A few weeks made a considerable change in the progress of the life of
Wilton Brown. He found the young Lord Sherbrooke all that he had been
represented to be in every good point of character, and less in every
evil point. He did not, it is true, studiously veil from his new friend
his libertine habits, or his light and reckless character; but it so
happened, that when in society with Wilton, his mind seemed to find food
and occupation of a higher sort, and, on almost all occasions, when
conversing with him, he showed himself, as he might always have
appeared, a high-bred and well-informed gentleman, who, though somewhat
wild and rash, possessed a cultivated mind, a rich and playful fancy,
and a kind and honourable heart.
Wilton soon discovered that he could become attached to him, and ere
long he found a new point of interest in the character of his young
companion, which was a sort of dark and solemn gloom that fell upon him
from time to time, and would seize him in the midst of his gayest
moments, leaving him, for the time, plunged in deep and sombre
meditations. This strange fit was very often succeeded by bursts of
gaiety and merriment, to the full as wild and joyous as those that went
before; and Wilton's curiosity and sympathy were both excited by a state
of mind which he marked attentively, and which, though he did not
comprehend it entirely, showed him that there was some grief hidden but
not vanquished in the heart.
Lord Sherbrooke did not see the inquiring eyes of his friend fixed upon
him without notice; and one day he said,
"Do not look at me in these fits, Wilton; and ask me no questions.
It is the evil spirit upon me, and he must have his hour."
As the time passed on, Wilton and the young lord became daily
companions, and the Earl could not avoid showing, at all events, some
civility to the constant associate of his son. He gradually began to
converse with him more frequently. He even ventured, every now and then,
upon a smile. He talked for an instant, sometimes, upon the passing
events of the day; and, once or twice, asked him to dine, when he and
his son would otherwise have been tete-a-tete. All this was pleasant to
Wilton; for Lord Sherbrooke managed it so well, by merely marking a
particular preference for his society, that there was no restraint or
force in the matter, and the change worked itself gradually without any
words or remonstrance. In the midst of all this, however, one little
event occurred, which, though twenty other things might have been of
much more importance and much more disagreeable in their consequences,
pained Wilton in a greater degree than anything he had endured.
One day, when the Earl was confined to his drawing-room by a slight fit
of gout, Wilton had visited him for a moment, to obtain more particular
directions in regard to something which he had been directed to write.
Just as he had received those directions, and was about to retire, the
Duke of Gaveston was announced; and in passing through a second room
beyond, into which the Earl could see, Wilton came suddenly upon the
Duke, and in him at once recognised the nobleman whom he had aided in
delivering from the clutches of some gentlemen practitioners on the
King's Highway. Their meeting was so sudden, that the Duke, though he
evidently recollected instantly the face of Wilton Brown, could not
connect it with the circumstances in which he had seen it. Wilton, on
his part, merely bowed and passed on; and the Duke, advancing to Lord
Byerdale, asked at once, "Who is that young gentleman?--his face is
quite familiar to me."
"It is only my clerk," replied the Earl, in a careless tone. "I hope
your grace received my letter."
Wilton had not yet quitted the room, and heard it all; but he went out
without pause. When the door was closed behind him, however, he stood
for a moment gazing sternly upon the ground, and summoning every good
and firm feeling to his aid. Nor was he unsuccessful: he once more
conquered the strong temptation to throw up his employment instantly;
and, asking himself, "What have I to do with pride?" he proceeded with
his daily task as if nothing had occurred.
No consequences followed at the moment; but before we proceed to the
more active business of our story, we must pause upon one other
incident, of no great apparent importance, but which the reader will
connect aright with the other events of the tale.
Two mornings after that of which we have spoken, the Earl came suddenly
into the room where Wilton was writing, and interrupted him in what he
was abort, by saying, "I wish, Mr. Brown, you would have the goodness to
write, under my dictation, a letter, which is of some importance."
Brown bowed his head, and taking fresh paper, proceeded to write down
the Earl's words, as follows:--
"Sir,--Immediately upon the receipt of this, you will be
pleased to proceed to the village of ------, in the county
of ------, and make immediate inquiries, once more, in
regard to the personages concerning whom you instituted an
investigation some ten or twelve years ago. Any additional
documents you may procure, concerning Colonel Sherbrooke,
Colonel Lennard Sherbrooke, or any of the other parties
concerned in the transactions which you know of as taking
place at that time, you will be pleased to send to me forthwith."
Wilton perceiving that the Earl did not proceed, looked up, as if to see
whether he had concluded or not. The Earl's eyes were fixed upon him
with a stern, intense gaze, as if he would have read his very soul.
Wilton's looks, on the contrary, were so perfectly unconscious, so
innocent of all knowledge that he was doing anything more than writing
an ordinary letter of business, that--if the Earl's gaze was intended to
interpret his feelings by any of those external marks, which betray the
secrets of the heart, by slight and transitory characters written on
nature's record book, the face--he was convinced at once that there was
nothing concealed below. His brow relaxed, and he went on dictating,
while the young gentleman proceeded calmly to write.
"You will be particular," the letter went on, "to inquire what became of
the boy, as his name was not down in the list found upon the captain's
person; and you will endeavour to discover what became of the boat that
carried Lennard Sherbrooke and the boy to the ship, and whether all on
board it perished in the storm, or not."
The Earl still watched Wilton's countenance with some degree of
earnestness; and, to say the truth, if his young companion had not been
put upon his guard, by detecting the first stern, dark glance the
minister had given him, some emotion might have been visible in his
countenance, some degree of thoughtful inquiry in his manner, as he
asked, "To whom am I to address it, my lord?"
The words of the Earl, in directing an inquiry about the fisherman,
the boy, the boat, and the wreck, seemed to connect themselves with
strange figures in the past--figures which appeared before his mind's
eye vague and misty, such as we are told the shadows always appear at
first which are conjured up by the cabalistic words of a necromancer.
He felt that there was some connecting link between himself and the
subject of the Earl's investigation; what, he could not tell: but
whatever it was, his curiosity was stimulated to tax his memory to
the utmost, and to try by any means to lead her to a right
conclusion, through the intricate ways of the past.
That first gaze of the Earl, however, had excited in his bosom not
exactly suspicion, but that inclination to conceal his feelings,
which we all experience when we see that some one whom we neither
love nor trust is endeavouring to unveil them. He therefore would not
suffer his mind to rest upon any inquiry in regard to the past, till
the emotions which it might produce could be indulged unwatched; and,
applying to the mechanical business of the pen, he wrote on to the
conclusion, and then demanded, simply, "To whom am I to address it?"
"To Mr. Shea," replied the Earl, "my agent in Waterford, to whom you
have written before;" and there the conversation dropped.
The Earl took the letter to sign it; but now that it was done, he
seemed indifferent about its going, and put it into a portfolio,
where it remained several days before it was sent.
As soon as he could escape, Wilton Brown retired to his own dwelling,
and there gave himself up to thought; but the facts, which seemed
floating about in the dark gulf of the past, still eluded the grasp
of memory, as she strove to catch them. There was something, indeed,
which he recollected of a boat, and a storm at sea, and a fisherman's
cabin, and still the name of Sherbrooke rang in his ears, as
something known in other days. But it came not upon him with the same
freshness which it had done when first he heard the title of the Earl
of Byerdale's soil; and he could recall no more than the particulars
we have mentioned, though the name of Lennard seemed familiar to him
also.
While he was in this meditative mood, pondering thoughtfully over the
past, and extracting little to satisfy him from a record which time,
unfortunately, had effaced, he was interrupted by the coming of the
young Lord Sherbrooke, who now was accustomed to enter familiarly
without any announcement. On the present occasion his step was more
rapid than usual, his manner more than commonly excited, and the
moment he had cast himself into a chair he burst into a long loud
peal of laughter. "In the name of Heaven," he exclaimed, "what piece
of foolery do you think my worthy father has concocted now? On my
honour, I believe that he is mad, and only fear that he has
transmitted a part of his madness to me. Think of everything that is
ridiculous, Wilton, that you can conceive; let your mind run free
over every absurd combination that it is possible to fancy; think of
all that is stupid or mad-like in times present or past, and then
tell me what it is that my father intends to do."
"I really do not know, Sherbrooke," replied his friend "but nothing,
I dare say, half so bad as you would have me believe. Your father is
much too prudent and careful a man to do anything that is absurd."
"You don't know him--Wilton, you don't know him," replied Lord
Sherbrooke; "for the sake of power or of wealth he has the courage to
do anything on earth that is absurd, and for revenge he has the
courage to do a great deal more. In regard to revenge, indeed, I
don't mind: he is quite right there; for surely if we are bound to be
grateful to a man that does good to us, we are bound to revenge
ourselves upon him who does us wrong. Besides, revenge is a
gentlemanlike passion; but avarice and ambition are certainly the two
most ungentlemanlike propensities in human nature."
"Not ambition, surely," exclaimed Wilton.
"The worst of all!" cried his friend--"the worst of all! Avarice is
a gentleman to ambition! Avarice is merely a tinker, a dealer in old
metal; but ambition is a chimney-sweep of a passion: a mere
climbing-boy, who will go through any dirty hole in all Christendom
only to get out at the top of the chimney. But you have not guessed,
Wilton--you have not guessed. To it; and tell me, what is the absurd
thing my father proposes to do?"
Wilton shook his head, and said that he could in no way divine.
"To marry me, Wilton--to marry me to a lady rich and fair," replied
the young lord: "what think you of that, Wilton?--you who know me,
what think you of that?"
"Why, if I must really say the truth," replied Wilton, "I think the
Earl has very naturally considered your happiness before that of the
lady."
"As well gilded a sarcasm that," replied Lord Sherbrooke, "as if it
had come from my father's own lips. However, what you say is very
true: the poor unfortunate girl little knows what the slave merchants
are devising for her. My father has dealt with hers, and her father
has dealt with mine, and settled all affairs between them, it seems,
without our knowledge or participation in any shape. I was the first
of the two parties concerned who received the word of command to march
and be married, and as yet the unfortunate victim is unacquainted
with the designs against her peace and happiness for life."
"Nay, nay," replied Wilton, almost sorrowfully, "speak not so lightly
of it. What have you done, Sherbrooke? for Heaven's sake, what have
you done? If you have consented to marry, let me hope and trust that
you have determined firmly to change your conduct, and not indeed, as
you say, to ruin the poor girl's peace and happiness for life."
"Oh! I have consented," replied Lord Sherbrooke, in the same gay
laughing tone; "you do not suppose that I would refuse beauty, and
sweetness, and twenty thousand a year. I am not as mad as my father.
Oh! I consented directly. I understand, she is the great beauty of
the day. She will see very little of me, and I shall see very little
of her, so we shall not weary of one another. Oh! I am a very wise
man, indeed. I only wanted what our friend Launcelot calls 'a trifle
of wives' to be King Solomon himself. Why you know that for the other
cattle which distinguished that great monarch I am pretty well
provided."
Wilton looked down upon the ground with a look of very great pain,
while imagination pictured what the future life of some young and
innocent girl might be, bound to one so wild, so heedless, and
dissolute as Lord Sherbrooke. He remained silent, however, for he did
not dare to trust himself with any farther observations; and when he
looked up again, he found his friend gazing at him with an expression
on his countenance in some degree sorrowful, in some degree
reproachful, but with a look of playful meaning flickering through the
whole.
"Now does your solemnity, and your gravity," said Lord Sherbrooke,
"and your not yet understanding me, almost tempt me, Wilton, to play
some wild and inconceivable trick, just for the purpose of opening
your eyes, and letting you see, that your friend is not such an
unfeeling rascal as the world gives out."
"I know you are not, my dear Sherbrooke--I am sure you are not,"
replied Wilton, grasping warmly the hand which Lord Sherbrooke held
out to him; "I was wrong for not seeing that you were in jest, and
for not discovering at once that you had not consented. But how does
the Earl bear your refusal?"
"You are as wrong as ever, my dear Wilton," replied his friend, in a
more serious tone--"I have consented; for if I had not, it must have
made an irreparable breach between my father and myself, which you
well know I should not consider desirable--I must obey him sometimes,
you know, Wilton--He had pledged himself, too, that I should consent.
However, to set your mind at rest, I will tell you the loophole at
which I creep out. Her father, it seems, is not near so sanguine as
my father, in regard to his child's obedience, and he is, moreover,
an odd old gentleman, who has got into his head a strange antiquated
notion, that the inclinations of the people to be married have
something to do with such transactions. He therefore bargained, that
his consent should be dependent upon the young lady's approbation of
me when she sees me. In fact, I am bound to court, and she to be
courted. My father is bound that I shall marry her if she likes me,
her father is bound to give her to me if she likes to be given. Now
what I intend, Wilton, is, that she should not like me. So this very
evening you must come with me to the theatre, and there we shall see
her together, for I know where she is to be. To-morrow, I shall be
presented to her in form, and if she likes to have me, after all I
have to say to her, why it is her fault, for I will take care she
shall not have ignorance to plead in regard to my worshipful
character."
Wilton would fain have declined going to the theatre that night,
for, to say the truth, his heart was somewhat heavy; but Lord
Sherbrooke would take no denial, jokingly saying that he required
some support under the emotions and agitating circumstances which he
was about to endure. As soon as this was settled, Lord Sherbrooke
left him, agreeing to call for him in his carriage at the early hour
of a quarter before five o'clock; for such, however, were the more
rational times and seasons of our ancestors, that one could enjoy the
high intellectual treat of seeing a good play performed from
beginning to end, without either changing one's dinner hour, or going
with the certainty of indigestion and headache.