When Edric and Dr. Entwerfen reached Sir Ambrose, they found Father
Morris at his side, explaining with his usual promptness and clearness
the meaning of the different signs of the telegraph.
"My dear Edric," exclaimed Sir Ambrose, throwing himself into the arms
of his son, "my dear, dear Edric! your brother has gained the battle!
The Germans are completely overthrown. He has taken their king, and
several of their princes prisoners; and the fine province of France is
ceded to us entirely!"
"I am rejoiced to hear it," cried Edric, returning his father's embrace
with emotion, "and he, I hope, is safe?"
"I hope so too," replied Sir Ambrose; "though he says nothing of
himself: but you know Edmund: 'Our troops won this,' 'our army gained
that!'--'the soldiers fought bravely!'--he never speaks of himself. To
hear him relate a battle, nobody would imagine he had ever had any
thing to do with it."
"It is too dark to see any more," said Father Morris, who had been for
some time watching the telegraph, and now turned from it in despair;
"the machine is still in motion, but it is too dark for me to decipher
what it means."
The attention of all present was directed to the sky as he spoke. It
was indeed become of pitchy blackness, a general gloom seemed to hang
over the face of nature; the birds flew twittering for shelter, a low
wind moaned through the trees, and, in short, every thing seemed to
portend a storm.
"Had we not better return to the house?" said Dr. Entwerfen, looking
round with something like fear at these alarming indications, for his
heated imagination had not yet quite recovered the effect of the awful
speculations he had so lately been indulging in. "What is that black
spot there? I declare it moves! Good heavens, what can it be?"
"Really, doctor!" returned Abelard, "you provoke the action of my
risible faculties. That opaque body which you perceive at a little
distance, and which seems to have occasioned such a fearful excitement
of your nervous system, is only a living specimen of the corvus genus,
who has probably descended upon earth to search for his vermicular
repast."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Abelard," rejoined Mr. Davis, speaking with his
usual precision, "but, according to my humble apprehension, you labour
under a slight mistake as to that particular. The feathered biped
that has so forcibly attracted your attention, appears to me, not one
of the corvi, but rather one of the graculi; a variety of extremely
rare occurrence in this vicinity, and which are sometimes called
incendriæ aves, from their unfortunate propensity to put habitations
in combustion, by picking up small pieces of phlogisticated carbon,
and carrying them in their beaks to the combination of straw and other
materials, sometimes piled upon the apex of a house, to defend it from
the inroads of pluviosity."
"It is of no use," sighed Sir Ambrose, still straining his eyes to
endeavour to decipher the movements of the telegraph, the outlines of
which only now appeared, stamped as if in jet, and strongly relieved by
the dark grey sky beyond.
"It is of no use," reiterated Father Morris, and the whole party
were preparing to retire, when suddenly a vivid light flashed upon
them from the hill, and instantly a long line of torches seemed to
stream along the horizon. "He is coming home, but will write more
to-morrow," exclaimed the whole party simultaneously; for all knew well
by experience, the meaning of that signal. "He is coming home, thank
God!" repeated Sir Ambrose, his pallid lips quivering, and every limb
trembling with agitation.
"Look to my father," cried Edric, "he will faint."
"Oh no, no!" repeated Sir Ambrose: "thank God! thank God!"
"Lean upon me, at least," said Edric, affectionately.
Sir Ambrose complied; and, supported by his son, still gazed anxiously
on the torches, their red glare shedding an unnatural light around
them, and making the surrounding darkness only appear still more
intense. Thunder now growled in the distance, and rain began to fall in
large drops; yet still Sir Ambrose gazed upon the torches, and could
not be persuaded to leave the terrace. These wild, fearful looking
lights, gleaming through the tempest, seemed a connecting link between
him and his darling son; and it was not till they were obscured by the
thick heavy rain, and even the outline of the telegraph vanished in the
gathering clouds around, that he could be induced to seek for shelter.
Sir Ambrose slept little that night: the sleep of age is easily broken,
and perhaps the joyful agitation of his spirits had produced a slight
access of fever. He rose with the dawn; and, long before the rest of
his family had descended, summoned Abelard, that he might dispatch him
to inform his most intimate friend the Duke of Cornwall of the news.
"Go," said he, as soon as the drowsy butler made his appearance. "I
am sure the duke feels nearly as great an interest in the success of
Edmund as myself, and will not be displeased if he be disturbed a
little earlier than usual upon such an occasion."
"I obey," replied Abelard. "I will shake off my somnolent propensities,
and speed with the velocity of the electric fluid to the castle of the
noble chieftain."
"Take heed you do not forget your message by the way," repeated Sir
Ambrose, smiling.
"Not all the waters of Lethe could wash such somnifugous tidings from
my memory," replied the butler. "Your honour's words are imprinted upon
the mnemonic organ of my brain; and my sensorium must be divided from
my cerebellum ere they can be effaced."
The Duke of Cornwall had been the intimate friend of Sir Ambrose almost
from infancy. They had been companions at school and at college;
besides which, peculiar circumstances which had happened in their
youth, had linked them together in indissoluble ties. What these
circumstances were, however, no one exactly knew, except the parties
concerned, and they always avoided alluding to them. All that was
generally understood upon the subject, being, that Sir Ambrose had,
in some manner, been instrumental in saving the duke's life; but how,
when, or where, was never clearly explained.
The Duke of Cornwall was of the Royal family of England, and closely
allied to the throne. His father had been brother to that prince who
had so stedfastly refused the crown when it was offered to him by
the ambassadors from the people; and as that prince had left no male
descendants, the duke might be considered as legitimately entitled to
reign. The thought of disturbing by his claims the female dynasty now
established, had, however, never entered into the mind of the duke;
who, with half the sense of his friend Sir Ambrose, possessed, at
least, ten times the obstinacy; and having taken it into his head that
he would marry his daughter Elvira to Edmund Montagu, and his niece
Rosabella to Edric, he turned all his thoughts, plans, and wishes
to the accomplishment of this object, and suffered no other idea to
interfere with it.
Those, however, who were acquainted with the characters of the young
people, thought the duke had quite reversed the natural order of things
by this arrangement; and that the strong mind and haughty spirit of
Rosabella would have suited better with the ambitious Edmund; whilst
the soft yielding disposition and feminine graces of Elvira seemed
to harmonize exactly with the taste of the philosophic Edric. No
persuasions, however, could induce the duke to deviate in the slightest
degree from his design. Like many of the higher classes of society in
those days of universal education, he affected an excessive plainness
and simplicity in his language; so much so, indeed, as sometimes
almost to degenerate into rudeness, in order that it might be clearly
distinguished from the elaborate and scientific expressions of the
vulgar; and when urged upon the subject of these intended marriages, he
would roughly say, "Don't talk to me; there is nothing like a little
contradiction in the married life. If two people were to agree to live
together, who were always of the same opinion, they would die of ennui
in six months. No, no, I'm right, and so they'll find it in the end."
He would then shake his head, and put on such a look of positive
determination, that his friends would generally retire in silence,
feeling it perfectly in vain to attempt to alter his resolution. As to
consulting the inclinations of the young people themselves, the idea
never entered his imagination. "Children don't know what is good for
them," he would reply sharply, if any one presumed to suggest such a
thought, "and it is the duty of parents and guardians to decide in such
matters."
Sir Ambrose, wishing the connection for his sons, and respecting even
the whims of his friend, had as yet never interfered, and the young
people had also appeared silently to acquiesce. Rebellious spirits,
however, were hidden under this apparent calm; and the duke was soon to
learn from experience, that human beings were rather more difficult to
manage than a drove of turkeys, or a flock of sheep; a fact, of which
before he did not seem to have the slightest suspicion.
The duke had already risen, and was in his garden, when the messenger
of Sir Ambrose arrived panting for breath, and quite exhausted by the
velocity which, as he expressed it, he had employed in endeavouring to
execute with the utmost expedition, the implied wishes of his master.
The duke was surprised to see him.--"What brings you out so early,
Abelard?" demanded he.
"Oh, your grace," replied the butler, gasping for utterance, "the haste
I have made has impeded my respiration; and the blood, finding the
pulmonary artery free, rushes with such force along the arterial canal
to the aorta, that--that--I am in imminent danger of being suffocated."
"Pshaw!" said the duke.
"Besides," continued Abelard, "a saline secretion distils from every
pore of my skin, in a serous transudation, from the excessive exertions
I have made use of."
"And what has occasioned these violent exertions?"
"The earnest desire experienced by Sir Ambrose to transmit with all
the expedition possible, to your grace, the intelligence he has just
received of the acquisition of a victory by Master Edmund, in the
hostile territory of Germany."
"Victory!" shouted the duke, "Victory--Rosabella! Elvira! where are
you, girls? Here's tidings to rouse you from your slumbers.--And how is
he, Abelard? Is the brave boy safe himself? God bless him! victory will
be nothing to us, if we are to lose him."
"It occasions me excessive chagrin," replied Abelard, "that I am
totally unable to resolve that interrogatory to your grace's complete
satisfaction. Taciturnity, however, upon some subjects, is, I believe,
generally considered synonymous with prosperity; and, as Master Edmund,
to the best of my credence, conveyed no information relative to his
sanity in the communication made by him to his paternal ancestor, I
humbly opine that there are no reasonable grounds for supposing it
has suffered any material deterioration in consequence of the late
sanguinary encounter in which he has been engaged."
The duke had not patience to wait the conclusion of this speech; but
hobbled away as fast as his infirmities would permit, vociferating for
Elvira and Rosabella, in a voice that might have silenced Stentor;
and Abelard, finding himself alone, was fain to follow his example,
marvelling as he went along, however, at the excessive impatience of
the fiery spirits of the age, which would not permit people to remain
stationary, even to hear, what he called, a compendious replication to
the very questions which they themselves had propounded.
Whatever faults might fall to the share of the Duke of Cornwall, that
of a cold heart was certainly not amongst the number, and the delight
he felt on hearing of Edmund's triumph could not have been greater if
the youthful hero had been his own son. His eyes, indeed, absolutely
sparkled with transport, when he communicated the intelligence to his
niece and daughter; and his tidings were not bestowed upon insensible
ears, for the breasts of both his youthful auditors throbbed with
pleasure at the news, though the causes of their emotions were
different. Elvira had been the idol of Edmund's homage from her
childhood; and she fancied she returned his passion with equal fervour;
but she deceived herself, and love was as yet a stranger to her heart.
Endowed with great beauty and superior talents; accustomed from her
earliest infancy to be worshipped by all around her; surrounded by
flatterers, till even flattery itself had lost its charm, Elvira was
as yet insensible to love; why she was so, we leave to philosophers to
explain; we merely state facts and leave others to draw conclusions.
Rosabella's character was essentially different from that of her
cousin. Passion was the essence of her existence; and her dark eyes
flashed a fire that bespoke the intensity of her feelings. She loved
Edmund, but though she loved him with all that overwhelming violence,
that only a soul like hers could feel, yet she would not have scrupled
to sacrifice even him to her revenge, if she had thought he treated her
with negligence or contempt. She scorned the opinion of the world, and
regarded mankind in general but as slaves, whom she should honour by
trampling beneath her feet. Ambition, however, was her leading passion,
and even her love for Edmund struggled in vain for mastery against
it. This feeling was now highly gratified by the tidings of Edmund's
victory. She triumphed in his glory; and a deeper glow burnt upon her
cheek, from the proud consciousness she felt that she had not placed
her affections upon an unworthy object.
"We have no time to lose, girls," said the duke. "I would not miss
being with Sir Ambrose when he receives his letter, for kingdoms. Here,
Hyppolite! Augustus! get a balloon ready, and let us be off directly.
How tedious these fellows are! They might have removed a church steeple
in the time they have wasted about that balloon."
"If your grace would have a moment's patience," said Hyppolite, holding
the cords of the balloon. But his Grace had no patience; it was an
ingredient Nature had quite forgotten to put into his composition; and,
without waiting for the ascending ladder to be put down, he sprang into
the car in such haste the moment the balloon was brought to the door,
that he was in imminent danger of oversetting it. "So! so!" said he,
"very well! that will do,--and now girls, that you are safely embarked,
we will be off. Hyppolite! you will steer us:--and, Abelard, go you
into the buttery, and let my fellows give you something to eat; you
will want something after your fatigues. There! there, that will do;
don't let us hinder a moment----;" and the rest of his speech was lost
in air, as the balloon floated majestically away.
"It has often appeared very astonishing to me," said Abelard, after
watching the balloon till it was out of sight, "to observe how partial
great people are generally to an aërial mode of travelling; for my
part, I think the pedestrian manner infinitely more agreeable."
"_De gustibus non est disputandum_," replied Augustus, the duke's
footman, to whom this observation was addressed:--"But I think I
observe symptoms of lassitude about you, Mr. Abelard. Will you not
adjourn to the apartment of Mrs. Russel, our housekeeper, to repair
by some alimentary refreshment, the excessive exhaustion you have
sustained in the course of your morning's exertions?"
"Willingly, Mr. Augustus.--I own candidly, I feel the want of a little
wholesome nutrition. I shall, besides, be extremely happy to avail
myself of the opportunity fortune so benignantly presents, of paying my
respects to Mrs. Russel, whom I have not seen these three days."
The worthy housekeeper was equally rejoiced with Abelard at this
instance of fortune's benignity; a sort of sentimental flirtation
having been going on between them for the last thirty years. She
accordingly stroked down her snow-white apron, re-adjusted her mob cap,
and smoothed her grey hairs, which were divided upon her forehead,
with the most scrupulous exactness, before she advanced to welcome
her visitors. "What will you take, my dear Mr. Abelard?" said she, as
soon as he was within hearing; "what can you fancy? I have a delicious
corner of a cold venison pasty in my pantry."
"Words are altogether too feeble to express the transports of my
gratitude at receiving so gracious an accolade, beauteous Eloisa,"
replied the romantic butler; for thus, in allusion to his own name,
was he wont to call her. "But though you had only the rigours of the
Paraclete to invite me to, instead of the comforts of your well-stored
pantry, still would words be wanting to express the feeling of my bosom
on thus again beholding you."
"Spare my blushes!" said Mrs. Russel, casting her eyes upon the ground,
and playing with a corner of her apron. "I feel a roseate suffusion
glow upon my cheeks, as your flattering accents strike upon the
tympanum of my auricular organs."
"Oh, Mrs. Russel!" sighed Abelard, gazing upon her tenderly;--then,
after a short pause, he continued: "As to the aliments with which
your provident kindness would soulage my appetite--though venison be
a wholesome viand, and was reckoned by the ancients efficacious in
preventing fevers, and though the very mention of the savoury pasty
makes the eryptæ, usually employed in secreting the mucus of my tongue,
erect themselves, thereby occasioning an overflow of the saliva, yet
will I deny myself the indulgence, and content myself simply with a
boiled egg, as being more likely to agree with the present enfeebled
state of the digestive organs of my stomach."
"You shall have it instantly," cried Mrs. Russel.
"And will you have the kindness to superintend the culinary arrangement
of it yourself?" rejoined Abelard. "I do not like the albumen too
much coagulated; and I prefer it without any butyraceous oil, simply
flavoured by the addition of a small quantity of common muriate of
soda."
The egg was soon prepared and devoured. "Thank you, thank you! dear
Mrs. Russel," said Abelard; "this refection was most acceptable. I had
felt for some time the gastric juice corroding the coats of my stomach;
and still, though I have now given it some solid substance to act upon,
I think it would not be amiss to dilute its virulence by the addition
of a little fluid. Have you any thing cool and refreshing?"
"I have some bottled beer," replied Mrs. Russel; "but I am afraid the
carbonic acid gas has not been sufficiently disengaged during the
process of the vinous fermentation to render it wholesome; and there is
scarcely any alcohol in the whole composition----"
"That is exactly what I want," said Abelard; "for my physicians have
expressly forbidden stimulants. Provided the gluten that forms the germ
was properly separated in the preparation of the malt, and the seed
sufficiently germinated to convert the fecula into sugar, I shall be
perfectly satisfied."
"I can guarantee the accuracy of its preparation both with regard to
the malt and the beer," repeated Mrs. Russel; and the frothing fluid
soon sparkled in a goblet, to the infinite satisfaction of the thirsty
butler, who, after a hearty draught, vowed nectar itself was never
half so delicious; and that all the gods on Olympus would envy him, if
they could but taste his fare, and see the blooming Hebe that was his
cup-bearer.