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THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK
By Pierce Egan
In Three Volumes
Vol. II.
London:
Published By W. S. Johnson & Co.
[Illustration: 0005]
FLOWER OF THE FLOCK
CHAPTER I.--SUITORS
And art thou then, fond youth, secure of joy?
Can no reverse thy flattering bliss destroy?
Has treacherous Love no torment yet in store?
Or hast thou never proved his fatal power P
Whence flow’d those tears that late bedew’d thy cheek?
Why sigh’d thy heart as if it strove to break?
Why were the desert rocks invok’d to hear
The plaintive accent of thy sad despair?
Lyttleton.
It was, as we have seen, through, the remarkable and unexpected return
of Colonel Mires to England, and the no less singular circumstance of
the rencontre in the Queen’s Bench, that old Wilton was reinstated in
the position from which years back he had been, by the harsh rigour of
the law, ruthlessly expelled.
As Nathan Gomer had stated to Mr. Grahame, the Colonel not only came
forward to prove the genuineness of his own signature and the integrity
of the document to which it was attached, but he was able to show that a
duplicate existed, to point out the solicitor in whose hands it had been
placed, and to help to refresh this old man’s recollection as to
what had become of that most important paper. The individual thus
suddenly-dragged from his seclusion, had long retired from practice, but
he yet retained many important deeds and documents, to which he had been
attesting witness or a party in some way.
It was, therefore, mainly by Colonel Mires’s instrumentality that Wilton
was once more a man of wealth and position; and, knowing this, the
former felt no scruple in becoming a frequent visitor at Mr. Wilton’s
house.
He had, indeed, a secret motive which impelled him to present himself
pretty constantly at Mr. Wilton’s table.
He had, not unmoved, looked upon the face of Flora Wilton; first in the
courtyard of the Queen’s Prison, and many times since when surrounded by
all those accessories to personal charms which elegant dress and freedom
from anxiety afford.
At first a high degree of admiration was raised in his breast by a
personal beauty of rare excellence, which, at the same time, struck him
as being familiar to him. A glorious star, worshipped in boyhood, since
lost, and now suddenly reappearing in his sphere, which was only too
sparsely studded with orbs of light.
The admiration deepened, as it was fed by frequent observation, into a
more ardent emotion. Love and passion were called into being, and the
Colonel had not been long the frequent guest at Wilton’s abode, ere he
found himself ardently in love with Flora. He was at an age when love is
a dangerous tenant in a man’s breast. In youth he had been tinged with
romance, but he had had more than enough selfishness to counteract its
promptings. His passions were no doubt strong while they lasted, but
they were sufficiently evanescent to commit no havoc on his heart. There
was one solitary case in which the love which is deaf to the urgings
of self-worship, and susceptible to all that is noble, generous, and
exalted, sought a home in his bosom; but the heart he coveted had been
bestowed, the hand be yearned to obtain was given to another. He was
compelled to subdue the fonder workings of his soul; and in a distant
clime, amid the whirl of gay, heartless, frivolous society, to deaden
the restless action of a sentiment he could not wholly forget. He was
so far successful, that he reduced it to subordination. The stirring
activity of camp life and warfare, the indolent, intriguing nature
of domestic society in India, where ladies are scarce and gentlemen
officers are in excess, these and many other causes peculiar to his
isolation from all his English ties, kept this emotion deep beneath the
surface. It was, however, like a trout in a deep and shady recess in a
pool, and would spring to the surface whenever the attracting influence
of a tempting object reached it.
He had, as we have said, been but a short time a partaker of the
pleasant society of Flora, when he found raging in his breast a flame
which burned the fiercer at every attempt he himself made to subdue it.
When it became evident to him that her beauty was the predominating
object in his vision, whether absent from her or present, he determined
to settle the question by widening the intervals of his visits. He
shortened them, under the impression that they were lengthened.
His conduct towards her soon began to wear the colour and the impress of
his feelings. His dark brown eyes settled upon her with a dreamy, fond
expression. His dark visage, scarcely susceptible of change, yet showed
the glow of pleasure he felt when she appeared in the room; and his
voice softened to a mellow tone as he addressed her in language which
often partook of the rich imagery of the East.
At first he had the field all to himself. His society, his ardent gaze,
and his honeyed words did not appear distasteful to her. She did not
refrain from appearing, when she knew that he was in the sitting-room,
nor did she show any disposition to retire when in his society. This was
gratifying to him as soon as he discovered that she had become
necessary to his happiness, and yet it afforded ground for a very small
congratulation.
Flora had not noticed his conduct as distinct from the manner in which
she was usually accosted and regarded. From her earliest recollection,
every one had looked upon her smilingly and tenderly, and spoken to her
gently and fondly. Colonel Mires had done no more, and she saw nothing
different in his behaviour to her to that of others at all times.
She had been grateful for this good feeling so generally evinced towards
her, and had tried to repay it by being herself sweet tempered, kind
mannered, and soft spoken.
Hitherto she had made no distinction between persons; now she began to
perceive that there was one she should like to make; a homage it would
be little short of felicity to herself to render. She began to feel that
there was a voice whose music touched her brain, and thrilled the pulses
of her heart; whose language, simple as it might be, bore a richer
poetry than all that tongue of poet ever uttered. There was a hand whose
pressure filled her with emotions no other touch could raise--there was
a presence whose absence was not compensated for by the coming of all
the world beside.
She began to be sensible of the new feeling growing upon her, and
taking possession of her soul, after Hal Vivian paid his first visit, as
distinct from, and subsequent to, that when accompanied by Lotte.
He being rather retiring by nature and abashed by the style in which
the Wiltons now lived, made his appearance but seldom, though he would
gladly have spent every hour of the day beneath the roof that sheltered
Flora.
But if he came seldom, Colonel Mires came often, and thus Flora began to
shape her first distinction between persons. She had no objection to the
frequent appearance of Mires, but she would infinitely rather that
Hal came oftener, even if his coming were to cause the absence of the
Colonel--even if it occasioned him to stay away for ever.
She did not permit this impression in Hal’s favour to show itself; as
soon as she began to recognise it, and assure herself that it was a
reality, she fashioned it into her first secret, which was to be looked
at with no eyes but her own.
So she came to compare the interval that passed between the visits of
Hal and the space of time that elapsed during the absence of Colonel
Mires, and she began to think that if Hal had ever conceived the notion
of vexing her, this was just the plan that would be most successful.
At each of his last visits, Hal had met Colonel Mires; the ordinary
civilities passed between them, but they looked at each other with
fierce eyes.
Colonel Mires could not but regard young Vivian as a formidable rival,
who must be got rid of at any cost. He had not forgotten how, when first
he gazed upon the fair face of Flora, she hung upon his arm, and seemed
to cling to him as if with him only was safety. He could not but see now
how pleased, and even tender, was the expression of her eyes when they
were turned upon him, and how sweet the smile with which she welcomed
him. He could not avoid noticing that Hal was a handsome-faced,
finely-formed young fellow, dressed in the latest style of fashion, in
clothes of the best material, chosen with excellent taste; and that the
small quantity of jewellery he displayed was of costly material and the
very first workmanship.
Altogether the Colonel felt himself matched against heavy odds, and
he foresaw that he would have to adopt in the coming struggle unusual
weapons. It was true he had the chances that the young tradesman might
not aspire to Flora’s hand; or if he had the temerity to do so, it was
scarcely probable that old Wilton would give his assent to such an
alliance. He had, however, but little faith in chance, and he resolved
not to trust to it.
To set Wilton and young Vivian at variance, and to ruin him in Flora’s
estimation were tasks to which he designed to devote himself, and to
which he would have exclusively applied himself, but that Hal turned out
to be not the only competitor he had to deal with.
Hal’s notion of Colonel Mires is quickly summed up--it was that the
“fellow” conveyed insult in every glance he directed at Flora, and that
he waited but for the opportunity in private to act as he would not dare
openly.
“Some day,” thought Hal, with set teeth and a frowning brow, “I shall
have to beat him to a jelly.”
He looked forward to that day not without a feeling of eager
anticipation.
When old Wilton made one of the party, he engrossed the conversation of
the Colonel; there was much to refer to in the events of the past, and
the old man was minute in his inquiries, and pertinacious in insisting
upon copious and clearly expressed details.
While thus occupied, the Colonel, with fiery eyes, would watch the
movements of Hal and Flora. With sickening forebodings, he would note
how completely satisfied they were with each other’s society--how
unflagging their conversation--how little the outer world attracted
their attention--how completely they were absorbed in gazing into each
other’s eyes, and treasuring up words or observations, light and simple
in themselves, which fell from the other’s lips.
“He loves her,” he grated through his compressed teeth, “but the whelp
shall no more wed her than if she were a Princess Royal of England.”
It is possible that Mr. Wilton obtained some incoherent answers during
the periods when the Colonel was mentally making these observations, and
it is certain that the manner of the latter to Hal grew more distant,
haughty, and contemptuous than ever, even as Hal’s to him grew more
defiant, keeping pace with it.
It was upon a day when Flora and Vivian--while Mr. Wilton was pursuing
some inquiries addressed to Colonel Mires---were standing in the recess
of a deep bay window, conversing in a low tone about Lotte, that the
Colonel found his position insupportable. Old Wilton was more than
usually pointed in his questions, and displayed great anxiety about the
exactness of the replies he requested. The Colonel was frequently called
upon to repeat his answers, and, in many instances, to explain them with
deliberation and clearness. All the time he was called upon to do this,
he observed Hal and Flora in close, animated converse, conducted in so
low a tone that not a word could reach his ears. It was so intended.
Flora did this for Lotte’s sake--the circumstances which had happened
in connection with her were not of a nature to be spoken loudly, in
indifferent ears; she therefore depressed her voice to so soft a tone
that Hal had to bend his face near to hers, to catch the sound and
comprehend its meaning.
Her warm breath must frequently have played upon his cheek.
If so, it was as balmy as the softest zephyr ever breathed upon a summer
evening--as fragrant as the odour of a thousand sweet-scented flowers.
Mires rapidly lost the sound of Wilton’s voice, and heard nothing but
the low, murmuring tones of the youthful pair; saw nought but that
Flora’s delicately-shaped hand rested upon Vivian’s arm, and that their
faces were in a proximity which maddened him to behold.
Bear it longer he could not; he was just about to betray himself by some
violent, insane remark, when a servant entered, and announced to Mr.
Wilton that Mr. Malcome Grahame, accompanied by the Honorable Lester
Vane, would be glad of a few minutes’ conversation with him.
“Show the gentlemen in here,” Wilton returned, laconically.
At least, this interruption was, in the eyes of Colonel Mires,
agreeable, for it broke up that torturing tête-à tète, and saved him
from committing himself in a very ridiculous manner. He could not,
however, let pass the opportunity of scowling at young Vivian, in a way
highly expressive of hatred and malignity, which was responded to by the
young gentleman, who saw, and rightly interpreted it, with a steadfast
look of ineffable scorn.
The servant returned, and almost immediately ushered in Malcolm and
Lester Vane. Young Mr. Grahame sent his eyes swiftly round the room, in
search of Lotte, but was grievously disappointed not to see her. Vane
looked directly in Flora’s face, and continued to do so during the
interview, with but a trifling exception, causing her embarrassment,
which he observed with pleasure, because, whenever he perceived that
he raised an emotion in the female breast, he supposed that he had
eliminated a symptom favourable to himself.
Malcolm, finding the only person he had really come to visit not
present, opened his business to Mr. Wilton, who received him with
sufficient coldness to have made uncomfortable a more sensitive person.
“My dear Mr. Wilton,” he said, with much awkward hesitation, “it was the
intention of my good mamma, and two of my sisters, to have paid you and
Miss Wilton an introductory visit, to open up a friendship between you,
and to induce, if possible, Miss Wilton to form an agreeable intimacy
with my sisters. But, unfortunately, my elder sister Helen, was most
unaccountably and suddenly attacked with a fainting fit yesterday
morning, and she is still very ill. Mamma has, therefore, been unable
to carry out her wish, but fearing that you might, after your interview
with my father, imagine there was some inexplicable delay in the
tender of kind and social relations to you and your remarkably
charming daughter, Miss Wilton, I have been--greatly to my own
satisfaction--deputed to act as their _avant courier_, and to offer the
kindest congratulations of our family.”
At the conclusion of this speech, Mr. Wilton coldly inclined his head.
“I thank Mrs. Grahame and her daughters for the honour they intend me
and Miss Wilton,” he said, frigidly. “We do not at present mix much
in society. We leave to a future time the desire to form new friends.
Permit me, however, to thank you for the manner in which you have
performed the task allotted to you.”
“Oh! there’s no credit due to me for that,” replied Malcolm--truly. “I
believe,” he added, “the folks at home are animated by a wish to be on
friendly terms with you and your family, and, upon my honour, I echo it.
Besides, we are relatives, you know, Mr. Wilton.”
“Distant relatives, Mr. Grahame,” observed old Wilton, as though he
wished that they should continue such.
He turned abruptly to Lester Vane, and continuing, said--
“Pray, Mr. Vane, are you of the Vanes of Durham?”
“A branch of my family,” replied Vane; “an uncle of mine lived on an
estate in the county--Robert Tempest Vane, of Weardale----”
“An old and dear friend of mine. We were hoys and men together--friends
from our first meeting until death separated us,” cried Wilton, with
ardour.
“Delighted to hear this, Mr. Wilton,” exclaimed Vane, eagerly, “may I
be permitted to hope that you will allow me, although I can do so but
imperfectly I fear, to renew that friendship in my unworthy person?”
Wilton took his proffered hand and grasped it warmly.
“I shall have the sincerest pleasure in such an arrangement,” he
responded. “It will afford me much gratification: I loved your uncle for
his frank heart, his noble spirit, and his honourable manliness. I have
no doubt that in you I shall find a worthy representative of him.”
“I hope I shall not wrong so generous a supposition,” said Vane, with
affected modesty.
“I feel assured you will not,” rejoined Wilton, and, turning to Flora, he
said--“Let me specially present the Honorable Lester Vane to you, Flo’,
my darling. As the nephew of the dearest friend I ever had, I request
you, out of your love for me, to render to him the warmest hospitality
of our house, and such direct attention as my most valued guest is at
all times entitled to.”
Flora bowed at her father’s fervidly uttered instructions, and submitted
her hand to the pressure of Lester Vane’s. But she liked not his eyes,
they made her--as they had done Helen Grahame--shudder. She liked not
his voice; least of all, she liked the cold touch of his soft, smooth
fingers.
“Miss Wilton,” he said, in a subdued, deep tone, “if I could have
formed a wish, constructed so as to gain for me, in its realisation,
the greatest possible amount of felicity, it should have been that
which would have compassed what has come to pass. To be thrown into the
society of your honoured parent, the loved friend of a relative, whose
memory I reverence, is, indeed, a deep gratification, but to have
to that happiness added the high privilege, commended to your best
attention, of enjoying your sweet society, is to place me in a state of
beatitude of which I am undeserving, but of which, in true sincerity of
heart, I will strive to make myself worthy.”
Lester Vane was rather fond of this flowery style of expression. It
was a mistake when adopted to create an effect on such minds as those
possessed by Flora Wilton or Helen Grahame. It was as hollow to them,
and as transparent, as a glass globe. Malcolm thought it a masterly
power of language, “framed to make woman false.” Colonel Mires had some
such thought, and gnawed his lips as he listened. Hal only smiled, and
turned away. If such expressions were flowers at all, he believed them
to be artificial flowers, and, at best, a bad imitation of nature.
To this rhapsody as to her father’s request. Flora only bowed; she
turned her face away from Vane’s steadfast gaze, feeling that it would
be a relief to her when the interview terminated, and she should be once
more alone with Hal, for she imagined she had still much to say to him.
Malcolm Grahame had received special commands from his father to make
himself as agreeable to Flora as circumstances would permit, and he
actually made some way in her good opinion, because he spoke a little
earnestly of Lotte, expressed a fear that he had startled her at the
sudden meeting in the garden, and uttered a wish to see her to offer an
apology for unintentional rudeness, if such were needed. He dropped no
hint that he knew her to be humble in her position, spoke praisefully of
her pleasant face, her smiling eyes, and her graceful figure, and he
did so with such seeming frankness of tone and manner, that Flora felt
absolutely gratified.
She smiled on him as she had not done on Lester Vane. She talked to
him with less reserve than she would have displayed if that particular
subject had not been broached; and Vane grew absolutely envious to find
that Malcolm, who had not had the benefit of a friendly word from Mr.
Wilton, made evidently more rapid progress in his daughter’s good graces
than he who stood before her with the advantages of person, rank, and a
powerful recommendation from her father. He looked on Malcolm’s claim
to her favour as simply contemptible. He had a mean opinion of his
intellect and of his capabilities. As a rival, he would have laughed him
to scorn. He could hardly understand, therefore, the progress _he_ had
made in Flora’s good opinion. It was something of a lesson. He, however,
dismissed the impression it had for a moment made upon his mind; he
accounted for it, in accordance with his own low estimate of feminine
truth and purity, by the conceit that Flora was playing off Malcolm
against him, with the view of securing, by that small piece of coquetry,
his direct attention.
Malcolm failed, notwithstanding his diligent inquiries, to learn more
about Lotte than that she was no longer in the house, and that she lived
in London, in the western quarter; there the conversation respecting
her ceased. He had sense enough to understand that to pursue it further
would be to make his notice of her too marked.
Having renewed a pressing invitation to Wilton and his daughter, if they
would graciously waive the introductory visit of his mamma, on account
of his sister Helen’s sudden attack, and having, as he believed--and
with some show of reason--rendered himself quite as agreeable to Miss
Wilton as could, under the circumstances, be expected, he took his
leave, accompanied by Lester Vane.
The latter individual, wholly indifferent as to the effect he might
produce upon the minds of the gentlemen there assembled, was very
desirous of creating an impression upon Flora.
But he failed to attract even a glance from her, and her hand motionless
under his pressure, was hastily withdrawn, even as he touched it. When
he retired through the doorway, he saw that her gaze was fastened upon
the face of the young and handsome person introduced to him as Mr.
Vivian.
His quick eye and his experience noted all these symptoms of the small
way he had made in her favour.
“Yet,” said he to himself, “she will fall far more easily into my mesh
than Helen Grahame. She is so pure, so guileless, so innocent of the
world’s ways, that she is without suspicion--that best defence for woman
against man’s art. My heart now aches to gain her. She must be mine, my
wife be it--but she shall be mine!”
He had at his departure, informed Wilton that he should take advantage
of his friendly invitation, and he hoped that his occasional visits
would not be deemed intrusive. The warmth with which old Wilton
responded to this suggestion by repeating his desire that he would
frequently test his hospitality, removed any hesitation he might have
in again presenting himself there without a special invitation, and
he determined quickly to avail himself of an opening so eminently
favourable to his design to lay siege to Flora’s heart.
Somehow, the interruption caused by these visitors seemed to render the
remaining part of the day less cheerful and happy than it had commenced.
Old Wilton sat in his easy chair, plunged in deep thought. Colonel
Mires, though full of rumination, took care to prevent a repetition
of Hal and Flora’s _tête-à-tête_, by joining them. Flora occasionally
appeared abstracted, and Hal wore an expression upon his face very much
as if his visions of the future were clouded and sad.
As the Colonel did not, and would not, shift his quarters, the
conversation grew common-place until at length it became absolutely
irksome to Hal, and he rose to depart.
Flora fancied that, as he bade her farewell, his tone was cold, and she
missed the pressure of his hand. She knew, too, his eye was averted,
and he lingered not as usual upon the threshold of the door, but he went
away and never looked back to meet the gaze she directed to him--and
which meant to say “adieu,” with an expression she could not trust to
her words nor to her soft fingers--but he looked not back once--no, not
once!
Yet, when without the house, he directed his steps to the nearest entry
to the park, and paused not until he gained a spot, where he could look
upon the lighted window of the room in which he knew she sat, thinking,
perhaps, of the gentleman who had that day been first presented to her,
and was shortly to be little else than a constant companion.
“Oh, Flora, dearest!” he murmured, compressing his hands tightly, “it
was a dream--a happy, happy dream! I wake to misery. You can never,
never be mine; it would be only mad presumption to entertain longer a
hope so blissful--oh, so very blissful! You will wed some one higher,
nobler than myself, for you are of proud and high descent, and I but
humbly born. If in this your happiness be secured, I love you far, far
too well to seek or wish a change. I can only hope and pray that he who
wins you may love you as truly, as fondly, as devotedly as I do.”
He paused, for his throat swelled, and there was a gush of water in
his eyes that made the lighted window upon which they rested dim and
indistinct.
“What now shall be my future course?” he continued with deep emotion;
“my ambition is strangled in its birth. Fame! what have I to do with
fame? sought only that my hour of triumph should be rewarded by her
sweet smile of joy. What to me the rank in which high success would
place me, if her eyes, glowing with gratified pride at sight of the
honours I had won, were lost to me? No; life hath no more a motive to
render it worth its endurance. A rifle and the prairies of the Far
West shall be my world; there at least in the vast solitudes I can,
uninterrupted, dwell upon her memory, revel in glorious visions of her
angel face”----
A hand placed lightly upon his shoulder interrupted his soliloquy.
He turned sharply to find at his side Colonel Mires.
“A word with you,” he said to Hal, abruptly. “Follow me.”
“No!” returned Hal, coldly. “What _you_ can have to say to me can as
well be said here as elsewhere. We are unobserved.”
“In sight of that window it is, perhaps, as well,” returned the Colonel.
There was a pause for a moment; Hal made no remark upon the insinuation
thus conveyed, and the Colonel proceeded----
“With you I ought to have no difficulty in coming to the point,” he
said. With one in a different position my task would not be so easy,
therefore I at once say I perceive that you with ignorant audacity”----
“Sir,” cried Hal, fiercely.
“Hear me out”----
“Not another word, if such expressions are to be addressed to me. I
will submit to insult from no man breathing; he who attempts it had need
beware of a strong arm, and a spirit which never yet bent or quailed
before a danger.”
“It is not my design to insult you. I gain no end by it; if I use plain
terms, attribute it to my desire to describe exactly the act of one of
mean birth aspiring to ally himself to a house with a pedigree extending
to the Norman Conquest”----
“Colonel Mires, as few words, if you please, between us as possible;
briefly state the object of your seeking this interview with me. My
answer shall be clear, decided, and prompt as short.”
“Be it so. An accident has enabled you to render a service to Miss
Wilton. The firemen of London nightly do the same thing to hundreds,
and are content with the fee they receive as their reward. You, on the
contrary, with, as I have said, ig”----
“I warn you to be choice in your terms!”
“You actually, on account of the common deed you performed, have
inflated yourself with a monstrous notion that you might aspire to the
hand of a young lady of birth and wealth. You have, perhaps, been led to
nurse this ridiculous conception, because Miss Wilton, with the true
and refined courtesy of a well-bred lady, has extended towards you a
kindness of manner she would have displayed to the very fireman you
forestalled, if he had been the person who rescued her from the peril
she was in.”
“Have you finished?” cried Hal, impatiently.
“When I have told you to abandon for ever the wild and preposterous idea
which seems to have taken possession of you, and to abstain from further
visits to the house of Mr. Wilton, under the risk of my resentment, and
perhaps an ignominious punishment, I have ended.”
“My reply is, sir,” returned Hal, with a swelling breast, and a
sensation upon his forehead, like a burning band, “that I wholly deny
your right to interfere either in Mr. Wilton’s or my affairs. I have
further to inform you, that I am master of my actions, and that I intend
to remain so; I conclude, sir, by telling you, in full explanation of
the estimation in which I hold your resentment, that should you dare,
in my hearing, speak of Miss Wilton as but now you have done, or should
attempt to renew this conversation with me, I will treat you as I would
a snarling, troublesome, officious hound! Stand out of my path!”
Hal placed his open hand on the breast of Colonel Mires, and thrust him
back. He strode with a firm but dignified step from the spot.
“Scoundrel!” yelled Mires; “I will horsewhip you for this indignity.”
“We shall meet when you have a horsewhip,” answered Hal, scornfully.
“Spare your promises until then.”
With rage and fury swelling his frame, and forming a hundred schemes of
a deadly revenge, the foiled Colonel hastened in the opposite direction
to that Hal had taken.
“And this dark-skinned villain hopes to take to his arms the fairest,
brightest piece of Nature’s handicraft,” Hal muttered, as he pursued his
way homeward. “He will vex and trouble her by his detestable addresses.
Oh, Flora, dearest! if I may not aspire to your hand, or hope for
your love, I may, at least, pass my life in protecting you from the
machinations of such villains as this. At least I shall be near you; I
will watch over you, and preserve you from ill, if I may never, never
shelter you from harm within these arms as my own--my own.”