Dream. Let me but see her, dear Leontins.
Humorous Lieutenant.
Hempskirke. It was the fellow, sure.
Wolfort. What are you, sirrah?
Beggar's Bush.
O thou divine spirit that burnest in every breast, inciting each with the
sublime desire to be fine; that stirrest up the great to become little in
order to seem greater, and that makest a duchess woo insult for a
voucher,--thou that delightest in so many shapes, multifarious yet the
same; spirit that makest the high despicable, and the lord meaner than
his valet; equally great whether thou cheatest a friend or cuttest a
father; lacquering all thou touchest with a bright vulgarity that thy
votaries imagine to be gold,--thou that sendest the few to fashionable
balls and the many to fashionable novels; that smitest even Genius as
well as Folly, making the favourites of the gods boast an acquaintance
they have not with the graces of a mushroom peerage rather than the
knowledge they have of the Muses of an eternal Helicon,--thou that
leavest in the great ocean of our manners no dry spot for the foot of
independence; that pallest on the jaded eye with a moving and girdling
panorama of daubed vilenesses, and fritterest away the souls of free-born
Britons into a powder smaller than the angels which dance in myriads on a
pin's point,--whether, O spirit! thou callest thyself Fashion or Ton, or
Ambition or Vanity or Cringing or Cant or any title equally lofty and
sublime,--would that from thy wings we could gain but a single plume!
Fain would we, in fitting strain, describe the festivities of that
memorable day when the benevolent Lord Mauleverer received and blessed
the admiring universe of Bath.
But to be less poetical, as certain writers say, when they have been
writing nonsense,--but to be less poetical and more exact, the morning,
though in the depth of winter, was bright and clear, and Lord Mauleverer
found himself in particularly good health. Nothing could be better
planned than the whole of his arrangements. Unlike those which are
ordinarily chosen for the express reason of being as foreign as possible
to the nature of our climate, all at Lord Mauleverer's were made suitable
to a Greenland atmosphere. The temples and summer-houses, interspersed
through the grounds, were fitted up, some as Esquimaux huts, others as
Russian pavilions; fires were carefully kept up; the musicians Mauleverer
took care should have as much wine as they pleased; they were set
skilfully in places where they were unseen, but where they could be
heard. One or two temporary buildings were erected for those who loved
dancing; and as Mauleverer, miscalculating on the principles of human
nature, thought gentlemen might be averse from ostentatious exhibition,
he had hired persons to skate minuets and figures of eight upon his
lakes, for the amusement of those who were fond of skating. All people
who would be kind enough to dress in strange costumes and make odd
noises, which they called singing, the earl had carefully engaged, and
planted in the best places for making them look still stranger than they
were.
There was also plenty to eat, and more than plenty to drink. Mauleverer
knew well that our countrymen and countrywomen, whatever be their rank,
like to have their spirits exalted. In short, the whole _dejeuner_ was
so admirably contrived that it was probable the guests would not look
much more melancholy during the amusements than they would have done had
they been otherwise engaged at a funeral.
Lucy and the squire were among the first arrivals. Mauleverer,
approaching the father and daughter with his most courtly manner,
insisted on taking the latter under his own escort, and being her
cicerone through the round of preparations.
As the crowd thickened, and it was observed how gallant were the
attentions testified towards Lucy by the host, many and envious were the
whispers of the guests! Those good people, naturally angry at the
thought that two individuals should be married, divided themselves into
two parties: one abused Lucy, and the other Lord Mauleverer; the former
vituperated her art, the latter his folly. "I thought she would play her
cards well, deceitful creature!" said the one. "January and May,"
muttered the other; "the man's sixty!" It was noticeable that the party
against Lucy was chiefly composed of ladies, that against Mauleverer of
men; that conduct must indeed be heinous which draws down the indignation
of one's own sex!
Unconscious of her crimes, Lucy moved along, leaning on the arm of the
gallant earl, and languidly smiling, with her heart far away, at his
endeavours to amuse her. There was something interesting in the mere
contrast of the pair; so touching seemed the beauty of the young girl,
with her delicate cheek, maiden form, drooping eyelid, and quiet
simplicity of air, in comparison to the worldly countenance and
artificial grace of her companion.
After some time, when they were in a sequestered part of the grounds,
Mauleverer, observing that none were near, entered a rude hut; and so
fascinated was he at that moment by the beauty of his guest, and so meet
to him seemed the opportunity of his confession, that he with difficulty
suppressed the avowal rising to his lips, and took the more prudent plan
of first sounding and preparing as it were the way.
"I cannot tell you, my dear Miss Brandon," said he, slightly pressing the
beautiful hand leaning on his arm, "how happy I am to see you the guest--
the queen, rather--of my house! Ah! could the bloom of youth return with
its feelings! Time is never so cruel as when, while stealing from us the
power to please, he leaves us in full vigour the unhappy privilege to be
charmed!"
Mauleverer expected at least a blushing contradiction to the implied
application of a sentiment so affectingly expressed: he was disappointed.
Lucy, less alive than usual to the sentimental, or its reverse, scarcely
perceived his meaning, and answered simply that it was very true. "This
comes of being, like my friend Burke, too refined for one's audience,"
thought Mauleverer, wincing a little from the unexpected reply. "And
yet!" he resumed, "I would not forego my power to admire, futile, nay,
painful as it is. Even now, while I gaze on you, my heart tells me that
the pleasure I enjoy, it is at your command at once and forever to blight
into misery; but while it tells me, I gaze on!"
Lucy raised her eyes, and something of her natural archness played in
their expression.
"I believe, my lord," said she, moving from the hut, "that it would be
better to join your guests: walls have ears; and what would be the gay
Lord Mauleverer's self-reproach if he heard again of his fine compliments
to--"
"The most charming person in Europe!" cried Mauleverer, vehemently; and
the hand which he before touched he now clasped. At that instant Lucy
saw opposite to her, half hid by a copse of evergreens, the figure of
Clifford. His face, which seemed pale and wan, was not directed towards
the place where she stood, and he evidently did not perceive Mauleverer
or herself; yet so great was the effect that this glimpse of him produced
on Lucy, that she trembled violently, and, unconsciously uttering a faint
cry, snatched her hand from Mauleverer.
The earl started, and catching the expression of her eyes, turned
instantly towards the spot to which her gaze seemed riveted. He had not
heard the rustling of the boughs, but he saw, with his habitual quickness
of remark, that they still trembled, as if lately displaced; and he
caught through their interstices the glimpse of a receding figure. He
sprang forward with an agility very uncommon to his usual movements; but
before he gained the copse, every vestige of the intruder had vanished.
What slaves we are to the moment! As Mauleverer turned back to rejoin
Lucy, who, agitated almost to fainting, leaned against the rude wall of
the but, he would as soon have thought of flying as of making that
generous offer of self, etc., which the instant before he had been
burning to render Lucy. The vain are always sensitively jealous; and
Mauleverer, remembering Clifford, and Lucy's blushes in dancing with him,
instantly accounted for her agitation and its cause. With a very grave
air he approached the object of his late adoration, and requested to know
if it were not some abrupt intruder that had occasioned her alarm. Lucy,
scarcely knowing what she said, answered in a low voice that it was,
indeed, and begged instantly to rejoin her father. Mauleverer offered
his arm with great dignity; and the pair passed into the frequented part
of the grounds, where Mauleverer once more brightened into smiles and
courtesy to all around him.
"He is certainly accepted!" said Mr. Shrewd to Lady Simper.
"What an immense match for the girl!" was Lady Simper's reply.
Amidst the music, the dancing, the throng, the noise, Lucy found it easy
to recover herself; and disengaging her arm from Lord Mauleverer, as she
perceived her father, she rejoined the squire, and remained a patient
listener to his remarks till late in the noon it became an understood
matter that people were expected to go into a long room in order to eat
and drink. Mauleverer, now alive to the duties of his situation, and
feeling exceedingly angry with Lucy, was more reconciled than he
otherwise might have been to the etiquette which obliged him to select
for the object of his hospitable cares an old dowager duchess instead of
the beauty of the fete; but he took care to point out to the squire the
places appointed for himself and daughter, which were, though at some
distance from the earl, under the providence of his vigilant survey.
While Mauleverer was deifying the dowager duchess, and refreshing his
spirits with a chicken and a medicinal glass of madeira, the conversation
near Lucy turned, to her infinite dismay, upon Clifford. Some one had
seen him in the grounds, booted and in a riding undress (in that day
people seldom rode and danced in the same conformation of coat); and as
Mauleverer was a precise person about those little matters of etiquette,
this negligence of Clifford's made quite a subject of discussion. By
degrees the conversation changed into the old inquiry as to who this
Captain Clifford was; and just as it had reached that point, it reached
also the gently deafened ears of Lord Mauleverer.
"Pray, my lord," said the old duchess, "since he is one of your guests,
you, who know who and what every one is, can possibly inform us of the
real family of this beautiful Mr. Clifford?"
"One of my guests, did you say?" answered Mauleverer, irritated greatly
beyond his usual quietness of manner. "Really, your grace does me wrong.
He may be a guest of my valet, but he assuredly is not mine; and should I
encounter him, I shall leave it to my valet to give him his _conge_ as
well as his invitation!"
Mauleverer, heightening his voice as he observed athwart the table an
alternate paleness and flush upon Lucy's face, which stung all the
angrier passions, generally torpid in him, into venom, looked round, on
concluding, with a haughty and sarcastic air. So loud had been his tone,
so pointed the insult, and so dead the silence at the table while he
spoke, that every one felt the affront must be carried at once to
Clifford's hearing, should he be in the room. And after Mauleverer had
ceased, there was a universal nervous and indistinct expectation of an
answer and a scene; all was still, and it soon became certain that
Clifford was not in the apartment. When Mr. Shrewd had fully convinced
himself of this fact,--for there was a daring spirit about Clifford which
few wished to draw upon themselves,--that personage broke the pause by
observing that no man who pretended to be a gentleman would intrude
himself, unasked and unwelcome, into any society; and Mauleverer,
catching up the observation, said (drinking wine at the same time with
Mr. Shrewd) that undoubtedly such conduct fully justified the rumours
respecting Mr. Clifford, and utterly excluded him from that rank to which
it was before more than suspected he had no claim.
So luminous and satisfactory an opinion from such an authority, once
broached, was immediately and universally echoed; and long before the
repast was over, it seemed to be tacitly agreed that Captain Clifford
should be sent to Coventry, and if he murmured at the exile, he would
have no right to insist upon being sent thence to the devil.
The good old squire, mindful of his former friendship for Clifford, and
not apt to veer, was about to begin a speech on the occasion, when Lucy,
touching his arm, implored him to be silent; and so ghastly was the
paleness of her cheek while she spoke, that the squire's eyes, obtuse as
he generally was, opened at once to the real secret of her heart. As
soon as the truth flashed upon him, he wondered, recalling Clifford's
great personal beauty and marked attentions, that it had not flashed upon
him sooner; and leaning back on his chair, he sank into one of the most
unpleasant reveries he had ever conceived.
At a given signal the music for the dancers recommenced, and at a hint to
that effect from the host, persons rose without ceremony to repair to
other amusements, and suffer such guests as had hitherto been excluded
from eating to occupy the place of the relinquishers. Lucy, glad to
escape, was one of the first to resign her situation, and with the squire
she returned to the grounds. During the banquet, evening had closed in,
and the scene now really became fairy-like and picturesque; lamps hung
from many a tree, reflecting the light through the richest and softest
hues; the music itself sounded more musically than during the day; gipsy-
tents were pitched at wild corners and copses, and the bright wood-fires
burning in them blazed merrily upon the cold yet cheerful air of the
increasing night. The view was really novel and inviting; and as it had
been an understood matter that ladies were to bring furs, cloaks, and
boots, all those who thought they looked well in such array made little
groups, and scattered themselves about the grounds and in the tents.
They, on the contrary, in whom "the purple light of love" was apt by the
frost to be propelled from the cheeks to the central ornament of the
face, or who thought a fire in a room quite as agreeable as a fire in a
tent, remained within, and contemplated the scene through the open
windows.
Lucy longed to return home, nor was the squire reluctant; but, unhappily,
it wanted an hour to the time at which the carriage had been ordered, and
she mechanically joined a group of guests who had persuaded the good-
natured squire to forget his gout and venture forth to look at the
illuminations. Her party was soon joined by others, and the group
gradually thickened into a crowd; the throng was stationary for a few
minutes before a little temple in which fireworks had just commenced an
additional attraction to the scene. Opposite to this temple, as well as
in its rear, the walks and trees had been purposely left in comparative
darkness, in order to heighten the effect of the fireworks.
"I declare," said Lady Simper, glancing down one of the alleys which
seemed to stretch away into blackness,--"I declare it seems quite a
lovers' walk. How kind in Lord Mauleverer!--such a delicate attention--"
"To your ladyship!" added Mr. Shrewd, with a bow. While, one of this
crowd, Lucy was vacantly eying the long trains of light which ever and
anon shot against the sky, she felt her hand suddenly seized, and at the
same time a voice whispered, "For God's sake, read this now and grant my
request!"
The voice, which seemed to rise from the very heart of the speaker, Lucy
knew at once; she trembled violently, and remained for some minutes with
eyes which did not dare to look from the ground. A note she felt had
been left in her hand; and the agonized and earnest tone of that voice,
which was dearer to her than the fulness of all music, made her impatient
yet afraid to read it. As she recovered courage, she looked around, and
seeing that the attention of all was bent upon the fireworks, and that
her father in particular, leaning on his cane, seemed to enjoy the
spectacle with a child's engrossed delight, she glided softly away, and
entering unperceived one of the alleys, she read, by a solitary lamp that
burned at its entrance, the following lines, written in pencil and in a
hurried hand, apparently upon a leaf torn from a pocket-book:--
I implore, I entreat you, Miss Brandon, to see me, if but for a
moment. I purpose to tear myself away from the place in which you
reside, to go abroad, to leave even the spot hallowed by your
footstep. After this night my presence, my presumption, will
degrade you no more. But this night, for mercy's sake, see me, or I
shall go mad! I will but speak to you one instant: this is all I
ask. If you grant me this prayer, the walk to the left where you
stand, at the entrance to which there is one purple lamp, will
afford an opportunity to your mercy. A few yards down that walk I
will meet you,--none can see or hear us. Will you grant this? I
know not, I dare not think; but under any case, your name shall be
the last upon my lips.
P. C.
As Lucy read this hurried scrawl, she glanced towards the lamp above her,
and saw that she had accidentally entered the very walk indicated in the
note. She paused, she hesitated; the impropriety, the singularity of the
request, darted upon her at once; on the other hand, the anxious voice
still ringing in her ear, the incoherent vehemence of the note, the risk,
the opprobrium Clifford had incurred solely--her heart whispered--to see
her, all aided her simple temper, her kind feelings, and her love for the
petitioner, in inducing her to consent. She cast one glance behind,--all
seemed occupied with far other thoughts than that of notice towards her;
she looked anxiously before,--all looked gloomy and indistinct; but
suddenly, at some little distance, she descried a dark figure in motion.
She felt her knees shake under her, her heart beat violently; she moved
onward a few paces, again paused, and looked back. The figure before her
moved as in approach; she resumed courage, and advanced,--the figure was
by her side.
"How generous, how condescending, is this goodness in Miss Brandon!" said
the voice, which so struggled with secret and strong emotion that Lucy
scarcely recognized it as Clifford's. "I did not dare to expect it; and
now--now that I meet you--" Clifford paused, as if seeking words; and
Lucy, even through the dark, perceived that her strange companion was
powerfully excited; she waited for him to continue, but observing that he
walked on in silence, she said, though with a trembling voice, "Indeed,
Mr. Clifford, I fear that it is very, very improper in me to meet you
thus; nothing but the strong expressions in your letter--and--and--in
short, my fear that you meditated some desperate design, at which I could
not guess, caused me to yield to your wish for an interview." She
paused, and Clifford still preserving silence, she added, with some
little coldness in her tone: "If you have really aught to say to me, you
must allow me to request that you speak it quickly. This interview, you
must be sensible, ought to end almost as soon as it begins."
"Hear me, then!" said Clifford, mastering his embarrassment and speaking
in a firm and clear voice; "is that true which I have but just heard,--is
it true that I have been spoken of in your presence in terms of insult
and affront?"
It was now for Lucy to feel embarrassed; fearful to give pain, and yet
anxious that Clifford should know, in order that he might disprove, the
slight and the suspicion which the mystery around him drew upon his name,
she faltered between the two feelings, and without satisfying the latter,
succeeded in realizing the fear of the former.
"Enough!" said Clifford, in a tone of deep mortification, as his quick
ear caught and interpreted, yet more humiliatingly than the truth, the
meaning of her stammered and confused reply,--"enough! I see that it is
true, and that the only human being in the world to whose good opinion I
am not indifferent has been a witness of the insulting manner in which
others have dared to speak of me!"
"But," said Lucy, eagerly, "why give the envious or the idle any excuse?
Why not suffer your parentage and family to be publicly known? Why are
you here"--and her voice sank into a lower key--"this very day, unasked,
and therefore subject to the cavils of all who think the poor distinction
of an invitation an honour? Forgive me, Mr. Clifford; perhaps I offend.
I hurt you by speaking thus frankly; but your good name rests with
yourself, and your friends cannot but feel angry that you should trifle
with it."
"Madam," said Clifford; and Lucy's eyes, now growing accustomed to the
darkness, perceived a bitter smile upon his lips, "my name, good or ill,
is an object of little care to me. I have read of philosophers who pride
themselves in placing no value in the opinions of the world. Rank me
among that sect. But I am--I own I am--anxious that you alone, of all
the world, should not despise me; and now that I feel you do, that you
must, everything worth living or hoping for is past!"
"Despise you!" said Lucy, and her eyes filled with tears; "indeed you
wrong me and yourself. But listen to me, Mr. Clifford. I have seen, it
is true, but little of the world, yet I have seen enough to make me wish
I could have lived in retirement forever. The rarest quality among
either sex, though it is the simplest, seems to me good-nature; and the
only occupation of what are termed 'fashionable people' appears to be
speaking ill of one another. Nothing gives such a scope to scandal as
mystery; nothing disarms it like openness. I know, your friends know,
Mr. Clifford, that your character can bear inspection; and I believe, for
my own part, the same of your family. Why not, then, declare who and
what you are?"
"That candour would indeed be my best defender," said Clifford, in a tone
which ran displeasingly through Lucy's ear; "but in truth, madam, I
repeat, I care not one drop of this worthless blood what men say of me:
that time has passed, and forever; perhaps it never keenly existed for
me,--no matter. I came hither, Miss Brandon, not wasting a thought on
these sickening fooleries, or on the hoary idler by whom they are given.
I came hither only once more to see you, to hear you speak, to watch you
move, to tell you"--and the speaker's voice trembled, so as to be
scarcely audible--"to tell you, if any reason for the disclosure offered
itself, that I have had the boldness, the crime, to love--to love--O God!
to adore you; and then to leave you forever!"
Pale, trembling, scarcely preserved from falling by the tree against
which she leaned, Lucy listened to this abrupt avowal. "Dare I touch
this hand?" continued Clifford, as he knelt and took it timidly and
reverently. "You know not, you cannot dream, how unworthy is he who thus
presumes; yet not all unworthy, while he is sensible of so deep, so holy
a feeling as that which he bears to you. God bless you, Miss Brandon!--
Lucy, God bless you! And if hereafter you hear me subjected to still
blacker suspicion or severer scrutiny than that which I now sustain; if
even your charity and goodness can find no defence for me; if the
suspicion become certainty, and the scrutiny end in condemnation,--
believe at least that circumstances have carried me beyond my nature, and
that under fairer auspices I might have been other than I am!"
Lucy's tear dropped upon Clifford's hand as he spoke; and while his heart
melted within him as he felt it and knew his own desperate and unredeemed
condition, he added,--
"Every one courts you,--the proud, the rich, the young, the high-born,--
all are at your feet! You will select one of that number for your
husband; may he watch over you as I would have done!--love you as I do he
cannot! Yes, I repeat it," continued Clifford, vehemently,--"he cannot!
None amidst the gay, happy, silken crowd of your equals and followers can
feel for you that single and overruling passion which makes you to me
what all combined--country, power, wealth, reputation, an honest name,
peace, common safety, the quiet of the common air, alike the least
blessing and the greatest-are to all others! Once more, may God in
heaven watch over you and preserve you! I tear myself, on leaving you,
from all that cheers or blesses or raises or might have saved me!
Farewell!"
The hand which Lucy had relinquished to her strange suitor was pressed
ardently to his lips, dropped in the same instant, and she knew that she
was once more alone.
But Clifford, hurrying rapidly through the trees, made his way towards
the nearest gate which led from Lord Mauleverer's domain; when he reached
it, a crowd of the more elderly guests occupied the entrance, and one of
these was a lady of such distinction that Mauleverer, in spite of his
aversion to any superfluous exposure to the night air, had obliged
himself to conduct her to her carriage. He was in a very ill humour with
this constrained politeness, especially as the carriage was very slow in
relieving him of his charge, when he saw, by the lamplight, Clifford
passing near him, and winning his way to the gate. Quite forgetting his
worldly prudence, which should have made him averse to scenes with any
one, especially with a flying enemy, and a man with whom, if he believed
aright, little glory was to be gained in conquest, much less in contest;
and only remembering Clifford's rivalship, and his own hatred towards him
for the presumption, Mauleverer, uttering a hurried apology to the lady
on his arm, stepped forward, and opposing Clifford's progress, said, with
a bow of tranquil insult, "Pardon me, sir, but is it at my invitation or
that of one of my servants that you have honoured me with your company
this day?"
Clifford's thoughts at the time of this interruption were of that nature
before which all petty misfortunes shrink into nothing; if, therefore, he
started for a moment at the earl's address, he betrayed no embarrassment
in reply, but bowing with an air of respect, and taking no notice of the
affront implied in Mauleverer's speech, he answered,--
"Your lordship has only to deign a glance at my dress to see that I have
not intruded myself on your grounds with the intention of claiming your
hospitality. The fact is, and I trust to your lordship's courtesy to
admit the excuse, that I leave this neighbourhood to-morrow, and for some
length of time. A person whom I was very anxious to see before I left
was one of your lordship's guests; I heard this, and knew that I should
have no other opportunity of meeting the person in question before my
departure; and I must now throw myself on the well-known politeness of
Lord Mauleverer to pardon a freedom originating in a business very much
approaching to a necessity."
Lord Mauleverer's address to Clifford had congregated an immediate crowd
of eager and expectant listeners; but so quietly respectful and really
gentlemanlike were Clifford's air and tone in excusing himself, that the
whole throng were smitten with a sudden disappointment.
Lord Mauleverer himself, surprised by the temper and deportment of the
unbidden guest, was at a loss for one moment; and Clifford was about to
take advantage of that moment and glide away, when Mauleverer, with a
second bow, more civil than the former one, said,--
"I cannot but be happy, sir, that my poor place has afforded you any
convenience; but if I am not very impertinent, will you allow me to
inquire the name of my guest with whom you required a meeting?"
"My lord," said Clifford, drawing himself up and speaking gravely and
sternly, though still with a certain deference, "I need not surely point
out to your lordship's good sense and good feeling that your very
question implies a doubt, and consequently an affront, and that the tone
of it is not such as to justify that concession on my part which the
further explanation you require would imply!"
Few spoken sarcasms could be so bitter as that silent one which
Mauleverer could command by a smile, and with this complimentary
expression on his thin lips and raised brow, the earl answered: "Sir, I
honour the skill testified by your reply; it must be the result of a
profound experience in these affairs. I wish you, sir, a very good
night; and the next time you favour me with a visit, I am quite sure that
your motives for so indulging me will be no less creditable to you than
at present."
With these words Mauleverer turned to rejoin his fair charge. But
Clifford was a man who had seen in a short time a great deal of the
world, and knew tolerably well the theories of society, if not the
practice of its minutiae; moreover, he was of an acute and resolute
temper, and these properties of mind, natural and acquired, told him that
he was now in a situation in which it had become more necessary to defy
than to conciliate. Instead therefore of retiring he walked deliberately
up to Mauleverer, and said,--
"My lord, I shall leave it to the judgment of your guests to decide
whether you have acted the part of a nobleman and a gentleman in thus,
in your domains, insulting one who has given you such explanation of his
trespass as would fully excuse him in the eyes of all considerate or
courteous persons. I shall also leave it to them to decide whether the
tone of your inquiry allowed me to give you any further apology. But I
shall take it upon myself, my lord, to demand from you an immediate
explanation of your last speech."
"Insolent!" cried Mauleverer, colouring with indignation, and almost for
the first time in his life losing absolute command over his temper; "do
you bandy words with me? Begone, or I shall order my servants to thrust
you forth!"
"Begone, sir! begone!" cried several voices in echo to Mauleverer, from
those persons who deemed it now high time to take part with the powerful.
Clifford stood his ground, gazing around with a look of angry and defying
contempt, which, joined to his athletic frame, his dark and fierce eye,
and a heavy riding-whip, which, as if mechanically, he half raised,
effectually kept the murmurers from proceeding to violence.
"Poor pretender to breeding and to sense!" said he, disdainfully turning
to Mauleverer; "with one touch of this whip I could shame you forever, or
compel you to descend from the level of your rank to that of mine, and
the action would be but a mild return to your language. But I love
rather to teach you than to correct. According to my creed, my lord,
he conquers most in good breeding who forbears the most,--scorn enables
me to forbear! Adieu!"
With this, Clifford turned on his heel and strode away. A murmur,
approaching to a groan, from the younger or sillier part of the parasites
(the mature and the sensible have no extra emotion to throw away),
followed him as he disappeared.