CROESUS COMETH.
We have been comfortable in our country-houses for centuries. Even in
those rough-and-ready days--when the hall was strewn with rushes, and
the blue wood-smoke hung over the heads of the banqueters like a canopy,
and the great tawny hounds couched at their master's feet, gnawing the
bones as they fell from the bare oak tables, and the maids of Merry
England recruited their roses with steaks and ale in the early
morning--I believe the Anglo-Saxon squire had a right to be proud of his
social privileges, and to contrast them favourably with the
short-comings of his Continental neighbours. But it looks as if we had
only begun of late years thoroughly to appreciate those advantages;
now--there is hardly a tale or a novel written, which does not sound a
note or two of triumph on the subject. In truth, it is hardly possible
to praise too highly this part of our social system. Nevertheless, in a
few of these favoured mansions, there springs up something bitter from
the midst of the fountain of delights which, to the minds of many of us,
poisons the perfection of hospitality. Sometimes the officer in command
is rather too exact and exacting about his morning-parade, insisting
upon his company being "all present and correct" within a certain time
after the warning gong has sounded. Punctuality is an immense virtue, of
course; but our frail and peccant nature will not endure even virtues to
be forced upon it against the grain, without grumbling; and there are
men--sluggish if you will, but not wholly reprobate--who think that no
amount of good shooting or good cookery can compensate for the
discomfort of having to battle with a butler for the seisin of their
grill, or being forced to keep a footman at fork's length, while they
hurry over a succulent "bloater" should they wish to break their fast at
a heterodox and unsanctified hour. There is some sense in the objection,
after all. If you want to enforce regularity with Spartan sternness, it
is better to be consistent, and not tantalize one with contrasts, but
recur to the old black-broth and barley-bread form; choose your system
and stick to it: it never can answer to mix up Doric simplicity with
Ionian luxury.
So few things were done by line and measure at Dene, that it would have
been strange if breakfast had formed the solitary exception to the rule
of--_Fais ce que voudras_. The general hour was perhaps "a liberal ten;"
but if any guest chanced to be seized with a fit of laziness, he could
indulge his indolent genius without fear of having to fast in expiation.
At whatever hour he might appear, a separate breakfast equipage awaited
him, with the letters of that post laid out thereon, decently and in
order, and the servants seemed only too glad to anticipate his appetite.
The Squire himself was tolerably early in his habits, and kept his times
of starting very well in the shooting or hunting season: he would never
wait beyond a reasonable time for any one--making no distinction of
persons--but would start with those who were ready, leaving the laggards
to follow when they would. There was a want of principle, perhaps, about
the whole arrangement, but it answered admirably; even those who were
left behind on such occasions never dreamt of being discontented or
discomfited; indeed, it was not a very heavy penance to be condemned to
spend a home-day at Dene with the feminine part of its garrison. There
were few houses that people were so glad to come to, and so sorry to
leave.
Wyverne was very capricious and uncertain as to the hours of his
appearance, except when any sport by flood or field was in prospect: he
was never a second behind time then. If the day chanced to be very
tempting, it was even betting that he would be found sauntering about
some terrace that caught the fresh morning sun, before the dew was off
the flowers; but it would have been dangerous to lay odds about it;
taking the average of the year, the balance was decidedly in favour of
indolence.
When he came down on the sixth morning from that on which this story
began, the Squire and Helen were lingering over their breakfast nearly
finished, that Alan might not have to eat his in solitude. Nobody ever
thought of apologizing for being late at Dene; so, after the pleasant
morning-greetings were over, Wyverne sat down to his repast with his
usual air of tranquil, appreciative enjoyment; he did not seem in any
particular hurry to grapple with the pile of letters that lay beside his
plate.
Have you ever observed the pretty flutter that pervades all the
womanhood present when the post-bag is brought in--how eyes, bright
enough already, begin to sparkle yet more vividly with impatient
anticipation, and how little tremulous hands are stretched out to grasp
as much of the contents as their owners can possibly claim? We of the
sterner sex take the thing much more coolly--of course because we are so
much graver and better and wiser than _they_ are: when a man "plunges"
at his letters, you may be quite sure he has a heavy book on an
approaching race, or is a partner in some thriving concern, commercial
or amatory; in such a contingency the speculator is naturally anxious to
know if his venture is likely to prove remunerative. Where no such
_irritamenta malorum_ (or _bonorum_, in exceptional cases) exist, we are
apt to accept what the post brings us with resignation rather than with
gratitude, reflecting moodily, that all those documents must not only be
read through, but answered--at what expense of time, money, or
imagination, it is impossible at present to say.
Some years ago I heard of a female Phoenix--wise and fair, too, beyond
her fellows--who actually wrote to a very intimate friend ten
consecutive letters, each containing, besides more confidential and
interesting matter, all sorts of news and scandal, with the recording
angel's comments annexed. They were model epistles, I believe--witty,
but not _too_ wicked; frank, without being too demonstrative; and to not
one of the brilliant decade did the writer _expect an answer_. That was
understood from first to last, for circumstances made silence, on one
side, imperative. I hope her correspondent appreciated that rare
creature, then: I am very sure he did, the other day, when he sat down
to his writing-table with a weary sigh and the remark--that "of all fond
things vainly imagined, a second post was the most condemnable." If
charity covers a multitude of sins, surely such repeated acts of
unselfish benevolence ought to cloak most of that poor Rose's little
faults and failings. Speaking quite disinterestedly (for I scarcely knew
her by sight), I think she deserves a statue--as a marvel of the
Post-office--better than Rowland Hill: if I were bound to take a
pilgrimage, I would pass by the shrine of Saint Ursula, and go a
thousand miles beyond it, to the green Styrian hills where She withered
and died--the only woman on record who could persist, for three whole
months, in amusing a silent correspondent without proximate hope of
recompense.
Wyverne's letters were not very numerous that morning, nor did they
appear to interest him much; for he took up one after the other, at
intervals, and after just glancing at the contents put them aside,
without interrupting a pleasant desultory conversation with his
companions. At last only two remained unread.
The envelope of one was of thick blue-wove paper; the direction was in a
large, strong, upright hand; the seal square, and solemnly
accurate--such a seal as no man dare use unless he were in a position to
set the world at defiance. If you or I, _amigo_, were to risk it,
however numerous and unblemished our quarterings, we should lay
ourselves open to all the penalties attendant on _lese-majeste_: the
very crest was a menace--a mailed arm, with a mace in its gripe. If any
possessor of that truculent coat-of-arms had put it on the outside of a
love-letter, all passionate pleading must have been neutralized; the
nymph to whom it was addressed would have fled away, swiftly as Arethusa
of light-footed memory, or a "homeless hare."
The other letter was of a widely different type; it bore no seal, but a
scarlet monogram so elaborately involved as to be nearly illegible;
after careful study of its intricacies, with a certain amount of luck,
you might have made out the initials N. R. L. There was a _mignardise_
about the whole thing quite in keeping with the handwriting--slender,
sloping, and essentially feminine; at the same time there was a good
deal of _character_ about it; without much practice in graphiology, one
guessed at once that those lines had been traced by fingers long, lithe,
and lissome--fingers that either in love or hate would close round
yours--pliant and tenacious as the coils of a Java serpent--fingers apt
at weaving webs to entangle men's senses and souls.
Alan took these letters up in the order in which we have named them. The
first was evidently very brief; as he read it, an odd smile came on his
lip, not altogether of amusement, but rather bitter and constrained;
just such a smile as one might put on to mask a momentary discomfiture,
if, in a contest of polite repartee, one had received a home thrust,
without seeing exactly how to _riposter_. The other envelope contained
two full note-sheets, one of which (of course) was crossed. Wyverne just
glanced at the first page and the last few lines, and then, putting it
back into its cover, laid it down with the rest; it was quite natural
that he should thus defer the perusal, for, however well he might have
known the handwriting, ten minutes of undivided attention could scarcely
have carried him through it. A very close observer might have detected
just then a slight darkening and contraction of his brows; but the
change lasted not five seconds, and then his face became pleasant and
tranquil as ever.
"Well, that is over, or nearly so," he said, drawing rather a long
breath. "Did anybody ever see such a day for riding? I feel the Tartar
humour on me, Helen--do you sympathize? If so, we'll let our
correspondence take thought for the things of itself--_I_ don't intend
to put pen to paper to-day--and go forth on a real pilgrimage, trusting
to fate for luncheon. There's not an atom too much sun, and the breeze
might have been made to order."
Perhaps the movement of Alan's arm, which pushed two or three of his
letters off the table, was quite involuntary; and perhaps quite
unintentionally, when he picked them up, he placed the _last_ undermost:
but the eyes of Lynceus were not keener-sighted than those dark languid
orbs, held by many to be the crowning glory of Helen Vavasour's beauty.
Neither the change in her cousin's face, nor one detail of the apparent
accident escaped her; and it is possible that she drew from them her own
conclusions. Probably they were not very serious ones, and perhaps his
careless tone contributed to reassure her; at any rate, nothing could be
brighter than her face as she answered--
"I should enjoy it, of all things, Alan. On a day like this I believe
Maimouna would tire before I should. I never knew what it was to feel
_rested_ while riding fast, till I mounted her. Don't be jealous if she
begins to know me better than you; you never heard of my visits to the
stable, under old Donald's escort, on purpose to pet her. You may order
the horses as soon as you please. I must see mamma before we start; but
would you like to bet that I am not ready first?"
Alan's reply was on his lips, when the door opened softly, and, gliding
in with her usual quiet grace, Lady Mildred joined the party. It was
rare indeed that the mistress of Dene favoured the world with her
presence before noon. At intervals, upon state occasions, she
condescended to preside at breakfast; but, as a rule, took her chocolate
and its accessories in her own apartments, and got through the business
of her day in solitude. Her letters were always impounded, as soon as
the letter bag was opened, by her own maid--a placid, resolute person--a
sort of cheap edition of her mistress--who had held her place for many
years, and was supposed to know more of the secrets of the boudoir than
any creature alive. Women of Lady Mildred's calibre rarely change their
confidential servants.
"My lady" was seemingly in a charming humour that morning; she greeted
every one most affectionately, and listened to the plan of the long ride
with a gentle approval, and even some show of interest. But all the
three felt certain that she had good reason for her early appearance.
They were not kept long in suspense.
"I had a letter from Max, this morning," Lady Mildred remarked. "Helen,
dear, he says all sorts of kind things about you and Alan, but he
reserves most of his congratulations, as he hopes to see you so soon.
You know he has been shooting with Lord Clydesdale, in Perthshire,
Hubert? Before this news came, he had asked him and Bertie Grenvil to
come here for the early part of September; but if you don't wish the
engagement to stand, you have only to let him know at once."
His astute helpmate could hardly refrain from smiling at the queer
embarrassed expression of the Squire's frank face--she read his feelings
so well! Indeed poor Hubert was the worst dissembler alive. He looked
wistfully at his two confederates, but there was small chance of succour
from that quarter. Helen's glance met her mother's for a second, and she
bit her scarlet lip once, but remained perfectly silent. Alan was
brushing away a stray crumb or two from the velvet sleeve of his
riding-coat, with a provoking air of absolute unconcern. Vavasour was so
intensely hospitable, that he would just as soon have thought of
stabbing a guest in his sleep, as of grudging him entertainment, besides
there was no earthly reason why either of the names just mentioned
should be distasteful to him, or to any one else present; if he felt any
real objection, it was more like a presentiment impossible to put into
words. Nevertheless there was an unusual gravity in his voice, as he
replied--
"Rather an unnecessary question of Max's, dear Mildred. He ought to
know, by this time, that his friends are quite as welcome here as my
own. As it happens, we have ample room for those two guns during the
_early_ (the word was marked) part of September. So many anxious parents
will be contending for the possession of Clydesdale, that he will
scarcely waste his golden time here beyond a fortnight. Few men are
fonder of being persecuted with the attentions of your sex than that
very eligible Earl. I believe he thinks it is no use being _the parti_
of England if you don't reap its advantages, before as well as after
marriage. I dare say Bertie will stay longer; the mothers, at all
events, don't hunt him. I hope he will, for there's no pleasanter boy in
a house, and his detrimentalism won't hurt us here. Will you write at
once and say that we shall be charmed to see them all?"
Those last words were spoken with rather an unnatural distinctness; it
seemed as though it cost the Squire an effort to utter them, and he left
the room almost immediately, muttering something about "people waiting
for him in his study." After a few minutes more of insignificant
conversation not worth recording, the cousins, too, went out to get
ready for their ride. Lady Mildred stayed her hand for a moment--she
was crumbling bread into cream, carefully, for the Maltese dog's
luncheon--and looked after them with a pensive expression on her face,
in which mingled a shade of pity. Just so much compassion may have
softened, long ago, the rigid features of some abbess on her tribunal,
when after pronouncing the fatal _Vade in pace_, she saw an unhappy nun
led out between the executioners, to expiate her broken vows.
Whatever might be Miss Vavasour's failings, dilatoriness in dressing was
certainly not one of them; she would have won her wager that morning;
and yet it would have puzzled the severest critic to have found a fault
of omission or commission in her costume as she stood in the recess of
one of the windows of the great hall, waiting for the horses and her
cousin. He joined her almost immediately, though, and Helen's eyes
sparkled more brilliantly, as she remarked a letter in his hand.
"I always quote you and Pauline," Wyverne said, "when people keep their
horses at the door for an hour by Shrewsbury clock; but you have outdone
yourselves to-day. You deserve a small recompense--_la voila_. It must
be a satisfaction to a minor prophetess to find her prediction perfectly
realized. My beautiful Sybil! I don't grudge you your triumph,
especially as I did not contradict you on the point. The oldest and
ugliest of the sisterhood never made a better guess at truth. Read
_that_. I shall give 'my lady' the sense of it; but I don't think I
shall show it her."
It was Bernard Haldane's answer, and it ran thus:
My dear Alan,--I thank you for your letter, because I am sure
it was courteously meant, and, I believe, disinterestedly too;
though, as you are my nearest male relation, it might naturally
be expected that I should do or promise something on an
occasion like this. I wish you to understand plainly, and once
for all, that, in the event of your intended marriage taking
place, you need anticipate no assistance whatever from me,
present or future, before or after my death. I think it best to
enter into no explanations and to give no reasons, but simply
to state the fact of my having so determined. I have given up
congratulating people about anything; but, were it otherwise, I
should reserve such formalities for some more auspicious
occasion. Neither am I often astonished; but I had the honour
of knowing Lady Mildred Vavasour slightly many years ago, and I
own to being somewhat surprised at _her_ sanctioning so
romantically imprudent an engagement. I will not inflict any
sermon upon you; it is only to their heirs that old men have a
right to preach. It is unlikely that we shall meet or
correspond often again. After what I have written, it seems
absurd to say, "I wish you well." Nevertheless--it is so.
Believe me,
Very faithfully yours,
BERNARD HALDANE.
There was disappointment certainly on the beautiful face, but it sprung
from a very different cause from that to which Wyverne naturally
assigned it. Helen had expected the perusal of a more delicate
handwriting. The quaint cynical letter did not interest her much under
the circumstances; however she read it through, and as she gave it back,
there was a smile on her proud lip partaking as much of amusement as of
disdain.
"Let us give credit where credit is due," she said. "I believe it cost
Mr. Haldane some pains to compose that answer, short as it is. If you
ever speak to him about it, will you say that we considered it very
terse and straightforward, and rather epigrammatic? Don't show it to
mamma, though. I wonder when she knew Mr. Haldane? Is it not odd that
she never alluded to it when his name has been mentioned? Ah, there are
the horses at last. Alan, do you see Maimouna arching that beautiful
neck of hers? I am certain she is thinking of me. I defy the crossest of
uncles to spoil _my_ ride to-day. Will he yours?"
Every shade of bitterness had passed away, and the sunniest side of
Helen's nature--wayward and wilful at times, but always frank and honest
and affectionate--showed itself before she finished speaking.
Reader of mine, whether young or old--suppose yourself, I beseech you,
to be standing, with none to witness your weakness, by the side of the
Oriana of the hour; let the loveliest of dark eyes be gazing into yours,
full of provocative promise, till their dangerous magnetism thrills
through brain and nerve and vein, and then--tax your imagination or your
memory for Alan Wyverne's answer. You will write it out better than I,
and it will be a charity to the printer; for, were it correctly set
down, it would be so curiously _broken up_ as to puzzle the cleverest
compositor of them all.
Alan and his cousin enjoyed their ride thoroughly, without one _arriere
pensee_. Thus far there was not a shadow of suspicion on one side, not
the faintest consciousness of intentional concealment on the other;
nevertheless, there was already one subject on which they could not
speak quite openly and freely. It was early, too early, to begin even a
half reserve. When such a sign appears in the "pure aether" so soon after
the dawning of love, however light and small and white the cloudlet may
be, the weatherwise foretell a misty noon and a stormy sunset.