We will examine if those accidents,
Which common fame calls injuries, happen to him
Deservedly or no.--The New Inn.
FROM LORD ULSWATER TO LADY WESTBOROUGH.
Forgive me, dearest Lady Westborough, for my violence: you know and
will allow for the infirmities of my temper. I have to make you and Lady
Flora one request, which I trust you will not refuse me.
Do not see or receive any communication from Mr. Linden till Wednesday;
and on that day at the hour of twelve suffer me to meet him at your
house. I will then either prove him to be the basest of impostors, or,
if I fail in this and Lady Flora honours my rival with one sentiment
of preference, I will without a murmur submit to her decree and my
rejection. Dare I trust that this petition will be accorded to one who
is, with great regard and esteem, etc.
“This is fortunate,” said Lady Westborough gently to her daughter, who,
leaning her head on her mother’s bosom, suffered hopes, the sweeter for
their long sleep, to divide, if not wholly to possess, her heart. “We
shall have now time well and carefully to reflect over what will be best
for your future happiness. We owe this delay to one to whom you have
been affianced. Let us, therefore, now merely write to Mr. Linden, to
inform him of Lord Ulswater’s request; and to say that if he will meet
his lordship at the time appointed, we, that is I, shall be happy to see
him.”
Lady Flora sighed, but she saw the reasonableness of her mother’s
proposal, and pressing Lady Westborough’s hand murmured her assent.
“At all events,” thought Lady Westborough, as she wrote to Clarence,
“the affair can but terminate to advantage. If Lord Ulswater proves
Mr. Linden’s unworthiness, the suit of the latter is of course at
rest forever: if not, and Mr. Linden be indeed all that he asserts,
my daughter’s choice cannot be an election of reproach; Lord Ulswater
promises peaceably to withdraw his pretensions; and though Mr. Linden
may not possess his rank or fortune, he is certainly one with whom, if
of ancient blood, any family would be proud of an alliance.”
Blending with these reflections a considerable share of curiosity
and interest in a secret which partook so strongly of romance, Lady
Westborough despatched her note to Clarence. The answer returned was
brief, respectful, and not only acquiescent in but grateful for the
proposal.
With this arrangement both Lady Westborough and Lady Flora were
compelled, though with very different feelings, to be satisfied; and an
agreement was established between them, to the effect that if Linden’s
name passed unblemished through the appointed ordeal Lady Flora was to
be left to, and favoured in, her own election; while, on the contrary,
if Lord Ulswater succeeded in the proof he had spoken of, his former
footing in the family was to be fully re-established and our unfortunate
adventurer forever discarded.
To this Lady Flora readily consented; for with a sanguine and certain
trust in her lover’s truth and honour, which was tenfold more strong
for her late suspicions, she would not allow herself a doubt as to the
result; and with an impatience, mingled with a rapturous exhilaration
of spirit, which brought back to her the freshness and radiancy of her
youngest years, she counted the hours and moments to the destined day.
While such was the state of affairs at Westborough Park, Clarence was
again on horseback and on another excursion. By the noon of the day
following that which had seen his eventful meeting with Lady Flora, he
found himself approaching the extreme boundaries of the county in
which Mordaunt Court and the memorable town of W---- were situated. The
characteristics of the country were now materially changed from
those which gave to the vicinity of Algernon’s domains its wild and
uncultivated aspect.
As Clarence slowly descended a hill of considerable steepness and
length, a prospect of singular and luxurious beauty opened to his view.
The noblest of England’s rivers was seen, through “turfs and shades and
flowers,” pursuing “its silver-winding way.” On the opposite banks lay,
embosomed in the golden glades of autumn, the busy and populous town
that from the height seemed still and lifeless as an enchanted city,
over which the mid-day sun hung like a guardian spirit. Behind, in
sweeping diversity, stretched wood and dale, and fields despoiled of
their rich harvest, yet still presenting a yellow surface to the eye;
and ever and anon some bright patch of green, demanding the gaze as if
by a lingering spell from the past spring; while, here and there, spire
and hamlet studded the landscape, or some lowly cot lay, backed by the
rising ground or the silent woods, white and solitary, and sending up
its faint tribute of smoke in spires to the altars of Heaven. The river
was more pregnant of life than its banks: barge and boat were gliding
gayly down the wave, and the glad oar of the frequent and slender
vessels consecrated to pleasure was seen dimpling the water, made by
distance smoother than glass.
On the right side of Clarence’s road, as he descended the hill, lay wide
plantations of fir and oak, divided from the road by a park paling, the
uneven sides of which were covered with brown moss, and which, at rare
openings in the young wood, gave glimpses of a park, seemingly extending
over great space, the theatre of many a stately copse and oaken grove,
which might have served the Druids with fane and temple meet for the
savage sublimity of their worship.
Upon these unfrequent views, Clarence checked his horse, and gazed, with
emotions sweet yet bitter, over the pales, along the green expanse which
they contained. And once, when through the trees he caught a slight
glimpse of the white walls of the mansion they adorned, all the years
of his childhood seemed to rise on his heart, thrilling to its farthest
depths with a mighty and sorrowful yet sweet melody, and--
“Singing of boyhood back, the voices of his home.”
Home! yes, amidst those groves had the April of his life lavished its
mingled smiles and tears! There was the spot hallowed by his earliest
joys! and the scene of sorrows still more sacred than joys! and now,
after many years, the exiled boy came back, a prosperous and thoughtful
man, to take but one brief glance of that home which to him had been
less hospitable than a stranger’s dwelling, and to find a witness among
those who remembered him of his very birth and identity!
He wound the ascent at last, and entering a small town at the foot of
the hill, which was exactly facing the larger one on the opposite shore
of the river, put up his horse at one of the inns, and then, with a
beating heart, remounted the hill, and entering the park by one of its
lodges found himself once more in the haunts of his childhood.