Youth Full of Beauty and Promise.
There was no man of greater note in England than the late Royston
Carruthers, Esq., Lord of the Manor of Rutsford. He was one of the
ablest statesmen and finest orators in England. He had been returned for
the Borough of Rutsford for many years, without opposition. To hear him
make a speech was a decided treat; a handsome man of stately presence,
he invested every word with new dignity. The grand volume of sound
rolled on in one continuous stream; the ideas he expressed were noble,
the sentiments patriotic and exalted; his gestures were full of
animation and grace.
Royston Carruthers had done great service to his country in his time. He
had advocated several important measures; his eloquence had facilitated
the introduction of several bills; his country thought well of him, and
for a wonder, was grateful to him.
Government offered him the title of Baron Rutsford of Rutsford, and he
had declined it, saying that his ancestors had for years asked no higher
title than that of Lord of the Manor, and he valued his name--Carruthers
of Ulverston--too highly to ever exchange it for another.
In the very pride and zenith of his prosperity he married the Lady
Hildegarde Blenholme, the only daughter of the Duke of Blenholme. She
was a very beautiful and accomplished woman--proud to a fault, but
generous and noble in disposition. They had one child, Basil, and while
he was yet a boy, his father died, worn out with work and over-exertion.
He left his wife, Lady Hildegarde Carruthers, sole guardian of the boy,
expressing a wish that she should bring him up to resemble herself in
mind and disposition as far as it was possible.
Three years after the great statesman's death, a cousin of Lady
Hildegarde died, leaving her only child, Marion Hautville, under the
sole care and guardianship of the mistress of Ulverston Priory.
"Bring her up as you would a daughter of your own," wrote the dying
mother. "She has a large fortune--save her from fortune-hunters."
And Lady Carruthers scrupulously carried out her kinswoman's wish. She
took the girl to her own home, Ulverston Priory; she superintended her
education; she brought her up in simple, refined habits--succeeded in
making of her a perfect lady and a noble woman.
Then the dearest wish of her heart was to see her son, the heir to
Ulverston, marry Marion Hautville, one of the loveliest girls and
wealthiest heiresses in England. She was far too wise ever to express
such a wish openly, none the less it was deeply engraven on her heart.
They were warmly attached to each other and Lady Carruthers fancied that
she already saw some signs of liking on the part of Marion for Basil.
While Miss Hautville pursued her quiet, ordinary course of education
under Lady Carruthers' roof, Basil went through Eton and Oxford; at both
places he gained high honors and at both places he succeeded in puzzling
his tutors and masters. He was of such a peculiar disposition;
chivalrous, romantic, brave, yet with something about him--they could
not define what, but quite unlike other boys.
He did not evince any taste for any particular branch of study; he had
no inclination for the navy, for serving his country as his father had
done before him. In fact, it was difficult to tell in what direction his
taste really lay. Still, he left college with high honors, and his
masters prophesied great things for him.
"He will make himself famous some day," they wrote to his anxious
mother. "In the mean time, let him see something of the world, and you
will know in what direction his talent lies."
So, crowded with honors, he came home to Ulverston. He was eighteen then
and one of the handsomest young men England could boast. No barber's
beauty; strong, comely, of noble bearing, with a face that had come to
him from the crusaders of old.
Then Lady Hildegarde set herself to work to discover what manner of man
her son was. She was puzzled; he was brave, generous, full of high
spirits, truthful, even to bluntness. She could not discover any grave
fault in him. She thanked God he had no vices, no mean faults, no
contemptible failings.
"Basil," she said to him, one evening, as the three sat around the
drawing-room fire. "Confess now, do you not like and admire the olden
times better than these?"
"Yes," he replied; "I always did."
"I knew it," said Lady Hildegarde; "I understand now what has always
puzzled everyone who has had the care of you. You were born two hundred
years too late; the ancient days of knight errantry and chivalry would
have suited you better than these."
"It is your fault, mother," he replied. "When I was only twelve years
old, you gave me a beautiful edition of Froissart's Chronicles, and
everything else has seemed dull and tame to me since."
"I thought as much," she said, quietly; "you make the same mistake
others have made before you; you live in the past, not in the present."
"You are right, mother; in these days, there seems to me nothing to do."
"Your father thought differently," she said; "he died from overwork."
"Ah! my dear father was a genius," said the young man, thoughtfully, and
for some minutes there was silence between them.
"I can understand you," said Lady Hildegarde, with a smile; "you would
like to have been a knight, always looking out for some romantic
adventure; you would have fought giants, released distressed
princesses."
"Overthrown all wrong and upheld all right," he said; "that would have
been my vocation."
Lady Hildegarde went over to him and laid her hand on his head. "My
dearest boy, you are young yet, but will live to see that there is as
much to be done in the way of redressing wrong now as there was in the
days when knights rode forth to do battle for lady fair."
"I want some romantic adventure," he said; "I cannot see much in the
plain, common ways of man. I should like to do something that would make
me a hero at once, something brave and glorious."
"My dear boy," she said; "God grant you may learn to distinguish true
from false, true romance from mere sentiment, true gold from mere
glitter."
He looked so eager, so handsome, she kissed him with passionate love.
"I should like to have been one of King Arthur's knights," he said,
musingly.
"My dear Basil," said his mother; "your mind is chaos. I tell you there
are giants to be fought, hydra-headed ones--the giants of ignorance, of
wickedness, of injustice, and they call for a sharper, keener sword than
that wielded by the knights of old."
And there came into her heart a great fear lest her boy, who had too
much imagination, too much ideality, would waste his life in dreams.
"I will tell you, Basil," said Marion Hautville; "what I call a great
hero. The man who does his duty perfectly in the state of life in which
God has placed him."
"We all do that," replied Basil.
"Indeed we do not--you do not, to begin with. You ought now, instead of
dreaming about Froissart and his barbaric times, you ought to be
studying hard how to make a good master of this large estate--how to
employ the vast wealth given to you--how best to serve your God, your
country and those who will depend upon you."
"Solomon in petticoats!" cried Basil, gaily, and Marion joined in his
laugh.
That conversation gave Lady Carruthers many uneasy moments. She
understood so well the dreamy, yet ardent, romantic temperament of the
boy.
"What shall I make of him?" she said. "Will he ever learn to live
contentedly here at Ulverston, doing his duty, as Marion says, to God
and man? My poor Basil, he lives too late!"
She asked advice from those best fitted to give it. One and all said the
same thing; there would be nothing so useful for him as a tour on the
Continent, seeing plenty of the world and going into society.
So Lady Carruthers, who loved home very dearly, gave up its peaceful
tranquillity, and went with Basil and Miss Hautville to Paris, where
they remained some months until they saw all that was most brilliant in
that brilliant capital; from there to Berlin; then on to Vienna, and
Basil lost much of his dreamy nature.
He was eager, ardent, impetuous, longing, as is the fashion of young
men, to do brave deeds, to be a great hero, and not in the least knowing
what to do.
He was just twenty when they returned home, at the commencement of the
year; Lady Carruthers, worn out with travel and excitement, longing for
rest. There was more to be done--her son had been presented at most of
the courts of Europe; he must attend the first levees held in London
this season.
The Carruthers had a magnificent mansion in Belgravia. Miss Hautville
begged for one year more of seclusion and privacy, so that Lady
Hildegarde and her son went to London alone. She remained there for a
week, and then, finding her son afloat in London society, she returned
to Ulverston.
And Basil Carruthers, the dreamy, ardent, romantic boy, remained in
London alone.