IT is wonderful how scenes of danger and difficulty--it is wonderful
how scenes of great excitement of any kind, indeed--draw heart to
heart, and bind together, in bonds indissoluble, the beings that have
passed through them side by side. They are never to be broken, those
bonds; for between us and the persons with whom we have trod such
paths there is established a partnership in powerful memories, out of
which we can never withdraw our interest. But it is not alone that
they are permanent which renders them different from all lighter
ties; it is that they bring us closer, more entirely to each other;
that instead of sharing the mere thoughts of what we may call the
outward heart, we enter into the deepest recesses, we see all the
hidden treasures, we know the feelings and the ideas that are
concealed from the general eye of day, we are no longer kept in the
porch, but admitted into the temple itself.
Wilton was left alone in the small parlour of the inn with Lady
Laura; and as soon as he heard the horses' feet gallop away, he
turned towards her with a glad smile. But when he did so, he found
that her beautiful eyes were now fixed upon him with a gaze deep and
intense--a gaze which showed that the whole thoughts and feelings of
her heart were abstracted from everything else on earth to meditate
on all that she owed to him, and on the things alone that were
connected therewith.
She dropped her eyes as soon as they met his; but that one look was
overpowering to the man who now certainly loved her as deeply as it
is possible for man to love woman. Many a difficulty and doubt had
been removed from his mind by the words which Lord Sherbrooke had
spoken while affecting to seek for the warrant; and there were vague
hopes of high destinies in his heart. But it must be acknowledged,
that if there had been none, he would have given way, even as he did.
He advanced towards her, he took her hand in his, he pressed it
between both his own, he kissed it tenderly, passionately, and more
than once. Lady Laura lifted up her eyes to his face, not blushing,
but very pale.
"Oh, Wilton," she said, "what do I not owe you!" and she burst into
tears. The words, the look, the very tears themselves, were all more
than sufficient encouragement.
"You owe me nothing, Laura," Wilton said. "Would to God that I had
such an opportunity of serving you as to make me forgive in myself
the rash, the wild, the foolish feelings that, in spite of every
struggle and every effort, have grown up in my heart towards you, and
have taken possession of me altogether. But, oh, Laura, I cannot hope
that you will forgive them, I cannot forgive them myself. They can--I
know they can, only produce anguish and sorrow to myself, and excite
anger, perhaps indignation, in you."
"Oh no, no, no, Wilton!" she cried, eagerly, "not that, not that!
neither anger, nor indignation, nor anything like it, but grief--and
yet not grief either--oh no, not grief!--Some apprehension, perhaps,
some anxiety both for your happiness and my own. But if you do feel
all you say, as I believe and am sure you do, such feelings, so far
as depends upon me, should produce you no anguish and no pain; but I
must not conceal from you that I very much fear, my father would
never--"
An increasing noise at the door of the house broke in upon what Laura
was saying. There were cries, and loud tongues, and vociferations of
many kinds; among which, one voice was heard, exclaiming, "Go round
to the back door!"
Another person, apparently just under the window, shouted, "I am very
sure that was not the man!" and then added, "Bring out my horse,
however, bring out my horse! I'll catch them, and raise the hue and
cry as I go!"
At the same time there were other voices speaking in the passage, and
one loud sonorous tongue exclaiming, "Ali, Master Wicks, Master
Wicks! I thought you would get yourself into a scrape one of these
days, Master Wicks;" to which the low deep voice of the landlord was
heard, replying--
"I have got myself into no scrape, your reverence. I don't know what
you mean or what you wait.--Search? You may search any part of the
house you like. I don't care! If there were twenty people here, I
have nothing to do with it. I can't refuse gentlemen to put up their
horses, or to give them a bowl of punch, or a mug of ale. There, sir,
there's a gentleman and lady in that parlour. Pray, sir, walk in, and
see whether they are Jacobites or smugglers or what riots."
As these words sounded close to them, Lady Laura sunk down again into
her chair; and Wilton, drawing a little back, hesitated, for a
moment, whether he should go out himself and notice what was taking
place, or not. The question, however, was decided for him by the door
of the room being thrown suddenly open, and the rotund person of the
clergyman of the parish, bearing, in the "fair round belly with fat
capon lined," the sign and symbol affixed by Shakspeare to the
"Justice of Peace," entered the apartment. He gazed with some
surprise upon two persons, who, notwithstanding some slight disarray
in their apparel from all the events which had lately taken place,
still bore the appearance of belonging to the highest class of
society.
The reverend justice had entered the room with a look of pompous
importance, which was diminished, but not entirely done away, by
evident surprise at the appearance of Laura and Wilton. The young
gentleman, however, was not particularly well pleased with the
interruption, and still less with this domineering air, which he
hastened to extinguish as fast as possible.
"Pray, sir, what do you want?" he demanded, addressing the
magistrate, "and who are you?"
"Nay, sir," answered the reverend gentleman, "what I want is, to know
who you are. I have here information that there is in this house a
notorious Jacobite malefactor, returned from beyond seas, contrary to
law, named Sir George Barkley. I am a magistrate for the county, sir,
and I have information, I say."
"Upon oath, sir?" demanded Wilton.
"No, sir, not upon oath, not upon oath," replied the clergyman, "but
what is quite as good, upon the word of a Messenger of State, sir--of
Mr. Arden, the Council Messenger, sir."
"Landlord!" exclaimed Wilton, seeing the face of Wicks amongst
several others at the door, "be so good as to bring Mr. Arden, the
Messenger, here. Bring him by the collar, if he does not come
willingly. I will be answerable for the consequences."
The magistrate looked astounded; but the landlord came forward with a
grin and a low bow, saying, "The gentleman has mounted his horse,
sir, and ridden after those other two gentlemen who went away a
quarter of an hour ago; but, Lord bless you, sir," he added, with a
sly look, "he'll never catch them. Why, his horse is quite lame."
"The fact is," replied Wilton, "this man Arden did not choose to come
in here, as he well knew I should certainly send him to London in
custody, to answer for his bad conduct this night.--Sir, I beg to
inform you, that I am private secretary to the Earl of Byerdale; and
that this young lady, the daughter of the Duke of Gaveston, having
been carried off from the terrace near his house by agents, it is
supposed, of the late King James II., for the purpose of drawing over
her father to support that faction, the Duke, who is pleased to
repose some trust in me, authorized me, by this paper under his hand,
to search for and deliver the lady, while at the same time the Earl
of Byerdale intrusted me with this warrant for the purposes herein
mentioned, and put this man Arden, the Messenger, under my direction
and control. At the very first sight of danger the Messenger ran
away, and by so doing left me with every chance of my being murdered
by a gang of evil-disposed persons in this neighbourhood. On his
return with a large body of constables and some military to the house
of a person who is named Plessis, I understand, he refused to obey
the orders I gave him, and followed me hither, alleging that one of
two gentlemen who had come to my assistance, and to whom I owe my own
life and the liberation of this lady, was the well-known personage
called Sir George Barkley. Those gentlemen both departed, as soon as
they saw us in safety, and I am ready to swear that neither of them
was Sir George Barkley; the person this Messenger mistook for him
being a young gentleman of four or five and twenty years of age."
"Phoo!" cried the magistrate, with a long sort of whistling
sound--"Sir George Barkley is a man of fifty, with a great gash on
his cheek. I remember him very well, when--"
But then seeming to recollect himself, he paused abruptly, adding,
"But pray, who was this young gentleman who so came to your
assistance, sir?"
"I never saw him in my life before," replied Wilton, "and the name he
gave himself was Captain Churchill."
"To be sure, to be sure!" cried the clergyman; "a younger brother of
my Lord of Marlborough's."
"Some relation of the Marlborough family, I believe," replied Wilton,
dryly. "However, I do not know the Earl's brother myself, nor am I
aware whether there is any other Captain Churchill or not; but this
was a young gentleman, evidently under thirty, and consequently he
could not be Sir George Barkley."
"I have searched the house high and low," said the voice of another
stout gentleman, who now pushed his way into the room; "and I can
find nothing but a sick cat up in the garret."
"Ay, ay, Brother Bulrush, ay, ay!" replied the clergyman; "ay, ay, it
is all explained. It is all that Messenger's fault, and he has now
run away again. This worshipful young gentleman is secretary to the
Earl of Byerdale, the great minister; and I'm sure we are both very
sorry to have given him any trouble."
"You have given me no trouble at all, gentlemen," replied Wilton,
"and I have only to beg that if the Messenger return after I am gone,
you will send him up to town to-morrow morning in the custody of a
constable. I shall not fail to report to Lord Byerdale your activity
and zeal upon the present occasion; which, indeed, may be of some
service, as I am sorry to say, that serious remonstrances have been
made regarding this part of the country, it being intimated, that
smuggling, coining, and even treasonable meetings and assemblies, are
more common here than in any other part of Kent."
"Indeed, sir," replied one of the justices, somewhat alarmed,
"indeed, it is not our fault. They are an unruly set, they are a most
unruly set. We do the best we may, but cannot manage them.--But, sir,
the young lady looks fatigued and tired. Had she not better come up
to the parsonage, and rest there this night. She shall have a good
warm bed, and Mrs. Jeffreys, who is a motherly sort of woman, will be
quite delighted to take care of her ladyship."
"Or Lady Bulrush either, I am sure," said the other magistrate. "The
manor-house is but half a mile."
Wilton turned to Laura, to inquire what she thought fit to do; but
the young lady, not very much prepossessed in favour either of the
motherly sort of clergyman's wife, or the more elevated Lady Bulrush,
by the appearance and manners of their marital representatives,
leaned both her hands upon Wilton's arm, feeling implicit confidence
in him alone, and security with him only; and, raising her eyes
imploringly to his face, she said in a low voice, "Indeed, indeed,
Wilton, I would rather not--I would rather go home to Beaufort House
at once, to relieve my poor father's anxiety."
"In truth," he replied, in the same tone, "I cannot but think it
would be better for you to obtain a night's rest, if you can, rather
than to take a long journey after such terrible agitation as you have
undergone."
"Do not ask me--nay, do not ask me," she said; and then turning to
the magistrates, who were conferring together, and settling in their
own mind that a match was undoubtedly to take place between the Lady
Laura and the Earl of Byerdale's secretary, she added, "I am very
anxious to return to my father, gentlemen, and as a carriage has been
already sent for from Stroud, I would certainly prefer going on
to-night. I will very gratefully," she added--her apprehensions of
some new dangers occurring at the little public-house coming back
upon her mind--"I will very gratefully accept the shelter of the
parsonage, till the carriage arrives from Stroud, if by so doing I
shall not keep the lady up beyond her usual hour."
"Oh, not at all, madam, not at all," replied the clergyman: "Mrs.
Jeffreys will be delighted to see you.--Let us lose no time.--Wicks,
when the carriage comes, send it up to my house.--Ma'am, I will show
your ladyship the way."
Laura, however, still clung to Wilton's arm, as her best support; and
following the clergyman together, they proceeded to the parsonage,
escorted by a number of footmen, farming servants, and people
collected in haste, who had come to the examination of Wicks's house.
On their arrival, they were ushered into a tall dining-room with
carved panels, the atmosphere of which was strongly imbued with the
mingled odour of punch and tobacco, an unsavoury but at that time
very ordinary perfume in the dining-room of almost every country
gentleman. The mistress of the mansion, however, proved, in point of
manners and appearance, considerably superior to her lord and master,
and did all that she could in a very kind and delicate manner to
render the beautiful girl, cast for the time on her hospitality, as
comfortable as the circumstances would admit.
It is not to be denied, indeed, that both Wilton and Laura could at
that time have very well spared the presence of any other persons,
for there were feelings in the hearts of both which eagerly longed
for voice. There was much to be told; there was much to be explained;
there was much to be determined between them. There was, indeed, the
consciousness of mutual love, which is no slight blessing and
comfort, under any circumstances; but that very consciousness
produced the longing thirst for farther communion which nothing but
love can give.
When all has been said, indeed--when the whole heart has been poured
forth--when the first intense feelings of a new passion have worn
away, or, having grown familiar to our bosoms, surprise us no longer,
we can better bear the presence of others; for a look, an occasional
word, even a tone, will convey to the mind of those we love, all that
we could wish to say. But when love is fresh, and every feeling
produced thereby is new and wonderful to our hearts; when we make
hourly discoveries of new sensations in our own bosoms, and neither
know how to express them, nor how to conceal them, the presence of
others--cold, indifferent, strange--is no slight punishment and
privation.
Laura endeavoured, as far as possible, to keep down such feelings,
but yet she could not drive them from her bosom. The minutes seemed
long, tedious, and heavy: from time to time she would fall into a fit
of musing; from time to time she would answer wide from the question;
but it fortunately so happened, that the events which had lately
occurred, and her anxiety to rejoin her father, were causes
sufficient to account for greater inequalities of conduct than these.
In the meantime, Wilton was subjected to the same, or even greater
pain, from the impossibility of saying all that he could have wished
to say; and he had, moreover, to contend both against the civility of
his landlord, individually, and the curiosity of the two magistrates,
conjointly, who did not fail, during the time that he remained, both
to press him to eat and drink, in spite of all denials and
remonstrances, and to torment him with questions, many of them
frivolous in the extreme, not only concerning the events in which he
had been lately engaged, but also in regard to everything that was
taking place in London.
Nearly two hours passed in this unpleasant manner; but at length the
joyful sound of carriage-wheels announced that the man who had been
sent to Stroud had returned. Laura was eager to set out; but the
motherly care of good Mrs. Jeffreys detained her for some time
longer, by insisting upon wrapping her warmly up in cloaks, and
mantles, and hoods, to guard against the cold of the wintry night.
At length all was ready; and Wilton led her down to the carriage,
which it seems had been procured with difficulty; the machines called
post-chaises being not so common in those days as they became within
fifty years afterwards. The two magistrates stood bowing low to the
young lady as she entered the tall, long-backed, but really not
uncomfortable vehicle. The landlord of the inn, too, and his ostler,
were there; and Wilton failed not to pay them liberally for the
services they had rendered. He then briefly gave his own address, and
that of the Duke to his reverend entertainer, and entered the
carriage beside the Lady Laura, with a heart beating high with the
hope and expectation of saying all and hearing all that the voice of
love could speak.