LORD BROMLEY INTERVIEWS DUTTON.
Ere long a challenge and a cheer
Came floating down the wind;
'Twas Mermaid's note, and the huntsman's voice
We knew it was a find.
The dull air woke us from a trance
As sixty hounds joined chorus,
And away we went, with a stout dog fox
Not a furlong's length before us.
--Lawrence.
Nearly every one was going by a late train the following day, intending
to hunt in the morning; for it was a favourite meet in some of the best
country of ----shire. Kate was the only fair equestrian, and Harry was to
escort her.
There was one old hunter in the stables who loyally carried the young man
without taking advantage of his maladroitness. Kate always insisted, when
he accompanied her, on his being committed--I may say to the _care_ of
this faithful equine, who knew its business far better than its rider,
and, if it did not lead him to glory, at least avoided disgrace.
Whatever she might have felt about the approaching departure of Colonel
Dashwood certainly did not appear, for Kate was in glorious spirits,--her
pretty figure, always well on horseback, set off still more by the
elastic action of her beautiful dark chestnut.
Where is the thorough-bred without "opinions?"--and when of that
excitable colour, you may generally reckon on a handful! "Childe Harold"
was vexed at galloping on a different strip of turf to his companions,
and delivered himself of seven buck-jumps successively. Kate, quite at
her ease, was repressing his efforts to get his head down, with the same
smile on her face that some absurdity of Harry's had provoked; but just
as she began to tire a bit, and fancy her hat was loosening, "Childe
Harold," who might then, perhaps, have had one conquering buck, as
suddenly gave it up, in the fatuous way a horse will, when he is nearest
success, if he only knew it.
"Two or three of those would have settled me," said Harry,
good-humouredly coming to her side. "What an ass a fellow looks
who can't ride!"
"Well, I will say for you you don't funk," said Kate consolingly; "and I
suppose all sailors ride like monkeys.--There are the hounds going on; we
are only just in time."
Coquettish Kate was soon surrounded. If she rode fair and didn't
cross men at their fences, still less did she want assistance at any
practicable leap. "Childe Harold," too, was indifferent to a lead; so,
beholden to none, she rode her own line, and, with her merry smile
and gay tongue, with the whole field, from the gallant master to the
hard-riding farmer, there were few greater favourites than Harry's cousin
Kate.
The universal theme at the cover-side was, of course, the declaration of
war; but even that absorbing subject sunk to silence as the first low
whimper, taken up more confidently by hound after hound, proclaimed that
poor Reynard was being bustled through the underwood.
A relieved smile played over the features of the owner of the cover, and
"Always a fox in Beechwood" came approvingly from the master's lips as he
crashed out of the spinny. Kate's gauntleted hand was held up warningly,
for the "Childe" was apt to let out one hind leg in excitement. Then
there was a screech from an urchin in a tree, and they were away with a
straight running fox pointing to Redbank Bushes, eight miles off as the
crow flies.
Not much of the run was Harry Dutton destined to see that day; his
presumed mission was to stick on and follow Kate, who thought no more
about him once they were away. He had flopped over the first fence
without a mistake; but coming on a bit of road the old horse faltered, a
few yards more he was dead lame. Harry jumped off, and found a shoe gone.
Dashwood had a spare one he remembered, and there was a blacksmith, not
half a mile distant. He looked round--no sign of him of course; he was
sailing away with a good start, fields ahead, in that contented ecstasy
that stops not for friend or foe. There was nothing for it but to plod on
to the forge, trusting to nick in later in the day. As the shoe had to be
made, delay was inevitable. Dutton lit a cigar to while away the term of
durance, and was disconsolately looking out at the door of the smithy,
when he observed one of the Bromley grooms trotting smartly down the
road.
He hailed the man, who touched his hat with alacrity. "I was riding to
find you, sir; his Lordship has sent your letters."
The train was late, and the post had not arrived before they had been
obliged to start that morning. He tore open a large blue official
envelope, "On Her Majesty's Service," and read his appointment to H.M.S.
"Druid," one of the Baltic fleet.
Harry stood intent a minute, with compressed lips, then signed to the
groom to give him his horse.
"I have got letters for Colonel Dashwood and Mr. Hobart, too, sir."
"Well, 'Figaro' will be shod in five minutes. But you won't catch them
this side of the Bushes; they were going straight for them half an hour
ago."
And he galloped away with his loose sailor seat in the direction of "The
Towers." The hour had come. That letter was the self-imposed signal for
the acknowledgment of his marriage, and, perhaps, extinction of all hope
of inheritance. One watchful figure at the library window perceived his
red coat winding through the trees on his way to the stables. Lady
Geraldine had caught sight of the blue envelope, and, with the prescience
of love, had divined the whole. She had not wandered far from the window
that morning, being too restless and miserable for anything else. Now, as
she perceived him, her heart stood still. He must be going that very day.
"Well, she would see him once more, at any rate. Adieux must be spoken,
and, after last night, surely something more, something to dwell on
when they were apart." The carriage was rolling up to the door for the
daily drive. Lady Calvert and Kate's mother came down well muffled up.
"Geraldine, my dear, are you not ready! Oh, you had much better come,
or you will be left alone in the house."
Geraldine, hitherto all transparent candour, shook her head dissentingly.
"Oh, no, thank you; much too cold. I am going for a walk presently."
She forbore to inflame the maternal curiosity by mentioning Dutton's
return, and the elder ladies drove off on a shopping expedition to the
market town.
Harry, in the meanwhile, had entered the dining-room, and, eliciting from
a footman that his uncle was in, poured out something from a decanter on
the side table, and, without waiting to refresh himself further, went
down the passage leading to Lord Bromley's sanctum.
"'The lion in his den, the Douglas in his hall,'" muttered he to himself.
"I shall be a man or a mouse when I come out."
We need not go through the whole interview of the uncle and nephew. The
latter's appointment was, of course, the first subject of discussion; and
never had Harry known Lord Bromley show more cordiality and warmth of
manner. He himself was becoming confused and tongue-tied with the
importance of the confession at hand.
"I think of going to London this afternoon," said Dutton, still fencing.
"There's a few things to arrange, as I am to join on Monday."
Lord Bromley coughed, poked the fire, and then observed,--"That brings me
to a subject that I wish to explain to you. I have brought you up in the
expectation of succeeding me at 'The Towers,' and, naturally, I expect
you to make a suitable marriage,--as well you may with such prospects
before you. I have noticed with great pleasure that your inclinations
seem to have forestalled my wishes. The young lady, too, does not appear
averse. But before you go, if you would like to explain yourself to
her--in short, bring it to an engagement, you would have my most cordial
approbation--in fact, I think it's the best thing you could do."
Harry grew a shade paler as the opportunity he wanted appeared.
"I am very sorry, sir," said he, shortly, "but I can never marry Lady
Geraldine."
"Why, the devil not?"
"Because," faltered he, "I have a prior attachment. Indeed, am bound--"
"Prior attachment! d--d stuff!" cried the angry peer. "Whom have you
seen, I should like to know, except some garrison hack at the ports you
have stopped at! By ----, it is not Kate, I hope?"
Dutton shook his head. He would have been amused at any other moment.
"No, much worse, no doubt. Listen, Harry. It is bad enough your having
made a fool of that very nice girl; but, if ever you wish to be master of
this house, the sooner you get rid of all disgraceful entanglements, the
better."
Dutton's good angel battled hard with the tempter, but the latter held
him silent.
Lord Bromley spoke again, but his voice, though stern, was broken.
"I disinherited my only son for a marriage that displeased me, by which
you have benefited. He died unreconciled to me. You may judge what
quarter _you_ would get in a similar offence!"
The old peer's face had turned to granite. A variety of expressions
shifted across Harry's while his uncle continued,--"Yes, you had better
go to town, as you have raised expectations here you seem to have no
intention of fulfilling--_at present_," and he rose from his chair and
held out his hand to his nephew. "Good-bye, Harry. You have something
else to think of now; and when you return I hope you will have more
sense."
It was not manly--it was not heroic--but with the wisdom of the children
of this world, Dutton passed from his uncle's presence with his secret
still unrevealed.
The watcher at the library window saw another carriage drive round. This
time it was a double dog-cart, and two or three leather portmanteaus were
being disposed on it at a side door.
Already! Geraldine grew nervous. He might come in at any moment, or
perhaps would not know any of the ladies had remained at home.
"Still, he could _ask_," whispered her heart. She had not long to remain
in suspense. Harry came out, jumped into the dog-cart, and gathered up
the reins; then he looked up and saw Geraldine's stricken face. He
blushed hotly as he took off his hat, and shot one sorrowful glance from
his eyes ere he drove off, at headlong speed, to the station.