ARRIVAL.
Britain! America! Mother and child,
Be heartily, happily, reconciled.
Look to the world around;
Stricken by frenzy, with guilt defiled,
A storm-tossed ship in the surges wild,
Soon to be wrecked and drowned!
Mother and daughter against the world.
Under your peaceful flags unfurled,
Rights may rally at length;
While Earth’s hurricane, inwardly curled
Spent with ruin of wrongs down-hurled
Weakens and wastes its strength.—M. P. T.
To see for the first time the shores of the old world! It is indeed like
coming to another world! like entering into another life!
Have we died? Was the vast sheet of water we passed the River of Death?
And is the land we see before us the abode of departed spirits? If so,
is it Hades, or Elysium? It looks more like Elysium!
So mused Drusilla as she stood dreamily leaning over the bulwarks of the
Hurona, and gazing on the lovely shores of the Emerald Isle, all
glittering in the beams of the rising sun, as the ship approached the
beautiful Cove of Cork.
She had risen very early and come up on deck alone to get a quiet first
view of the land. All was bustle around her, for the ship was preparing
to lay to for the purpose of landing the passengers for Ireland. The
tiny steamboat from the shore was already puffing and blowing its way
out to the ocean leviathan to take them off.
Men, women and children, servants, porters and baggage began to throng
up from below.
But Drusilla, plunged in a dream of the past, was almost unconscious of
the confusion around her.
“Elysium! for certainly it is peopled with the spirits of departed
heroes and sages!” she murmured to herself as the rivers of history and
tradition rolled through her memory.
A caressing hand was laid upon her shoulder and a kind voice said in her
ear:
“Good-morning, my child! Well, you see before you ‘Hibernia,’ ‘Erin,’
‘Ireland,’ the ‘ould counthry!’ Now, what do you think of it?”
“Oh, uncle, it is a lovely land! Who can look upon it and not love it?
And, oh! what an experience to look upon it for the first time! It is as
if some beautiful creation of imagination was actually realized to the
senses! To look upon her shores and think of her history, her legends
and her poetry! to almost see the shades of her dead heroes, sages and
minstrels!” said Drusilla, enthusiastically.
“Well, my dear, I dare say ardent young strangers like you feel all
these things and see all these ghosts. But I don’t suppose the people
who live in the land, or the mariners that frequent the cove, ever do.
Such is the effect of novelty in your case, and of habit in theirs.”
“But can _any_ length of habit blind one to such beauty as this? Oh,
look! was ever such brilliant green herbage spread over the earth, or
such heavenly blue sky above it, or such soft white clouds sailing over
it? See those lovely, billowy hills! as the cloud-shadows pass over them
they seem to rise and fall, like the waves of the ocean, only more
gently! It reminds of something Tennyson said, What was it? Oh——
‘The hills are shadows and they flow
From form to form and nothing stands;
They melt like mists, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.’
He was speaking geologically of the changes wrought by centuries; but
here the beautiful green sunlit or cloud-shaded hills do seem every
moment to ‘flow from form to form,’ ‘to melt like mists,’ ‘like clouds
to shape themselves and go.’”
“You are a dreamer, little Drusa!”
“It _does_ seem like a dream. I should not be the least surprised to
wake up and find myself—where?—anywhere at all in my past life! In my
little corner of the housekeeper’s room in the Chief-Justice’s dwelling;
in the lolling chair of the little drawing-room at Cedarwood waiting for
Alick to come back; or at dear old Lyon Hall with little Lenny trying to
pull my eyes open. Life seems often very like a dream.”
“And always in any great change of scene or circumstances.”
“And most of all in coming to an old, historical country like this, that
we have always known in imagination, and never in reality. But look,
uncle! do not let us lose the features of this sweet scene! It will be a
picture in our mind’s eye for many coming years. See, away there on the
horizon, crowning the most distant of the visible hills, a cluster of
old, gray ruins—the remains of some medieval castle or monastery! And
look a little further down. See the mossy huts, dotted about at long
intervals, half hidden in dells and thickets, and under great trees; and
nearer still, the town with its glittering spires and its forest of
shipping!”
“Yes, my dear, the ninth century and the nineteenth are brought together
in this view!”
Here the old man felt a pair of tenacious little claws fasten themselves
upon his leg, and a shrill, tiny voice sing out:
“Untle Danpa! Untle Danpa Dennel!”
And, turning, he saw and lifted up little Lenny.
Little Lenny’s language needs translating. He called or tried to call
every one around him by the names he heard them call each other. Thus,
with him, Drusilla was called “Doosil;” Anna, “Nannan;” Dick, “Dit;”
while General Lyon, who was variously called uncle, grandpa, or General,
was “Untle Danpa” or even Untle “Danpa Deneral.”
“Well, my little man, what do you want?” inquired the General, smiling
on the child.
“Hee, hee!” cried Lenny, pointing to the shore. “Mate Doosil tate Lenny
home.”
“Make Drusil ‘take Lenny home?’ Why where is home?”
“Dere, dere! Mate Doosil tate Lenny home!”
“That’s not home!”
“Yet tid too! Mate Doosil tate Lenny home, _dit minute_!”
“You peremptory little despot! what do you mean?”
“Oh, uncle, you know ever since Lenny lost sight of land, he has been
abroad; now he sees it again, he thinks it is home!” said Drusilla,
smiling on the child. Little Leonard, with his father’s features
inherited much of his father’s self-will; and so he soon became both
obstreperous and vociferous in his demands to be taken home.
“Mamma will take Lenny over there presently,” said Drusilla soothingly,
as she took the child in her arms.
“You know, uncle, our steamer will lie here until this afternoon, and we
shall have time to go on shore for an hour or so,” she added turning to
the veteran.
“Yes, I suppose Anna and Dick would like it. I know I should. And—ah;
here they come now!” said the General, as his niece and nephew appeared
upon the deck.
“What a charming view!” exclaimed Anna.
“It is like Fairyland!” cried Dick.
“Come, come! none of that now you know! We’ve had enough of it! Here’s
Drusa been singing its praises ever since I came to her side. And there,
thank goodness, there’s the breakfast bell! Come down now, and praise
the company’s cook! Two weeks’ trial has proved him to be incomparable,”
said the General, leading the way to the saloon.
After breakfast, the party got ready to go on shore.
The little steamer made several trips between the ship and the shore,
and they availed themselves of its accommodation to land.
Terrace after terrace they ascended the picturesque heights of the town
until they reached the highest point—“Spy Hill,”—from which they enjoyed
a magnificent bird’s-eye view of the sea and land—the broad expanse of
the channel; the harbor, with its abrupt headlands and its countless
shipping; its shores, with their beautiful trees and elegant villas; and
the rolling countries beyond.
They spent the morning in walking about amid the charming scenery, until
little Lenny, having tired his own legs and everybody else’s arms, got
hungry and sleepy, and ordered his biggers to give him something to eat
and to put him to bed.
Then they went down to the village, entered a pastry-cook’s shop, and
got a light luncheon; and, next, they hired a boat to take them back to
their ship.
They found that they had no time to lose, for she was getting up her
steam to start again; and, if they had not hastened, they might have
been left behind.
The steamer sailed at four o’clock that afternoon; but she encountered
rough weather in the channel, so that it was nearly dark the next day
when she reached Liverpool.
And now our party felt the inconvenience of having so much baggage. They
were anxious to hasten on to London. They could see Liverpool at any
future time before their return home; but they wished to reach London
soon enough to enjoy the last few remaining weeks of the season, and,
above all, to be in time to see the “Derby,” which was to come off in
two days. There was a train to start at six that evening, and if they
could have caught it, they might have reached London by twelve midnight,
in time for a good night’s rest. And if it had not been for their great
quantity of baggage, they could have done so; but they had twenty-one
trunks to be inspected by the custom-house officers, and had also to
wait their turn to be attended to.
There is much grumbling at these functionaries; but for my part, I have
found them always courteous—doing their ungracious duty with as much
forbearance as they could conscientiously exercise.
“You have made us lose the train. We wished to go up to London by the
six o’clock express,” growled General Lyon, as the officer on duty came
up at length to examine the luggage.
“Very sorry, sir; but it could not be helped. There is a parliamentary
goes at ten.”
“‘A parliamentary?’ What the deuce is a ‘parliamentary?’”
The man looked up in surprise at this traveler’s ignorance, yet scarcely
knew how to enlighten him on so simple a subject; for the most obvious
things are often the most difficult of explanation to those that do not
understand them.
“What the mischief is the parliamentary?” again inquired the General.
The officer looked up from the open trunk before which he was kneeling,
and answered, slowly:
“Well, sir, the parliamentary is——the parliamentary, you know.”
“Humph!”
“It is not the express.”
“So I should judge from its name.”
“It is the slow, heavy train.”
“Everything ‘parliamentary’ is, I should imagine. When does this
‘parliamentary’ start?”
“At ten to-night, and gets in at five in the morning.”
“A most uncomfortable hour!—too late to go to bed, and too early to be
up! What the deuce makes your ‘parliamentary’ so slow and heavy?”
“It is the people’s train—the accommodation—carries the three classes of
carriages and stops at all the stations.”
“Humph-humph!”
“The first-class carriages are very comfortable, and you can sleep in
them as comfortably as in your own arm-chair.”
“Humph! that might do very well for an after-dinner nap; hardly for a
night’s rest!”
While they were thus conversing, the custom-house officer was passing
from one trunk to another, lifting their lids and looking in. He
finished, and marked the lot, and went away.
“I think, grandpa, if you had had ten thousand dollars worth of smuggled
goods in these trunks, and designed to cheat the revenue of the duties,
you could not have gone to work more cunningly than by talking as you
did to the officer. The man couldn’t attend to what he was doing for
listening to you,” laughed Anna.
“Now what are we to do with all these ‘impediments?’ I wish for my part,
the custom-house fellow had seized the lot; or that we had encountered a
storm at sea, and it had been found necessary to throw them all
overboard to lighten the ship! It would have saved us a deal of time,
and trouble, and expense. And we have all we really want in our
carpet-bags,” growled the General.
“Uncle, I hope you are not turning into a regular grumbler? That
wouldn’t be like yourself! But you have done nothing _but_ grumble, ever
since you landed, and without the slightest provocation, you naughty old
uncle!” said Drusilla, saucily.
“My dear, give me some credit that I do not SWEAR as well as grumble!”
“Oh, uncle, think what the Dutchman said when he whipped his sulky
son,—Hans, you might as coot say ‘tamn’ as tink ‘tamn!’”
“Drusil, I am thinking ‘tamn’ very intently, ever since I came on shore.
Now, where the deuce are the porters? Now, if this were New York, one
would be deafened by them,” growled the General, showing himself in
front.
His grievance was removed, and he was “deafened by them” and others
immediately.
“Porter, sir?”
“Cab, sir?”
“Fly, sir?”
“Queen’s hotel?”
“Adelphi?”
“Star-and-Garter?”
“Times, sir?”
Were some of the sounds shouted into his ears—not once, but a score of
times.
“Queen’s hotel, sir?”
“Lord Admiral, sir?”
“Carriage, sir? How many, sir? Where to, sir?”
“How can I tell when I can’t hear myself think, for your noise? Dick,
answer all these men, and see to the baggage being taken to the station.
Jacob hasn’t knowledge enough—he would be sure to get it lost; though
for that matter, I wish he would lose it—it would be an immense relief
to me! I shall take Anna and Drusilla over to that restaurant, to get
them out of this din, and to give them a cup of tea.”
“All right, uncle. Pray go and make yourself and the ladies
comfortable,” said Dick, good-humoredly.
“And let me see,” said the General, examining his watch. “It is now nine
o’clock. The—hem—‘parliamentary’ starts at ten. We have but an hour to
wait. It will not be worth while to go to a hotel. I think it will be
best for us to stop over there until it is time for us to go to the
station. See to getting our tickets, Dick, will you? And have a carriage
at the door there in time.”
“All right, uncle. Make yourself easy.”
“Come along, young women! Pina! give me that child. You look as if you
were ready to drop under his weight.”
“A sleeping baby is twice as heavy as a waking one, sir,” said the girl,
as she placed the child in the old man’s arms.
And regardless of the staring street boys who grinned at seeing the “old
gent” playing nursemaid, he crossed the street to a cheerful gas-lighted
pastry-cook’s shop, where he and his party were accommodated with a
small private parlor and a neatly-spread tea-table.
Before they got half through with tea, Dick joined them and reported
that he had procured the tickets for a whole compartment in the
first-class carriages, which he declared to be quite as comfortable as
the civil custom-house officer had represented them to be.
Dick was served with a cup of tea, a plate of sallyluns, toast,
periwinkles, shrimps, and the finest strawberries he had ever seen.
Dick quaffed his tea with avidity, for he was both heated and thirsty;
and he also enjoyed the toast and the sallyluns; but he glanced
suspiciously at the periwinkles and the shrimps.
“What manner of fish, fruit or vegetable may these be?” he inquired,
taking up a plate of periwinkles and squinting at them.
“Taste and see,” answered Anna, as with the point of a pin she
delicately drew one from its snail-like shell.
Drusilla was at the same time peeling a shrimp for little Lenny.
Dick glanced from one to the other and shuddered. These tea-table
delicacies looked—the one so like an insect, the other so like a
reptile.
“Try this, Dick,” coaxed Anna, as she offered him a morsel from the
point of a new pin.
Dick shrank.
“Now don’t be prejudiced! Consider what an uninviting edible is the
oyster, in the shell or out of it! Who that did not know how good it is
would ever dare to eat it? Now try this?”
“Oh, thou modern Eve! I take it, since thou tellst me it is ‘good for
food,’” sighed Dick, as he gingerly accepted the dainty.
“Now, how do you like it?” inquired Anna.
“My temptress, it is delicious! I thank thee for introducing me to the
acquaintance of the periwink.”
“I knew you would like it,” said Anna.
“More s’imp? more s’imp!” called out little Lenny, for whom his mamma
could not peel fast enough.
“Are they good also, Master Lenny?” smiled Dick, helping himself to one.
“Day dood. Mate Nannan peel for woo, Dit,” answered the little Turk, who
evidently thought that women were made to wait on men and—boys.
“They have an exquisite flavor! They are as fine, with a difference, as
the periwinkle itself. Master Lenny, your humble servant. I’m bound to
you for making me acquainted with the shrimp. I don’t know which of
these two dainties I like the best. After this I can believe in a man
being in love with two——”
“Dishes at the same time,” interjected Anna.
“Ladies at the same time,” concluded Dick.
“More s’imps! More s’imps! Mate Pina peel!” vociferated the little
despot, for whom his mamma could not keep up the supply.
And Pina was called to help; but new hands are awkward at the shrimp
peeling business; and as Pina took a minute to peel a delicate morsel
that Master Lenny swallowed in a second, he soon called out again:
“More s’imps! more s’imps! Mate Nannan peel too!”
Anna good-naturedly complied. But even with her help the demand
continued to be greater than the supply. And the tiny autocrat, looking
around and seeing no more female slaves at hand, called out:
“More s’imps! more s’imps! And make _Dit_ peel.”
And Dick obediently sacrificed his periwinkles, and cheerfully betook
himself to the service of the liliputian tyrant.
But still the demand exceeded the supply, for these vassals were awkward
at the work; so, after glancing dubiously at his venerable relative,
Master Leonard sang out lustily:
“More s’imps! more s’imps! And mate Untle Granpa peel!”
And the veteran soldier of hard-won fields, the leader of tens of
thousands, smiled submissively and obeyed the baby boy.
But there is an end to all things, even to infant despotism, and so when
the three-quarters past nine struck, the party rose from the table, for
they had but fifteen minutes to catch the train in.
They hurried on their outer garments and hastened into the hired fly and
were driven rapidly to the station.
Lively and well-lighted, but by no means noisy or confused was the
scene. There was a very long and heavy train of carriages, for it
carried the “three estates,” but so orderly were all the arrangements,
so exact were the regulations, so well trained the guards and porters,
so vigilant the police, that all went smoothly and surely as clock-work.
As if by magic, our travelers soon found themselves in a first-class
carriage, with all their luggage piled on the roof, flying along with
great rapidity, while hedges, fields and farm-houses, seen dimly in the
half light, reeled past on either side. Though it was ten o’clock post
meridian, yet in these northern latitudes, and at this season, it was
still twilight. The carriage in which our travelers found themselves was
in many respects like the inside of a large family coach, only it was
much more capacious than any such vehicle. It had eight well-cushioned
spring seats—four front and four back; and glass doors and windows on
the right and left. In recesses under the seats and racks over them
there was ample space for the storage of all their light luggage.
Anna and Drusilla occupied the back seats, General Lyon and Dick the
front ones. Down on the floor between them, on a bed made of rugs and
shawls, with a carpet-bag for a pillow, little Lenny, satisfied with
shrimps, was laid asleep. Pina and Leo had seats in a second-class
carriage.
Once shut up in their own carriage with the train in motion, our
travelers were as isolated from all other people as if they had been
making the journey in their own family coach. They neither saw nor heard
anything of their fellow-passengers.
For the first hour they conversed a little with each other, making
comments upon the ride, as:
“How long the twilight lasts in these parts;” or:
“Will this light mist turn to rain before morning?” or:
“What a carefully cultivated country! There is no waste land hereabouts.
The whole scene seems to be a perpetual landscape garden.”
But in the second hour they gradually succumbed to fatigue and
drowsiness and dropped off to sleep—each reposing in a corner as he or
she best could, and waking only when the train would stop at a wayside
station, which, by-the-by, was every few minutes.
Whenever it stopped there were passengers to get in or out, but the
train was so very long that the chances were that these passengers would
be a quarter of a mile before or behind them; and so, though our friends
always on these occasions roused themselves and looked forth, they saw
little beyond the lighted station, the vanishing platform, and running
guards and porters.
Drusilla always looked from the windows with something more than
curiosity—with eager interest; for since she landed in England, her
uppermost thought had been that she was in the same country with her
Alick; and who knew but she might meet him anywhere at any moment—even
at one of these wayside stations?
But whenever the train started again, the swift motion, and the late
hour, and the comfortable, not to say luxurious resting-place lulled her
in a light slumber, in which she was still conscious of the strange, new
scene—the wondrous old country through which she was passing; feeling
that she loved the old motherland of her race, and loved it well;
dreaming that she was returning there after ages of expatriation; seeing
shades of knights in armor, “old ancestral spirits;” seeing visions of
mediæval halls, with all the barbaric pageantry of long ago, dimly
shadowed forth. Then waking up to note with delight the fresh, bright
rural scenes of to-day—the thickly-sown, but luxuriantly-growing fields;
the green hedges; the crowded but flourishing gardens; the shrub-shaded,
vinecovered cottages—the humblest laborer’s hut all mantled with
flowering green creepers that made it look like a garden bower, the
slenderest strip of land among the line of rails thickly planted with
vegetables,—nothing wasted, nothing ugly.
It was only a little past midnight, yet it was already morning, and
every moment day broadened.
Drusilla continued to gaze with surprise and delight upon the beautiful
land; for, whatever the sky of England may be, the face of the country,
especially in this region, is very charming.
Sometimes Drusilla’s contemplations would be interrupted by a restless
movement of little Lenny. She would then stoop and turn him over, and he
would fall asleep again.
General Lyon and Anna slept so soundly at length that they were not
awakened by the stopping of the train, nor even by the loud snoring of
Dick, who, when in a state of somnolency, was a fine performer on the
proboscis—the only musical instrument he understood.
Long before they reached London, its distant, huge cloud of smoke and
fog hanging upon the horizon greeted the eye—its distant thunder of
blended sounds came softened to the ear.
Soon they were at Euston Square station, in all the great crowd and
bustle of the parliamentary train’s arrival.
It was surprising to them, amid the hundreds of travelers and the hills
of luggage to be cared for, how soon our party, without much effort on
their own part, was attended to.
Before they had time to become impatient, they found themselves in one
cab, followed by their servants in another, bowling along through the
streets of London.
It was but little past four o’clock, and all the shops were still
closed, and the sidewalks nearly deserted. Only the earliest bakers’,
butchers’, and costermongers’ carts were abroad, or cabs and vans taking
passengers to and from early trains, or cook-maids at the heads of area
stairs, receiving from the milkman the daily supply.
Even at this early hour, there were many novelties of the London streets
that struck pleasantly upon our travelers’ eyes, among them the
abundance of flowers shown in almost every open window of every house.
But what pleased Master Lenny most was the costermongers’ little carts,
piled with green vegetables and ripe fruit, and drawn by little donkeys.
Master Lenny took them to be toy-carts for little boys to play with, and
insisted upon being accommodated with one immediately; nor was he to be
quieted until his mamma promised him a mysterious pleasure in a
donkey-ride at Greenwich.
It is a long drive from Euston Square station to the Morley House,
Trafalgar Square, which had been selected as their hotel by General
Lyon, at the recommendation of a fellow passenger on board the Hurona.
It was nearly five o’clock when they reached the house, yet few servants
seemed to be stirring about it.
They could be accommodated with apartments immediately, said the polite
functionary who happened to be on duty; but he regretted to add that
they would have to wait for breakfast, as the head waiter did not rise
until seven.
“Two hours to wait. It is too bad, after such a tiresome night-ride,”
groaned General Lyon.
He had endured nights of toils and days of fasting, in the battle times
of long ago; but he was young then and the cause was great, so he had
rather liked that sort of life; but it was different with him now that
he was old and fated to abide the pleasure of the head waiter.
They were shown to large, airy, clean bedrooms, all near each other, and
opening upon the corridors, and having one private parlor in the suite.
In this parlor our party gathered for a moment to consult. The delay of
breakfast is sometimes felt as a calamity.
“Can we not procure even a cup of coffee for love or money?” inquired
Dick.
The official was very sorry, but the head waiter would not rise till
seven.
“Will you be so good as to send a chambermaid, then?” requested Anna.
He was very sorry, but he was afraid the chamber-maids were not yet
stirring. The hour was early.
“So it is; and we must be reasonable. Servants must have their rest, you
know,” said Drusilla, soothingly.
And the really obliging attendant smiled and bowed.
“Let us go to our rooms and make ourselves comfortable and lie down.
Perhaps we shall sleep; at any rate, we shall rest. The two hours will
soon pass,” continued Drusilla.
“No, no, no, no! No do ’leep!” objected the head of the family, who had
had his own sleep out and had waked up hungry. “No do ’leep! More
s’imp—more s’imp!”
“Poor little fellow, _he_ is hungry,” sighed Drusilla.
“I think I can get some warm milk and bread for the child, ma’am,” said
the man.
“Oh, I shall be very much obliged to you if you will. We can wait better
than he can,” said Drusilla, gratefully.
And the man went out and fetched the milk and bread, which, at first,
Lenny refused to touch, peremptorily exclaiming:
“No, no, no! No b’ed milt!—more s’imp!”
But being assured that his slaves could not procure shrimps for him, he
seemed to divine that even despots cannot compel people to perform
impossibilities, and also being very hungry, he ate his bread and milk.
When Lenny had finished his meal, the party separated and went to their
bedrooms to lie down for an hour or two. They did not expect to sleep,
but they slept—so soundly that they did not awake until some time after
seven o’clock, when a waiter rapped at General Lyon’s door to take his
orders about the breakfast.
The General referred him for instructions to Mrs. Hammond.
And soon the whole party, much refreshed by their sleep, assembled in
the private parlor for breakfast.
It was after eight, however, before it was finally set upon the table.
There were fine Mocha coffee, English breakfast tea, rich cream, sweet
butter, fresh eggs, broiled ham and broiled pigeons, light bread, toast
and muffins.
For a few minutes our famished travelers were so closely engaged in
discussing these delicacies, that not a word was wasted upon any other
subject than their meal. But after they had all eaten and were
satisfied, they began to talk of their immediate plans of enjoyment. The
great city held out a thousand attractions to strangers. It was an
“embarrassment of riches” in the sight-seeing line that troubled them.
“Where shall we go first?” was the great question.
Various answers were returned.
“To the Royal Academy.”
“To Westminster Abbey.”
“To the Tower.”
“The British Museum.”
“St. Paul’s Cathedral.”
“The Zoological Gardens.”
These were a few of the suggestions offered; but as the three young
people spoke at once, it was impossible for their elder and arbitrator
to know who favor what.
“I think, upon reflection,” he said, at length, “that we had better not
attempt any of those great sights just now. To see either one of them
well would be an exhausting day’s work; and we wish to be fresh for the
Derby to-morrow. The Derby, my children! Come! we shall have time enough
to see everything else afterwards. But we can only see the Derby
to-morrow; so to-day, I think, we will just take a fly and drive around
and leave some of our letters of introduction, with our present address.
What do you say to that plan?”
As the plan was of the General’s devising, all agreed to it.
A fly was ordered, and the ladies retired to change their dresses for
the drive.
Drusilla was the most expeditious with her toilet. She soon returned to
the parlor fully equipped for her drive.
Little Lenny, in charge of his nurse, was standing within the recess of
the front window, dancing with delight at something he saw outside.
Drusilla heard a pair of shrill, cracked voices in apparent conflict
below.
“Hee! hee! Doosil—hee!” shouted the child.
Drusilla approached, and witnessed for the first time the renowned Punch
and Judy show.
While standing there and enjoying her child’s enjoyment, she saw a
gentleman come forth apparently from a coffee-room below and start to
cross Trafalgar Square; and with a half-suppressed cry she recognized—
Alexander Lyon.
She had been always looking for him—always expecting to see him since
she first set foot in England, yet she had known that her looking was
like the search for a needle in a hay-rick, and her expectations as
extravagant in the first instance as they would be in the last.
And now that she actually saw him walk out from the same house in which
she herself was sojourning, the astonishment and the shock were so
great, that she reeled and held by the window-sill for support.
Without stopping to consider whether the action might be proper or
otherwise, she turned to the waiter who was engaged in taking away the
breakfast service, and beckoned him to her side. He came, his mouth a
little open with wonder.
“Does that gentleman stop here?” she inquired, pointing to Mr. Lyon.
“Lord Killcrichtoun? Yes, ma’am, he stops here,” replied the waiter.
“No, you mistake. You think I mean somebody else; but I mean _that_
gentleman. Look! he is just half across the square now.”
“Just so, ma’am, Lord Killcrichtoun of Killcrichtoun, County of
Sutherland, North Britain. Yes, ma’am, he is here.”
“I am sure you mistake. I allude to the gentleman in gray. Look! now he
lifts his hat and replaces it. There he is passing the corner?”
“Precisely, ma’am. He is up for the Derby, ma’am, begging your pardon.
My lord goes down to Epsom this evening, ma’am. Any more commands,
ma’am?”
“Thanks, no; you may go.”
Drusilla sank down upon the nearest seat, unmindful of the prattling of
her little Lenny, who was still laughing with delight at the broad
absurdities of the puppetshow; for the whole truth flashed on her now.
The young American gentleman who had claimed the barony of
Killcrichtoun, in the right of his mother, was no other than her own
Alick! And he was living under the same roof with her! Did he know that
she was here, or would he find it out? Were the names of all new-comers
registered in open books in English hotels as in American ones? If so,
was it his habit to look at them? What would he think if he saw her name
on the books of the hotel—
“_Mrs. Alexander Lyon, child, and servant._”
Would he happen to see her? Would he wish to see little Lenny? Suppose
he were to meet her—what would he say or do? He might pass her; but
could he pass little Lenny—charming little Lenny—fair-haired, blue-eyed
little Lenny, with his father’s own features and complexion?
It was scarcely possible that he could.
And if he should stop to caress his son, to take him in his arms, to
press him to his heart, what next? Would he stop there, and put the
child away again?
Not likely! for, setting natural affection aside, now that he had a
title, he would want an heir; and what a fine, promising one was this?
Or would he perhaps claim the child and take him from his mother? He
_could_ do so. The law would give him Lenny, though it should break the
mother’s heart. Would he avail himself of this law to tear her child
from her arms?
No, never! she thought; badly as he had treated her while he had been
maddened by the passions of pride and ambition, he would never while in
his sober senses—never in cold blood deal her such a cruel blow.
True he had once, in bitterly cruel terms, denounced and renounced her
forever; but she thought of his words whenever they forced themselves
upon her memory, only as the ravings of frenzied anger; she knew that
they would never have been carried out to extremity. Alexander had told
her that she might starve, but she felt in her heart that he would never
even have let her want!
And now she felt sure that, however he might learn to love his little
Lenny,—however he might desire to possess him, he would never attempt to
take him away from her.
No, she was sure that he would rather let little Lenny lead him back to
her.
Her hopes arose, her heart beat quickly at the thought.
Did she then feel no jealous pain at the idea of being reunited to her
husband only through his natural affection for his child?
Not the least. She loved both too purely for such jealousy.
On the contrary, she felt that it would be sweet to be indebted to
little Lenny for a reconciliation with his father. And she knew,
besides, that once reconciled to Alick by _any_ means, and especially by
this means, she could WIN HER WAY to his heart, and gain a firmer hold
there than she had ever possessed before.
Then her thoughts reverted to his new title:
“Lord Killcrichtoun—Baron Killcrichtoun of Killcrichtoun.”
From what she had read she knew that it was an almost barren title, no
wealth coming with it,—only an old ruin, and a few wretched huts in the
wildest part of the Highlands appertaining to it.
But in his pride of race he had claimed the title, and no doubt had gone
to great expense to prove his right to it, and he would probably remain
in England to enjoy it, since in America it would only make him
ridiculous.
She herself was strongly attached to her native country with its bright
sunshine, its vast forests and its high mountains. All her friends and
all her fortunes were there, yet she would gladly expatriate herself to
live “anywhere, anywhere” under the sun, with her Alick.
While she mused, General Lyon, Anna, and Dick came in, ready for their
drive.
Dick said that the fly was waiting.
So, after charging Pina to be very careful of little Lenny, Drusilla
followed her party down-stairs and into the carriage, and they
started—to go first as in duty bound to leave their cards at the
American Embassy, and then to leave their letters of introduction with
the people for whom they were intended.
They did but stop and send in their cards and letters, they made no
visit anywhere; but preferred to leave it to the option of their friends
and correspondents to make their acquaintance or not.
They returned to the Morley House at four in the afternoon.
Anna went into her bedroom to take off her bonnet; but Drusilla hurried
at once into the parlor to look after her child.
She found little Lenny quite safe; but boiling over with excitement, not
to say indignation.
“Why, what is the matter with my little man?” inquired the mother,
sitting down and lifting the child to her lap.
“Man! man! tut off Lenny turl!” exclaimed the child, pointing to his
head, while his blue eyes flashed and his rosy cheeks flushed.
“Cut off Lenny’s curl? Who did it? Pina! who did this?” inquired
Drusilla, looking at the short lock from which the curl had been
severed.
“Indeed, ma’am, I don’t know! I left Master Leonard in charge of the
chambermaid only one minute, while I ran to get his milk and bread, and
when I came back it was done.”
“And what did the chambermaid say?”
“She said as how——”
“Never mind! I had rather hear the account from herself. Go and try and
find that chambermaid, and fetch her here.”
Pina went on the errand and soon returned with a blooming English girl,
who curtsied and stood waiting orders.
“What is your name?” inquired Drusilla.
“Susan, ma’am.”
“Well, Susan, did you have charge of this little child for a few
minutes?”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered the girl, blushing.
“Then how came you to let any one cut off his curl?”
“Indeed, ma’am, I couldn’t help it! It was done so sudden. And I didn’t
dare oppose my lord.”
“My lord?”
“My Lord Killcrichtoun it was, ma’am, who did it.”
“Killcrichtoun!” repeated Drusilla, as a light broke on her mind.
“_Killchristian!_” exclaimed Pina, in dismay. “_Killchristian!!_ It’s a
wonder he had not cut off the child’s head as well as his hair! Good
gracious! was ever such a heathenish, savage, barbarious name!”
“So it was one of the gentlemen of the house who did it?” inquired
Drusilla, striving to control the excess of her emotions.
“Yes, ma’am; but indeed I thought by the way he behaved that he had a
right to do it, and that the child was some kin to him. He don’t act so
like a mad gentleman in general, ma’am.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“Well, ma’am, now I think upon it, I almost believe he must have watched
his opportunity; for as soon as ever the nursemaid was gone, he came to
the door, looked all around, and seeing no one but me and my charge,
took the boy up in his arms and hugged him and kissed him and fondled
him, and almost cried over him; and then before I could suspect, much
less prevent his doing it, he out with his pen-knife and whipped off
that pretty golden curl. And then he hurried away. I think he heard the
nursemaid coming, for she was in the room the next minute. And you came
in almost immediately after, ma’am.”
“Then this has just occurred?”
“Not ten minutes ago, ma’am. Anything else, ma’am?”
“No,” answered the lady. And the girl withdrew.
Drusilla called Pina to follow her and went slowly into her bedroom.
While taking off her bonnet and mantle and changing her dress for
dinner, she was scarcely conscious of what she was doing. Her thoughts
were absorbed by what had just occurred.
“Poor Alick,” she said; “to love his child, his only son and only child,
and not feel free to caress him! Oh, Alick, Alick, dear, do you think
_I_ would keep him from you? Much as I love him, you might have him half
the time; you might have him all day, so that you would be kind to him,
and I know you would be, and would let me have him back at night. Yes,
Alick, dear, though you might never see or speak to _me_ again, I would
not keep the child out of your way. Love your boy, Alick, dear, and take
all the comfort from him you can. He has been a great comfort to me,
Alick, the little son you gave me, has.”
So ran her thoughts as she mechanically put on a mauve taffeta dress and
fastened her point lace collar with a diamond brooch, scarcely knowing
what she wore.
Pina was also holding discourse, but not with herself or in silence.
“My precious little pet,” she said, as she dressed Master Lenny in his
embroidered white frock. “My pretty little darling, did its Pea-nut
leave it all alone with a stranger in a strange land, where
Killchristians go about scalping little babies, my sugar? I will never
leave it alone again as long as I live, or leastways as long as we stay
in this land, where Killchristians cut and hew at babies! Suppose he had
cut off its precious little finger or toe? What would its Pea-nut have
done?” Then turning impatiently to her mistress, she said:
“Ma’am, you don’t seem to care at all now about that wild beast of a
Killchristian rushing in upon little Lenny like a North American Indian
with a drawn knife and scalping off his hair. Suppose it had been his
precious nose or his ears that the savage took a fancy to? But it’s my
belief after all he was a thief and wanted to sell Lenny’s pretty golden
curls to a lady’s hair-dresser; and he would have cut all the curls off
his head if he hadn’t heard me coming. Wish I had caught him at his
tricks! Never mind, let me ever catch him near little Lenny again,
that’s all! Lenny will be certain to know him again, if I do not!”
“You will know him, Pina; but you do not know of whom you are speaking.
The gentleman who cut off Lenny’s curl had a perfect right to do so.
Lord Killcrichtoun is Mr. Alexander Lyon, or was so until he got his
ancestor’s title. Why should you be so astonished? Didn’t you know that
he was in London?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Pina, unable to recover from her astonishment; “but
London is a biggish willage, and I didn’t expect to see him, much less
hear him called Killchristian. Howsever, I think, begging of your
pardon, ma’am, as the name suits him very well. ’Deed it’s much of a
muchness with the other name, for I reckon as lions kills Christians,
and eats ’em too, whenever they get a chance!”
“Pina, you hurt me when you speak in that way of Lenny’s father.” (A
less gentle spirit would have said to her servant “you _offend_ me.” But
Drusilla had much more tenderness than dignity in her nature and
manners.)
“I am sorry, ma’am. Indeed, ma’am, I would rather bite off the end of my
tongue than let it say anything to hurt you,” replied Pina.
“Now notice then, my good girl. It may happen that you may see Mr. Lyon
some time when you are out with little Lenny. If you should, you must
not avoid him. On the contrary, take the child to him. It will be good
to promote affection between the child and his father.”
“I will do as you say, ma’am.”
Drusilla then went into the parlor to join her friends at dinner. But
she said nothing of Lenny’s adventure.
“This evening,” said General Lyon, “we go to old classic Drury Lane. And
to-morrow for the Derby.”
Drusilla’s heart beat—but her only, or at least her chief object in
going to the Derby was not to see the great race, but to see perhaps—her
beloved husband.