country, provided that the lady were by that time of age. In the
course of their intimacy in other lands, De Vaux had often spoken of
his fair cousin Marian, and had indeed on their return besought
Colonel Manners to accompany him down to the house of his aunt, in
order to act the part of bridesman at his wedding, which was to take
place immediately. With this request we have seen that he complied;
but he had completely made up his mind to the belief that his friend
was about to be united to the daughter of Mrs. Falkland, and he was
now surprised to find a Miss De Vaux, towards whom the manner of
Edward de Vaux was not exactly that which men assume towards their
sisters. Besides, her name was Marian, that of his promised bride; and
although this discovery, leaping over the head of all his own
preconceptions, puzzled Colonel Manners for a moment, he soon set it
all to rights in his own mind, by supposing, what was in fact the
truth, that the fair girl we have described was the daughter of Lord
Dewry's brother.
All the while he was settling this to his own satisfaction, he was
going through the manual of politeness, and doing De Vaux the favour
of talking to Mrs. Falkland and her daughter, while the lover spoke in
a lower tone to the other fair cousin. Whatever he said, however,
seemed to have no very great effect upon her. She smiled, and seemed
to answer him kindly and affectionately; but she displayed no further
sign of that agitation which a girl in her situation might be expected
to feel on the return of her lover from a long and dangerous
expedition. Once, indeed, she laid her hand upon the table near her,
and Colonel Manners saw that, notwithstanding the general composure
which she seemed to feel, that hand trembled so much, that, as if
conscious its tremour might be perceived, she instantly withdrew it,
and suffered her arm to fall gracefully by her side.
Manners marked all this, for from their first acquaintance De Vaux had
interested him, as much perhaps by the contrast of the little foibles
of his character with the greater and nobler qualities it possessed,
as by any other circumstance: he had gradually suffered a deep regard
for him to rise up in his heart; he had permitted imagination to
indulge herself with bright pictures of his friend's domestic
happiness; and in every little trait connected therewith he had a sort
of personal feeling, which made him seek to discover all that he
wished might be.
After standing booted and spurred in the middle of the room for about
ten minutes, and having learned that their servants had arrived with
their baggage early in the morning of the same day, the two gentlemen
retired to cast off their travelling costume, and attire themselves in
apparel more suited to the drawing-room. Colonel Manners proceeded to
the task systematically; and although he knew that nothing on earth
could ever make him handsome, yet he took every reasonable pains with
his dress, and was soon ready to descend again, with that neat, clean,
soldier-like appearance for which he was particularly distinguished.
De Vaux acted differently, as may well be supposed, and giving his man
the keys of the trunk-mails, he cast himself on a chair; and, with his
arms leaning on the dressing-table, remained for full ten minutes in
deep and somewhat melancholy thought, while the servant continued to
torment him every other minute, with--"Sir, do you want this?" or,
"Sir, shall I do that?"
Into his private thoughts we shall not at present pry, although we
consider that we have a right to do so whenever the necessities of the
tale may demand it; but in this instance it is only requisite to give
the ending reflection of his revery, which may serve as a key to all
the rest. "How cold Manners must have thought her reception of me! and
yet her own lips, which never from her infancy spoke any thing but
truth, have given me the assurance of her love. Well, we cannot change
people's nature!--and yet she was very different as a child!"
Such were the last dying words of his meditation and then, starting
up, he proceeded hastily to dress himself, addressing the servant with
as much impatience as if the man had been dreaming instead of himself.
"There, give me that coat," he exclaimed. "Set down the dressing-case
here. Put those shoes on the other side of the table; and throw the
stockings over the back of the chair. How slow you are, William! Here
now, pull off these great boots, and then go and see that old Joseph
does not poison the horses with any of his nostrums." These various
commands the man obeyed with as much promptitude as possible; and
after he was gone, De Vaux proceeded to dress himself with all the
haste of one who is afraid of being detected in loitering away his
time. He was half-way through the operation, and was just arranging
his hair, when Manners, whose rooms were on the opposite side of the
corridor, rejoined him; and they descended together, without having
made any comment on the subject which was certainly next to the heart
of Edward de Vaux. He felt that in common delicacy he could not begin
it, though he would have given worlds, by any curious process of
distillation, to have extracted Colonel Manners's first impression of
her he loved; and Manners was resolved to see more and judge more
clearly, ere he ventured even the common nothings which are usually
said upon such occasions.
In the meanwhile, the ladies in the drawing-room had not, of course,
refrained from comment on the appearance and arrival of their
visiters. As the first object of all their affections was Edward de
Vaux, his appearance and health naturally occupied several moments ere
anything else was thought of.
"How very well he looks!" said Mrs. Falkland; "his health seems
greatly improved."
"I never saw him look so handsome," said Isadore Falkland, "though he
was wrapped in that horrid great coat."
Marian de Vaux said nothing, but she repaid her cousin for her praises
of her lover's looks by a smile as bright as an angel's, which
fluttered away in a warm blush, though it had nearly been drowned in
some sparkling drops that rose into her eyes. So she turned away, and
began playing with the seals on the writing-table.
"I am delighted that Edward has prevailed on Colonel Manners to come
down with him," said Mrs. Falkland; "for I have longed to see him on
his mother's account."
"And I, because he saved Edward's life," said Marian de Vaux.
"And I am delighted too," said Isadore Falkland, "because he seems a
very agreeable gentlemanly man, though certainly a very ugly one--I
think as ugly a man as I ever saw."
"His face is certainly not handsome," replied her mother; "but his
figure seems remarkably fine. His mother was as beautiful a woman as
ever lived; and I have heard that till he was twenty he was equally
good looking."
"Poor fellow!" cried Isadore; "he has been very unfortunate, then; for
it is better to be born ugly than to become so afterward."
"I did not think him ugly at all," said Marian de Vaux.
"That was because you only saw the man that saved Edward's life,"
replied Isadore, laughing; "but he is not beautiful, I can assure you,
Marian."
"Happy are they, my dear Isadore," replied her mother, "who can 'see
Othello's visage in his mind;' and I do not think you, my dear girl,
are one either, to value any one for their personal appearance."
"No, no, no, mamma! I am not," answered Miss Falkland; "but still,
some sensible old gentleman has said that a good countenance is
the best letter of recommendation; and now, had it not been that you
had known Colonel Manners's mother, or that he had saved Edward's
life--yet, notwithstanding--" she added, breaking off her sentence
abruptly--"after all, perhaps, his face is just the one from which we
should expect a man to save people's lives, and do a great many brave
and noble things."
"I think so, certainly," answered Mrs. Falkland. "However ugly it may
be, I have seldom seen a face through which a fine mind shone out so
distinctly."
Such was the tenour of the conversation that went on in the
drawing-room till the two gentlemen returned, and by their presence
took themselves out of the range of topics. Other subjects were soon
started, and filled the hours till supper-time. Edward de Vaux
naturally took the place he loved best; and what passed between him
and his fair cousin was not always loud enough in its tone, or general
enough in its nature, to be very distinct to the rest of the party, or
very interesting to the reader. Manners, who knew as well as any one
how to effect a diversion in favour of a friend, placed himself near
the other ladies, and displayed such stores of varied information as
well occupied their attention. Those stores were somewhat desultory,
perhaps, but they were gained from every source. Man, and all the fine
and all the amusing traits of his character; countries, and all their
beauties and their disadvantages; the history of other times, the
varied events of the present; matters of taste and of science, the
light wit of a playful imagination, and the choice knowledge procured
by very extensive reading; all seemed to come within the scope of his
mind. All too, had been refined and ornamented by judgment and good
feeling, and his conversation had still the peculiar charm of
appearing far less profound than it really was. It was all light, and
playful, and gay; and yet, on rising from it, one felt improved and
instructed, without well knowing how or in what. His memory, too, was
excellent, and stored with a number of little anecdotes and beautiful
scraps of poetry; and, without ever seeming to intrude them, he knew
how to mingle them in the general current of what was passing, with
tact almost as skilful as that of the greatest writer and most amiable
man that centuries have witnessed upon earth--Sir Walter Scott.
So extensive, indeed, seemed to have been the reading of their new
acquaintance, that Mrs. Falkland wondered thereat in silence; while
Isadore, well knowing that there is scarcely any question on the face
of the earth that a young and pretty woman may not ask of a man under
forty with perfect _bienseance_ and propriety, looked up with a smile,
and said--"Pray tell me, Colonel Manners, where you have found time,
while you have been defeating the king's enemies night and day, to
read everything of every kind that is worth reading."
"Oh, madam," he replied, "I am afraid I have read but little as
compared with what I might have done. A soldier's life is the most
favourable of all others for general reading; though, perhaps, not for
pursuing steadily any particular study. He is for a few days full of
active employment, and then for many more has hardly anything to do;
and if he gives one half of his spare time to reading, he will, I
believe, read more than many a philosopher. The only difficulty is in
procuring books that are worth the trouble of poring over."
In such conversation passed the hours till supper; for those were days
of supper,--that most pleasant and sociable of all ways of acquiring
the nightmare. When the meal was announced, it of course caused some
derangement in the local position of the parties; and Edward de Vaux
being brought for a moment nearer to his aunt than his other
occupations had hitherto permitted, she took the opportunity of
saying,--"I hope, Edward, your father will not be at all offended at
your coming here first. He is sometimes a little _ombrageux_, you
know; and I would advise you to ride over tomorrow as early as
possible."
"Oh! no fear of his being offended, my dear aunt," he replied. "In the
first place, he wrote to give me that assurance. In the next place, as
we chose to ride our own two best horses down, rather than trust them
to two break-neck grooms, we could not have gone seventeen miles
farther to-night: and in the last place," he added, in a lower tone,
"you know that his lordship never likes visiters to take him by
surprise; and as the invitation to Manners was yours, not his, of
course I could not have brought him to the hall without writing, which
I had no time to do. There is nothing he hates so much as any one
taking him by surprise."
Almost as he spoke, the old servant Peter, who had retired after
announcing supper, once more threw the door open with a portentous
swing, and proclaimed, in a loud voice, "Lord Dewry!" Something like a
smile glanced upon Mrs. Falkland's lip, as the sudden and unexpected
arrival of her brother contrasted somewhat strangely with what her
nephew had just been saying. She paused in her progress to the
supper-room, however; and, in a moment after, with a slow step, which
was languid without being feeble, Lord Dewry entered the ante-room,
and came forward towards them.
While he is in the act of doing so, let us paint him to the reader--at
least, as far as the outward man is concerned. Of the inward man more
must be said hereafter. He was tall--perhaps six feet high, or very
near it--and well made, though not excessively thin. His frame was
broad, and had been very powerful; his shoulders wide, his chest
expansive, and his waist remarkably small. In feature, too, it could
be still discerned that he had once been a very handsome man; but his
face was now thin and sharp, and his complexion extremely sallow. His
eyes, however, were still fine, and his teeth of a dazzling whiteness.
He might have numbered sixty years, but he looked somewhat older,
although he had taken a good deal of pains with his dress, and lay
under considerable obligations to his valet-de-chambre. The first
impression produced on the mind of a stranger by the appearance of
Lord Dewry was imposing but not pleasing; and, unfortunately, the
unpleasant effect did not wear off. He looked very much the peer and
the man of consequence, but there was a gloomy cloud upon his brow
which was not melancholy, and a curl of the lip which was not a smile,
and both prepared the mind of all who approached him, for not the most
agreeable man in the world. His general expression, too, was cold, he
had a look like the easterly wind, at once chilling and piercing; and
though report said that he had been a very fascinating man in his
youth, and had not always made the best use of his powers of pleasing,
he did not seem at present to consider it at all necessary to use any
effort to render himself agreeable, farther than the common forms of
society and what was due to his own station required.
"Well, my lord," said Mrs. Falkland, as he came forward, "I am happy
to see you come to welcome our wanderer back again."
As she spoke, Edward advanced to his father, who grasped his hand
eagerly, while a smile of unfeigned pleasure for a single instant
spread a finer expression over the worn features of the baron.
"Welcome back, Edward!" he said; "welcome back! you look remarkably
well! I have to apologize, Maria," he added, turning to his sister
after this brief salutation bestowed upon his son, "I have to
apologize for coming thus, without notice; but I have some business
to-morrow, down at the park-house, of which I knew nothing till this
morning; and I also wished to see Edward, whose devoirs here," and he
turned towards Marian, "I knew must first be paid, according to all
the rules of gallantry. How are you, my fair niece? You look a little
pale. How are you, Isadore?" And the peer, without waiting to hear how
any one was, cast his eyes upon the ground, and fixing upon a spot in
the carpet, seemed calculating geometrically the precise measurement
of all its strange angles.
"We were just going to supper, my lord," said Mrs. Falkland; "will you
come with us? But first let me introduce you to Colonel Manners." Lord
Dewry acknowledged the introduction by a cold bow, while Manners said
some words of course; and the question of supper being renewed, the
nobleman agreed to go down with the party to the table, though he
bestowed a word or two of heavy censure on the meal they were about to
take.
"It is, nevertheless," said Colonel Manners, "from its very hour, the
most sociable one of the whole day; for by this time, in general, all
the cares, and annoyances, and labours of the busy daylight are over;
and, as is justly observed--I forget where--'nothing remains for us
but enjoyment and repose.'"
"Eating and sleep!" muttered Lord Dewry; "the delights of a hog and a
squirrel;" but as what he said did not seem intended to be heard,
Colonel Manners made no reply, though he did hear it; and the party
seated themselves round the supper-table, in walking towards which
these few sentences had passed. For some time the presence of the peer
seemed destined to cast a gloom over the society in which he had so
suddenly appeared. His manner even here, in the midst of his nearest
relations, and by the side of his newly-returned son, was cold, stern,
and gloomy, only broken by some flash of cynical scorn for things that
other people valued, or by some biting sneer at the follies and
weaknesses of his fellow-creatures.
To his niece Marian de Vaux, however, his conduct was very different.
At table he placed himself by her side; made an evident effort to
render himself agreeable to her; and whenever he spoke to her softened
his tone, and endeavoured to call up a smile. Such was his conduct on
the present evening; but it maybe necessary also to stretch our view
over the past, for his behaviour to his niece had always formed a
strange contrast to his conduct towards others. The first effect of
her presence, when he had not seen her for some time, was almost
always to throw him into a fit of deep gloom; and those who watched
him narrowly might have remarked his lip move, as if he were speaking
to himself, though no sound was heard. From this fit of abstraction he
generally roused himself soon, but it was evidently at the cost of
great efforts; and then he would speak to his niece with a degree of
tenderness which bordered on timidity, and treat her with attention
approaching to gallantry. Any one who saw him in conversation with her
might easily conceive him to have been the fascinating and courtly man
that report had represented him in his younger days; and there was a
kindness and gentleness in his whole demeanour towards her, which,
together with the family name that she bore, had often caused her to
be taken for his daughter. Nevertheless, even across the moments when
he seemed exerting himself to please her, would break occasionally the
same fits of gloom, called up by apparently the least calculated to
produce any such effect. They were then always brief, however; and a
seemed that the original exertion to conquer the dark feelings which
the first sight of his niece appeared to arouse, was sufficient to
hold all the rest in check.
It was only to her, however, that he was thus gentle. Her presence
made no difference in his conduct towards others; and the moment his
attention or his speech was called from the conversation with his
niece, he seemed to become a different being,--dark, stern, and
overbearing.
Such a demeanour, of course, was not calculated to promote any thing
like cheerful conversation; and the atmosphere of his gloom would have
affected all those by whom he was surrounded, and extinguished every
thing like pleasure for that night, had it not been for the
counteracting influence of Colonel Manners. He, without the slightest
touch of obtrusiveness or self-conceit, by a just estimation of
himself and others, was always in possession of his own powers of
mind; and never suffered the presence of any other individual--unless,
indeed, it was that of one whom he could at once admire and love--to
give a tone to his behaviour, to restrain him in what he chose to say,
or to frighten him from what he chose to do.
He took the tone of his conversation from his own heart, and from its
feelings at the time; and, guarded by fine sensibilities, good taste,
knowledge of the world, and a refined education, there was not the
slightest fear that he would ever give pain to any one whose
approbation he valued. Of all this he was himself well aware; and,
after a few moments given to something like wonder at the character of
Lord Dewry, he proceeded in the same manner as if such a person had
not been in existence.
Isadore Falkland, as soon as she found that such powerful support was
prepared for her, boldly resisted the influence of her uncle's
presence also. Mrs. Falkland, whose naturally strong mind was not
unfitted to cope with her brother, held on the even tenour of her way;
and Edward de Vaux joining in, the conversation soon became once more
general and cheerful. It had taken another turn, however; and the
subject had become the mutual adventures of Colonel Manners and Edward
de Vaux, in the war which was then raging between France and England
in North America. Many was the wild enterprise, many the curious
particular, that they had to speak of; "hair's breadth escapes and
perils imminent"--scenes and persons quite fresh and strange to
Europeans; a new world, and all that a new world contained, with a
system of warfare totally different from any thing that had ever been
seen on the older continents. At that time, neither a barbarous policy
nor a criminal negligence had produced any of those lamentable results
which are rapidly exterminating the Indian nations of America: but, at
the same time, a most barbarous policy had--instead of endeavouring to
civilize and soften the dusky natives of the woods, the real lords of
the land--had engaged them, with all their fierce and horrid modes of
warfare, in the contention between the two great bands of European
robbers, who were struggling for the country that really belonged to
the savage. Of these Indian nations, and of their wild habits, both
Manners and De Vaux spoke at large; and many a strange scene had they
witnessed together among the uncultivated woods and untamed people of
the transatlantic world.
Often, too, Manners, with kind and friendly zeal, would make Edward de
Vaux the hero of his tale; and while he related, as if he were
speaking of ordinary events, some gallant exploit or some noble
action, would suffer his eye to glance for a single instant,
unperceived, to the countenance of Marian de Vaux; it was generally
calm and tranquil--beautiful, but still; yet occasionally, when the
moment of danger or of interest came, and when Edward extricated
himself gallantly from some difficult or dangerous situation, there
was a bright light beamed up in her eyes, a long-drawn breath, and a
flickering colour, which satisfied Manners that all was well.
Nevertheless, Manners could not, of course, speak of his friend's
adventures without a little delicate man[oe]uvring, in order to make
the tale appear more a general than a personal one; nor could he
continue the subject long. Often, therefore, he returned to the
Indians, and often to the state of America in general, while Mrs.
Falkland and her daughter gave him, by manifold questions and
observations, full opportunity of varying the subject _ad libitum_.
They sought to know, among other facts, what link of connection could
possibly have sprung up between the Indians and the Europeans so
strong as to make the savage nations have any feeling of regard or
interest towards either of the countries which only struggled to
monopolize the means of plundering and destroying them.
"Oh, you must not think, my dear madam," answered Colonel Manners,
"that all persons who visit America are actuated by one selfish
motive, or pursue one system of fraud and oppression towards the
Indians. On the contrary, there are many who go over there with the
philanthropic motive of civilizing and benefiting the savage tribes
themselves; and who, in the endeavour to effect this object, display a
degree of wisdom, perseverance, judgment, and courage, that is quite
astonishing. Nor are these qualities without the most immense effect
upon the wild aborigines of the land, who look up to such men almost
as they would to a god. De Vaux and I know a very remarkable instance
of the kind, in one of the most noble-spirited and excellent of human
beings, to whom we are both under no small obligations. He nursed me
through a long and severe fever, when my senses were quite gone; and
afterward enabled me, by his influence with the Indians, to render
your nephew some small service--which, however, was entirely
attributable to his exertions."
"Nay, nay, Manners," replied De Vaux; "to yours as much as his, and
more; for had you not ventured, at the head of a party of Indians, two
hundred miles into a hostile country, not a step of which you knew--"
"Well, well, De Vaux," answered his friend, "you must own that he went
with me, though he did not know you, and I did. You must not take away
from the merit of my hero, for such I intend to make him in these
ladies' eyes. I know not, however, how you will like a hero of sixty,
Miss Falkland; but such, I must confess, he is at least. He has now
lived for many years, upon the very borders of civilization, or rather
beyond it, for his house is surrounded by forests and Indian wigwams.
He has never taken any part in the contentions of the tribes, and
seems equally venerated by all, showering good and blessings upon the
heads of every one who approaches him. He is deeply versed in the laws
and the manners of the natives, too; and, though a finished and
elegant scholar and gentleman, conforms when necessary, to their
usages, in a manner that is at once amusing and admirable. He is, at
the same time, the most skilful and indefatigable hunter that the
world, perhaps, ever produced,--an accomplishment which renders him
still more venerable in the eyes of the Indians, who, on account of
all these qualities, have named him 'The White Father.'"[2]
---------------------
[Footnote 2: We need hardly point out to the reader, that though the
name Has been changed, the character of a well-known individual is not
here overdrawn.]
---------------------
"Delightful creature!" exclaimed Miss Falkland, with her beautiful
eyes sparkling like diamonds; "but tell me, Colonel Manners, tell me,
what is he like? Mamma, if you have no objection, I will go out and
marry him."
"None in the world, my love!" answered Mrs. Falkland; "but, perhaps,
it may be better, first, to send over and ask whether he will marry
you."
"That he will of course," answered she: "but, Colonel Manners, you
have not told me what he is like--in person I mean."
"Oh, he is fresh and hale as a life of exercise and a heart at rest
can make him," replied Manners. "Indeed, he is as handsome a man as
ever I saw."
"Oh, that will do exactly!" cried Miss Falkland, laughing. Colonel
Manners smiled too; but there was a tinge of melancholy in his smile;
for, however much he might have made up his mind to the fact, that
personal beauty is an indispensable requisite to obtain woman's love,
yet every little trait which served to confirm that opinion touched a
gloomy chord in his bosom, which again called forth the tone of many a
harmonizing feeling, and made somewhat sad music within.
"And pray, Colonel Manners," said Lord Dewry, with the cold, if not
supercilious tone which he generally employed, "what may be the name
of the wonderful person who does all these wonderful things?"
"The name, my lord," replied Colonel Manners coolly, "the name of the
gentleman who went two hundred miles into the Indian country to save
your son, Captain de Vaux from the tomahawk, without ever having seen
him, is one known throughout the greater part of America,--Sir William
Ryder."
Lord Dewry turned suddenly still paler than he was before; and then as
red as fire. Whether it was that some feelings had been excited by
that name with which he did not choose to trust his lips, or whether
his emotion proceeded from temporary illness, did not appear; but he
replied nothing; and Colonel Manners, by whom the peer's agitation had
not been totally unmarked, went on. "If I remember right," he said, "I
heard Sir William Ryder ask after your lordship's health from De Vaux,
and say that he had known you many years ago in England."
"I once knew, sir," replied Lord Dewry, drawing himself up, "I once
knew an unworthy blackguard of that name, who is now I believe, in
America; but he has no right to claim acquaintance with me."
De Vaux looked at his father with astonishment, and then turned his
eyes towards Manners, as if to pray him patience; but his friend was
perfectly calm, and replied:--"Your lordship must allude to some
different person, as the description does not at all correspond with
him of whom I speak."
"No, no, sir," answered the baron, reddening, "I speak of the same
person,--there can be no doubt of it,--a gambling beggar!"
"If you do speak of the same person, Lord Dewry," replied Colonel
Manners, quite calmly, "I must beg of you to remember, that you speak
of my friend; and in the presence of one who does not like to hear his
friend's character assailed."
"Indeed, sir, indeed!" exclaimed Lord Dewry, rising; "do you kindly
wish to dictate to me, in my sister's house, what I am to say of a
person, who it seems, has formed an unfortunate intimacy with my own
son; and is, as I said, a gambling beggar?"
Manners paused a moment. He and De Vaux were alike under deep
obligations to the man of whom Lord Dewry spoke; and he felt that the
language used by the peer was not only a gross personal insult to both
of them, but especially to himself, who had been the means of
introducing him to his companion, and who had the moment before
bestowed such high and unqualified praise on the very person whom he
now heard reviled. He remembered Lord Dewry's age and situation,
however, and his own particular position, and endeavoured to moderate
his reply as much as possible; though to pass the matter over in
silence, or to leave the charges of the peer without direct
contradiction, he felt to be impossible, as an officer, a man of
honour, or the friend of Sir William Ryder.
"Your personal opinion, my lord," he answered, "you may, of course,
express to your own son, or your own family whenever you like,
provided it be not injurious to any friend of mine. In which last case
I shall, as before, beg your lordship to refrain in my presence, for I
am not a man to hear a friend calumniated in silence."
"Calumniated, sir! calumniated!" exclaimed Lord Dewry.
"Yes, sir, such was the word I made use of," replied Colonel Manners,
"because the expressions you applied to Sir William Ryder were
calumnious, if applied to my friend, whom a long life of noble actions
raises above suspicion; but I trust and believe we are speaking of
different persons."
"'Tis well, sir; 'tis very well!" replied Lord Dewry, appearing to
grow somewhat cooler; "'tis extremely well!--I trust it is as you say.
Give me a glass of soda-water. Maria, I shall now retire to rest;
I am somewhat fatigued: my apartments are, I think, opposite the
drawing-room. Good-night!--Colonel Manners, I wish you good-night!"
And, bowing with low and bitter courtesy, he left the room.
Colonel Manners, whatever might be his feelings, and whatever might be
his intentions, took no notice of what had passed after Lord Dewry
left the room, although he could not but feel that he had been
insulted by a man whose age protected him; but both Mrs. Falkland and
De Vaux spoke upon the subject, after a moment's painful pause. The
first apologized with dignified mildness for the occurrence, and
assuring her visiter that something strange and extraordinary must
have irritated her brother during the course of the day, or that he
would not so far have forgot his usual _bienseance_; and the latter
pressed his friend with kindly earnestness to forget what had
occurred, and not to suffer it to affect his conduct, or abridge his
stay.
Colonel Manners smiled, and suffered himself to be overcome: "You
know, De Vaux, that I am not one to be driven from my position by the
first fire," he said; "and as I suppose that Lord Dewry and myself
will not meet very frequently after the present time, we shall have
but few opportunities of being as agreeable to each other as we have
been to-night."
Thus ended the conversation, and soon after the party separated, each
grieving not a little that the harmony of the evening had been so
unfortunately interrupted, when there was no reason to expect such an
event.