The world was in all its summer beauty, nature smiling with her
brightest smiles, the glorious sunshine just departing from the sky,
and glowing with double brightness in its dying hour, the woods still
green and fresh, the blackbird tuning his evening song, and
everything speaking peace and promising joy, as Wilton rode through
the gates of Somersbury park.
When he dismounted from his horse and rang the bell, his own servant
took the tired beast and led it round towards the stable with the air
of one who felt himself quite at home in the Duke's house. But the
attendant who opened the doors to him, and who was not the ordinary
porter, bore a certain degree of sadness and gravity in his
demeanour, which caused Wilton instantly to ask after the health of
the Duke and Lady Laura.
"My young lady is quite well, sir," replied the servant; "but the
Duke has had another bad fit of the gout in the beginning of the
week--which has made him wonderfully cross," he added, lowering his
voice and giving a marked look in Wilton's face, which made the young
gentleman feel that he intended his words as a sort of warning.
"I am afraid," thought Wilton, "what I have to tell him will not
diminish his crossness."
But he said nothing aloud, and followed the servant to wards the
Duke's own particular sitting room. He found that nobleman alone,
with his foot upon a stool. He had calculated as he went thither how
he might best soften the tidings he had to bring; but the Duke began
the conversation himself, and in a manner which instantly put all
other thoughts to flight, and, to say the truth, banished Sir John
Fenwick and his whole concerns from his young companion's mind in a
moment.
"So, sir, so," he began, using none of the friendly and familiar
terms that he generally applied to Wilton, "so you have really had
the goodness to come down here again."
"My lord duke," replied Wilton, "your invitation to me was not only
so general but so pressing, that always having found you a man of
sincerity and truth, I took it for granted that you wished to see me,
or you would not have asked me."
"So I am, sir, so I am," replied the Duke; "I am a man of sincerity
and truth, and you shall find I am one, too. But from your manner, I
suppose my Lord of Byerdale has not told you the contents of my
letter to him this morning."
"He never told me," replied Wilton, "that your grace had written to
him at all; but so far from even hinting that my visit could be
disagreeable to you, he told me that as he did not require my
assistance I had better come down here."
"He did, he did?" said the Duke. "He is marvellous kind to send
guests to my house, whom he knows that I do not wish to see."
Wilton now began to divine the cause of the Duke's present behaviour.
It was evident that Lord Byerdale, without letting him know anything
about it, had interfered to demand for him the hand of Lady Laura.
How or in what terms he had done so, Wilton was somewhat anxious to
ascertain, but he was so completely thunderstruck and surprised by
his pre sent reception, that he could scarcely play the difficult
game in which he was engaged with anything like calmness or
forethought.
"My lord," he replied, "it is probable that the Earl of Byerdale was
more moved by kindness towards me than consideration for your grace.
As you do not tell me what was the nature of your correspondence, I
can but guess at Lord Byerdale's motives--"
"Which were, sir," interrupted the Duke, "to give you a farther
opportunity of engaging my daughter's affections against her father's
wishes and consent. I suppose this was his object, at least."
"I should think not, my lord," replied Wilton, resolved not to yield
his point so easily. "I should rather imagine that Lord Byerdale's
view was to give me an opportunity, on the contrary, of pleading my
own cause with the Duke of Gaveston--to give me an opportunity of
recalling all those feelings of kindness, friendship, and generosity
which the Duke has constantly displayed towards me, and of urging him
by all those high feelings, which I know he possesses, not to crush
an attachment which has grown up under his eyes, and been fostered by
his kindness."
The Duke was a little moved by Wilton's words and his manner; but he
had taken his resolution to make the present discussion between
himself and Wilton final, and he seized instantly upon the latter
words of his reply.
"Grown up under my eye, and fostered by my kindness!" he exclaimed.
"You do not mean to say, sir, I trust, that I gave you any
encouragement in this mad pursuit. You do not mean to say that I saw
and connived at your attachment to my daughter?"
Wilton might very well have said that he certainly did give such
encouragement and opportunity that the result could scarcely have
been by any possibility otherwise than that which it actually was.
But he knew that to show him in fault would only irritate the Duke
more, and he was silent.
"Good God!" continued the peer, "such a thing never entered into my
head. It was so preposterous, so insane, so out of all reasonable
calculation, that I might just as well have been afraid of building
my house under a hill for fear the hill should walk out of its place
and crush it. I could never have dreamed of or fancied such a thing,
sir, as that you should forget the difference between my daughter,
Lady Laura Gaveston, and yourself, and presume to seek the hand of
one so much above you. It shows how kindness and condescension may
be mistaken. Lord Byerdale, indeed, talks some vague nonsense about
your having good blood in your veins; but what are your titles, sir?
what is your rank? where are your estates? Show me your rent-rolls.
I have never known anything of Mr. Wilton Brown but as the private
secretary of the Earl of Byerdale--HIS CLERK he called him to me one
day--who has nothing but a good person, a good coat, and two or three
hundred a year. Mr. Wilton Brown to be the suitor for the only child
of one of the first peers in the land, the heiress of a hundred
thousand per annum! My dear sir, the thing was too ridiculous to be
thought of. If people had told me I should have my eyes picked out by
a sparrow I should have believed them as much;" and he laughed aloud
at his own joke, not with the laugh of merriment, but of anger and
scorn.
Wilton felt cut to the heart, but still he recollected that it was
Laura's father who spoke; and he was resolved that no provocation
whatsoever should induce him to say one word which he himself might
repent at an after period, or with which she might justly reproach
him. He felt that from the Duke he must bear what he would have borne
from no other man on earth; that to the Duke he must use a tone
different from that which he would have employed to any other man. He
paused a moment, both to let the Duke's laugh subside, and the first
angry feelings of his own heart wear off: but he then answered,--
"Perhaps, my lord, you attribute to me other feelings and greater
presumption than I have in reality been actuated by. Will you allow
me, before you utterly condemn me--will you allow me, I say, not to
point out any cause why you should have seen, or known, or
countenanced my attachment to your daughter, but merely to recall to
your remembrance the circumstances in which I have been placed, and in
which it was scarcely possible for me to resist those feelings of
love and attachment which I will not attempt to disown, which I never
will cast off, and which I will retain and cherish to the last hour
of my life, whatever may be your grace's ultimate decision, whatever
may be my fate, fortune, happiness, or misery, in other respects?"
The Duke was better pleased with Wilton's tone, and, to say the
truth, though his resolution was in no degree shaken, yet the anger
which he had called up, in order to drown every word of opposition,
had by this time nearly exhausted itself.
"My ultimate decision!" said the Duke; "sir, there is no decision to
be made: the matter is decided.--But go on, sir, go on--I am
perfectly willing to hear. I am not so unreasonable as not to hear
anything that you may wish to say, without giving you the slightest
hope that I may be shaken by words: which cannot be. What is it you
wish to say?"
"Merely this, your grace," replied Wilton. "The first time I had the
honour of meeting your grace, I rendered yourself, and more
particularly the Lady Laura, a slight service, a very slight one, it
is true, but yet sufficient to make you think, yourself, that I was
entitled to claim your after-acquaintance, and to justify your
reproach for not coming to your box at the theatre. You must admit
then, certainly, that I did not press myself into the society of the
Lady Laura."
"Oh, certainly not, certainly not," replied the Duke--"I never
accused you of that, sir. Your conduct, your external demeanour, has
always been most correct. It is not of any presumption of manners
that I accuse you."
"Well, my lord," continued Wilton, "it so happened that an accidental
circumstance, not worth noticing now, induced your lordship to place
much confidence in me, and to render me a familiar visitor at your
house. You on one occasion called me to your daughter your best
friend, and I was more than once left in Lady Laura's society for a
considerable period alone. Now, my lord, none can know better than
yourself the charms of that society, or how much it is calculated to
win and engage the heart of any one whose bosom was totally free, and
had never beheld before a woman equal in the slightest degree to his
ideas of perfection. I will confess, my lord, that I struggled very
hard against the feelings which I found growing up in my own bosom.
At that time I struggled the more and with the firmer determination,
because I had always entertained an erroneous impression with regard
to my own birth, an impression which, had it continued, would have
prevented my dreaming it possible that Lady Laura could ever be
mine--"
"It is a pity that it did not continue," said the Duke, dryly; but
Wilton took no notice, and went on.
"At that time, however," he said, "I learned, through the Earl of
Byerdale, that I had been in error in regard to my own
situation--though the distance between your grace and myself might
still be great, it was diminished; and you may easily imagine that
such joyful tidings naturally carried hope and expectation to a
higher pitch than perhaps was reasonable."
"To a very unreasonable pitch, it would seem, indeed, sir," answered
the Duke.
"It may be so, my lord," replied Wilton, "but the punishment upon
myself is very severe. However, not even then--although I had the
fairest prospects from the interest and promises of the Earl of
Byerdale, and from the whole interest of the Earl of Sunbury, who has
ever treated me as a son--although I might believe that a bright
political career was open before me, and that I might perhaps raise
myself to the highest stations in the state--not even then did I
presume to think of Lady Laura with anything like immediate hopes.
Just at this same period, however, the daring attempt to mix your
grace with the plans of the conspirators by carrying off your daughter
took place, and you were pleased to intrust to me the delicate and
somewhat dangerous task of discovering the place to which she had
been carried, and setting her free from the hands of the bold and in
famous men who had obtained possession of her person. Now, my
lord--feeling every inclination to love her, I may indeed say loving
her before--you can easily feel how much such an attachment must have
been increased; how much every feeling of tenderness and affection
must have been augmented by the interest, the powerful interest of
that pursuit; how everything must have combined to confirm my love
for her for ever, while all my thoughts were bent upon saving her and
restoring her to your arms; while the whole feelings of my heart and
energies of my mind were busy with her, and her fate alone. Then, my
lord, when I came to defend her, at the hazard of my life; when I
came to contend for her with those who withheld her from you; when we
had to pass together several hours of danger and apprehension, with
her clinging to my arm, and with my arm only for her support and
protection, and when, at length, all my efforts proved successful,
and she was set free, was it wonderful, was it at all extraordinary,
that I loved her, or that she felt some slight interest and regard
for me? Since then, my lord, reflect on all that has taken place; how
constantly we have been together; how she has been accustomed to
treat me as the most intimate and dearest of her friends; how you
your self have said you looked upon me as your son--"
"But never in that sense, sir, never in that sense!" exclaimed the
Duke, glad to catch at any word to cut short a detail which was
telling somewhat strongly against him. "A son, sir, I said, a son,
not a son-in-law. But, however, to end the whole matter at once, Mr.
Wilton Brown, I am very willing to acknowledge the various services
you have rendered me, and which you have recapitulated somewhat at
length, and to acknowledge that there might be a great many motives
for falling in love with my daughter, without my attributing to you
any mercenary or ambitious motives. It is not that I blame you at all
for falling in love with her; that was but a folly for which you must
suffer your own punishment: but I do blame you very much, sir, for
trying to make her fall in love with you, when you must have known
perfectly well that her so doing would meet with the most decided
disapprobation from her father, and that your marriage was altogether
out of the question. I think that this very grave error might well
cancel all obligations between us; but, nevertheless, I am very
willing to recompense those services--" Wilton waved his hand
indignantly--"to recompense those services," continued the Duke; "to
testify my sense of them, in short, in any way that you will point
out."
"My lord, my lord," replied Wilton, "you surely must wish to give me
more pain than that which I feel already. The services which I have
rendered were freely rendered. They have been repaid already, not by
your grace, but by my own heart and feelings. The only recompence I
ever proposed to myself was to know that they were really serviceable
and beneficial to those for whom they were done. I ask nothing of
your grace but that which you will not grant. But the time will
come, my lord,--"
"Do not flatter yourself, to your own disappointment!" interrupted
the Duke: "the time will never come when I shall change in this
respect. I grant my daughter a veto, as I promised her dear mother I
would, and she shall never marry a man she does not love; but I claim
a veto, too, Mr. Wilton Brown, and will not see her cast herself
away, even though she should wish it. The matter, sir, is altogether
at an end: it is out of the question, impossible, and it shall never
be."
The Duke rose from his chair as he spoke; and then went on, in a cold
tone:--"I certainly expected that you might come to-morrow, sir, but
not to-night, and I should have made in the morning such preparations
as would have prevented any unpleasant meeting between my daughter
and yourself in these circumstances. I must now give orders for her
to keep her room, as I cannot consent to your meeting, and of course
must not treat you inhospitably; but you will understand that the
circumstances prevent me from requesting you to protract your visit
beyond an early hour to-morrow morning."
"Your grace, I believe, mistakes my character a good deal," replied
Wilton: "I remain not an hour in a house where I am not welcome, and
I shall beg instantly to take my leave, as Somersbury must not be my
abode to-night."
His utterance was difficult, for his heart was too full to admit of
his speaking freely, and it required a great effort to prevent his
own feelings from bursting forth.
"But your horse must be tired," said the Duke, feeling somewhat
ashamed of the part he was acting.
"Not too tired, my lord," replied Wilton, "to bear his master from a
house where he is unwillingly received. Were it necessary, my lord, I
would walk, rather than force your grace to make any change in your
domestic arrangements. You will permit me to tell the porter to call
round my groom;" and going out for a moment, he bade the porter in a
loud clear voice order his horses to be saddled again, and his groom
to come round. He then returned to the chamber where the Duke
remained, and both continued silent and embarrassed. It was some
time, indeed, before Wilton's orders could be obeyed, for his valise
had been carried up to his usual apartments. At length, however, the
horse was announced, and Wilton went towards the door,--
"I now take my leave of you, my lord," he said, "and in doing so,
shall endeavour to bear with me all the bright memories of much
kindness experienced at your hands, and forgetfulness of one night's
unkindness, which I trust and believe I have deserved even less than
I did your former goodness towards me. For yourself I shall ever
retain feelings of the deepest regard and esteem; for your daughter,
undying love and attachment."
The Duke was somewhat moved, and very much embarrassed; and whether
from habit, embarrassment, or real feelings of regard, he held out
his hand to Wilton as they parted. Wilton took it, and pressed it in
his own. A single bright drop rose in his eye, and feeling that if he
remained another moment his self-command would give way, he left the
Duke, and sprang upon his horse's back.
Two or three of the old servants were in the hall as he passed,
witnessing, with evident marks of consternation and grief, his sudden
departure from Somersbury. The Duke's head groom kept his stirrup,
and to his surprise he saw the old butler himself holding the rein.
As Wilton thanked him and took it, however, the man slipped a note
into his hand, saying in a low voice, "From my young lady." Wilton
clasped his fingers tight upon it, and with one consolation, at
least, rode away from the house where he had known so much happiness.