The following day brought a large party of the military elegants to the
Hall, in acceptance of the baronet's hospitable invitation to dinner.
Lady Moseley was delighted; so long as her husband's or her children's
interest had demanded a sacrifice of her love of society it had been
made without a sigh, almost without a thought. The ties of affinity in
her were sacred; and to the happiness, the comfort of those in which she
felt an interest, there were few sacrifices of her own propensities she
would not cheerfully have made: it was this very love of her offspring
that made her anxious to dispose of her daughters in wedlock. Her own
marriage had been so happy, that she naturally concluded it the state
most likely to ensure the happiness of her children; and with Lady
Moseley, as with thousands of others, who averse or unequal to the
labors of investigation, jump to conclusions over the long line of
connecting reasons, marriage was marriage, a husband was a husband. It
is true there were certain indispensables, without which the formation
of a connexion was a thing she considered not within the bounds of
nature. There must be fitness in fortune, in condition, in education,
and manners; there must be no glaring evil, although she did not ask for
positive good. A professor of religion herself, had any one told her it
was a duty of her calling to guard against a connexion with any but a
Christian for her girls, she would have wondered at the ignorance that
would embarrass the married state, with feelings exclusively belonging
to the individual. Had any one told her it were possible to give her
child to any but a gentleman, she would have wondered at the want of
feeling that could devote the softness of Jane or Emily, to the
association with rudeness or vulgarity. It was the misfortune of Lady
Moseley to limit her views of marriage to the scene of this life,
forgetful that every union gives existence to a long line of immortal
beings, whose future welfare depends greatly on the force of early
examples, or the strength of early impressions.
The necessity for restriction in their expenditures had ceased, and the
baronet and his wife greatly enjoyed the first opportunity their
secluded situation had given them, to draw around their board their
fellow-creatures of their own stamp. In the former, it was pure
philanthropy; the same feeling urged him to seek out and relieve
distress in humble life; while in the latter it was love of station and
seemliness. It was becoming the owner of Moseley Hall, and it was what
the daughters of the Benfield family had done since the conquest.
"I am extremely sorry," said the good baronet at dinner, "Mr. Denbigh
declined our invitation to-day; I hope he will yet ride over in the
evening."
Looks of a singular import were exchanged between Colonel Egerton and
Sir Herbert Nicholson, at the mention of Denbigh's name; which, as the
latter had just asked the favor of taking wine with Mrs. Wilson, did not
escape her notice. Emily had innocently mentioned his precipitate
retreat the night before; and he had, when reminded of his engagement to
dine with them that very day, and promised an introduction to Sir
Herbert Nicholson by John, in her presence, suddenly excused himself and
withdrawn. With an indefinite suspicion of something wrong, she
ventured, therefore, to address Sir Herbert Nicholson.
"Did you know Mr. Denbigh, in Spain?"
"I told Miss Emily Moseley, I believe, last evening, that I knew some of
the name," replied the gentleman evasively; then pausing a moment, he
added with great emphasis, "there is a circumstance connected with one
of that name, I shall ever remember."
"It was creditable, no doubt, Sir Herbert," cried young Jarvis,
sarcastically. The soldier affected not to hear the question, and asked
Jane to take wine with him. Lord Chatterton, however, putting his knife
and fork down gravely, and with a glow of animation, observed with
unusual spirit,
"I have no doubt it was, sir."
Jarvis in his turn, affected not to hear this speech, and nothing
farther was said, as Sir Edward saw that the name of Mr. Denbigh excited
a sensation amongst his guests for which he was unable to account, and
which he soon forgot himself.
After the company had retired, Lord Chatterton, however, related to the
astonished and indignant family of the baronet the substance of the
following scene, of which he had been a witness that morning, while on a
visit to Denbigh at the rectory. They had been sitting in the parlor by
themselves, over their breakfast, when a Captain Digby was announced.
"I have the honor of waiting upon you, Mr. Denbigh," said the soldier,
with the stiff formality of a professed duellist, "on behalf of Captain
Jarvis, but will postpone my business until you are at leisure,"
glancing his eye on Chatterton.
"I know of no business with Captain Jarvis," said Denbigh, politely
handing the stranger a chair, "to which Lord Chatterton cannot be privy;
if he will excuse the interruption. The nobleman bowed, and Captain
Digby, a little awed by the rank of Denbigh's friend, proceeded in a
more measured manner.
"Captain Jarvis has empowered me, sir, to make any arrangement with
yourself or friend, previously to your meeting, which he hopes may be as
soon as possible, if convenient to yourself," replied the soldier,
coolly.
Denbigh viewed him for a moment with astonishment, in silence; when
recollecting himself, he said mildly, and without the least agitation,
"I cannot affect, sir, not to understand your meaning, but am at a loss
to imagine what act of mine can have made Mr. Jarvis wish to make such
an appeal."
"Surely Mr. Denbigh cannot think a man of Captain Jarvis's spirit can
quietly submit to the indignity put upon him last evening, by your
dancing with Miss Moseley, after she had declined the honor to himself,"
said the captain, affecting an incredulous smile. "My Lord Chatterton
and myself can easily settle the preliminaries, as Captain Jarvis is
much disposed to consult your wishes, sir, in this affair."
"If he consults my wishes," said Denbigh, smiling, "he will think no
more about it."
"At what time, sir, will it be convenient to give him the meeting?"
then, speaking with a kind of bravado gentlemen of his cast are fond of
assuming, "my friend would not hurry any settlement of your affairs."
"I can never meet Captain Jarvis with hostile intentions," replied
Denbigh, calmly.
"Sir!"
"I decline the combat, sir," said Denbigh, with more firmness.
"Your reasons, sir, if you please?" asked Captain Digby compressing his
lips, and drawing up with an air of personal interest.
"Surely," cried Chatterton, who had with difficulty estrained his
feelings, "surely Mr. Denbigh could never so far forget himself as
cruelly to expose Miss Moseley by accepting this invitation."
"Your reason, my lord," said Denbigh, with interest, "would at all times
have its weight; but I wish not to qualify an act of what I conceive to
be principle by any lesser consideration. I cannot meet Captain Jarvis,
or any other man, in private combat. There can exist no necessity for an
appeal to arms in any society where the laws rule, and I am averse to
bloodshed."
"Very extraordinary," muttered Captain Digby, somewhat at a loss how to
act; but the calm and collected manner of Denbigh prevented a reply; and
after declining a cup of tea, a liquor he never drank, he withdrew,
saying he would acquaint his friend with Mr. Denbigh's singular notions.
Captain Digby had left Jarvis at an inn, about half a mile from the
rectory, for the convenience of receiving early information of the
result of his conference. The young man had walked up and down the room
during Digby's absence, in a train of reflections entirely new to him.
He was the only son of his aged father and mother, the protector of his
sisters, and, he might say, the sole hope of a rising family; and then,
possibly, Denbigh might not have meant to offend him--he might even have
been engaged before they came to the house; or if not, it might have
been inadvertence on the part of Miss Moseley. That Denbigh would offer
some explanation he believed, and he had fully made up his mind to
accept it, let it be what it might, as his fighting friend entered.
"Well," said Jarvis, in a tone that denoted anything but a consciousness
that all was well.
"He says he will not meet you," dryly exclaimed his friend, throwing
himself into a chair, and ordering a glass of brandy and water.
"Not meet me!" exclaimed Jarvis, in surprise. "Engaged, perhaps?"
"Engaged to his d--d conscience."
"To his conscience! I do not know whether I rightly understand you,
Captain Digby," said Jarvis, catching his breath, and raising his voice
a very little.
"Then, Captain Jarvis," said his friend, tossing off his brandy, and
speaking with great deliberation, "he says that nothing--understand me--
nothing will ever make him fight a duel."
"He will not!" cried Jarvis, in a loud voice.
"No, he will not," said Digby, handing his glass to the waiter for a
fresh supply.
"He shall, by----!"
"I don't know how you will make him."
"Make him! I'll--I'll post him."
"Never do that," said the captain, turning to him, as he leaned his
elbows on the table. "It only makes both parties ridiculous. But I'll
tell you what you may do. There's a Lord Chatterton who takes the matter
up with warmth. If I were not afraid of his interests hurting my
promotion, I should have resented something that fell from him myself.
He will fight, I dare say, and I'll just return and require an
explanation of his words on your behalf."
"No, no," said Jarvis, rather hastily; "he--he is related to the
Moseleys, and I have views there it might injure."
"Did you think to forward your views by making the young lady the
subject of a duel?" asked Captain Digby sarcastically, and eyeing his
companion with contempt.
"Yes, yes," said Jarvis; "it would certainly hurt my views."
"Here's to the health of His Majesty's gallant ---- regiment of foot!"
cried Captain Digby, in a tone of irony, when three-quarters drunk, at
the mess-table, that evening, "and to its champion, Captain Henry
Jarvis!"
One of the corps was present accidentally as a guest; and the following
week, the inhabitants of F---- saw the regiment in their barracks,
marching to slow time after the body of Horace Digby.
Lord Chatterton, in relating the part of the foregoing circumstances
which fell under his observation, did ample justice to the conduct of
Denbigh; a degree of liberality which did him no little credit, as he
plainly saw in that gentleman he had, or soon would have, a rival in the
dearest wish of his heart; and the smiling approbation with which his
cousin Emily rewarded him for his candor almost sickened him with
apprehension. The ladies were not slow in expressing their disgust at
the conduct of Jarvis, or backward in their approval of Denbigh's
forbearance. Lady Moseley turned with horror from a picture in which she
could see nothing but murder and bloodshed; but both Mrs. Wilson and her
niece secretly applauded a sacrifice of worldly feelings on the altar of
duty; the former admiring the consistent refusal of admitting any
collateral inducements, in explanation of his decision: the latter,
while she saw the act in its true colors, could hardly help believing
that a regard for her feelings had, in a trifling degree, its influence
in inducing him to decline the meeting. Mrs. Wilson saw at once what a
hold such unusual conduct would take on the feelings of her niece, and
inwardly determined to increase, if possible, the watchfulness she had
invariably observed on all he said or did, as likely to elucidate his
real character, well knowing that the requisites to bring or to keep
happiness in the married state were numerous and indispensable; and that
the display of a particular excellence, however good in itself, was by
no means conclusive as to character; in short, that we perhaps as often
meet with a favorite principle as with a besetting sin.