Far more punctual than was usual with him. Lord Sherbrooke was at the
door of Wilton Brown exactly at the hour he had appointed; and,
getting into his carriage, they speedily rolled on from the
neighbourhood of St. James's-street, then one of the most fashionable
parts of the metropolis, to Russell-street, he however, though
evidently anxious to be early at the theatre, could not resist his
inclination to take a look into the Rose, and, finding several
persons whom he knew there, he lingered for a considerable time,
introducing Wilton to a number of the wits and celebrated men of the
day.
The play had thus begun before they entered the theatre, and the
house was filled so completely that it was scarcely possible to
obtain a seat.
As if with a knowledge that his young companion was anxious to see
the ill-fated lady destined by her friends to be the bride of a wild
and reckless libertine, Lord Sherbrooke affected to pay no attention
whatsoever to anything but what was passing on the stage. During the
first act Wilton was indeed as much occupied as himself with the
magic of the scene: but when the brief pause between the acts took
place, his eyes wandered round those boxes in which the high nobility
of the land usually were found, to see if he could discover the
victim of the Earl of Byerdale's ambition.
There were two boxes on the opposite side of the house, towards one
or the other of which almost all eyes were turned, and to the
occupants of which all the distinguished young men in the house
seemed anxious to pay their homage. In one of those boxes was a very
lovely woman of about seven or eight and twenty, sitting with a
queenly air to receive the humble adoration of the gay and fluttering
admirers who crowded round her. Her brow was high and broad, but
slightly contracted, so that a certain haughtiness of air in her
whole figure and person was fully kept in tone by the expression of
her face. For a moment or two, Wilton looked at her with a slight
smile, as he said in his own heart, "if that be the lady destined for
Sherbrooke, I pity her less than I expected, for she seems the very
person either to rule him or care little about him."
The next moment, however, a more perfect recollection of all that
Lord Sherbrooke had said, led him to conclude that she could not be
the person to whom he alluded. He had spoken of her as a girl, as of
one younger than himself; whereas the lady who was reigning in the
stage-box was evidently older, and had more the appearance of a
married than a single woman.
Wilton then turned his eyes to the other box of which we have spoken;
and in it there was also to be seen a female figure seated near the
front with another lady; while somewhat further back, appeared the form
of an elderly gentleman with a star upon the left breast. Towards that
box, as we have before said, many eyes were turned; and from the space*
below, as well as from other parts of the house, the beaux of the
day were gazing in evident expectation of a bow, or a smile, or a mark
of recognition. Nevertheless, in neither of the ladies which that box
contained was there, as far as Wilton could see, any of those little
arts but too often used for the purpose of attracting attention, and
which, to say the truth, were displayed in a remarkable manner by the
lady in the other box we have mentioned. There was no fair hand
stretched out over the cushions; no fringed glove cast negligently down;
no fan waved gracefully to give emphasis to that was said; but, on the
contrary, the whole figure of the lady in front remained tranquil and
calm, with much grace and beauty in the attitude, but none even of that
flutter of consciousness which often betrays the secrets of vanity. The
expression of the face, indeed, Wilton could not see, for the head was
turned towards the stage; and though the lady looked round more than
once during the interval between the acts to speak to those behind her
in the box, the effect was only to turn her face still farther from his
gaze.
[*Footnote: I have not said "the pit," because the intruders of fashion
had not then been driven from the STAGE itself, especially between the
acts.]
At length, the play went on, and at the end of the second act a
slight movement enabled Lord Sherbrooke and Wilton to advance further
towards the stage, so that the latter was now nearly opposite to the
box in which one of the beauties of the day was seated. He
immediately turned in that direction, as did Lord Sherbrooke at the
same moment; and Wilton, with a feeling of pain that can scarcely be
described, beheld in the fair girl who seemed to be the unwilling
object of so much admiration, no other than the young lady whom he
had aided in rescuing when attacked, as we have before described, by
the gentry who in those days frequented so commonly the King's
Highway.
Though now dressed with splendour, as became her rank and station,
there was in her whole countenance the same simple unaffected look of
tranquil modesty which Wilton had remarked there before, and in which
he had fancied he read the story of a noble mind and a fine heart,
rather undervaluing than otherwise the external advantages of beauty
and station, but dignified and raised by the consciousness of purity,
cultivation, and high thoughts. The same look was there, modest yet
dignified, diffident yet self-possessed; and while he became
convinced that there sat the bride selected by the Earl of Byerdale
for his son, he was equally convinced that she was the person of all
others whose fate would be the most miserable in such an union.
At the same moment, too, his heart was moved by sensations that may be
very difficult accurately to describe. To talk of his being in love
with the fair girl before him would, in those days as in the present,
have been absurd; to say that he had remembered her with anything
like hope, would not be true, for he had not hoped in the slightest
degree, nor even dreamed of hope. But what he had done was this--he
had thought of her often and long; he had recollected the few hours
spent in her society with greater pleasure than any he had known in
life; he had remembered her as the most beautiful person he had ever
seen--and indeed to him she was so; for not only were her features,
and her form, and her complexion, all beautiful according to the
rules of art, but they were beautiful also according to that
modification of beauty which best suited his own taste. The
expression, too, of her countenance--and she had much expression of
countenance when conversing with any one she liked--was beautiful and
varying; and the grace of her movements and the calm quietness of her
carriage were of the kind which is always most pleasing to a high and
cultivated mind.
He had recollected her, then, as the most beautiful creature he had
ever seen; but there was also a good deal of imaginative interest
attached to the circumstances in which they had first met; and he
often thought over them with pleasure, as forming a little bright
spot in the midst of a somewhat dull and monotonous existence. In
short, all these memories made it impossible for him to feel towards
her as he did towards other women. There was admiration, and
interest, and high esteem.--It wanted, surely, but a little of being
love. One thing is very certain: Wilton would have heard that she
was about to be married to any one with no inconsiderable degree of
pain. It would have cost him a sigh; it would have made him feel a
deep regret. He would not have been in the slightest degree
disappointed, for hope being out of the question he expected nothing;
but still he might regret.
Now, however, when he thought that she was about to be importuned to
marry one for whom he might himself feel very deep and sincere
regard, on account of some high and noble qualities of the heart, but
whose wild and reckless libertinism could but make her miserable for
ever, the pain that he experienced caused him to turn very pale. The
next moment the blood rushed up again into his cheek, seeing Lord
Sherbrooke glance his eyes rapidly from the box in which she sat to
his countenance, and then to the box again.
At that very same moment, the Duke, who was the gentleman sitting on
the opposite side of the box, bent forward and whispered a few words
to his daughter: the blood suddenly rushed up into her cheek; and with
a look rather of anxiety and apprehension than anything else, she
turned her eyes instantly towards the spot where Wilton stood. Her
look was changed in a moment; for though she became quite pale, a
bright smile beamed forth from her lip; and though she put her hand
to her heart, she bowed markedly and graciously towards her young
acquaintance, directing instantly towards that spot the looks of all
the admirers who surrounded the box.
The words which the Duke spoke to her were very simple, but led to an
extraordinary mistake. He had in the morning communicated to her the
proposal which had been made for her marriage with Lord Sherbrooke,
and she, who had heard something of his character, had shrunk with
alarm from the very idea. When her father, however, now said to her,
"There is Lord Sherbrooke just opposite," and directed her attention
to the precise spot, her eyes instantly fell upon Wilton.
She recollected her father's observation in regard to the name he had
given at the inn being an assumed one: his fine commanding person,
his noble countenance, his lordly look, and the taste and fashion of
his dress, all made her for the moment believe that in him she beheld
the person proposed for her future husband. At the same time she
could not forget that he had rendered her an essential service. He
had displayed before her several of those qualities which peculiarly
draw forth the admiration of women--courage, promptitude, daring, and
skill; his conversation had delighted and surprised her; and to say
truth, he had created in her bosom during the short interview, such
prepossessions in his favour, that to her he was the person who now
solicited her hand, instead of the creature which her imagination had
portrayed as Lord Sherbrooke, was no small relief to her heart. It
seemed as if a load was taken off her bosom; and such was the cause
of those emotions, the expression of which upon her countenance we
have already told.
It was not, indeed, that she believed herself the least in love with
Wilton Brown, but she felt that she COULD love him, and that feeling
was quite enough. It was enough, while she fancied that he was Lord
Sherbrooke, to agitate her with joy and hope; and, though the mistake
lasted but a short time, the feelings that it produced were
sufficient to effect a change in all her sensations towards him
through life. During the brief space that the mistake lasted, she
looked upon him, she thought of him, as the man who was to be her
husband. Had it not been for that misunderstanding, the idea of such
an union between herself and him would most likely never have entered
her mind; but once having looked upon him in that light, even for
five minutes, she never could see him or speak to him without a
recollection of the fact, without a reference, however vague,
ill-defined, and repressed in her own mind, to the feelings and
thoughts which she had then entertained.
Lord Sherbrooke remarked the changing colour, the look of recognition
on both parts, the glad smile, and the inclination of the head.
"Why, Wilton," he said in a low voice--"Wilton! it seems you are
already a great deal better acquainted with my future wife than I am
myself; and glad to see you does she seem! and most gracious is her
notice of you! Why, there are half of those gilded fools on the other
side of the house ready to cut your throat at this moment, when it is
mine they would seek to cut if they knew all; but pray come and
introduce me to my lovely bride, I had no idea she was so pretty.
I'm sure I am delighted to have some other introduction than that of
my father, and so unexpected a one."
All this was said in a bantering tone, but not without a shrewd
examination of Wilton's countenance while it was spoken. What were
the feelings of the young nobleman it was impossible for Wilton to
divine; but he answered quite calmly, the first emotion being by this
time passed--"My acquaintance with her is so slight, that I certainly
could not venture to introduce any one, far less one who has so much
better an introduction ready prepared."
"By heavens, Wilton," replied his friend, "by the look she gave you
and the look you returned, one would not have judged the acquaintance
to be slight; but as you will not introduce me, I will introduce you;
for, I suppose, in common civility, I must go and speak to her father,
as the old gentleman's eye is upon me. There! He secures his point by
a bow. Dearly beloved, I come, I come!"
Thus saying, he turned to proceed to the box, making a sign to Wilton
to follow, which he did, though at the time he did it, he censured
his own weakness for yielding to the temptation.
"I am but going," he thought, "to augment feelings of regret at a
destiny I cannot change--I only go to increase my own pain, and in no
degree to avert from that sweet girl a fate but too dark and
sorrowful."
As he thus thought, he felt disposed, even then, to make some excuse
for not going to the Duke's box; but by the time they were half way
thither, they were met by several persons coming the other way,
amongst whom was a gentleman richly but not gaudily dressed, who
immediately addressed Lord Sherbrooke, saying, that the Duke of
Gaveston requested the honour of his company in his box, and Wilton
immediately recognised his old companion of the road, Sir John
Fenwick. Sir John bowed to him but distantly; and Wilton was more than
ever hesitating whether he should go on or not, when some one touched
him on the arm, and turning round he beheld his somewhat doubtful
acquaintance, who had given himself the name of Green.
Sir John Fenwick and the stranger looked in each other's faces
without the slightest sign of recognition: but to Wilton himself
Green smiled pleasantly, saying, "I very much wish to speak a word
with you, Mr. Wilton Brown. Will you just step aside with me to the
lobby for a moment?"
The recollection of what had passed when last they met, together with
the wish of avoiding an interview with the Duke and his daughter,
from which he augured nought but pain, overcame Wilton's repugnance
to hold any private communication with one whom he had certainly seen
in a situation at the least very equivocal; and merely saying to Lord
Sherbrooke, "I must speak with this gentleman for a moment, and
therefore cannot come with you," he left the young lord to follow Sir
John Fenwick, and turned with the stranger into the lobby. There was
no one there at the moment, for at that time the licensed
abomination, of which it has since been the scene, would not have
been tolerated in any country calling itself Christian. Wilton was
indeed rather glad that it was vacant, for he was not anxious to be
observed by many people in conversation with his present companion.
Not that anything in his appearance or manner was calculated to call
up the blush of idle pride. The stranger's dress was as rich and
tasteful as any in the house, his manner was easy and free, his look,
though not particularly striking, distinguished and gentlemanly.
The stranger was the first to speak. "Do not alarm yourself, Mr.
Brown," he said: "Mr. Green is a safe companion here, whatever he
might be in Maidenhead Thicket. But I wanted to speak a word to you
yourself, and to give you a hint that may be beneficial to others. As
to yourself, I told you when last we met that I could bring you into
company with some of your old friends. I thought your curiosity would
have carried you to the Green Dragon long ago. As, however, you do
not seem to wish to see your old friends, I have now to tell you that
they wish to see you, and therefore I have to beg you to meet me
there to-morrow at six o'clock."
"You are mistaken entirely," replied Wilton, "in regard to my not
wishing to see my old friends. I very much wish it. I wish to hear
more of my early history, about which there seems to me to be some
mystery."
"Is there?" said the stranger, in a careless tone. "Whether anything
will be explained to you or not, I cannot say. At all events, you
must meet me there; and, in the meantime tell me, have you seen Sir
John Fenwick since last we met?"
"No, I have not," replied Wilton. "Why do you ask?"
"Because," replied the other, "Sir John Fenwick is a dangerous
companion, and it were better that you did not consort with him."
"That I certainly shall not do," replied Wilton, "knowing his
character sufficiently already."
"Indeed!" replied the other. "You have grown learned in people's
characters of late, Master Brown: perhaps you know mine also; and if
you do, of course you will give me the meeting to-morrow at the Green
Dragon."
He spoke with a smile; and Wilton replied, "I am by no means sure
that I shall do so, unless I have a better cause assigned, and a
clearer knowledge of what I am going there for."
"Prudent! Prudent!" said the stranger. "Quite right to be prudent,
Master Wilton. Nevertheless, you must come, for the matter is now one
of some moment. Therefore, without asking you to answer at present, I
shall expect you. At six of the clock, remember--precisely."
"I by no means promise to come," replied Wilton, "though I do not say
that I will not. But you said that you wished to tell me something
which might be useful to others. Pray what may that be?"
"Why," answered the stranger, "I wish you to give a little warning to
your acquaintance, the Duke of Gaveston, regarding this very Sir John
Fenwick and his character."
"Nay," said Wilton, "nay--that I can hardly do. My acquaintance with
the Duke himself is extremely small. The Duke is a man of the world
sufficiently old to judge for himself, and with sufficient experience
to know the character of Sir John Fenwick without my explaining it to
him."
"The Duke," replied the other, "is a grown baby, with right wishes
and good intentions, as well as kind feelings; but a coral and bells
would lure him almost anywhere, and he has got into the hands of one
who will not fail to lead him into mischief. I thought you knew him
well; but nevertheless, well or ill, you must give him the warning."
"I beg your pardon," replied Wilton, drawing himself up coldly: "but
in one or two points you have been mistaken. My knowledge of the
Duke is confined to one interview. I shall most probably never
exchange another word with him in my life; and even if I were to do
so, I should not think of assailing, to a mere common acquaintance,
the character of a gentleman whom I may not like or trust myself, but
who seems to be the intimate friend of the very person in whose good
opinion you wish me to ruin him."
"Pshaw!" replied the stranger--"you will see the Duke again this very
night, or I am much mistaken. As to Sir John Fenwick, I am a great
deal more intimately his friend than the Duke is, and I may wish to
keep him from rash acts, which he has neither courage nor skill to
carry through, and will not dare to undertake, if he be not supported
by others. I am, in fact, doing Sir John himself a friendly act, for
I know his purposes, which are both rash and wrong; and if I cannot
stop them by fair means, I must stop them by others."
"In that," replied Wilton, "you must act as you think fit. I know
nothing of Sir John Fenwick from my own personal observation; and
therefore will not be made a tool of, to injure his reputation with
others."
"Well, well," replied his companion--"in those circumstances you are
right; and, as they say in that beggarly assemblage of pettifogging
rogues and traitors called the House of Commons, I must shape my
motion in another way. The manner in which I will beg you to deal
with the Duke, is this. Find an opportunity, before this night be
over, of entreating him earnestly not to go to-morrow to the meeting
at the Old King's Head, in Leadenhall-street. This is clear and
specific, and at the same time you assail the character of no one."
Wilton thought for a moment or two, and then replied, "I cannot even
promise you absolutely to do this; but, if I can, I will. If I see
the Duke, and have the means of giving him the message, I will tell
him that I received it from a stranger, who seemed anxious for his
welfare."
"That will do," answered the other--"that will do. But you must tell
him without Sir John Fenwick's hearing you. As to your seeing him
again, you will, I suppose, take care of that; for surely the bow,
and the smile, and the blush, that came across the house to you, were
too marked an invitation to the box, for such a gallant and a
courteous youth not to take advantage of at once."
Wilton felt himself inclined to be a little angry at the familiarity
with which his companion treated him, and which was certainly more
than their acquaintance warranted. Curiosity, however, is powerful to
repress all feelings, that contend with it; and if ever curiosity was
fully justifiable, it surely was that of Wilton to know his own early
history. Thus, although he might have felt inclined to quarrel with
any other person who treated him so lightly, on the present occasion
he smothered his anger, and merely replied that the stranger was
mistaken in supposing that there was any such acquaintance between
him and Lady Laura as to justify him in visiting her box.
Even while he was in the act of speaking, however, Lord Sherbrooke
entered the lobby in haste, and advanced immediately towards him,
saying, "Why, Wilton, I have been seeking you all over the house.
Where, in Fortune's name, have you been? The Duke and Lady Laura have
both been inquiring after you most tenderly, and wondering that you
have not been to see them in their box."
The stranger, whom we shall in future call Green, turned away with a
smile, saying merely, "Good evening, Mr. Brown; I won't detain you
longer."
"Why, who the devil have you got there, Wilton?" exclaimed Lord
Sherbrooke: "I think I have seen his face before."
"His name is Green," replied Wilton, not choosing to enter into
particulars; "but I am ready now to go with you at once, and make my
apologies for not accompanying you before."
"Come then, come," replied Lord Sherbrooke; and, leading the way
towards the Duke's box, he added, laughingly, "If there had been any
doubt before, my good Wilton, as to my future fate, this night has
been enough to settle it."
"In what way?" said Wilton; but ere the young nobleman could answer,
otherwise than by a smile, they had reached the box, and the door was
thrown open.
Wilton's heart beat, it must be confessed; but he had sufficient
command over himself to guard against the slightest emotion being
perceptible upon his countenance; and he bowed to the Duke and to
Lady Laura, with that ceremonious politeness which he judged that his
situation required. Lady Laura at once, however, held out her hand
to him, and expressed briefly, how glad she was of another
opportunity to thank him for the great service which he had rendered
her some time before. The Duke also spoke of it kindly and politely;
and the other persons in the box, who were several in number, began
to inquire into the circumstances thus publicly mentioned, so that
the conversation took a more general turn, till the curtain again
arose.
A certain degree of restraint, which had at first affected both
Wilton and the lady, soon wore off, and the evening went by most
pleasantly. It was not strange--it was not surely at all
strange--that a young heart should forget itself in such
circumstances. Wilton gave himself up, not indeed to visions of joy,
but to actual enjoyment. Perhaps Lady Laura did the same. At all
events, she looked far happier than she had done before; and when at
length the curtain fell, and the time for parting came, they both
woke as from a dream, and the waking was certainly followed by a sigh
on either part. It was then that Wilton first recollected the warning
that he had promised to give, and he was considering how he should
find the means of speaking with the Duke alone, when that nobleman
paused for a moment, as the rest of the party went out of the box,
and drawing Wilton aside, said in a hasty but kindly manner, "Lord
Sherbrooke informs me that you are his most intimate friend, Mr.
Brown; and as it is very likely that we shall see him frequently, I
hope you will sometimes do us the favour of accompanying him."
Wilton replied by one of those unmeaning speeches which commit a man
to nothing; for though his own heart told him that he would really be
but too happy, as he said to take advantage of the invitation, yet it
told him, at the same time, that to do so would be dangerous to his
peace. The Duke was then about to follow his party; but Wilton now in
turn detained him, saying, "I have a message to deliver to you, my
lord duke, from a stranger who stopped me as I was coming to your
box."
"Ha!" said the Duke, with a somewhat important air, "this is strange;
but still I have so many communications of different kinds--what may
it be, Mr. Brown?"
"It was, my lord," replied Wilton, in a low voice, "a warning which I
think it best to deliver, as, not knowing the gentleman's name who
gave it to me, I cannot tell whether it may be a mere piece of
impertinence from somebody who is perhaps a stranger to your grace,
or an intimation from a sincere friend--"
"But the warning, the warning!" said the Duke, "pray, what was this
warning?"
"It was," replied Wilton, "a warning not to go to a meeting which you
proposed to attend in the course of to-morrow."
"Ha!" said the Duke, with a look of some surprise--"did he say what
meeting?"
"Yes, my lord," replied Wilton--"he said it was a meeting at the old
King's Head in Leadenhall Street, and he added that it would be
dangerous for you to do so."
"I will never shrink from personal danger, Mr. Brown," said the Duke,
holding up his head, and putting on a courageous look. But the moment
after, something seemed to strike him, and he added with a certain
degree of hesitation, "But let me ask you, Mr. Brown, does my lord of
Byerdale know this?--You have not told Lord Sherbrooke?"
"Neither the one nor the other, my lord," replied Wilton--"I have
mentioned the fact to nobody but yourself."
"Pray, then, do not," replied the Duke; "you will oblige me very
much, Mr. Brown, by keeping this business secret. I must certainly
attend the meeting at four to-morrow, because I have pledged my word
to it; but I shall enter into nothing that is dangerous or criminal,
depend upon it--"
The nobleman was going on; and it is impossible to say how much he
might have told in regard to the meeting in question, if Wilton had
not stopped him.
"I beg your pardon, my lord," he said; "but allow me to remind you
that I have no knowledge whatsoever of the views and intentions with
which this meeting is to be held. I shall certainly not mention the
message I have brought your grace to any one, and having delivered
it, must leave the rest to yourself, whose judgment in such matters
must be far superior to mine."
The Duke looked gratified, but moved on without reply, as the rest of
his party were waiting at a little distance. Wilton followed; and
seeing the Duke and Lady Laura with Sir John and Lady Mary Fenwick
into their carriages, he proceeded homeward with Lord Sherbrooke,
neither of them interchanging a word till they had well nigh reached
Wilton's lodgings. There, however, Lord Sherbrooke burst into a loud
laugh, exclaiming--
"Lack-a-day, Wilton, lack-a-day! Here are you and I as silent and as
meditative as two owls in a belfry: you looking as wise as if you
were a minister of state, and I as sorrowful as an unhappy lover,
when, to say the truth, I am thinking of some deep stroke of policy,
and you are meditating upon a fair maid's bright eyes. Get you gone,
Wilton; get you gone, for a sentimental, lack-a-daisical shepherd!
Now could we but get poor old King James to come back, the way to a
dukedom would be open before you in a fortnight."
"How so?" demanded Wilton, "how so? You do not suppose, Sherbrooke,
that I would ever join in overturning the religion, and the laws, and
the liberties of my country--how so, then?"
"As thus," replied Lord Sherbrooke--"I will answer you as if I had
been born the grave-digger in Hamlet. King James comes over--well,
marry go to, now--a certain duke that you wot of, who is a rank
Jacobite, by the by, instantly joins the invader; then comes King
William, drives me his fellow-king and father-in-law out of the
kingdom in five days, takes me the duke prisoner, and chops me his
head off in no time. This headless father leaves a sorrowful
daughter, who at the time of his death is deeply and desperately in
love, without daring to say it, her father's head being the only
obstacle in the way of the daughter's heart. Then comes the lover to
console the lady, and finding her without protection, offers to
undertake that very needful duty. Now see you, Wilton? Now see
you?--But there's the door of your dwelling. Get you in, man, get you
in, and try if in your dreams you can get some means of bringing it
about. By my faith, Wilton, you are in a perilous situation; but
there's one thing for your comfort,--if I can get out of all the
scrapes that at this moment surround me on every side, like the lines
of a besieging enemy, you can surely make your escape out of your
difficulties, when you have love, and youth, and hope, to befriend
you."
"Hope?" said Wilton, in bitter sadness; but at the moment he spoke,
the door of the house was opened, and, bidding Lord Sherbrooke "Good
night," he went in.