Annabel had a very good night. Her conscience was an indulgent one,
and she easily satisfied its complaining. "It was after all only a
joke," she said. "In the morning I can restore the ring. The Duke
will have a good laugh at his son's discomfiture, and will praise my
cleverness. The Duchess will either knit her brows, or else take it
merrily; and Piers will owe me a forfeit, and that will be the end of
the affair. What is there to make a fuss over?" Annabel's conscience
thought, in such case, there was nothing to fuss about; and it let her
sleep comfortably on the prevaricating promise.
She considered the matter over as she was dressing. She had slept
well, was refreshed and full of life, and therefore full of selfish
wilfulness:--
"I will restore the ring to Piers." She said this to please one side
of her nature.
"I will not restore the ring." She said this to please the other
side. "As a thing of worth, it is by no means costly. I will give Kate
Atheling a ring of twice its value. As a thing of power it is mine,
the spoil of my will and my skill; and I will not part with it." Still
she kept the first decision in reserve; she promised herself to be
influenced by the circumstances which the affair induced.
But the way out of temptation is always very difficult, and circumstances
are rarely favourable to it. They were not in this case. Before
Annabel was dressed she received a message that overthrew all her
intentions. The Duchess was going to breakfast in her own parlour, and
she desired Annabel's company at the meal. The desires of the Duchess
were commands, and the young lady reluctantly obeyed them; for she
anticipated the reproof that came, as soon as they were alone, regarding
her attitude towards Cecil North.
"It will not do, Annabel," said the Duchess, severely. "The Norths
are a fine family, but poor, even in the elder branches. This young man
can look forward to nothing better than some diplomatic or military
appointment, and that in an Indian Presidency."
"What could be better?" asked Annabel, with an affectation of delight.
"An Indian Court is a court. It has the splendour, the ceremony, the
very air of royalty."
"But with your fortune--"
"I assure you, Duchess, any man who marries me will need all my fortune.
He will in fact deserve it. You know that I am _not_ amiable, and that I
_am_ extravagant and luxurious."
"But you may avoid such a foolish, unwomanly thing as flirtation, even
if you are not amiable. It seems to me the world has forgotten how to be
amiable. This morning, the Duke is touchy and disagreeable; and Piers
has not come to ask after my health, though it is his usual custom when I
remain in my room. He angered the Duke also last night."
"Did you see him last night?" asked Annabel, with an air of
indifference.
"The Duke did. Piers seems to have behaved in an absurd way about a
ring he has lost. The Duke says, he turned his room topsy-turvy, and
went on as if he had lost his whole estate."
"Was it the ring with the ducal arms that he always wears?"
"No, indeed! Only a simple band of sapphires, or some other stone. The
Duke thinks it must have been the gift of some woman. Were you the donor,
Annabel?"
"I! I should think not! I do not give rings away. I prefer to receive
them. He wore no sapphire band yesterday when he and I went to the
Athelings--" and she looked the rest of the query, over her coffee-cup,
straight into the eyes of the Duchess.
"What is it you mean to ask, Annabel?"
"Do you think that Miss Atheling--"
[Illustration:]
"Miss Atheling! That girl! What an absurd idea! Why should she give Lord
Exham a ring?"
"_Why!_ There are so many '_whys_' that nobody can answer." And
with this remark, Annabel felt that her opportunity for confession
had quite lapsed. For if the Duchess had thought it right to reprove
her for such freedom as she had shown towards Cecil North, what would
she say about an act so daring, so really improper in a social sense, as
the removal of a ring from her son's hand? Annabel had no mind to
bring on herself the disagreeable looks and words she merited. She gave
the conversation the political turn that answered all purposes, by
asking the Duchess if she was not afraid Piers's principles might be
influenced by his friendship with young Atheling. "They were David
and Jonathan yesterday," she said; "and as for Cecil North, he is a
Radical of the first water."
"Lord Exham is not so easily persuaded," answered the Duchess, loftily.
"He could as readily change his nose as his principles. But I am
seriously annoyed at this intercourse with a family distinctly out of our
own caste. The Duke has been very foolish to encourage it."
"You have also encouraged Miss Atheling."
"I have been too good-natured. I admit that. But as I have promised to
present her, I must honourably keep my word; that is, if any opportunity
offers. It now appears as if there would be no court functions. The King
declined the Lord Mayor's feast,--a most unprecedented thing,--and
it is said the Queen is averse to receive while the Reform agitation
continues. When it will end, nobody knows."
"It will end when it succeeds, not before," said Annabel. "I am only
a woman, but I see that conclusion very clearly." It gave her pleasure
to make this statement. It was her way of returning to the Duchess the
disagreeable words she had been obliged to take from her; and she was
not at all dismayed by the look of anger she provoked.
"I am astonished at you, Annabel. Are you also in danger of changing
your opinions?"
"I am astonished at myself, Duchess. My opinions are movable; but I have
not yet changed them. Truth, however, belongs to all sides, and I cannot
avoid seeing things as they are."
"That is, as young Atheling and Cecil North show them to you."
"Lord Exham has still more frequent opportunities of showing me the
course of events. I have 'influences' on both sides, you see, Duchess;
but, after all, I form my own opinions."
"Reform will never be accomplished. The people must follow the nobles,
as surely as the thread follows the needle."
"I have ceased to prophesy. Anything can happen in a long enough time;
and I often heard my father say that, 'They who _care_ and _dare_
may do as they like.' I think the Reform party both '_care_' and
'_dare_.'"
"Have you fallen in love with Cecil North, or with Mr. Atheling?"
"I am in love with Annabel Vyner. I worship none of the idols that have
been set up, either by Tories or Reformers. Men who talk politics are
immensely stupid. I shall marry a man who is a good fighter. Mere talkers
are like barking dogs. Why don't these Reformers stop whimpering, and
fly like a bull dog at the throat of their wrongs? Then I should go
with them, heart and soul and purse."
"You are talking now for talking's sake, Annabel. You are actually
advocating civil war."
"Am I really? Well, war is man's natural condition. It takes churches,
and priests, and standing armies, and constables always on hand, to
keep peace in any sort of fashion. We are all barbarians under our
clothes,--just civilised on the top."
"Such assertions are odious, and you cannot prove them."
"I can. The other evening I was reading to Lord Tatham a most exquisite
poem by that young man Tennyson; and he seemed to be enjoying it,
until Algernon Sydney showed him his watch, and said something about
'the Black Boy.' Then his face fairly glowed, and he went off with a
compliment that meant nothing. The next morning I found out 'the
Black Boy' was a famous pugilist. We are all of us, in some way or
other, in this mixed condition."
"I think you are particularly disagreeable this morning, Miss."
"Pardon, Duchess. We have fallen on a disagreeable subject. Let us
change it. Are we to drive to Richmond to-day?"
"If Piers will accompany us. Ay! that is his knock." She turned a
radiant face to meet her son, but received a sudden chill. Piers was
pale and sombre-looking; he said he had not slept, and politely declined
the Richmond excursion. Annabel was sure he would. "He will have an
explanation at the Athelings instead," she thought; and she waited
curiously for some remark which might open the way for her confession--or
else close it. But Lord Exham did not allude to his loss, and the
Duchess either attached no importance to the subject, or else thought it
too important to bring forward. The tone of the room was not brightened
by the young lord's advent, and Annabel quickly excused herself from
further attendance.
"He will tell his mother when I am not there; and I shall get his
opinions, with commentaries from her," she thought, as she hurried
to her own rooms. Once there, she dismissed her maid, and sat down
to realise herself. She doubled her little hands, and beat her knees
softly with them. It was her way of summoning her mental forces, and of
collecting vagrant and undecided thought.
"I am just here," she said to her own consciousness. "I have taken a
ring from Lord Exham's finger. What for? Mischief or a joke? Which?
Probably mischief. I wanted to turn it into a joke, and my opportunity is
gone. Not my fault. If the Duchess had been in a good humour, I should
have told her all about it. If Exham's manner had not frozen everything
but the commonplaces of propriety, I would have teased him a little,
and then given up the ring. It is their own fault. If people are cross
at breakfast, they deserve a disagreeable day. I am not sorry to give
them their deserts."
Then she rose and went to her jewel-case, and took the ring out and
put it on her finger. "It is a poor little thing after all," she
said as she turned it round and round. "The stones are not very
fine; I have sapphires of far finer colour. If I give Kate Atheling my
diamond locket, she will have reason to be grateful,--the setting is,
however, really beautiful; that is the point, I suppose. I would like
to have a ring set in the same way; but it would be dangerous--" and
she laughed as if she enjoyed the thought of the danger. She took off
the ring at this point, and looked at it more critically. "What must I
do with the troublesome thing?" she asked herself. "Justine is a
curious, suspicious creature, and when she hears the talk in the
servants' hall, if she got but a glimpse of it, she would put two and
two together." A momentary resolve to throw it into the fire-place of
the Duke's parlour came into her mind. "If it is found there,"
she argued, "the only supposition will be that Piers dropped it on the
hearth. If it is not found, there will be no suppositions at all."
This resolve, however, received no real encouragement. There is a
perverse disposition in human nature to keep with special care things
that incriminate, or which might become sources of suspicion or trouble;
and the ring exercised over the girl this fatal fascination. She closed
her jewel-case deliberately, holding the lid a trifle open for a moment
or two of last consideration; then she dropped it with decision, and
took from her pocket a small purse, made of gold as flexible as leather
or satin. There were a few sovereigns in one compartment, and a Hindoo
charm in another. She put the ring with the charm, and closed the purse
with a smile of satisfaction. For the time being, at any rate, it was
out of her way; and there were yet possibilities of turning the whole
matter into a pleasantry.
"I may even take it to Kate Atheling and tell her to claim my forfeit."
This very improbable solution satisfied Annabel's conscience; she was
at peace after it, and able to consider more personal affairs.
In order to do this under the most favourable conditions, she placed
herself comfortably on her lounge. Her fine, tall form lay at length,
supine and indolent, the feet, in their crimson sandals, crossed at the
ankles. Her dark, powerful head, with its masses of strong, black hair,
looked almost handsome on the pale amber cushions, with the hands and
arms--jewelled though it was only morning--clasped above it. She was
going to examine herself, and she was not one to shirk even the innermost
chamber of her heart.
"First," she thought, "there is Lord Exham. Do I really want to
marry him? Let me be sure of this, and then there is nothing for him
to do, but make out the settlements. He cannot resist my influence
when I choose to exert it. As yet I have not troubled him much; but I
can trouble him--and I will, if I want to. Do I? Be honest, Annabel.
There is no use lying to yourself. Well, then, I want to be Duchess of
Richmoor; but I do _not_ want to be Exham's wife. And if I marry
him, the present Duke may live ten, twenty, even thirty years. I would
not wait for the crown of England thirty years, with a husband I rather
despised; only--only what? I do not want that Atheling girl to marry
him. Jane Warwick, or Helen Percy, or Margaret Gower, I would not
mind--but Kate Atheling! No! Why? I cannot tell." Nor could she. It was
one of those apparently unreasonable dislikes we bring into the world
with us, and which, probably, are the most reasonable dislikes of
all. "Very well, then," she continued, "I will not marry Piers, nor
shall Kate Atheling marry him. That is fair enough. If I manage to
make her give him up, I give him up myself also. I am only doing to
her as I do to myself.
"Now there is Wynn, and Sidmouth, and Russell--and others. Every one of
them have appraised my value, and made inquiries about my wealth. No
one has told me this, but I know it. I know it with that invincible
certainty with which women know things they are never told. Cecil North?
Yes, I like Cecil North. He really fell in love with me,--with _me_,
_myself_. A woman knows; she is never deceived about that unless she
wants to be deceived. He is poor,--the Westovers are all poor,--I do
not care if he is as poor as Job. I am tired to death of rich people.
If Cecil North would get a military commission in India, I could be
his wife. I could follow the drum, or live in quarters with him, and I
should be a better and a happier woman than I am here. This life is
too small for me."
She was right in this estimation of herself. Her nature was one fitted
to respond to great emergencies. She was a woman for frontiers and
forts, for strife with men or elements, for days of danger in the shadow
of suffering or death; and she was living in a society so artificial
that any real cry of nature and needless familiarity, any sign of
genuine passion was startling and distasteful to it. The soldierly
temper inherited from her father demanded an adventurous life, because
people made for overcoming obstacles cannot be morally healthy without
obstacles to overcome. And, therefore, it was a poor life for Annabel
Vyner that offered her no difficulty to surmount but the claims of Kate
Atheling. She was quite aware of this, and the ring in her purse was
no real triumph. It was rather one of those irreparable facts, the
very thought of which gives pain.
If she had been morally stronger, she would have dominated her
environment, and defied the circumstances that so easily prevented
her from doing the right thing. She would have been obedient to Duty;
and that grand, immutable principle would have given her strength to
resist temptation, or, having fallen into it, to make the obvious
reparation; for
"So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,
When Duty whispers low, '_Thou Must_,'
The Soul replies, '_I Can_.'"
This morning, though she was far from diagnosing her feelings correctly,
Annabel soon began to suffer from that nervous and even that physical
fatigue which is bred of moral indifference. For nothing is more certain
than that moral strength is the very _Life_ of life. She yawned; she
felt the hours too long to be endured, while she pictured to herself
the scene in the Atheling parlour, when Piers would confess the loss of
the ring, and Kate lovingly excuse it. Finally, she became nervously
angry at the persistence of the vision. In every possible way she tried
to banish it, but though she fetched memories from farthest India, the
exasperating phantasm would not be driven away.
In reality the affair produced very little apparent effect. Piers made
his confession to Mrs. and Miss Atheling with so much genuine emotion
that they could not but make light of the loss while he was present. Yet
it troubled both women very much. Mrs. Atheling cried over it when she
was alone; and Kate took it as a sign of some untoward event in the
course of love between Piers and herself. No one is able to put aside
such inferences and presentiments; and, quite unconsciously, it worked
towards the end Kate feared. Piers began to fancy--perhaps unjustly--that
he never entered Kate's or Mrs. Atheling's presence without seeing in
their first glance an unspoken inquiry after the lost ring. In some
measure he was to blame, if this was so. He had employed detectives to
watch such servants of the Richmoor household as could have had access
to the Duke's parlour on that unhappy night; and as the ladies were
aware of this movement, it was only natural they should desire to know
if any result came from it.
Of course there was no result; and the real culprit remained absolutely
unsuspected. As the days wore away, her conscience grew accustomed to
the situation; it made no troublesome demands; and Annabel even began to
feel a certain pleasurable excitement in holding in her hands what might
prove to be a power for great good, or great evil,--for she was not yet
ready to admit an entirely evil intention; she chose rather to regard it
as a practical jest which she might undo, or explain, in some future,
favourable hour.
She kept the jewel always in her purse; she went frequently to the
Athelings; and once or twice she had a transitory impulse to tell Kate
the whole circumstance, and be guided by her advice in the matter. But
the Evil One, who had prompted her in the first instance to take it,
always met these intents or impulses with some plausible excuse; and
every good impulse which does not crystallise into a good action, only
tends towards the strengthening of the evil one. Then outside events
made delay more easy. On the fifteenth of November, there was a short,
decided argument in the House of Commons on the Civil List; a division
was promptly taken, and the Government was found to be in a minority
of twenty-nine. The Squire and Lord Exham returned home together, both
very much annoyed at this result.
"All this election business will be to go over again," the Squire
said, wearily. "Wellington and Peel are sure to take this opportunity
to resign."
"Why should they resign, John?" asked Mrs. Atheling.
"Well, Maude," he answered, "they are bound to resign sooner or
later; and I should think, if they have any sense left, they will go
out as champions of the royal prerogative, rather than be driven out by
a Reform division, which is sure to come. They will go out, my word
for it, Maude!"
"And what then, John?"
"Well, then, we shall have all the bother of another election; and
Earl Grey will form a new Ministry, and Lord Brougham will bully the
new Ministry, as he has done the old one, about this Reform Bill. He
intended to have begun that business this very night; but there wasn't
any Ministers, nor any Administration to arraign, and so he said, in
his domineering way, that he would put the question of Reform off until
the twenty-fifth of this month, and not a day longer, no matter what
circumstances prevailed, nor who were His Majesty's Ministers. I can
tell you the city was in a pretty commotion as we came home. We shall
have a Reform Government now, with Earl Grey at the head, and the real
fight will then begin."
"Earl Grey!" said Mrs. Atheling; "that is Edgar's friend."
"Well, I wouldn't brag about it, Mother, if I was thee. I shall have
to go back to Yorkshire, and so will Exham; and there will be no end of
bother, and a Reform Ministry at the end of it. It is too bad! What they
will do with Mr. Brougham, I am sure I don't know. No Ministry can live
without him; and it will be hard work for any Ministry to live with him;
for if he drew up a bill himself, he would find faults in it, and never
rest until he had torn it to pieces."
Piers was sitting in the embrasure of a window, holding Kate's hands,
and talking to her in those low, sweet tones that women love; and at this
remark he rose, and, coming towards the Squire, said with a grave smile,
"For such dilemmas, Squire, there are remedies made and provided. If
it is a clever clergyman who arraigns the church, or his superiors, he
is made a bishop; and thereafter, he sees no faults. If it is a clever
Commoner who arraigns the Government, the Government makes him a peer;
and in the House of Lords, he finds the grace of silence. Earl Grey will
have Mr. Brougham made Lord High Chancellor, and then _Lord_ Brougham
will only have the power to put the question."
Exham's prophecy proved to be correct. Brougham had declared that
under any circumstances he would bring up Reform on the twenty-fifth of
November; but, on the twenty-second of November, he took his seat as
Chancellor in the House of Lords. It was said the Great Seal had been
forced upon him; but the Squire wondered what pressure, never before
known, had been discovered to make Henry Brougham do anything, or take
anything, he did not want to do or take.
However the feat was an accomplished one; and with Earl Gray, Lord
Durham, Sir James Graham, Viscounts Melbourne and Palmerston, and other
great leaders, Brougham kissed the King's hand on his appointment
just three days before his threatened demonstration for Reform. Soon
after Parliament adjourned for the re-election of Members in the Lower
House; and the Duke, with Lord Exham and Squire Atheling, went down
into Yorkshire.
Edgar and Cecil North also disappeared. "They have gone into the
country on business, and I'll tell you what it is, Kitty," said Mrs.
Atheling, with a little happy importance. "A friend of Earl Grey has a
close borough, and Edgar is to have it. I am sure I don't know what
will happen, if he should clash with father in the House. Father cannot
bear contradicting."
"Nothing wrong will happen, Mother."
"To be sure, the floor of the House of Commons is a bit different from
his own hearthstone. When Edgar is a Parliament man, father will give
him his place."
"And Edgar will never forget to give father his place, I am sure of
that."
"I wouldn't stand a minute with him if he did. What a father and son
say to each other in their homestead, is home talk; but Edgar must not
threep his father before strangers. No, indeed!"
"I wouldn't wonder if father comes round a little to Edgar's views.
He listened very patiently to Cecil North, the last time they talked on
politics."
"He _has_ to listen in Parliament, and so he is getting used to
listening. He never listened patiently at home--not even to me. But we
can hope for the best anyhow, Kitty."
"To be sure, Mother. Hoping for the best is far better than looking for
the worst."
"I should think it was. Do you believe Piers will be in London at
Christmas?"
"I fear not. Mother, he is going to send us each a ring at Christmas;
then we will forget the other ring--shall we not?"
"I don't know, Kitty. I think a deal of that other ring. No new one
can make up for it. Why, my dear, your father gave it to me the night I
promised to marry him. We were standing under the big white hawthorn at
Belward. I'll never forget that hour."
"It is so long ago, Mother--you cannot care very much now about it."
"Now, Kitty, if you think only young people can be in love, get that
idea out of your mind at once. You don't know anything about love yet.
After twenty-five years bearing, and forbearing, and childbearing, you
will smile at your gentle-shepherding of to-day. Your love is only a
fancy now, it will be a fact then that has its foundations in your very
life. You do not love Piers Exham, child, as I love your father. You
can't. It isn't to be expected. And it is a good thing, love is so
ordered; for if it did not grow stronger, instead of weaker, marrying
would be a poor way of living."
"That weary ring! I am so sorry that I ever put it on."
"I did not ask you to put it on, Kitty. I did not want you to put it
on."
"Mother, please don't be cross."
"Kitty, don't be unjust; it is not like you."
Then Kitty laid her cheek against her mother's cheek, and said sadly,
"I fear, somehow, that ring will make trouble between Piers and me."
"Nonsense, dearie! The ring is lost and gone. It can't make trouble
now."
"Its loss was a bad omen, Mother."
"There is no omen against true love, Kitty. Love counts every sign a
good sign."
"The Duke was very formal with me at my last visit. The Duchess dislikes
me; and Miss Vyner has so many opportunities; it seems nearly impossible
that Piers should ever marry me."
"If Piers loves you, there is no impossibility. Love works miracles.
You cannot say 'impossible' to Love. Love will find out a way."