Although the Knight lost not an hour in writing to Lady Eleanor,
informing her of his appointment, the letter, hastily written, and
intrusted to a waiter to be posted, was never forwarded, and the first
intelligence of the event reached her in a letter from her courtly
relative, Lord Netherby.
So much depends upon the peculiar tact and skill of the writer, and
so much upon our own frame of mind at the time of reading, that it is
difficult to say whether we do not bear up better under the announcement
of any sudden and sorrowful event from the hand of one less cared for
than from those nearest and dearest to our hearts. The consolations that
look like the special pleadings of affection become, as it were,
the mere expressions of impartiality. The points of view, being so
different, give a different aspect to the picture, and gleams of light
fall where, seen from another quarter, all was shadow and gloom. So
it was here. What, if the tidings had come from her husband, had been
regarded in the one painful light of separation and long absence,
assumed, under Lord Netherby's style, the semblance of a most gratifying
event, with, of course, that alloy of discomfort from which no human
felicity is altogether free: so very artfully was this done, that Lady
Eleanor half felt as if, in indulging in her own sorrow, she were merely
giving way to a selfish regret; and as Helen, the better to sustain her
mother's courage, affected a degree of pleasure she was really far from
feeling, this added to the conviction that she ought, if she could, to
regard her husband's appointment as a happy event.
“Truly, mamma,” said Helen, as she sat with the letter before her, “Me
style c'est l'homme.' His Lordship is quite heroic when describing all
the fêtes and dinners of London; all the honors showered on papa in
visiting-cards and invitations; how excellencies called, and royal
highnesses shook hands: he even chronicles the distinguishing favor of
the gracious Prince, who took wine with him. But listen to him when the
theme is really one that might evoke some trait, if not of enthusiasm,
at least of national pride: 'As for the expedition, my dear cousin,
though nobody knows exactly for what place it is destined, everybody is
aware that it is not intended to be a fighting one. Demonstrations are
now the vogue, and it is become just as bad taste for our army to
shed blood as it would be for a well-bred man to mention a certain
ill-conducted individual before ears polite. Modern war is like a game
at whist between first-rate players; when either party has four by
honors, he shows his hand, and saves the trouble of a contest. The
Naval Service is, I grieve to say, rooted to its ancient prejudices, and
continues its abominable pastime of broadsides and boardings; hence its
mob popularity at this moment! The army will, however, always be the
gentlemanlike cloth, and I thank my stars I don't believe we have a
single relative afloat. Guy Herries was the last; he was shot or piked,
I forget which, in boarding a Spanish galliot off Cape Verde. “Que
diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?” Rest satisfied, therefore,
if the gallant Knight has little glory, he will have no dangers; our
expeditions never land. Jekyll says they are only intended to give the
service an appetite for fresh meat and soft bread, after four months'
biscuit and salt beef. At all events, my dear cousin, reckon on
seeing my friend the Knight gazetted as major-general on the very next
promotions. The Prince is delighted with him; and I carried a message
from his Royal Highness yesterday to the War Office in his behalf. You
would not come to see me, despite all the seductions I threw out, and
now the season is nigh over. May I hope better things for the next year,
when perhaps I can promise an inducement the more, and make your welcome
more graceful by dividing its cares with one far more competent than
myself to fulfil them.'--What does he mean, mamma?”
“Read on, my dear; I believe I can guess the riddle.”
“'The person I allude to was, in former days, if not actually a friend,
a favored intimate of yours; indeed, I say that this fact is but another
claim to my regard.'--Is it possible, mamma, his Lordship thinks of
marrying?”
“Even so, Helen,” said Lady Eleanor, sighing, for she remembered how,
in his very last interview with her at Gwynne Abbey, he spoke of his
resolve on making Lionel his heir; but then, those were the days of
their prosperous fortune, the time when, to all seeming, they needed no
increase of wealth.
If Helen was disposed to laugh at the notion of Lord Netherby's
marrying, a glance at the troubled expression of her mother's features
would have checked the emotion. The heritage was a last hope, which was
not the less cherished that she had never imparted it to another.
“Shall I read on?” said Helen, timidly; and at a signal from Lady
Eleanor she resumed: “'I know how much “badinage” a man at my time
of life must expect from his acquaintances, and how much of kind
remonstrance from his friends, when he announces his determination to
marry. A good deal of this must be set down to the score of envy, some
of it proceeds from mere habit on these occasions, and lastly, one's
bachelor friends very naturally are averse to the closure against them
of a house “où on dîne.” I have thought of all this, and, _per contra_,
I have set down the isolation of one, if not deserted, at least somewhat
neglected by his relatives, and fancied that if not exactly of that age
when people marry for love, I am not yet quite so old but I may become
the object of true and disinterested affection.
“'Lady------(I have pledged my honor not to write her name, even to
you) is, in rank and fortune, fully my equal, in every other quality my
superior. The idlers at “Boodle's” can neither sneer at a “mésalliance,”
nor hint at the “faiblesse” of an “elderly gentleman.” It is a marriage
founded on mutual esteem, and, so far as station is concerned, on
equality; and when I say that his Royal Highness has expressed his
unqualified approval of the step, I believe I can add no more. I owe
you, my dear cousin, this early and full explanation of my motives
on many accounts: if the result should change the dispositions I once
believed unalterable, I beg it may be understood as proceeding far more
from necessity than the sincere wish of your very affectionate relative,
“'Netherby.
“'My regret at not seeing Helen here this season is, in a measure,
alleviated by Lady--------- telling me that brunettes were more the
rage; her Ladyship, who is no common arbiter, says that no “blonde”
attracted any notice: even Lady Georgiana Maydew drew no admiration.
My fair cousin is, happily, very young, _et les beaux jours viendront_,
even before hers have lost their brilliancy.
“'I am sorry Lionel left the Coldstreams; with economy he could very
well have managed to hold his ground, and we might have obtained
something for him in the Household. As for India, the only influential
person I know is my wine-merchant; he is, I am told, a Director of
the Honorable Company, but he 'd certainly adulterate my Madeira if I
condescended to ask him a favor.'”
“Well, Helen, I think you will agree with me, selfishness is the
most candid of all the vices; how delightfully unembarrassed is his
Lordship's style, how frank, honest, and straightforward!”
“After his verdict upon 'blondes', mamma,” said Helen, laughing, “I dare
not record my opinion of him,--I cannot come into court an impartial
evidence. This, however, I will say, that if his Lordship be not an
unhappy instance of the school, I am sincerely rejoiced that Lionel is
not being trained up a courtier; better a soldier's life with all its
hazards and its dangers, than a career so certain to kill every manly
sentiment.”
“I agree with you fully, Helen; life cannot be circumscribed within
petty limits and occupied by petty cares without reducing the mind to
the same miniature dimensions; until at last so immeasurably greater are
our own passions and feelings than the miserable interests around us, we
end by self-worship and egotism, and fancy ourselves leviathans because
we swim in a fish-pond. But who can that be crossing the grass-plot
yonder? I thought our neighbors of Port Ballintray had all left the
coast?”
“It is the gentleman who dined here, mamma, the man that never spoke--I
forget his name--”
Helen had not time to finish, when a modest tap was heard at the door,
and the next moment Mr. Leonard presented himself. He was dressed with
more than his wonted care, but the effort to make poverty respectable
was everywhere apparent; the blue frock was brushed to the very verge
of its frail existence, the gloves were drawn on at the hazard of their
integrity, and his hat, long inured to every vicissitude of weather,
had been cocked into a strange counterfeit of modish smartness. With all
these signs of unusual attention to appearances, his manner was modest
even to humility, and he took a chair with the diffidence of one who
seemed to doubt the propriety of being seated in such a presence.
Notwithstanding Lady Eleanor's efforts at conversation, aided by Helen,
who tried in many ways to relieve the embarrassment of their visitor,
this difficulty seemed every moment greater, and he seemed, as he really
felt, to have summoned up all his courage for an undertaking, and in
the very nick of the enterprise, to have left himself beggared of his
energy. A vague assent, a look of doubt and uncertainty, a half-muttered
expression of acquiescence in whatever was said, was all that could
be obtained from him; but still, while his embarrassment appeared each
instant greater, he evinced no disposition to take his leave. Lady
Eleanor, who, like many persons whose ordinary manner is deemed cold and
haughty, could exert at will considerable powers of pleasing, did her
utmost to put her visitor at his ease, and by changing her topics from
time to time, detect, if possible, some clew to his coming. It was all
in vain: he followed her, it is true, as well as he was able, and with a
bewildered look of constrained attention, seemed endeavoring to interest
himself in what she said, but it was perfectly apparent, all the while,
that his mind was preoccupied, and by very different thoughts.
At length she remained silent, and resuming the work she was engaged
on when he entered, sat for some time without uttering a word, or even
looking up. Mr. Leonard coughed slightly, but, as if terrified at his
own rashness, soon became mute and still. At last, after a long pause,
so long that Lady Eleanor and Helen, forgetful of their visitor, had
become deeply immersed in their own reflections, Mr. Leonard arose
slowly, and with a voice not free from a certain tremor, said, “Well,
madam, then I suppose I may venture to say that I saw you and Miss Darcy
both well.”
Lady Eleanor looked up with astonishment, for she could not conceive the
meaning of the words, nor in what quarter they were to be reported.
“I mean, madam,” said Leonard, “that when I present myself to the
Colonel, I may take the liberty to mention having seen you.”
“Do you speak of my husband, sir,--Colonel Darcy?” said Lady Eleanor,
with a very different degree of interest in her look and accent.
“Yes, madam,” said Leonard, with a kind of forced courage in his manner.
“I hope to be under his command in a few days.”
“Indeed, sir!” said Lady Eleanor, with animation; “I did not know that
you had served, still less that you were about to join the army once
more.”
Leonard blushed deeply, and he suddenly grew deadly pale, while, in a
voice scarcely louder than a mere whisper, he muttered, “So then, madam,
Colonel Darcy has never spoken of me to you?”
Lady Eleanor, who misunderstood the meaning of the question, seemed
slightly confused as she replied, “I have no recollection of it, sir,--I
cannot call up at this moment having heard your name from my husband.”
“I ought to have known it,--I ought to have been certain of it,” said
Leonard, in a voice bursting from emotion, while the tears gushed from
his eyes; “he could not have asked me to his house to sit down at his
table as a mere object of your pity and contempt; and yet I am nothing
else.”
The passionate vehemence in which he now spoke seemed so different from
his recent manner, that both Lady Eleanor and Helen had some doubts
as to his sanity, when he quickly resumed: “I was broke for
cowardice,--dismissed the service with disgrace,--degraded! Well may I
call it so, to be what I became. I would tell you that I was not
guilty,--that Colonel Darcy knows,--but I dare not choose between the
character of a coward and--a drunkard. I had no other prospect before me
than a life of poverty and repining,--maybe of worse,--of shame and
ignominy! when, last night, I received these letters; I scarcely thought
they could be for me, even when I read my name on them. Yes, madam, this
letter from the War Office permits me to serve as a volunteer with the
Eighth Regiment of Foot; and this, which is without signature, encloses
me fifty pounds to buy my outfit and join the regiment. It does not need
a name; there is but one man living could stoop to help such as I am,
and not feel dishonored by the contact; there is but one man brave
enough to protect him branded as a coward.”
“You are right, sir,” cried Helen; “this must be my father's doing.”
Leonard tried to speak, but could not; a trembling motion of his lips,
and a faint sound issued, but nothing articulate. Lady Eleanor stopped
him as he moved towards the door, and taking his hand pressed it
cordially, while she said, “Be of good heart, sir; my husband is not
less quick to perceive than he is ever ready to befriend. Be assured he
would not now be your ally if he had not a well-grounded hope that you
would merit it. Farewell, then; remember you have a double tie to duty,
and that _his_ credit as well as _your own_ is on the issue.”
Leonard muttered a faint “I will,” and departed.
“How happily timed is this little incident, Helen,” said Lady Eleanor,
as she drew her daughter to her side; “how full of pleasant hope
it fills the heart, at a moment when the worldly selfishness of the
courtier's letter had left us low and sorrow-struck! These are indeed
the sunny spots in life, that never look so brilliant as when seen amid
lowering skies and darkening storms.”