"He said plainly that in spite of the public opinion expressed so
loudly in recent elections, Reform would have no sanction from the
Government. I only stayed until the end of the royal speech. Yet in
some way rumours of its purport must have reached the street. In the
neighbourhood, there was much agitation, and even anger."
Then Kate slipped away from the excited throng. Piers had evidently
remained for the discussion on the King's speech; and it might be
midnight when the House adjourned. The winter day was fast darkening;
she ordered her chairmen, and the pretty sedan was brought into the
vestibule for her. She had no fear, though the very gloom and silence of
the waiting crowd was more indicative of danger than noise or threats
would have been. When she reached Hyde Park corner, however, angry faces
pressed around a little too close, and she was alarmed. Then she threw
back her hood and looked out calmly at the crowd, and immediately a
clear voice cried out, "It is Edgar Atheling's sister! Take good care
of her!" And there was a cheer and a cry, and about twenty men closed
round the chair, and saw it safely to its destination.
Then Cecil North stepped to the door and opened it. "I knew it was you,
Mr. North!" cried Kate. "I knew your voice. How kind of you to come
all the way with me! How glad mother will be to see you!"
"I cannot wait a moment, Miss Atheling. Can you give me any news?"
"Yes. The King says the Government will not sanction Reform."
"Who told you this?"
"The Duke of Richmoor--not an hour ago."
"Then 'good-night.' I am afraid there will be trouble."
Mrs. Atheling and Kate were afraid also. The murmur of the crowd grew
louder and louder as the tenor of the King's speech became known; and
many a time they wished themselves in the safety and solitude of their
Yorkshire home. So they talked, and watched, and listened until the
night was far advanced. Then they heard the firm, strong step of the
Squire on the pavement; and his imperative voice in denial of something
said by a group of men whom he passed. In a few minutes he entered the
drawing-room with an angry light in his eyes, and the manner of a man
exasperated by opposition.
"Whatever is it, John? Is there trouble already?" asked Mrs. Atheling.
[Illustration:]
"Plenty of it, and like to be more. The King has spoken like a fool."
"John Atheling! His Majesty!"
"His Imbecility! I tell you what, Maude, there has been enough said
to-day, and to-night, to set all the dogs of civil war loose. Give me a
bit of eating, and I will tell thee and Kitty what a lot of idiots are
met together in Westminster."
The Squire always wanted a deal of waiting upon; and in a few minutes
his valet was bringing him easy slippers and a loose coat, and two
handmaidens serving a tray, bearing game pastry, and fruit tarts, and
clotted cream. But he would take neither wine, nor strong ale,--
"Water is all a man wants that gets himself stirred up in the House of
Commons," he said. "And if I had been in the Lords' House, I would
have needed nothing but a strait-jacket."
He had hardly sat down to eat, when Piers Exham came in. No one could
have been more welcome, and the young man's troubled face brightened
in the sunshine of Kate's smile, and in the honest kindness of the
Squire's greeting. "I was just going to tell Mrs. Atheling all I knew
about to-night's blundering," he said; "but now we will have your
report first, for you have seen the Duke, I'll warrant."
"Indeed, Squire, the Duke is not dissatisfied--though the general
opinion is, that the Duke of Wellington has committed an egregious
mistake."
"I shouldn't wonder. Wellington does not know the difference between
a field-marshal and a Cabinet Minister. What did he say?"
"He said that as long as he held any office in the Government, he would
resist Reform. He said there was no need of Reform; that we had the best
government in the world. The Duke of Devonshire, whom I have just seen,
told me that this statement produced a feeling of the utmost dismay, even
in the calm atmosphere of the House of Lords."
"Calm!" interrupted the Squire. "You had better say, Incurable
prosiness."
"Wellington noticed the suppressed excitement, the murmur, and the
movement, and asked Devonshire in a whisper, 'What can I have said to
cause such great disturbance?' And Devonshire shrugged his shoulders
and answered candidly, 'You have announced the fall of your government,
that is all.'"
"Wellington considers the nation as a mutinous regiment," answered the
Squire. "He thinks the arguments for Reformers ought to be cannon balls;
but Englishmen will not endure a military government."
"It would be better than a mob government, Squire. Remember France."
"Englishmen are not Frenchmen," said Kate. "You ought to remember
_that_, Piers. Englishmen are the most fair, just, reasonable, brave,
loyal, honourable people on the face of the earth!"
"Well done, Kitty!" cried the Squire. "It takes a little lass like
thee to find adjectives plenty enough, and good enough, for thy own. My
word! I wish thou couldst tell the Duke of Wellington what thou thinkest
of his fellow-citizens. He would happen trust them more, and treat them
better."
"There is Mr. Peel too," she continued. "Both he and the Duke of
Wellington are always down on the people. And yet the Duke has led these
same people from one victory to another; and Mr. Peel is one of the
people. His father was a day-labourer, and he ought to be proud of it;
William Cobbett is, and William Cobbett is a greater man than Robert
Peel."
"Now then, Kitty, that is far enough; for thou art wrong already.
Cobbett isn't a greater man than Peel; he isn't a great man at all,
he is only a clever man. But the man for my money is Henry Brougham. He
drives the world before him. He is a multitude. He had just one idea
to-day,--Reform and again Reform. He played that tune finely to the
House, and they danced to it like a miracle. Much good it will do them!"
"He was scarcely decent," said Piers. "He gave notice, as you must
have heard, in the most aggressive manner that he should bring 'Reform'
to an immediate issue."
"Yes," answered the Squire. "There is doubtless a big battle before
us. But, mark my words, it will not be with Wellington and Peel. They
signed their own resignation this afternoon."
"That is what my father thinks," said Piers.
"If Wellington could only have held his tongue!" said the Squire,
bitterly.
"And if Daniel O'Connell would only cease making fun of the
Government."
"That man! He is nobody!"
"You mistake, Squire. His buffoonery is fatal to our party. I tell
you that Ridicule is the lightning that kills. Has not Aristophanes
tossed his enemies for the scorn and laughter of a thousand cities for a
thousand years? I fear O'Connell's satire and joking, far more than
I fear Grey's statesmanship, or Durham's popularity."
Then Piers turned to Kate, and asked if she had seen the royal
procession. And she told him about her visit, and about Mr. North's
interference for her safety, and his escort of her home. Piers was
much annoyed at this incident. He begged her not to venture into the
streets until public feeling had abated, or was controlled, and
asked with singular petulance, "Who is this Mr. North? He plays the
mysterious Knight very well. He interferes too much."
"I was grateful for his interference."
"Why did you not remain at Richmoor until I returned? I expected it,
Kate."
"I was afraid; and I knew my mother would be anxious--and I felt so
sad among strangers. You know, Piers, I have always lived among my own
people--among those who loved me."
This little bit of conversation had taken place while the tray was
being removed, and the Squire and Mrs. Atheling were talking about
the engagements for the next day, so that definite orders might be
given concerning the carriage and horses. The movements of the servants
had enabled Piers and Kate, quite naturally, to withdraw a little
from the fireside group; and when Kate made her tender assertion,
about living with those who loved her, Piers's heart was full to
overflowing. This girl of sweet nature, with her innocent beauty and
ingenuous expressions, possessed his noblest feelings. He clasped her
hands in his, and said,--
"Oh, Kate! I loved you when you were only twelve years old; I love you
now beyond all measure of words. And you love me? Speak, Dear One!"
"I love none but thee!"
The next moment she was standing before her father and mother. Piers held
her hand. He was talking to them in low but eager tones, yet she did not
realise a word, until he said,--
"Give her to me, my friends. We have loved each other for many years.
We shall love each other for ever. She is the wife of my soul. Without
her, I can only half live." Then bending to Kate, he asked her fondly,
"Do you love me, Kate? Do you love me? Ask your heart about it. Tell us
truly, do you love me?"
Then she lifted her sweet eyes to her lover, her father, and her mother,
and answered, "I love Piers with all my heart."
The Squire was much troubled and affected. "This is taking a bit of
advantage, Piers," he said. "There is a time for everything, and this
is not my time for giving my little girl away."
"Speak for us, Mrs. Atheling," said Piers.
"Nay, I think the Squire is quite right," she replied. "Love isn't
worth much if Duty does not stand with it."
"And there is far more, Piers," continued the Squire, "in such a
marriage as you propose than a girl's and a lover's 'yes.' When
the country has settled a bit, we will talk about love and wedding. I
can't say more for my life, can I, Mother?"
"It is enough," answered Mrs. Atheling. "Why, we might have a civil
war, and what not! To choose a proper mate is good enough; but it is
quite as important to choose a proper time for mating. Now then, this is
not a proper time, when everything is at ups-and-downs, and this way and
that way, and great public events, that no one can foretell, crowding
one on the neck of the other. Let things be as they are, children. If
you only knew it, you are in the Maytime of your lives. I wouldn't
hurry it over, if I was you. It won't come back again."
Then Kate kissed her father, and her mother, and her lover; and Piers
kissed Kate, and Mrs. Atheling, and put his hand into the Squire's
hand; and the solemn joy of betrothal was there, though it was not openly
admitted.
In truth the Squire was much troubled at events coming to any climax.
He would not suffer his daughter to enter into an engagement not openly
acknowledged and approved by both families; and yet he was aware that
at the present time the Duke would consider any subject--not public or
political--as an interruption, perhaps as an intrusion. Besides which,
the Squire's own sense of honour and personal pride made him averse
to force an affair so manifestly to the preferment of his daughter.
It looked like taking advantage of circumstances--of presuming upon a
kindness; in fact, the more Squire Atheling thought of the alliance, the
less he was disposed to sanction it. Under no circumstances, could he
give Kate such a fortune as the heir of a great Dukedom had a right to
expect. She must enter the Richmoor family at a disadvantage--perhaps
even on sufferance.
"No! by the Lord Harry, no!" he exclaimed. "I'll have none of the
Duke's toleration on any matter. I am sorry I took his seat. I wish
Edgar was here--he ought to be here, looking after his mother and
sister, instead of setting up rogues on Glasgow Green against their
King and Country! Of course, there is Love to reckon with, and Love does
wonders--but it is money that makes marriage."
With such reflections, and many others growing out of them, the Squire
hardened his heart, and strengthened his personal sense of dignity, until
he almost taught himself to believe the Duke had already wounded it. In
this temper he was quite inclined to severely blame his wife for not
"putting a stop to the nonsense when it first began."
"John," she answered, "we are both of a piece in that respect."
"On my honour, Mother."
"Don't say it, John. You used to laugh at the little lass going off
with Edgar and Piers fishing. You used to tease her about the gold brooch
Piers gave her. Many a time you have called her to me, 'the little
Duchess.'"
"Wilt thou be quiet?"
"I am only reminding thee."
"Thou needest not. I wish thou wouldst remind thy son that he has a
sister that he might look after a bit."
"I can look after Kate without his help. He is doing far better business
than hanging around Dukes."
"If thou wantest a quarrel this morning, Maude, I'm willing to give
thee one. I say, Edgar ought to be here."
"What for? He is doing work that we will all be proud enough of some
day. Thou oughtest to be helping him, instead of abusing him. I want thee
to open this morning's _Times_, and read the speech he made in Glasgow
City Hall. Thou couldst not have made such a speech to save thy life."
"Say, I _would not_ have made it, and then thou wilt say the very
truth."
"Read it."
"Not I."
"Thou darest not. Thou knowest it would make thee turn round and vote
with the Reformers."
"Roast the Reformers! I wish I could! I would not have believed thou
couldst have said such a thing, Maude. How darest thou even think of thy
husband as a turncoat? Why, in politics, it is the unpardonable sin."
"It is nothing of the kind. Not it! It is far worse to stick to a sin,
than to turn from it. If I was the biggest of living Tories, and I found
out I was wrong, I would stand up before all England and turn my coat in
the sight of everybody. I would that. When I read thy name against Mr.
Brougham bringing up Reform, I'll swear I could have cried for it!"
"I wouldn't wonder. All the fools are not dead yet. But I hear Kitty
and her lover coming. I wonder what they are talking and laughing about?"
"Thou hadst better not ask them. I'll warrant, Piers is telling her
the same sort of nonsense, thou usedst to tell me; and they will both
of them, believe it, no doubt."
At these words Piers and Kate entered the room together. They were
going for a gallop in the Park; and they looked so handsome, and so
happy, that neither the Squire nor Mrs. Atheling could say a word to
dash their pleasure. The Squire, indeed, reminded Piers that the House
met at two o'clock; and Piers asked blankly, like a man who neither
knew, nor cared anything about the House, "Does it?" With the words on
his lips, he turned to Kate, and smiling said, "Let us make haste, my
dear. The morning is too fine to lose." And hand in hand, they said
a hasty, joyful "good-bye" and disappeared. The father and mother
watched them down the street until they were out of sight. As they
turned away from the window, their eyes met, and Mrs. Atheling smiled.
The Squire looked abashed and disconcerted.
"Why didst not thou put a stop to such nonsense, John?" she asked.
Fortunately at this moment a servant entered to tell the Squire his horse
was waiting, and this interruption, and a rather effusive parting, let
him handsomely out of an embarrassing answer.
Then Mrs. Atheling wrote a long letter to her son, and looked after the
ways of her household, and knit a few rounds on her husband's hunting
stocking, and as she did so thought of Kate's future, and got tired
of trying to settle it, and so left it, as a scholar leaves a difficult
problem, for the Master to solve. And when she had reached this point
Kate came into the room. She had removed her habit, and the joyous look
which had been so remarkable two hours before was all gone. The girl
was dashed and weary, and her mother asked her anxiously, "If she was
sick?"
"No," she answered; "but I have been annoyed, and my heart is heavy,
and I am tired."
"Who or what annoyed you, child?"
"I will tell you. Piers and I had a glorious ride, and were coming
slowly home, when suddenly the Richmoor liveries came in sight. I saw
the instant change on Piers's face, and I saw Annabel slightly push the
Duchess and say something. And the Duchess drew her brows together as
we passed each other, and though she bowed, I could see that she was
angry and astonished. As for Annabel, she laughed a little, scornful
laugh, and threw me a few words which I could not catch. It was a most
unpleasant meeting; after it Piers was very silent. I felt as if I had
done something wrong, and yet I was indignant at myself for the feeling."
"What did Piers say?"
"He said nothing that pleased me. He fastened his eyes on Annabel,--who
was marvellously dressed in rose-coloured velvet and minever,--and she
clapped her small hands together and nodded to him in a familiar way,
and, bending slightly forward, passed on. And after that he did not talk
much. All his love-making was over, and I thought he was glad when we
reached home. I think Annabel will certainly take my lover from me."
"You mean that she has made up her mind to be Duchess of Richmoor?"
"Yes."
"Well, my dear Kate, a beautiful woman is strong, and money is stronger;
but _True Love conquers all_."