An Affair of Honour.
LET us return to Sir Lucius Grafton. He is as mad as any man must be
who feels that the imprudence of a moment has dashed the ground all the
plans, and all the hopes, and all the great results, over which he had
so often pondered. The great day from which he had expected so much had
passed, nor was it possible for four-and-twenty hours more completely
to have reversed all his feelings and all his prospects. Miss Dacre had
shared the innocent but unusual and excessive gaiety which had properly
become a scene of festivity at once so agreeable, so various, and so
novel. Sir Lucius Grafton had not been insensible to the excitement. On
the contrary his impetuous passions seemed to recall the former and
more fervent days of his career, and his voluptuous mind dangerously
sympathised with the beautiful and luxurious scene. He was elated, too,
with the thought that his freedom would perhaps be sealed this evening,
and still more by his almost constant attendance on his fascinating
companion. As the particular friend of the Dacre family, and as the
secret ally of Mrs. Dallington Vere, he in some manner contrived always
to be at Miss Dacre’s side. With the laughing but insidious pretence
that he was now almost too grave and staid a personage for such scenes,
he conversed with few others, and humourously maintaining that his
‘dancing days were over,’ danced with none but her. Even when her
attention was engaged by a third person, he lingered about, and with
his consummate knowledge of the world, easy wit, and constant resources,
generally succeeded in not only sliding into the conversation, but
engrossing it. Arundel Dacre, too, although that young gentleman had not
departed from his usual coldness in favour of Sir Lucius Grafton, the
Baronet would most provokingly consider as his particular friend; never
seemed to be conscious that his reserved companion was most punctilious
in his address to him; but on the contrary, called him in return
‘Dacre,’ and sometimes ‘Arundel.’ In vain young Dacre struggled to
maintain his position. His manner was no match for that of Sir Lucius
Grafton. Annoyed with himself, he felt confused, and often quitted his
cousin that he might be free of his friend. Thus Sir Lucius Grafton
contrived never to permit Miss Dacre to be alone with Arundel, and to
her he was so courteous, so agreeable, and so useful, that his absence
seemed always a blank, or a period in which something ever went wrong.
The triumphant day rolled on, and each moment Sir Lucius felt more
sanguine and more excited. We will not dwell upon the advancing
confidence of his desperate mind. Hope expanded into certainty,
certainty burst into impatience. In a desperate moment he breathed his
passion.
May Dacre was the last girl to feel at a loss in such a situation. No
one would have rung him out of a saloon with an air of more contemptuous
majesty. But the shock, the solitary strangeness of the scene, the
fear, for the first time, that none were near, and perhaps, also, her
exhausted energy, frightened her, and she shrieked. One only had heard
that shriek, yet that one was legion. Sooner might the whole world know
the worst than this person suspect the least. Sir Lucius was left silent
with rage, mad with passion, desperate with hate.
He gasped for breath. Now his brow burnt, now the cold dew ran off his
countenance in streams. He clenched his fist, he stamped with agony, he
found at length his voice, and he blasphemed to the unconscious woods.
His quick brain flew to the results like lightning. The Duke had escaped
from his mesh; his madness had done more to win this boy Miss Dacre’s
heart than an age of courtship. He had lost the idol of his passion; he
was fixed for ever with the creature of his hate. He loathed the idea.
He tottered into the hermitage, and buried his face in his hands.
Something must be done. Some monstrous act of energy must repair this
fatal blunder. He appealed to the mind which had never deserted him. The
oracle was mute. Yet vengeance might even slightly redeem the bitterness
of despair. This fellow should die; and his girl, for already he hated
Miss Dacre, should not triumph in her minion. He tore a leaf from his
tablets, and wrote the lines we have already read.
The young Duke reached home. You expect, of course, that he sat up all
night making his will and answering letters. By no means. The first
object that caught his eye was an enormous ottoman. He threw himself
upon it without undressing, and without speaking a word to Luigi, and
in a moment was fast asleep. He was fairly exhausted. Luigi stared, and
called Spiridion to consult. They agreed that they dare not go to bed,
and must not leave their lord; so they played écarté, till at last they
quarrelled and fought with the candles over the table. But even this did
not wake their unreasonable master; so Spiridion threw down a few chairs
by accident; but all in vain. At half-past five there was a knocking at
the gate, and they hurried away.
Arundel Dacre entered with them, woke the Duke, and praised him for his
punctuality. His Grace thought that he had only dozed a few minutes; but
time pressed; five minutes arranged his toilet, and they were first on
the field.
In a moment Sir Lucius and Mr. Piggott appeared. Arundel Dacre, on the
way, had anxiously enquired as to the probability of reconciliation, but
was told at once it was impossible, so now he measured the ground and
loaded the pistols with a calmness which was admirable. They fired at
once; the Duke in the air, and the Baronet in his friend’s side. When
Sir Lucius saw his Grace fall his hate vanished. He ran up with real
anxiety and unfeigned anguish.
‘Have I hit you? by h-ll!’
His Grace was magnanimous, but the case was urgent. A surgeon gave a
favourable report, and extracted the ball on the spot. The Duke was
carried back to his chaise, and in an hour was in the state bed, not of
the Alhambra, but of his neglected mansion.
Arundel Dacre retired when he had seen his friend home, but gave urgent
commands that he should be kept quiet. No sooner was the second out
of sight than the principal ordered the room to be cleared, with the
exception of Spiridion, and then, rising in his bed, wrote this note,
which the page was secretly to deliver.
‘----House, ----, 182-.
‘Dear Miss Dacre,
‘A very unimportant but somewhat disagreeable incident has occurred.
I have been obliged to meet Sir Lucius Grafton, and our meeting has
fortunately terminated without any serious consequences. Yet I wish that
you should hear of this first from me, lest you might imagine that I had
not redeemed my pledge of last night, and that I had placed for a moment
my own feelings in competition with yours. This is not the case, and
never shall be, dear Miss Dacre, with one whose greatest pride is to
subscribe himself
‘Your most obedient and faithful servant,
‘St. James.’