Mabel Everard and Harry Tryon stood together under the shade of the
wide-spreading trees which extended their boughs over the edge of the
large lake in Stanmore Park watching a couple of graceful swans which
glided noiselessly by across the mirror-like surface of the water.
"I have come to wish you good-bye, Mabel," said Harry, and his voice
trembled slightly. "Lady Tryon insists on my accompanying her to
London, and I cannot refuse to obey her. It is time, and she says truly
that I should choose a profession; but which can I choose? I should
have preferred going to sea some years ago, but I am getting too old for
that, and though I have no objection to the army, yet it would take me
away for years, perhaps for long years, Mabel, and that I could not
stand."
He looked affectionately into her face as he spoke.
"I should not wish you to go, Harry," she answered in a low voice, "and
yet I know that it is right and manly to have a profession. I should
not like you to be in any better, yet it is so full of dangers that I
should be very miserable."
"No, I see, I must live in the country and turn farmer," said Harry, as
if a bright idea had struck him. "I have always been told that Lady
Tryon is sure to leave me all her property, and that must be sufficient
for all my wishes. However, when I go to London I will try and learn
what profession is likely to suit me. I certainly don't wish to be
idle; and the thought of winning you, and making a home fit for your
reception, will stimulate me to exertion."
"I shall be glad if it does."
A boat was moored near where they stood. Harry proposed to row Mabel
round the lake. They looked very interesting as they two sat in the
boat, Harry rowing, and Mabel smiling and talking cheerfully,
occasionally catching at a water-lily.
They talked of Lucy. The theme was a sad one. Since the day of the
_fete_ she had never been well. There was a colour in her cheek and a
brightness in her eye, which alarmed her aunt. She communicated her
fears to Mabel.
"But dear Lucy does not consider that she is in any danger, or she would
not urge my uncle to have the ball next week."
"Perhaps your aunt is unduly alarmed," said Harry, "Lucy seems in such
spirits that I cannot suppose there is any danger. I was in a great
fright at first, thinking that Lady Tryon would insist on going to
London before the ball, but I am thankful to say she consents to stay
till it is over. There is only one thing I don't like in these balls.
I say, Mabel, you must not let those French officers flirt too much with
you. They are marquises and barons, to be sure; but after all, except
their pay, they have nothing to bless themselves with. Somehow or
other, I never can like a foreigner as much as an Englishman."
"That is rather hard upon papa," said Mabel, looking up. "You know his
mother was a foreigner. Did you not know that she was French?
Grandpapa married, when he was a very young man, just as he was a
lieutenant, a French lady. She, too, was very young and very pretty."
"That I am sure she must have been," said Harry, looking up at Mabel.
"The story is a very sad one. Poor mamma died, I believe, when I was
born, and grandpapa had just time to carry away his boy to England, and
to place me with Aunt Ann, when he was obliged to go to sea. The little
I know of the early history of our family I have learnt from Aunt Ann."
They were nearing the shore when they heard a voice hailing them from
the spot from which they set out. They soon reached a landing-place. A
fine officer-like looking man was standing near it. Mabel sprang out
and threw herself into his arms.
"Oh! papa, you have come back without giving us warning. Oh! dear, dear
papa, how happy you have made me!"
Captain Digby Everard returned his daughter's embrace. He looked
inquiringly at Harry, whom he did not recognise.
"This is Harry Tryon," she said. "You remember him as a boy; but he has
grown a good deal since then." The Captain smiled.
"I am very happy to renew my acquaintance with him," he said, holding
out his hand, "and I am glad to see so accomplished an oarsman: it is a
pity that he has not been bred to the sea. However, perhaps it is not
too late. Lord Cochrane did not go afloat till he was as old as Harry
is, and he has already made a name for himself."
The Captain and his daughter walked on towards the house, she leaning on
his arm, and looking up, ever and anon, into his face as he spoke
affectionately to her.
Harry, thinking that the Captain might consider him intrusive, made his
adieus to Mabel and her father.
"Aunt Ann will want you to help her in preparing for the entertainment,"
said Mabel, as she shook hands with him.
"And I should be happy to become better acquainted with you," added the
Captain, warmly shaking him by the hand.
Harry was becoming very popular in the neighbourhood: a good-looking
young man, with apparently ample means, is certain to be so, if he is
tolerably well behaved in other respects. People do not pry too closely
into the character of youths of good fortune. Harry, however, was
unexceptionable. The banker and some of the tradesmen of Lynderton
might have had their suspicions that Lady Tryon would not "cut up" as
well as was expected; but as they had had no quarrel with her grandson,
they did not allow this idea to go forth to his detriment. Harry,
therefore, dined as frequently out as at home. Indeed, the attractions
of Ayleston Hall were not very great, to his taste.
One day, however, she insisted upon his remaining and taking a
_tete-a-tete_ dinner with her. Her eyes were weak, and she wanted him
to read to her afterwards a new tale by Miss Burney. To that he had no
objection. It was very romantic, and suited his humour.
"Well, Harry, you must make your fortune some day by a wife," said the
worldly old lady, "and really if you succeed with that pretty girl,
Mabel Everard, you will do well. Under some circumstances I might not
have encouraged it; but as it is, I have an idea: you know Lucy's mother
died of consumption, and if Lucy dies the Captain becomes his uncle's
heir."
"But my mother died of consumption," answered Harry, who hated the
thought of being mercenary; "I hope Lucy may live, and that I may have
the means of making a fortune to support a wife whenever I marry."
"Silly boy, fortunes are not so easily made," said the old lady, in a
voice which sounded somewhat harsh to Harry's ear. "If you don't marry
a fortune, there will probably be poverty and beggary in store for you.
They are the most dreadful things in my opinion in this life. Be a wise
lad, Harry, and try and win Mabel. You don't mean to say, boy, that you
have no wish to marry her?"
Harry hesitated to acknowledge his love to his grandmother. The old
lady's manner did not encourage confidence. Instinctively he mistrusted
her. The old lady eyed him narrowly.
"Take my advice, and be attentive to the girl. If you follow it I shall
be well pleased; if not, I shall act accordingly. Or perhaps when you
go to London you would like to be introduced to your cousins, the
Coppinger girls. There are a good many of them, I believe, but I have
kept up no intercourse for some years past with my worthy brother
Stephen. Indeed, he and I have different notions on most subjects.
However, if there is anything to be gained, I should have no objection
to call on my nieces. He is very rich, I am told, and will probably
divide his fortune between them. Still, though our family is a good
one, as he has always lived in the city, a daughter of his cannot bring
you the county influence and credit which you would derive from such a
girl as Mabel Everard."
Harry seldom acted the hypocrite. He did so, however, on this occasion.
He should be very happy to become acquainted with his fair cousins, and
he did not for a moment deny the attractions of Mabel Everard, or the
advantages which might accrue, should he be fortunate enough to win her
hand.
The old lady, with all her acuteness, did not quite understand her
grandson. On this occasion, however, she read his mind better than
usual. Had he been perfectly frank she might have doubted him, but now
that he attempted to compete with her in hypocrisy, she read him through
and through.
"Why the lad thinks of marrying that little girl," she thought to
herself, "and unless her father should marry again, she will be one of
the chief heiresses of the county, should her cousin die."
The intended ball was to be the largest which had yet taken place at
Stanmore, and Lucy especially wished for it. It was her birthday, and
the Colonel could deny her nothing. Besides, Captain Everard had come
home, and it would help to do him honour. Not only was all the
neighbourhood asked, but people from all parts of the county. The house
was to be full. As it was originally a hunting lodge, the outbuildings
were very extensive, and could hold all the carriages and horses of the
numerous guests. People do not mind packing tolerably close on such
occasions. There was a long range of rooms in one of the wings for
bachelors, and another similar range where a vast number of young ladies
could be put up, with their attendant waiting-maidens. The new
dining-hall, in which the dancing was to take place, was very extensive.
It was to be ornamented with wreaths of flowers, and numerous bracket
lights on the walls. The chandeliers were looked upon as wonderful
specimens of art, though greatly surpassed by those of later years. A
considerable number of guests who came from a distance arrived the day
before. Lucy and Mabel had exerted themselves, especially in preparing
the wreaths, and running about the house all the day assisting their
aunt. Harry, of course, had been summoned over to help, and so had the
Baron de Ruvigny.
Harry had got over his jealousy of the young Frenchman, with regard to
Mabel. He saw, indeed, that the Baron's attentions were devoted
exclusively to Lucy. He was certainly in love with her; of that there
appeared no doubt.
The Colonel invited Harry to stop to dinner. It was more hurried than
usual, because Lucy insisted that they should have dancing after it, to
practise for the next day. Those were primitive days. Lynderton
boasted of but one public conveyance, denominated the Fly, though it
seldom moved out of a snail's pace, except when the driver was somewhat
tipsy, and hurrying back to obtain a second fare. Harry had been sent
round a short time before dinner to invite several maiden ladies, with
one or two other dames who were not able to attend the ball the
following day, while three or four of the foreign officers had received
an intimation that they would be welcome.
Dinner over, and the tables cleared away, the gay young party began
tripping it merrily to the music of harpsichord, violin, and flageolet,
played by the foreign officers. Lucy appeared in excellent health and
spirits, in spite of the fatigue she had gone through in the morning.
No one danced more eagerly or lightly after the first country dance.
She and the young Baron stood up to perform their proposed minuet: every
one remarked how lovely she looked, and how gracefully she moved.
People forgot to watch the slides and bows of the young Frenchman; at
least, some of the guests did, though he was rewarded for his exertions
by the evident admiration of several of the young ladies.
"That young Tryon, who is dancing with Mabel Everard, considering he is
an Englishman, acquits himself very well indeed," observed the Dowager
Countess of Polehampton, eyeing the young couple through her glass. "If
any creature could make a man dance, Mabel Everard would do so. Do you
admire her or her cousin most?"
"Really, your ladyship, they are both fine girls; it is difficult to
decide between them," answered Sir John Frodsham, an old beau who
faithfully danced attendance on the Countess. "If I were a young man I
might be called upon to decide the question, and then I should certainly
have voted in favour of the heiress; but now Lady Frodsham puts that out
of my power."
"Oh, fie! Sir John, you men are all the same, money carries off the
palm with young and old alike."
Harry meantime was enjoying his dance with Mabel, caring very little
what the Countess of Polehampton or Sir John Frodsham might say of him.
During that evening more than one could not help remarking the rich
colour and the sparkling eyes of the heiress of Stanmore. Never had she
looked so lovely; indeed, generally she carried off the palm from her
cousin. The dance continued, the amateur musicians exerting themselves
to the utmost; and everybody declared that if the present impromptu
little party went off so well, that of the next day must be a great
success. The Colonel was seated at the end of the room, paying
attention to his more elderly guests, and occasionally saying a pleasant
word or two to the young ones. Madam Everard kept moving about and
acting the part of an attentive hostess. Frequently her nieces assisted
her, when not actually engaged in dancing. There was a question to be
decided as to what dance should next take place.
"Where is Lucy?" exclaimed Madam Everard, looking round. Lucy had left
the room; some minutes passed, and she did not return. Madam Everard
became anxious. Mabel was again dancing, or she would have sent her to
look for her cousin. Madam Everard hastened from the ball-room; she
went up-stairs, and met a servant by the way.
"Miss Everard went up into her room some time ago."
Madam Everard hastened forward, telling the maid to follow.
The door was slightly open. There was no sound in the room--a lamp
burned on the table; Madam Everard's heart sank with dread. She looked
round. Stretched on the floor lay her beloved niece in her gay ball
dress, her countenance like marble, and blood flowing from her lips!
"She breathes, she breathes!" she said; and she and the maid lifted her
on to the bed.
She had broken a blood-vessel. Madam Everard knew that at a glance:
Lucy's mother had done the same.
"Dr. Jessop must be sent for immediately;" but Madam Everard did not
wish to give the alarm to the rest of the guests. She would let the
visitors depart, and allow those who were to remain in the house to go
to their rooms before the sad intelligence was conveyed to them. She
did all that could be done, and applied such restoratives as she
believed would be effectual.
Immediately Paul Gauntlett threw himself on horseback, and galloped off
to fetch Dr. Jessop. He would not even stop to put a saddle on the
horse's back, and would have gone off with the halter.
Meantime Lucy returned to consciousness, and declared that she did not
feel ill, only somewhat tired, and would like to go to sleep. The
guests shortly began to take their departure. The maid-servants of the
maiden ladies came with their pattens and hoods, and big cloaks, some
with huge umbrellas in addition. There were footmen and footboys also,
with many-coloured liveries, carrying huge stable lanterns to light
their mistresses. They were generally employed in the service of the
dowagers. The Fly was in requisition, but only for a select few.
As the guests came down-stairs, the foreign officers stood in the hall,
occasionally making themselves useful, by assisting to put on the
ladies' hoods, cloaks, or shawls.
The young Baron de Ruvigny alone lingered. He had seen Lucy leave the
room, and he became anxious, finding that she did not return. He asked
the Colonel where she was. Just then a maid-servant came down with a
message from Madam Everard, requesting Colonel Everard to come to his
daughter's room.
"What is the matter?" asked the young Baron of the servant, as the
Colonel hurried off.
"Our mistress is very ill, very ill indeed, and I fear there's no hope
of her recovery," answered the girl.
The young Baron entreated that he might be allowed to remain till the
doctor had seen her.
Paul had found Dr. Jessop at home. He accompanied him back at full
speed. He looked very grave after he had seen Miss Lucy.
"I should like my friend Dr. Musgrave to see her. If the skill of any
man can avail, I am sure that his will, but it would take two days to
get him down here, and this is a case demanding immediate remedies."
Paul Gauntlett had come in with the doctor, and was waiting outside Miss
Lucy's room to hear his opinion.
"I will do it, sir!" he exclaimed, "if you will tell me where Dr.
Musgrave is to be found; I will be off and bring him down as soon as
possible."
"Stay, friend," said Dr. Jessop; "while you are taking some refreshment
and getting your horse ready, I will write out a state of the case, and
if Dr. Musgrave cannot come he will send by you such remedies as he may
consider efficacious."
Paul scarcely liked the delay. He would have started on the back of the
first horse he could lead out of the stable without thinking of food for
himself. Within ten minutes he was galloping along through the forest.
He could get to Redbridge, and Southampton, and so on to Winchester
before daybreak. He could there get a fresh horse. He would distance
any post-chaise; he was sure of that. He had left orders to have a
fresh horse brought on for him to Southampton. He resolved not to waste
a moment till he had brought the remedy for his dear Miss Lucy. His
horse carried him nobly; he seemed to be aware that it was a matter of
life and death. Paul had been with his master in London on several
occasions. He knew the road, and being an old campaigner, without
difficulty found his way to the doctor's house. The doctor was out
visiting patients. Paul fretted and fumed more than he had ever done in
his life before. The servant was disposed to shut the door in his face,
and send him to an inn.
"That will not do, master," said Paul; "I must wait here till the doctor
comes back, and you must put up my horse, and rub him down, and feed him
well. It's a matter of life and death;" and Paul expatiated on the
youth and beauty and gentle disposition of his young mistress, till the
tears rolled down his cheek, and he almost made the doctor's somewhat
morose butler weep with him.
"Oh, sir, sir, can you save her?" he exclaimed, handing Dr. Jessop's
note to Dr. Musgrave, when he came back. "It's impossible that so young
and sweet a creature as Miss Lucy should be allowed to die. It cannot
be, sir; it cannot be; it would break the Colonel's heart, and mine,
too."