No alarming amount of imagination will be required to enable the reader
to conceive that Harry returned to his hotel considerably provoked and
dissatisfied at the result of his interview with Lord Alfred Courtland.
He had encountered opposition where he had expected an easy victory;
where he had felt certain of success, he had failed most signally;
and by no means the least embarrassing part of the matter was, that
he really did not know whether to be most angry, or pleased, with Lord
Alfred, for his unexpected firmness. But, if the past was perplexing,
the future appeared much more so. On quitting Lord Alfred, he had called
at Horace D’Almayne’s lodgings, where he acquired the information that
their usual occupant had started for the continent on the previous
evening. Baffled in every attempt to obtain information concerning the
mysterious letter, which haunted his imagination with the pertinacity
of some intrusive spectre callous to the restringent influence of bell,
book, and candle, Coverdale, after lying awake the greater part of
the night, bent his steps, the first thing the next morning, in the
direction of his brother-in-law’s chambers, wishing to consult him,
but at the same time feeling so unwilling to blame Alice, even by
imputation, that the chances were against his taking such a step. On
reaching his destination, however, the difficulty solved itself, for,
early as was the hour, Arthur was from home, but Coverdale found a
letter awaiting him in Alice’s hand writing. Hastily tearing it open, an
enclosure dropped from it, and on stooping to pick it up he perceived,
to his extreme surprise, that it was the identical epistle which had
already caused him a journey to London and a sleepless night; and
which, but for his forbearance and kindliness of disposition, might have
involved him in a serious quarrel--if nothing worse--with his former
friend and school-fellow. Alice’s letter, which bore every mark of
having been written under feelings of the greatest excitement, ran as
follows:--
“Dearest Harry,--Your hasty departure has overturned all my plans and
arrangements, which, believe me, were made with a view only to try
and avert the catastrophe which, I shudder to think, may be even
now impending. Justice to Lord Alfred, who may have incurred your
indignation, as well as my anxiety to clear myself in your eyes, by
making you acquainted with the whole truth, induce me to send you
the interesting letter which has given rise to all this sad
misunderstanding; and, as I imagine you have ere this seen and come to
some sort of explanation with Lord Alfred, my reason for withholding
it exists no longer. When you read it, you will perceive _why_ I was
so unwilling to show it to you. I felt convinced that the passages
referring to Mr. D’Almayne, which completely confirm the unfavourable
opinion you have always entertained of him, would irritate you greatly
against him; and, when Lord Alfred proceeds to write of him as a noted
duellist, a dead shot, &c., you may smile at my womanly weakness, but
can you wonder that I hesitated to show you the letter, that I chose
rather to allow you to think untrue things of me, than to clear myself
at the risk of imperilling your safety? And now, dearest Harry, if you
love me as you say, and as I hope and believe you do, if you would ever
have me know another moment’s peace, and not be weighed down by endless
self-reproach, return home, I implore you, without taking any farther
step in this matter. I am not afraid, when you have seen his penitent
letter, that you will be angry with Lord Alfred, but entreat of you to
avoid that hateful Mr. D’Almayne. Even supposing that he has been
the cause of all this unhappiness; that is now passed, and he will be
powerless to influence our future life.
“I am quite willing, if it will be any satisfaction to you, to agree
never to spend another spring in London; I have seen enough of its
heartless dissipation and frivolity, and for the future hope to find my
happiness in our own dear home, which, if you do but return to it
safe and sound, I would not exchange for a queen’s palace. Pray, pray,
dearest Harry, come back without delay. I have worried and fretted
myself quite ill already, and shall be wretched till I see you again.
Ever your penitent, but loving,
“Alice.”
Having perused his wife’s letter with mingled feelings of satisfaction
and regret,--satisfaction to find how completely she was able to clear
herself, and regret at the pain and annoyance which he was sure this
affair must have occasioned her,--Coverdale unfolded and read carefully
Lord Alfred’s epistle, which had occasioned results the writer little
contemplated. At his Lordship’s ingenuous confession of his follies and
absurdities, Harry smiled, muttering, “Poor boy! I wish I had not been
so sharp with him yesterday;” but as he went on his brow contracted,
and when he came to the account of Horace D’Almayne, and the report
he had circulated in regard to Coverdale and Miss Crofton, he could
restrain his rage no longer, and springing up, he exclaimed, “Scoundrel!
mean, pitiful, lying scoundrel! but he shall answer to me for this. A
bold rogue, who would execute his own villainy, is a prince to a rascal
like this, who lays a plot to deprive me of my wife’s affections, and
then makes a cat’s-paw of that poor foolish boy to carry it out. I see
it all now. The behaviour which appeared so strange and unaccountable
in my darling Alice, proceeded from a very natural feeling of jealousy,
excited by all these abominable reports; and, the worst of it is, that
even now I can’t be entirely open with her, because of my promise
to Arabella. I wish to heaven I had never been fool enough to bind
myself!--and yet how could I avoid it? for she has a good heart, and a
generous disposition--though, partly from a bad education, partly from
natural temperament, her ideas are sadly warped. I am sure she really
loved me; of course, in a conventional point of view, it was not right
in her to do so; but--well, it’s no use humbugging--I don’t believe the
mam ever breathed, who honestly, and from his heart, could blame a woman
for loving him; principle and reason may accuse her, but feeling defends
her so eloquently, that the cause is gained at the first hearing. I
think I acted rightly by her. If I had it to do over again, I don’t see
how else I could honourably behave; perhaps it was weak to make her a
promise of concealment, but she was _so_ unhappy, her proud spirit was
so utterly crushed and broken down, that I would have done anything, not
actually wrong, to console her.”
He paused, reseated himself, then resumed more quietly, “Perhaps it
is as well that scoundrel D’Almayne is not within reach: if I were to
horsewhip him, as I most assuredly should and would, I suppose I should
be forced to meet him, blackguard as he is, if he were to challenge
me; and he would do so, I dare say, though I know him to be a coward at
heart, for his social position is his livelihood, and he must maintain
that, or starve. I utterly abhor duelling--it’s so very like deliberate
murder; it was different in the old days, when men wore swords
habitually; then, a couple of fellows quarrelled and tilted at
each other across the dining-table, while their blood was up, and a
flesh-wound or two generally let off their superfluous energy, and cured
their complaint--it was little more than knocking a man down who has
insulted you. There was none of that waiting, and then coolly, calmly,
taking the life of a fellow-creature in cold blood, which is the
disgusting part of the modern duel. And now about little Alfred. Poor
boy, he has been sadly led away by that scoundrel, but his heart is in
the right place still; that is a very nice letter of his to my wife,
and I’m glad he wrote it, though it has caused me some trouble and
annoyance. Well, I’ll call on him, and tell him I did him injustice,
and then go down to the Park by the next train, to comfort my darling
Alice. By Jove, I feel quite a different man since I read that
letter--Harry’s himself again.” And in proof of his assertion, he began,
for the first time for many weeks, to whistle his favourite air--
“A southerly wind, and a cloudy sky,
Proclaim it a hunting morning.”
Another ten minutes, and a Hansom cab sufficed to take him to Lord
Alfred’s lodgings.