That evening Harley L’Estrange arrived at his father’s house. The few
years that had passed since we saw him last, had made no perceptible
change in his appearance. He still preserved his elastic youthfulness of
form, and singular variety and play of countenance. He seemed unaffectedly
rejoiced to greet his parents, and had something of the gayety and the
tenderness of a boy returned from school. His manner to Helen bespoke the
chivalry that pervaded all the complexities and curves of his character.
It was affectionate but respectful. Hers to him, subdued—but innocently
sweet and gently cordial. Harley was the chief talker. The aspect of the
times was so critical, that he could not avoid questions on politics; and,
indeed, he showed an interest in them which he had never evinced before.
Lord Lansmere was delighted.
"Why, Harley, you love your country, after all?"
"The moment she seems in danger—yes!" replied the Patrician; and the
Sybarite seemed to rise into the Athenian.
Then he asked with eagerness about his old friend Audley; and, his
curiosity satisfied there, he inquired the last literary news. He had
heard much of a book lately published. He named the one ascribed by Parson
Dale to Professor Moss; none of his listeners had read it. Harley pished
at this, and accused them all of indolence and stupidity in his own
quaint, metaphorical style. Then he said—"And town gossip?"
"We never hear it," said Lady Lansmere.
"There is a new plough much talked of at Boodle’s," said Lord Lansmere.
"God speed it. But is there not a new man much talked of at White’s?"
"I don’t belong to White’s."
"Nevertheless, you may have heard of him—a foreigner, a Count di
Peschiera."
"Yes," said Lord Lansmere; "he was pointed out to me in the Park—a
handsome man for a foreigner; wears his hair properly cut; looks
gentlemanlike and English."
"Ah, ah! He is here then!" And Harley rubbed his hands.
"Which road did you take? Did you pass the Simplon?"
"No; I came straight from Vienna."
Then, relating with lively vein his adventures by the way, he continued to
delight Lord Lansmere by his gayety till the time came to retire to rest.
As soon as Harley was in his own room, his mother joined him.
"Well," said he, "I need not ask if you like Miss Digby? Who would not?"
"Harley, my own son," said the mother, bursting into tears, "be happy your
own way; only be happy; that is all I ask."
Harley, much affected, replied gratefully and soothingly to this fond
injunction. And then gradually leading his mother on to converse of Helen,
asked abruptly—"And of the chance of our happiness—her happiness well as
mine—what is your opinion? Speak frankly."
"Of _her_ happiness, there can be no doubt," replied the mother proudly.
"Of yours, how can you ask me? Have you not decided on that yourself?"
"But still it cheers and encourages one in any experiment, however well
considered, to hear the approval of another. Helen has certainly a most
gentle temper."
"I should conjecture so. But her mind—"
"Is very well stored."
"She speaks so little—"
"Yes. I wonder why? She’s surely a woman!"
"Pshaw," said the Countess, smiling in spite of herself. "But tell me more
of the process of your experiment. You took her as a child, and resolved
to train her according to your own ideal. Was that easy?"
"It seemed so. I desired to instil habits of truth—she was already by
nature truthful as the day; a taste for nature and all things natural—that
seemed inborn: perceptions of Art as the interpreter of Nature—those were
more difficult to teach. I think they may come. You have heard her play
and sing?"
"No."
"She will surprise you. She has less talent for drawing; still, all that
teaching could do has been done—in a word, she is accomplished. Temper,
heart, mind—these are all excellent." Harley stopped, and suppressed a
sigh. "Certainly, I ought to be very happy," said he; and he began to wind
up his watch.
"Of course she must love you?" said the Countess, after a pause. "How
could she fail?"
"Love me! My dear mother, that is the very question I shall have to ask."
"Ask! Love is discovered by a glance; it has no need of asking."
"I have never discovered it, then, I assure you. The fact is, that before
her childhood was passed, I removed her, as you may suppose, from my roof.
She resided with an Italian family, near my usual abode. I visited her
often, directed her studies, watched her improvement—"
"And fell in love with her?"
"Fall is such a very violent word. No; I don’t remember to have had a
fall. It was all a smooth inclined plane from the first step, until at
last I said to myself, ’Harley L’Estrange, thy time has come. The bud has
blossomed into flower. Take it to thy breast.’ And myself replied to
myself meekly, ’So be it.’ Then I found that Lady N daughters, was coming
to England. I asked her Ladyship to take my ward to your house. I wrote to
you, and prayed your assent; and, that granted, I knew you would obtain my
father’s. I am here—you give me the approval I sought for. I will speak to
Helen to-morrow. Perhaps, after all, she may reject me."
"Strange, strange—you speak thus coldly, thus lightly; you so capable of
ardent love!"
"Mother," said Harley, earnestly, "be satisfied! _I_ am! Love, as of old,
I feel, alas! too well, can visit me never more. But gentle companionship,
tender friendship, the relief and the sunlight of woman’s smile—hereafter
the voices of children—music that, striking on the hearts of both parents,
wakens the most lasting and the purest of all sympathies: these are my
hope. Is the hope so mean, my fond mother?"
Again the Countess wept, and her tears were not dried when she left the
room.