"It is never the same two hours together in this country," said my
Uncle Roland, as, after dinner, or rather after dessert, we joined my
mother in the drawing-room.
Indeed, a cold drizzling rain had come on within the last two hours;
and, though it was July, it was as chilly as if it had been October.
My mother whispered to me, and I went out: in ten minutes more, the
logs (for we lived in a wooded country) blazed merrily in the grate.
Why could not my mother have rung the bell, and ordered the servant to
light a fire? My dear reader, Captain Roland was poor, and he made a
capital virtue of economy!
The two brothers drew their chairs near to the hearth: my father at
the left, my uncle at the right; and I and my mother sat down to "Fox
and geese."
Coffee came in--one cup for the Captain--for the rest of the party
avoided that exciting beverage. And on that cup was a picture of--His
Grace the Duke of Wellington!
During our visit to the Roman camp, my mother had borrowed Mr
Squills's chaise, and driven over to our market town, for the express
purpose of greeting the Captain's eyes with the face of his old chief.
My uncle changed colour, rose, lifted my mother's hand to his lips,
and sate himself down again in silence.
"I have heard," said the Captain, after a pause, "that the Marquis of
Hastings, who is every inch a soldier and a gentleman--and that is
saying not a little, for he measures seventy-five inches from the
crown to the sole--when he received Louis XVIII. (then an exile) at
Donnington, fitted up his apartments exactly like those his majesty
had occupied at the Tuilleries--it was a kingly attention, (my Lord
Hastings, you know, is sprung from the Plantagenets)--a kingly
attention to a king. It cost some money and made some noise. A woman
can show the same royal delicacy of heart in this bit of porcelain,
and so quietly, that we men all think it a matter of course, brother
Austin."
"You are such a worshipper of women, Roland, that it is melancholy to
see you single. You must marry again!"
My uncle first smiled, then frowned, and lastly sighed somewhat
heavily.
"Your time will pass slowly in your old tower, poor brother,"
continued my father, "with only your little girl for a companion."
"And the past!" said my uncle; "the past, that mighty world--"
"Do you still read your old books of chivalry, Froissart and the
Chronicles, Palmerin of England and Amadis of Gaul?"
"Why," said my uncle, reddening, "I have tried to improve myself with
studies a little more substantial. And" (he added with a sly smile)
"there will be your great book for many a long winter to come."
"Um!" said my father, bashfully.
"Do you know," quoth my uncle, "that Dame Primmins is a very
intelligent woman; full of fancy, and a capital story-teller?"
"Is not she, uncle!" cried I, leaving my fox in a corner. "Oh, if you
could have heard her tell me the tale of King Arthur and the enchanted
lake, or the grim white women!"
"I have already heard her tell both," said my uncle.
"The deuce you have, brother! My dear, we must look to this. These
captains are dangerous gentlemen in an orderly household. Pray, where
could you have had the opportunity of such private communications with
Mrs Primmins?"
"Once," said my uncle, readily, "when I went into her room, while she
mended my stock; and once--" he stopped short, and looked down.
"Once when? out with it."
"When she was warming my bed," said my uncle, in a half whisper.
"Dear!" said my mother, innocently, "that's how the sheets came by
that bad hole in the middle. I thought it was the warming-pan."
"I am quite shocked!" faltered my uncle.
"You well may be," said my father. "A woman who has been heretofore
above all suspicion! But come," he said, seeing that my uncle looked
sad, and was no doubt casting up the probable price of twice six yards
of Holland; "but come, you were always a famous rhapsodist or
tale-teller yourself. Come, Roland, let us have some story of your
own; something your experience has left strong in your impressions."
"Let us first have the candles," said my mother.
The candles were brought, the curtain let down--we all drew our chairs
to the hearth. But, in the interval, my uncle had sunk into a gloomy
reverie; and, when we called upon him to begin, he seemed to shake off
with effort some recollections of pain.
"You ask me," he said, "to tell you some tale which my own experience
has left deeply marked in my impressions--I will tell you one apart
from my own life, but which has often haunted me. It is sad and
strange, ma'am."
"Ma'am, _brother_?" said my mother reproachfully, letting her small
hand drop upon that which, large and sunburnt, the Captain waved
towards her as he spoke.
"Austin, you have married an angel!" said my uncle; and he was, I
believe, the only brother-in-law who ever made so hazardous an
assertion.