DEATH AT THE FETE.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the northwind’s breath,
And stars to set,—but all—
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh, death!—_Felicia Hemans._
The Earl of Glen Lennark had observed and deplored the coolness that
seemed to exist between Lady Adelaide and Mr. Deville,—or, to speak more
correctly, he had noticed and grieved over the freezing reserve with
which the husband treated the wife, who evidently suffered acutely under
his displeasure. And, without venturing to speak to either party upon a
subject so delicate, his lordship resolved upon a measure which should
bring the young couple into closer communion. He announced his intention
of giving a grand fete, in honor of Orville Deville’s birthday, which
was near at hand.
The nobility and gentry of the neighborhood were invited to a sumptuous
dinner, to be followed by a ball in the evening; and the tenantry and
villagers were to be made free of the ground, where roast beef, bread
and cheese, cakes and ale, etc., were provided for their refreshment,
and fireworks and fiddlers for their amusement.
The eventful day arrived. It was a lovely day, early in October, and the
entertainments commenced with the most auspicious prospects.
But, alas! in the afternoon of that day the festival came to a sudden
and dreadful end.
It was about six o’clock, P. M., that the villagers and tenantry were at
the height of enjoyment of feasting and dancing; the artizans were at
their posts, ready, at the appearance of the Earl and his guests, to
begin letting off the fireworks; and the Earl himself was seated at the
head of his dinner table, having on his right hand Lady Adelaide and on
his left Mr. Deville, and surrounded by his distinguished friends.
The cloth had been removed, and the dessert set upon the table, when the
Earl of Glen Lennark arose in his place to propose a toast.
All eyes were riveted upon him as he stood there, his tall figure, clad
in a suit of sable velvet; his snow-white hair parted over the broad
brow and descending upon his shoulders; his venerable face elongated
with age and care; but his noble form as erect, and his eagle eye as
keen as when, in middle age, he had led the armies or the councils of
his country.
“Friends and neighbors,” he said, “be pleased to fill your glasses and
pledge me in one sentiment.” And filling his own high with wine, he
stood waiting until his guests with brimming glasses, were upon their
feet. Then lifting his goblet, he bowed and said—
“We drink to the health and prosperity of the next Earl and Countess of
Glen Lennark! May their future be——”
The last syllables trembled upon his lips; the brimming goblet shook in
his hands, and fell shivered into fragments, spilling all the red wine
upon the floor.
The butler, regarding this as merely an awkward accident, quickly and
coolly filled another glass and handed it to his master.
The Earl, who was resting one hand upon the table, received the second
goblet and stood once more erect. The eyes of his guests were fixed upon
his venerable pale face; they saw the quivering of his aged lips as he
attempted to articulate; noticed the twitching of his fingers as he
tried to hold his glass, which instantly fell with a crash to the table.
“My lord, you are ill!” exclaimed Orville Deville, starting up just in
time to receive the falling form of the old man in his arms and lay him
gently back in the chair.
All became confusion.
The guests left their seats and gathered around their host, who, livid
and helpless, lay back upon the chair, supported in the arms of Orville
Deville.
“Lay him on a lounge!”
“Give him brandy!”
“Put ice to his head!”
“Plunge his feet into hot water!”
“Fetch a lancet to bleed him!”
“Run for the doctor!”
These and other miscellaneous orders were hurriedly given and obeyed.
A messenger was despatched for the doctor, the patient was laid upon the
lounge hastily brought for the purpose, and all proper remedies were
resorted to for his relief. In vain; the old man never spoke again. And
when half an hour afterward the physician arrived, he found a corpse!
The guests, with grave faces, left the house of mourning. The villagers
and tenantry, filled with consternation, lingered, talking in groups
upon the grounds, until by the orders of Mr. Deville they were dispersed
and sent home.
The proper officials were then summoned, and preparations for the
funeral solemnities were commenced.
The body of the late Earl lay in state in the castle-hall for three
days, during which it was visited by a large number of his friends,
tenants and dependants. And on the evening of the fourth day, with all
the “pride, pomp, and circumstance” of rank Alexander, seventh Earl of
Glen Lennark and tenth Baron Lochburn, was laid in the tomb of his
fathers.
On the morning of the day succeeding the funeral, the nearest friends
and neighbors of the late lord were assembled in the library of the
castle to hear the reading of his lordship’s last will and testament.
Lady Adelaide and Mr. Deville were present in deep mourning.
They were scarcely seated when the attorney of the late Earl entered,
bearing the will. He bowed to the small assembly, walked up and took his
stand at the head of the table around which the company were gathered.
He then opened the document, observing that as the title and landed
estates fell by inheritance to his late lordship’s nephew, there
present, the instrument in his hand related merely to such personal
property as the late Earl had in his power to bequeath. With another bow
the attorney spread open the parchment, and proceeded to read. The great
bulk of his lordship’s personal property was left where his title and
estates had descended—to his “beloved nephew, Orville Deville.” Then
followed some considerable legacies to servants and humble friends. And
finally, there was a codicil by which he left to Orville Deville the sum
of five thousand pounds sterling, in trust, for the use of his adopted
daughter, Perdita.
The attorney having finished the perusal, rolled and tied up the
parchment, laid it upon the table, and turning with a deep bow to
Orville Deville, said—
“I hope your lordship will accept my humble congratulations on your
accession to your title and estates, and also my best wishes for the
health and happiness of the present Earl and Countess of Glen Lennark. I
have enjoyed the honor of doing business for the late Earl, as well as
for his predecessor, and hope to merit the confidence of your lordship.”
And with a second and deeper bow, the lawyer withdrew.
Then friends and acquaintances approached with congratulations and
flattering speeches. Doctor Bowne, the venerable rector of Glen Lennark,
approaching Adelaide, said—
“I congratulate, not you, madam, but the people over whom you are called
to rule; for some centuries have passed since this castle has welcomed
so young, fair, wise and good a Countess of Glen Lennark.”
“Reverend sir, I thought your mission upon earth was to _rebuke_, and
not to _flatter_ the pomps and vanities of life,” said Adelaide,
tempering the austerity of her words by the sweetness of her tones and
looks, as she turned away. In truth, she was shocked to see with what
irreverent alacrity the world hurried from the tomb of the dead Earl to
do homage at the footstool of his successor. The new title by which they
hailed her, Countess of Glen Lennark, rang a knell through her brain and
heart; for she thought of _her_, that beautiful and wretched girl, who,
as the last lineal descendant of her house, should have worn its
hereditary coronet; and by whose untimely fate alone she, Adelaide, now
bore its ancient title.
Her husband saw by her pale and suffering countenance that this new
accession of rank and wealth gave her no pleasure, and, as usual, he
resented her difference of feeling. Just as soon as he could get an
opportunity, while the tide of talk was “fast and furious,” he slipped
up to the side of his wife, and murmured—
“As usual, you do not in the least sympathize with me, Lady Glen
Lennark.”
“Oh, do not call me thus!” she exclaimed, with a shudder. “Oh, do not
call me thus! You know _who_ should have borne that title! I feel I have
no right to it! Oh, Orville, my husband, I will never, never put that
countess’s coronet upon my brow; like a diadem of fire, it would scathe
my brain! Oh, Orville, drop this honor! drop it! it is accursed! let us
return to our quiet place in Maryland——”
“Madam! for decency’s sake be silent; you are attracting attention by
this vehemence,” replied her husband, in a tone of displeasure, as he
moved from her side.
“Poor girl! she is very sensitive, and has not yet recovered the shock
of our dear kinsman’s death,” he said, in explanation of her distressed
looks, as he rejoined his friends.
Just at this moment the doors of the lunch-room connecting with the
library were thrown open, and the butler announced—
“My lady is served.”
Whereupon the host invited his guests to enter and partake of a
sumptuous collation, served in excellent style.
“Lord Inchloch, will you lead the Countess in?” said the husband of
Adelaide, presenting her, with a smile, to his friend.
The venerable peer just named, gave his arm to the fair hostess, and led
the way to the lunch-room, followed by all the company.
They gathered around the table. The memory of the newly dead checked all
hilarity, but did not lessen the appetite of the guests for the viands
set before them.