"Here comes Lady Louisa. Say nothing of this."
Her dark eyes were swimming; but not a tear fell from their long, black,
silky lashes, that lent such softness to her sweet and feminine face.
She abruptly withdrew her tremulous hands from mine, and just as Louisa
approached, hurriedly left me.
What did all this emotion mean? What did it display or conceal? I was
thoroughly bewildered.
A sudden light began to break upon me.
"What is this?" thought I. "Can Cora be in love with me herself? Oh,
nonsense! she has known me from boyhood. The idea is absurd! Yet her
manner----. This will never do. I must avoid her, and to-morrow I
leave for England!"
Louisa sat beside me, and, save her, Cora and all the world were alike
forgotten.
*CHAPTER XIII.*
Forget thee? If to dream by night, and muse on thee by day;
If all the worship, deep and wild, a poet's heart can pay;
If prayers in absence, breathed for thee to Heaven's protecting
power;
If winged thoughts that flit to thee, a thousand in an hour;
If busy Fancy, blending thee with all my future lot;
If this thou call'st forgetting, thou, indeed, shall be forgot.
MOULTRIE.
I had but one, only one, meeting more with Lady Louisa, and it was,
indeed, a sad one. We could but hope to meet again--near Canterbury,
perhaps--at some vague period before my regiment marched; and prior to
that I was to write to her, on some polite pretence, under cover to
Cora.
This was certainly somewhat undefined and unsatisfactory for two engaged
lovers, especially for two so ardent as we were, and in the first flush
of a grand passion; but we had no other arrangement to make; and never
shall I forget our last, long, mute embrace on the last evening, when,
scared by footsteps on the garden walk, we literally tore ourselves
away, and separated to meet at the dinner-table, and act as those who
were almost strangers to each other, and to perform the mere
formalities, the politenesses, and cold ceremonies of well-bred life.
I could not help telling my good uncle of my success; but under a solemn
promise of secrecy, for a time at least.
"All right, boy," said he, clapping me on the shoulder. "Keep her well
in hand, and I'll back you against the field to any amount that is
possible; but that gouty old peer, my Lord Slubber, is richer than I am;
and then Lady Chillingham has the pride of Lucifer. Draw on me whenever
you want money, Newton. Since Archie died at college, and poor Nigel at
the battle of Goojerat, I have no boy to look after but you."
The last hour came inexorably. We shook hands with all. When that
solemn snob, my brother officer, Mr. de Warr Berkeley, and I entered the
carriage which was to take us to the nearest railway station, there were
symptoms of considerable emotion in the faces of the kind circle we were
leaving, for the clouds of war had darkened fast in the East during the
month we had spent so pleasantly; and the ladies--the poor girls
especially--half viewed us as foredoomed men.
Louisa was as pale as death; she trembled with suppressed emotion, and
her eyes were full of tears. Even her cold and stately mother kissed me
lightly on the cheek; and at that moment, for Louisa's sake, I felt my
heart swell with sudden emotion of regard for her.
My uncle's hard but manly, hand gave mine a hearty pressure, and he
kindly shook the hand of Willie Pitblado, who was bidding adieu to his
father, the old keeper, and slipped a couple of sovereigns into it.
Sir Nigel's voice was quite broken; but there was no tear in the hot,
dry eyes of poor Cora. Her charming face was very pale, and she bit her
pouting nether lip, to conceal, or to prevent, its nervous quivering.
"An odd girl," thought I, as I kissed her twice, whispering, "Give the
last one to Louisa."
But, ah! how little could I read the secret of the dear little heart of
Cora, which was beating wildly and convulsively beneath that apparently
calm and unmoved exterior! But a time came when I was to learn it all.
"Good-bye to Calderwood Glen," cried I, leaping into the carriage. "A
good-bye to all, and hey for pipeclay again!"
"Pipeclay and gunpowder too, lad," said my uncle. "Every ten years or
so the atmosphere of Europe requires to be fumigated with it somewhere.
Adieu, Mr. Berkeley. God bless you, Newton!"
"Crack went the whip, round went the wheels;" the group of pale and
tearful faces, the ivy-clad porch, and the turreted facade of the old
house vanished, and then the trees of the avenue appeared to be
careering past the carriage windows in the twilight, as we sped along at
a rapid trot.
For mental worry or depression there is no more certain and rapid cure
than quick travelling and transition from place to place; and assuredly
that luxury is fully afforded by the locomotive appliances of the
present age.
Within an hour after leaving Calderwood, we occupied a first-class
carriage, and were flying by the night express, _en route_ for London,
muffled to the eyes in warm railway-rugs and border plaids, and each
puffing a cigar in silence, gazing listlessly out of the windows, or
doing his best to court sleep, to wile the dreary hours away.
Pitblado was fraternising with the guard in the luggage-van, doubtless
enjoying a quiet "weed" the while.
Berkeley soon slept; but I prayed for the celebrated "forty winks" in
vain; and thus, wakeful and full of exciting thoughts, I pictured in
reverie all that had occurred during the past month.
Gradually the unwilling, but startling, conviction forced itself upon my
mind that my cousin. Cora loved me! This dear and affectionate girl,
from whom I had parted with such a frigid salute as that which Sir
Charles Grandison gave Miss Byron at the end of their dreary seven
years' courtship, loved me; and yet, blinded by my absorbing passion for
the brilliant Louisa Loftus, I had neither known, seen, or felt it.
Her frequent coldnesses to me, and her ill-concealed irritation at the
cool insolence of Berkeley's languid bearing, on more than one occasion,
were all explained to me now.
Dear, affectionate, and single-hearted Cora! A hundred instances of her
self-denial now crowded on my memory. I remembered now, at the meet of
the Fifeshire fox-hounds at Largo, that it was she who, by a little
delicate tact and foresight, contrived to give me that which she knew I
so greatly coveted--the drive home in the tandem with Lady Louisa.
What must that act of self-sacrifice have cost her heart, if indeed she
loved me? I could not write to her on such a subject, or even approach
an idea that might, after all, be based on supposition, if not on
vanity. More than this--I felt that the suspicion of having excited
this secret passion must preclude my writing to Louisa under cover to
Cora. Common delicacy and kindness suggested that I should not, by doing
so, further lacerate a good little heart that loved me well.
But the next thought was how to communicate with Louisa, Cora being our
only medium. Nor could I forget that when I was up the Rangoon river,
and when my dear mother died at Calderwood, that it was Cora's kiss that
was last upon her cold forehead, and Cora's little hand that closed her
eyes for me.
Swiftly sped the express train while these thoughts passed through my
mind, and agitated me greatly. To sleep was impossible, and ere
midnight I heard the bells of Berwick-upon-Tweed announce that we had
left the stout old kingdom of Scotland far behind us, and were flying at
the rate of fifty miles an hour by Bedford, Alnwick, and Morpeth,
towards the Tyne, and the land of coal and fire.
Every instant bore me farther from Louisa; and I had but one comfort,
that ere long she would be pursuing the same route--perhaps seated in
the same carriage--as she sped to her home in the south of England.
I dearly loved this proud and beautiful girl; and if human language has
a meaning, and if the human eye has an expression, she loved me truly in
return; but though the conviction of this made my heart brim with
happiness, it was a happiness not untinged with fears--fears that her
love was, perhaps, the fancy of the hour, developed by propinquity and
the social circle of a quiet country house; fears that my joy and
success were too bright to last; and that, after a time, she might see
her engagement with a nameless subaltern of cavalry in the light of a
mesalliance, and be dazzled by some more brilliant offer, for the
heiress and only child of the Earl of Chillingham could command many.
War and separation were before us; and if I survived to return, would
she love me still, and still indeed be mine?
Her father's consent was yet to be obtained. In my impatience to know
the best or the worst, I frequently resolved to break the matter by
letter to his lordship; but, remembering the tears and entreaties of
Louisa, I shrank from the grave responsibility of tampering with our
mutual happiness.
At other times I thought of confiding the management of the affair
entirely to my uncle; but abandoned the idea almost as soon as I
conceived it: knowing that the fox-hunting old baronet was more
hot-headed, proud, and abrupt than politic. In conclusion, I thought it
might be better done by a letter from the East, when the earl might
politely half entertain an engagement which a bullet might dissolve; or,
should I leave the affair over till I returned?
Oh! might I ever return--and if so, how mutilated? And if I died before
the enemy, in imagination I saw, in the long, long years that were to
follow, myself perhaps forgotten, and Louisa, my affianced bride, the
wife of--_another_.
*CHAPTER XIV.*
And why not death, rather than live in torment?
To die is to be banished from myself;
And Sylvia is myself: banished from her
Is self from self; a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Sylvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Sylvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
SHAKSPEARE.
While yet half-slept, and wholly unrefreshed, after our long and rapid
journey by train, we donned our uniforms, with sword-belt and
sabretashe, duly reported ourselves to the colonel, who welcomed us
back, and within an hour I found myself established in my old quarters,
and once more falling into the every-day routine of barrack-life, just
as if I had never left Maidstone, and as if my visit to Calderwood and
my engagement with Louisa were all a dream. But I had her pearl ring,
and the lock of jetty hair, which I had cut from her beautiful head in
jest--a gift in solemn earnest now--and I lost no time in procuring a
locket suitable for it, and which I might wear at my neck.
Again I had parades to attend, troop, guard, and stable duties to
perform; but amid these, and all the bustle of Maidstone, the most
tiresome and bustling cavalry barrack in the British empire, my heart
and thoughts were ever with Louisa Loftus, amid the old woods of
Calderwood Glen.
"War is not yet declared against Russia," said the colonel, the first
evening parade after we joined; "but I have it in confidence from
head-quarters that it will be ere long, and that we shall form part of
the army of the East."
"Ah, and are there--haw--any infantry to accompany us?" asked Berkeley.
"I should think so," replied the colonel, laughing at so odd a question,
which, as Berkeley asked it elsewhere, caused some amusement at
Maidstone, as showing either his ideas of war, or of the strange
individualism of the two branches of the service.
"The guards are already under orders, and embark at Southampton in a few
weeks," resumed the colonel; "and we shall have tough work in getting
ready for departure by the time our turn comes--though I am glad to say
the lancers are in high order and discipline, and fit for anything."
Our colonel spoke with pride and confidence; and under his orders, I
felt that, with equal confidence, I could really go anywhere or face
anything. I had served under him in India, and he had ever been in my
eyes the model of a British cavalry officer, and of an English
gentleman.
"There is no example of human beauty more perfectly picturesque than a
very handsome man of middle age; not even the same man in his youth,"
writes one of the most graceful female pens of the present day. Most
soothing this to all good-looking fellows, who approach that grand
climacteric; and the idea that she is correct always occurred to me when
I saw Colonel Beverley, for a handsomer man, though his moustache was
becomingly grizzled, never drew a sword, and all the regiment admired
and esteemed him.
In addition to sword and pistols, our corps was armed with the lance,
which the famous Count de Montecuculi of old declared to be "la Reine
des armes pour la cavalerie," and the adoption of which was vainly urged
by the great Marechal Saxe in his "Reveries;" but it was introduced into
the British army after the peace of 1815. The only regiment armed in
this fashion which previously existed in our service was the British
Uhlans, composed of French emigrants, formed out of the remains of the
lancers of the French Royalist army. They were all destroyed in the
ill-fated expedition to Quiberon, in 1796.
When charging cavalry the bannerofes attached to our lances are
extremely useful in scaring the horses--after which the rider becomes an
easy prey; and the extreme length of the weapon renders it more
effective than the sword when charging a square of infantry; while, in
addition to this, it is a weapon of great show, as all must admit who
have seen a lancer corps, some six hundred strong, riding with all their
red and white swallow-tailed banneroles fluttering in the wind.
We had in our ranks more G. C.[*] men, perhaps, than any other corps in
the service; and, with the exception of one or two of those wealthy
parvenus, like Berkeley, who are to be found in many regiments, but more
especially in the cavalry, and whom I shall simply describe as
yaw-yawing, cold, but fashionable, solemn and unimpressionable military
snobs, the officers of the lancers were unquestionably gentlemen by
birth, breeding, and education, and formed altogether, at mess, on
parade, in the ball-room, or on duty, a class of society far superior in
tone and bearing to any I have ever had the fortune to be among; and
unless it be those of whom I have hinted, every face and name come
pleasantly back to memory now, when I think of my fine regiment as it
prepared for the army of the East.
[*]Good Conduct Ring. We have four regiments of lancers--the 9th, 12th,
16th, and 17th.
We practised daily with our pistols and six-barrelled revolvers; the
sword-blades and lance-heads were pointed and edged anew. Some of our
mess actually tried bivouacking in the fields at night, to test their
hardihood; but, as they were invariably taken for gipsies or
housebreakers by the rural police, laughter on the one hand, and useless
discomfort on the other, cured them of these pranks.
To be ready for anything and everything, and to make his lancers more
active horsemen, Colonel Beverley had us all drilled to dismounting on
the off-side, a practice which increases the skill of the men, and the
steadiness of the horses, and which is simply done by reversing all the
motions of dismounting, after the rider has well secured the lance, the
reins, and mane in the right hand, while the left grasps the sword, and
lays it across the front of the saddle, with the point to the right. He
then dismounts on the off-side, with his lance at the carry in the right
hand.
I remember, too, that he was careful in having the men cautioned against
giving way to the weight of the lance when mounted, as this occasions
bad consequences on long marches; hence it is very requisite to measure
the stirrup leathers frequently, and let the men ride with the lance
slung on the left arm. These items may seem trivial; but a day came
when his instructions and precautions proved of inestimable value, and
that was when we--_the Six Hundred_--made our ever-memorable charge into
the Valley of Death!
A cheque for a handsome sum came from my good old uncle, Sir Nigel, and
it proved most seasonable, as we were beset by London Jews and army
contractors, and I had, as the phrase goes, "no end" of unexpected
things to provide--a few to wit:--
A brace of revolving six-chambered pistols, with spring ramrods, as the
papers said, "the most complete and effective ever offered to the
British public." A full Crimean outfit, comprising a waterproof cape
and hood, camp-boots, ground-sheet, folding bedstead, mattress, and pair
of blankets, a canteen for self and a friend, sponging-bath, bucket, and
basin, brush-case, lantern, and havresack, all dog-cheap at thirty
guineas, with a pair of bullock-trunks and slings at eight guineas more.
Then there was a portable patent tent, weighing only ten pounds; an
india-rubber boat, and heaven only knows how much more rubbish, all of
which made a terrible hole in my cheque, and all of which were left
behind at Varna, where, doubtless, some enterprising follower of the
Prophet would make them his lawful spoil.
Amid those prosy preparations the month of February slipped away, and
the twenty-eight days of that month seemed like so many years to me, as
I never heard of Louisa Loftus; but, on the first of March, Pitblado
handed me a little packet which had come by the mail from London.
It contained a morocco case with a coloured photograph--a photograph of
Louisa!
It was done in the best style of a good London artist, and my heart
bounded with joy as I gazed on it, studying every feature. The reader
would deem me mad, perhaps, maudlin certainly, if I related all the
extravagances of which I was guilty on receipt of this souvenir, this
minor work of art, with which I was forced to content me, until a
miniature--one of Thorburn's best--which I was resolved to procure,
should follow.
Was she in London, or had she merely written to the artist (whose name
was on the case) to send me a copy of her miniature, which she knew well
I would prize, even as I prized life or health?
On the same day that this dear memorial came I was gazetted to my troop
in the regiment, by purchase, Captain B----, whose ill health rendered
him totally unfit for foreign service, retiring by the sale of his
commission; and though my heart was full of gratitude to my uncle, I
verily believe that I thought more of Louisa's miniature than of my
promotion. Both, however, seemed ominous of a happy future. They made a
fortunate coincidence. The same mail had brought them from London, and
I seemed to tread on air, and committed so many extravagances, and
played so many pranks that night at mess, that my old friends, Jack
Studhome and Fred Wilford, had to take what they termed "the strong
hand" with me, and march me off to my quarters.
In answer to my letter of thanks, I received a long and rambling one
from Sir Nigel, whose literary efforts were frequently a curious medley.
The hunt, the county pack, the next meets were, of course, referred to
first, and then came his private troubles. The black-faced sheep had
been leaping the fences and eating in the stackyard of the home-farm;
the Highland goats had been eating the yews in the avenue, and poisoning
themselves; the deer had been overthrowing the beescaps on the lawn, and
the patent powder to fatten the pheasants had been mislaid by old
Pitblado, and was eaten by the rooks instead. Lieutenant James's famous
horse-blister had been applied without effect to his favourite hunter,
Dunearn, and my old friend Splinterbar had gone dead lame--L300 gone to
the dogs!
He had just had a notice of "augmentation, modification, and locality of
stipend (whatever the deuce it might all mean) before the Tiend Court,"
served on him by a ---- Edinburgh writer to the signet, at the instance
of the parish minister, whom he disliked as a sour Sabbatarian, and whom
he had advised in his next sermon to expound and explain how "Jeshurun
waxed fat and kicked."