So to my Lord Marquis of Newcastle’s dinner we went, and found ourselves
regaled with more of good cheer than poor cavaliers could usually offer.
There was not only a good sirloin of beer, but a goose, and many choice
wild-fowl from the fens of the country. There was plum porridge too,
which I had not seen since I left England at my marriage. Every one was
so much charmed at the sight that I thought I ought to be so too, but
I confess that it was too much for me, and that I had to own that it
is true that the English are gross feeders. The Duke of York was there,
looking brighter and more manly than I had yet seen him, enlivened
perhaps by my Lady Newcastle, who talked to him, without ceasing, on
all sorts of subjects. She would not permit the gentlemen to sit after
dinner, because she would have us all out to enjoy her sport on the
ice-hills, which were slopes made with boards, first covered with snow,
and then with water poured over them till they were perfectly smooth and
like glass. I cannot say that I liked the notion of rushing down them,
but it seemed to fill Annora with ecstasy, and my lady provided her with
a sleigh and a cavalier, before herself instructing the Duke of York in
the guidance of her own sledge upon another ice-hill.
My Lord Marquis did me the honour to walk with me and converse on my
brother. There was a paved terrace beneath a high wall which was swept
clear of snow and strewn with sand and ashes, so that those who had no
turn for the ice-hills could promenade there and gaze upon the sport.
When his other duties as a host called him away, his lordship said, with
a smile, that he would make acquainted with each other two of his own
countrywomen, both alike disguised under foreign names, and therewith he
presented Madame van Hunker to me. Being on the same side of the table
we had not previously seen one another, nor indeed would she have known
me by sight, since I had left England before her arrival at Court.
She knew my name instantly, and the crimson colour rushed into those
fair cheeks as she made a very low reverence, and murmured some
faltering civility.
We were left together, for all the other guest near us were Hollanders,
whose language I could not speak, and who despised French too much to
learn it. So, as we paced along, I endeavoured to say something
trivial of the Prince’s christening and the like, which might begin the
conversation; and I was too sorry for her to speak with the frigidity
with which my sister thought she ought to be treated. Then gradually she
took courage to reply, and I found that she had come in attendance on
her stepdaughter Cornelia, who was extremely devoted to these sleighing
parties. The other daughter, Veronica, was at home, indisposed, having,
as well as her father, caught a feverish cold on a late expedition
into the country, and Madame would fain have given up the party, as she
thought Cornelia likewise to be unwell, but her father would not hear
of his favourite Keetje being disappointed. I gather that the Yung-vrow
Cornelia had all the true Dutch obstinacy of nature. By and by she
ventured timidly, trying to make her voice sound as if she were only
fulfilling an ordinary call of politeness, to hope that my Lord Walwyn
was in better health. I told her a little of his condition, and she
replied with a few soft half-utterance; but before we had gone far
in our conversation there was a sudden commotion among the sleighing
party--an accident, as we supposed--and we both hurried forward in
anxiety for our charges. My sister was well, I was at once reassured
by seeing her gray and ermine hood, which I knew well, for it was
Mademoiselle van Hunker who lay insensible. It was not from a fall, but
the cold had perhaps struck her, they said, for after her second descent
she had complained of giddiness, and had almost immediately swooned
away. She was lying on the sledge, quite unconscious, and no one seemed
to know what to do. Her stepmother and I came to her; I raised her head
and put essences to her nose, and Madame van Hunker took off her gloves
and rubbed her hands, while my Lady Newcastle, hurrying up, bade them
carry her into the house, and revive her by the fire; but Madame van
Hunker insisted and implored that she should not be taken indoors, but
carried home at once, showing a passion and vehemence quite unlike one
so gentle, and which our good host and hostess withstood till she hinted
that she feared it might be more than a swoon, since her father and
sister were already indisposed. Then, indeed, all were ready enough to
stand aloof; a coach was procured, I know not how, and poor Cornelia was
lifted into it, still unconscious, or only moaning a little. I could not
let the poor young stepmother go with her alone, and no one else would
make the offer, the dread of contagion keeping all at a distance, after
what had passed. At first I think Madame van Hunker hardly perceived who
was with her, but as I spoke a word or two in English, as we tried to
accommodate the inanimate form between us, she looked up and said: ‘Ah!
I should not have let you come, Madame! I do everything wrong. I pray
you to leave me!’ Then, as I of course refused, she added: ‘Ah, you
know not--’ and then whispered in my ear, though the poor senseless
girl would scarce have caught the sound, the dreadful word ‘smallpox.’
I could answer at once that I had had it--long, long ago, in my childish
days, when my grandmother nursed me and both my brothers through it, and
she breathed freely, I asked her why she apprehended it, and she told
me that some weeks ago her husband had taken the whole party down to his
pleasure-house in the country, to superintend some arrangement in his
garden, which he wished to make before the frost set in.
He and his daughter Veronica had been ailing for some days, but it was
only on that very morning that tidings had come to the Hague that the
smallpox had, on the very day of their visit, declared itself in the
family of the gardener who kept the house, and that two of his children
were since dead. Poor Millicent had always had a feeble will, which
yielded against her judgment and wishes. She had not had the malady
herself, ‘But oh! my child,’ she said, ‘my little Emilia!’ And when I
found that the child had not been on the expedition to Hunderslust,
and had not seen her father or sister since they had been sickening,
I ventured to promise that I would take her home, and the young mother
clasped my hand in fervent gratitude.
But we were not prepared for the scene that met us when we drove into
the porte cochere. The place seemed deserted, not a servant was to
be seen but one old wrinkled hag, who hobbled up to the door saying
something in Dutch that made Madame van Hunker clasp her hands and
exclaim: ‘All fled! Oh, what shall we do?’
At that moment, however, Dr. Dirkius appeared at the door. He spoke
French, and he explained that he had been sent for about an hour ago,
and no sooner had he detected smallpox than Mynheer’s valet had fled
from his master’s room and spread the panic throughout the household, so
that every servant, except one scullion and this old woman, had deserted
it. The Dutch have more good qualities than the French, their opposites,
are inclined to believe, but they have also a headstrong selfishness
that seems almost beyond reach. Nor perhaps had poor Mynheer van Hunker
been a master who would win much affection.
I know not what we should have done if Dr. Dirkius had not helped me to
carry Cornelia to her chamber. The good man had also locked the little
Emilia into her room, intending, after having taken the first measures
for the care of his patients, to take or send her to the ladies at Lord
Newcastle’s, warning them not to return. Madame van Hunker looked deadly
pale, but she was a true wife, and said nothing should induce her to
forsake her husband and his daughters; besides, it must be too late
for her to take precautions. Dirkius looked her all over in her pure
delicate beauty, muttering what I think was: ‘Pity! pity!’ and then
agreed that so it was. As we stood by the bed where we had laid
Cornelia, we could hear at one end old Hunker’s voice shouting--almost
howling--for his vrow; and likewise the poor little Emilia thumping
wildly against the door, and screaming for her mother to let her out.
Millicent’s face worked, but she said: ‘She must not touch me! She had
best not see me! Madame, God sent in you an angle of mercy. Take her; I
must go to my husband!’
And at a renewed shout she ran down the corridor to hide her tears.
The doctor and I looked at one another. I asked if a nurse was coming.
Perchance, he said; he must go and find some old woman, and old Trudje
must suffice meantime. There would as yet be no risk in my taking
the child away, if I held her fast, and made her breathe essences all
through the house.
It was a strange capture, and a dreadful terror for the poor little
girl. By his advice I sprinkled strong essences all over the poor little
girl’s head, snatched her up in my arms, and before she had breath to
scream hurried down stairs with her. She was about three years old, and
it was not till I was almost at the outer door that she began to kick
and struggle. My mind was made up to return as soon as she was safe. It
was impossible to leave that poor woman to deal alone with three such
cases, and I knew what my brother would feel about it. And all fell
out better than I could have hoped, for under the porte cochere was the
coach in which we had come to Lady Newcastle’s. My sister, learning that
I had gone home with Madame van Hunker, had driven thither to fetch me,
and Nicolas was vainly trying to find some one to tell me that she was
waiting. I carried the child, now sobbing and calling for her mother,
to the carriage, and explained the state of affairs as well as I could
while trying to hush her. Annora was quick to understand, and not slow
to approve. ‘The brutes!’ she said. ‘Have they abandoned them? Yes, Meg,
you are safe, and you cannot help staying. Give me the poor child! I
will do my best for her. O yes! I will take care of Eustace, and I’ll
send you your clothes. I wish it was any one else, but he will be glad.
So adieu, and take care of yourself! Come, little one, do not be afraid.
We are going to see a kind gentleman.’
But as poor little Emilia knew no English, this must have failed to
console her, and they drove away amid her sobs and cries, while I
returned to my strange task. I was not altogether cut off from home, for
my faithful Nicolas, though uncertain whether he had been secured from
the contagion, declared that where his mistress went he went. Tryphena
would have come too, but like a true old nurse she had no confidence
in Mistress Nan’s care of my brother, or of the child, and it was far
better as it was, for the old women whom the doctor found for us were
good for nothing but to drink and to sleep; whereas Nicolas, like a
true French laquais, had infinite resources in time of need. He was poor
Madame’s only assistant in the terrible nursing of her husband; he made
the most excellent tisanes and bouillons for the patients, and kept us
nurses constantly supported with good meats and wines, without which we
never could have gone through the fatigue; he was always at hand, and
seemed to sleep, if he slept at all, with one ear and one eye open
during that terrible fifteen days during which neither Madame van
Hunker, he, nor I, ever took off our clothes. Moreover, he managed our
communication with my family. Every day in early morning he carried a
billet from me which he placed in a pan of vinegar at their door; and,
at his whistle, Annora looked out and threw down a billet for me, which,
to my joy and comfort, generally told me that my brother was no worse,
and that the little maid was quite well, and a great amusement to him.
He was the only one who could speak any Dutch, so that he had been able
to do more with her than the others at her first arrival; and though she
very soon picked up English enough to understand everything, and to make
herself understood in a droll, broken baby tongue, she continued to be
devoted to him. She was a pretty, fair child of three years old, with
enough of Dutch serenity and gravity not to be troublesome after the
first shock was over, and she beguiled many of his weary hours of
confinement by the games in which he joined her. He sent out to by for
her a jointed baby, which Annora dressed for her, and, as she wrote, my
lord was as much interested about the Lady Belphoebe’s robes (for so had
he named her) as was Emilia, and he was her most devoted knight, daily
contriving fresh feasts and pageants for her ladyship. Nan declared that
she was sometimes quite jealous of Belphoebe and her little mistress;
but, on the whole, I think she enjoyed the months when she had Eustace
practically to herself.
For we were separated for months. Poor Cornelia’s illness was very
short, the chill taken at the sleighing party had been fatal to her at
the beginning of the complaint, and she expired on the third day, with
hardly any interval of consciousness.
Her sister, Veronica, was my chief charge. I had to keep her constantly
rolled in red cloth in a dark room, while the fever ran very high,
and she suffered much. I think she was too ill to feel greatly the
discomfort of being tended by a person who could not speak her language,
and indeed necessity enabled me to understand a tongue so much like
English, which indeed she could herself readily speak when her brain
began to clear. This, however, was not for full a fortnight, and in the
meantime Mynheer van Hunker was growing worse and worse, and he died on
the sixteenth day of his illness. His wife had watched over him day and
night with unspeakable tenderness and devotion, though I fear he never
showed her much gratitude in return; he had been too much used to think
of woman as mere housewifely slaves.
She had called me in to help in her terror at the last symptoms of
approaching death, and I heard him mutter to her: ‘Thou hast come to
be a tolerable housewife. I have taken care thou dost not lavish all on
beggarly stranger.’
At least so the words came back on me afterwards; but we were absorbed
in our attendance on him in his extremity, and when death had come at
last I had to lead her away drooping and utterly spent. Alas! it was not
exhaustion alone, she had imbibed the dreadful disease, and for another
three weeks she hung between life and death. Her stepdaughter left her
bed, and was sent away to the country-house to recover, under the care
of the steward’s wife, before Millicent could open her eyes or lift her
head from her pillow; but she did at last begin to revive, and it was in
those days of slow convalescence that she and I became very dear to one
another.
We could talk together of home, as she loved to call England, and of her
little daughter, of whom Annora sent me daily reports, which drew out
the mother’s smiles. She could not be broken-hearted for Mynheer van
Hunker, nor did she profess so to be, but she said he had been kind to
her--much kinder since she had really tried to please him; and that, she
said--and then broke off--was after he--your brother--my lord--And she
went no further, but I knew well afterwards what that chance meeting had
done for her--that meeting which, with such men as I had too often seen
at Paris, might have been fatal for ever to her peace of mind and purity
of conscience by renewing vain regrets, not to be indulged without a
stain. Nay, it had instead given her a new impulse, set her in the way
of peace, and helped her to turn with new effort to the path of duty
that was left to her. And she had grown far happier therein. Her
husband had been kinder to her after she ceased to vex him by a piteous
submission and demonstrative resignation; his child had been given to
brighten her with hope; and that she had gained his daughter’s affection
I had found by Veronica’s conversation about her, and her tears when
permitted to see her--or rather to enter her dark chamber for a few
moments before going to Hunkerslust, the name of the country-house near
Delf. Those days of darkness, when the fever had spent itself, and the
strength was slowly returning, were indeed a time when hearts could
flow into one another; and certainly I had never found any friend who
so perfectly and entirely suited me as that sweet Millicent. There was
perhaps a lack of strength of resolute will; she had not the robust
temper of my high-spirited Annora, but, on the other hand, she was not
a mere blindly patient Grisel, like my poor sister-in-law, Cecily
d’Aubepine, but could think and resolve for herself, and hold staunchly
to her duty when she saw it, whatever it might cost her; nor did terror
make her hide anything, and thus she had won old Hunker’s trust, and he
had even permitted her to attend the service of exiled English ministers
at the Hague.
One of them came to see her two or three times--once when she seemed
to be at the point of death, and twice afterwards, reading prayers with
her, to her great comfort. He spoke of her as an angel of goodness,
spending all the means allowed her by her husband among her poor exiled
countrymen and women. And as she used no concealment, and only took
what was supplied to her for her own ‘menus plaisirs,’ her husband might
grumble, but did not forbid. I knew now that my brother had loved in her
something more than the lovely face.
And oh for that beauty! I felt as though I were trying to guard a
treasure for him as I used every means I had heard of to save it from
disfigurement, not permitting one ray of daylight to penetrate into the
room, and attempting whatever could prevent the marks from remaining.
And here Millicent’s habits of patience and self-command came to her
aid, and Dr. Dirkius said he had never had a better or a gentler sick
person to deal with.
Alas! it was all in vain. Millicent’s beauty had been of that delicate
fragile description to which smallpox is the most fatal enemy, with its
tendency not only to thicken the complexion, but to destroy the refined
form of the features. We were prepared for the dreadful redness
at first, and when Millicent first beheld herself in the glass she
contrived to laugh, while she wondered what her little Emilia would
say to her changed appearance, and also adding that she wondered how it
fared with her step-mother, a more important question, she tried to say,
than for herself, for the young lady was betrothed to a rich merchant’s
son, and would be married as soon as the days of mourning were over.
However, as Veronica had never been reckoned a beauty, and les beaux
yeux de sa cassette had been avowedly the attraction, we hoped that
however it might be, there would not be much difference in her lot.
We were to joint her at Hunkerslust to rid ourselves of infection, while
the house was purified from it. Before we went, Annora daily brought
little Emilia before the window that her mother might see the little
creature, who looked so grown and so full of health as to rejoice our
hearts. My brother and sister seemed to have made the little maid much
more animated than suited a Dutch child, for she skipped, frolicked, and
held up her wooden baby, making joyous gestures in a way that astonished
the solemn streets of Graavehage, as the inhabitants call it. She was to
come to us at Hunkerslust so soon as the purification was complete;
and then I was to go back to my brother and sister, for as the spring
advanced it was needful that we should return to France, to our mother
and my son.
It was April by the time Madame van Hunker was fit to move, and the
great coach came to the door to carry us out the three or four miles
into the country. I shall never forget the charm of leaving the
pest-house I had inhabited so long, and driving through the avenues,
all budding with fresh young foliage, and past gardens glowing with the
gayest of flowers, the canals making shining mirrors for tree, windmill,
bridge, and house, the broad smooth roads, and Milicent, holding one of
my hands, lay back on the cushions, deeply shrouded in her widow’s veil,
unwilling to speak, but glad of the delight I could not help feeling.
We arrived at the house, and entered between the row of limes clipped in
arches. Never did I behold such a coup d’oeil as the garden presented,
with its paved and tiled paths between little beds of the most gorgeous
hyacinths and tulips, their colours assorted to perfection, and all in
full bloom. I could not restrain a childish cry of wonder and absolute
joy at the first glance; it was such a surprise, and yet I recollected
the next moment that there was something very sad in the display, for
it was in going to superintend this very garden that poor Mymheer van
Hunker had caught his death, and here were these his flowers blooming
away gaily in the sun unseen by him who had cared for them so much.
Veronica had come to meet us, and she and her step-mother wept in each
other’s arms at the sight and the remembrances it excited; but their
grief was calm, and it appeared that Veronica had had a visit from her
betrothed and his mother, and had no reason to be dissatisfied with
their demeanour. Indeed, the young lady’s portion must be so much
augmented by her sister’s death that it was like to compensate for the
seams in her cheeks.
No matter of business had yet come before the widow, but it was
intimated to her that the notary, Magister Wyk, would do himself the
honour of coming to her at Hunkerslust so soon as she felt herself
strong enough to receive him, and to hear the provisions of the will.
Accordingly he came, the whole man impregnated with pungent perfumes
and with a pouncet-box in his hand, so that it almost made one sneeze to
approach him. He was by no means solicitous of any near neighbourhood to
either of the ladies, but was evidently glad to keep the whole length
of the hall-table between them and himself, at least so I heard, for of
course I did not thrust myself into the matter, but I learned afterwards
that Mynheer van Hunker had left a very large amount of money and lands,
which were divided between his daughters, subject to a very handsome
jointure to his wife, who was to possess both the houses at the Hague
and at Hunkerslust for her life, but would forfeit both these and her
income should she marry any one save a native of the States of Holland.
Her jewels, however, were her own, and the portion she had received from
her father, Sir James Wardour.
As she said to me afterwards, her husband hated all foreigners, and she
held him as having behaved with great kindness and liberality to her;
but, she added with a smile, as she turned bravely towards a mirror
behind her, he need not have laid her under the restriction, for such
things were all over for her. And happily he had not forbidden her to do
as she pleased with her wealth.
That very evening she began to arrange for packets of dollars from
unknown hands to find themselves in the lodgings of the poorest
cavaliers; and for weekly payments to be made at the ordinaries that
they might give their English frequenters substantial meals at a nominal
cost. She became quite merry over her little plots; but there was a
weight as of lead on my heart when I thought of my brother, and that her
freedom had only begun on such terms. Nay, I knew not for what to hope
or wish!
Permission had been given for Emilia to return to her mother, and as
Veronica had some purchases to make in the city, she undertook to drive
in in the coach, and bring out her little sister. I should have availed
myself of the opportunity of going back with her but that Millicent
would have had to spend the day alone, and I could see that, though her
mother’s heart hungered for the little one, yet she dreaded the child’s
seeing her altered face. She said she hoped Veronica might not return
till twilight or dusk, so that Emilia might recognize her by her voice
and her kisses before seeing her face.
She had been bidden to be out in the air, and she and I had walked down
the avenue in search of some cukoo-flowers and king-cups that grew by
the canal below. She loved them, she said, because they grew at home
by the banks of the Thames, and she was going to dress some beaupots to
make her chamber gay for Emilia. The gardens might be her own, but
she stood in too much awe of the gardener to touch a tulip or a
flower-de-luce, scarce even a lily of the valley; but when I taxed
her with it, she smiled and said she should ever love the English
wild-flowers best.
So we were walking back under the shade of the budding lime-tress when a
coach came rolling behind us. The horses were not the fat dappled grays
of the establishment, but brown ones, and Millicent, apprehending a
visit from some of her late husband’s kindred, and unwilling to be seen
before they reached the house, drew behind a tree, hoping to be out of
sight.
She had, however, been descried. The carriage stopped. There was a
joyful cry in good English of ‘Mother! mother! mother!’ and the little
maiden flew headlong into her arms, while at the same moment my dear
brother, looking indeed thin, but most noble, most handsome, embraced
me. He explained in a few words that Mademoiselle van Hunker was dining
with her future mother-in-law, and that she had permitted him to have
the honour of giving up his charge to Madame.
Millicent looked up at him with the eyes that could not but be sweet,
and began to utter her thanks, while he smiled and said that the
pleasure to him and Annora had been so great that the obligation was
theirs.
The little girl, now holding her hand, was peering up curiously under
her hood, and broke upon their stiffness and formality by a sudden
outcry:
‘No! no! mother is not ugly like Vronikje. She shall not be ugly. She is
Emilia’s own dear pretty mother, and nobody shall say no.’
No doubt the little one felt the inward attraction of child to mother,
that something which so infinitely surpasses mere complexion, and as she
had been warned of the change, and had seen it in her sister, she was
really agreeable surprised, and above all felt that she had her mother
again.
Millicent clasped her to her bosom in a transport of joy, while Eustace
exclaimed:
‘The little maid is right; most deeply right. That which truly matters
can never be taken away.’
Then Millicent raised her eyes to him and said, with quivering lip: ‘I
had so greatly dreaded this moment. I owe it to you, my lord, that she
has come to me thus.’
Before he could answer Emilia had seen the golden flowers in her
mother’s hand, and with a childish shriek of ecstasy had claimed them,
while Millicent said:
‘I had culled them for thee, sweetheart.’
‘I’ll give some to my lord!’ cried the child. ‘My lord loves king-cups.’
‘Yes,’ said Eustace, taking the flowers and kissing the child, but with
his eyes on her mother’s all the time; ‘I have loved king-cups
ever since on May day when there was a boat going down the river to
Richmond.’
Her eyes fell, and that strange trembling came round her mouth. For, as
I learned afterwards from my sister, it was then that they had danced
in Richmond Park, and he had made a crown of king-cups and set it on her
flaxen hair, and then and there it was that love had first begun between
those two, whom ten years had so strangely changed. But Eustace said no
more, except to tell me that he had come to ask if I could be ready to
return to Paris the second day ensuing, as Sir Edward Hyde was going,
and had a pass by which we could all together go through the Spanish
Netherlands without taking ship. If Madame van Hunker could spare me on
such sudden notice he would like to take me back with him at once.
There was no reason for delay. Millicent had her child, and was really
quite will again; and I had very little preparation to make, having
with me as little clothing as possible. She took Eustace to the tiled
fireplace in the parlour, and served him with manchet-cake and wine,
but prayed him to pardon her absence while she went to aid me. I think
neither wished for a tete-a-tete. They had understood one another over
the king-cups, and it was no time to go farther. I need not tell of
the embraces and tears between us in my chamber. They were but
natural, after the time we had spent together, but at the end Millicent
whispered:
‘You will tell him all, Margaret! He is too noble, but his generous soul
must feel no bondage towards one who has nothing--not even a face or a
purse for him.’
‘Only a heart,’ I said. But she shook her head in reproof, and I felt
that I had done wrong to speak on the matter.
After a brief time we took leave with full and stately formality. I
think both she and I were on our guard against giving way before my
brother, who had that grave self-restrained countenance which only
Englishmen seem able to maintain. He was thin, and there was a certain
transparency of skin about his cheeks and hands; but to my mind he
looked better than when he left us at Paris, and I could not but trust
that the hope which had returned to him would be an absolute cure for
all his ill-health. I saw it in his eyes.
We seated ourselves in the carriage, and I dreaded to break the silence
at first, but we had not long turned into the high road from the avenue
when hoofs came behind us, and a servant from Hunkerslust rode up to the
window, handing in a packet which he said had been left behind.
I sat for a few minutes without opening it, and deemed it was my Book of
Hours, for it was wrapped in a kerchief of my own; but when I unfolded
that, behold I saw a small sandal-wood casket, and turning the key, I
beheld these few words--‘Praying my Lord Walwyn to permit restitution to
be made.--M. van H.’ And beneath lay the pearls of Ribaumont.
‘No! no! no, I cannot!’ cried my brother, rising to lean from the window
and beckon back the messenger; but I pulled him by the skirts, telling
him it was too late, and whatever he might think fit to do, he must not
wound the lady’s feelings by casting them back upon her in this sudden
manner, almost as if he were flinging them at her head. He sat down
again, but reiterated that he could not accept them.
I told him that her jewels were wholly her own, subject to no
restrition, but this only made him ask me with some displeasure whether
I had been privy to this matter; the which I could wholly deny, since
not a word had passed between us, save on the schemes for sending aid to
the distressed families.
‘I thought not,’ he returned; and then he began to show me, what needed
little proof, how absolutely inexpedient it was for his honour or for
hers, that he should accept anything from her, and how much more fitting
it was that they should be absolutely out of reach of all intercourse
with one another during her year of mourning, or until he could fitly
address her.
‘No,’ he said; ‘the pearls must remain hers unless she can come
with them; or if not, as is most like, we shall be the last of the
Ribaumonts--and she may do as she will with them.’
‘You have no doubts, Eustace?’ I cried. ‘You care not for her wealth,
and as to her face, a year will make it as fair and sweet as ever.’
‘As sweet in my eyes, assuredly!’ he said. But he went on to say that
her very haste in this matter was a token that she meant to have no more
to do with him, and that no one could wish her to give up her wealth
and prosperity to accept a poor broken cavalier, health and wealth alike
gone.
I would have argued cheeringly, but he made me understand that his own
Dorset estates, which Harry Merrycourt had redeemed for him before, had
been absolutely forfeited by his share in Montrose’s expedition. The
Commonwealth had in a manner condoned what had been done in the service
of King Charles, but it regarded as treason the espousing the cause
of his son; and it was possible that the charge on the Wardour estates
might be refused to Millicent should she unite herself with one who was
esteemed a rebel.
My mother’s jointure had been charged on the Ribaumont estate, and if
Eustace failed to gain the suit which had been lingering on so long,
there would hardly be enough rents to pay this to her, leaving almost
nothing for him. Nor, indeed, was it in my power to do much for their
assistance, since my situation was not what it would have been if my
dear husband had lived to become Marquis de Nidemerle. And we were
neither of us young enough to think that even the most constant love
could make it fit to drag Millicent into beggary. Yet still I could see
that Eustace did not give up hope. The more I began to despond, the more
cheerful he became. Was not the King in Scotland, and when he entered
England as he would certainly do next summer, would not all good
Cavaliers--yes, and all the Parliament men who had had enough of the
domineering of General Cromwell--rise on his behalf? My brother was
holding himself in readiness to obey the first summons to his standard,
and when he was restored, all would be easy, and he could offer himself
to Millicent worthily.
Moreover, my mother had written something about a way that had opened
for accommodating the suit respecting the property in Picardy, and
Eustace trusted the report all the more because our brother Solivet had
also written to urge his recall, in order to confer with his antagonist,
the Comte de Poligny, respecting it. So that, as the dear brother
impressed on me, he had every reason for hoping that in a very different
guise; and his hopes raised mine, so that I let them peep through the
letter with which I returned the jewels to Millicent.