"Well, Robert, what is your important business?" demanded Henry
Woodhall, entering his cousin's room with a look of haste and
impatience. "Be quick, for I want to return to the ball."
"The ball will be over before we have done Henry," replied his cousin,
in a grave and emphatic tone; "I have several things to say to you of
importance."
"In the way of homily?" asked Henry Woodhall, laughing; "come, then,
put off your solemnity, Bob, and let us hear what it is."
Thus saying, he threw himself into a chair, and his cousin replied,
"Some things I have to say affect myself alone; some affect you and
me; some affect you only."
"First, second, and to conclude," said the gay young man. "Why, what
is all this? How comes it that my rattle-pated, dissolute,
latitudinarian cousin Robert has, all of a sudden, become
metamorphosed into a parson? Where are your demmes and your zoundses?
Where are your remarkable oaths, and your satin embroidery blasphemy?
Why, Robert, you must be in love, or have taken physic, had the
cholic, or the heartache. They tell me that powdered unicorn's horn is
a sovereign thing for clearing the brain of melancholic humors, and
that a few grains of mummy, taken in goat's whey, will purge the liver
of black bile. Let me commend them to your consideration."
"All very well laughing, Hal," replied Robert; "but this is no
laughing matter, by ----."
"Come, come, there's an oath!" cried his cousin; "the patient is
getting better. Well, if we are not to laugh, what are we to cry
about?"
"About being made fools of by a raw Cambridge student," replied his
cousin, bitterly; "about being cheated, deceived, betrayed--about
having all your father's plans and my mother's overthrown--about your
losing the hand of a rich and beautiful heiress, and my losing my
future wife's heart."
"Well-a-day, well-a-day!" cried Henry Woodhall, "this is a serious
matter. But let us hear the particulars. Imprimis, about your future
wife's heart; by which, I suppose, you mean the heart, or muscular
pin-cushion, of my sister Margaret. But first let me observe, Bob,
before you proceed, that Maggy is not quite certainly your future
wife. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip, Robert; and
that matter is not quite settled yet."
"Quite settled between your father and my mother," replied Robert
Woodhall, "and quite settled as far as I am concerned. With regard to
Margaret, the matter may be different; for I am certain that this
mean, pitiful fellow, Ralph, has been trifling with her affections,
and has won them too."
"Awkward for you!" replied his cousin, "and one reason the more for my
saying this matter is not settled between you and Maggy. I tell you
fairly, Robert, I will have a say in any thing wherein she is
concerned, and you shall not have her hand unless between this and
then you show yourself more worthy of her."
"How will you prevent it?" asked Robert Woodhall, in a sharp, almost
fierce tone.
"By running you through the liver, if need be," replied Henry
Woodhall; "I tell you, Robert, that as you two stand just now, you
with your vices and Ralph with his poverty, I would rather see him
Margaret's husband than you."
Robert Woodhall fixed his eyes full upon his cousin's face, and
contemplated him for a moment or two in silence, while a dark,
malignant smile gradually came upon his lip. "You love hypocrites, I
think, Henry?" he said, at length.
"No. I hate them," replied the other, sharply.
"You can not say that I have any hypocrisy," rejoined his cousin; "all
that I do, be it bad or good, is open, in the face of day. I am frank
and bold at least. But are you sure that this young lad, on whom you
pin your faith, has not learned hypocrisy at Cambridge as well as
Greek and Latin? Are you sure that his heart is not as mercenary as a
money-lender's? that his conduct is not as foul and corrupt as a
street prostitute's? that his hypocrisy is not as great as a
non-juring preacher's?"
"Pooh, pooh!" said Henry Woodhall, "I have known him from infancy: we
have been boys--have grown up men together. We have been like
brothers, and his thoughts are as common to me as to himself."
Still that same dark smile hung upon the lips of Robert Woodhall as he
listened.
There was something triumphant in it, a sort of cool self-confidence,
which conveyed, before he even spoke, the idea that he possessed the
means of overthrowing all the arguments opposed to him in a moment.
"Well," he said, "let us look a little at Mr. Ralph's real conduct,
and see whether it be such as you quite approve. Men have singular
opinions on these subjects. Your own are somewhat curious; and perhaps
you may admire all this. First, taking advantage of your father's
hospitality and kindness, he makes love to Margaret, and wins her
heart; then--"
"Stay, stay!" cried his cousin; "of that we have no proof but your own
jealousy; and, if there be any thing between them, it is more than
probable that they have mutually grown up to love each other, and then
some casual word or accidental circumstance has betrayed the secret of
each breast to the other. I can not blame him, Robert. Margaret is a
little angel, and any man might well love her. But still, I say, we
have no proof of this but your jealousy."
"My jealousy! Henry," replied Robert, with a sneer which he could not
repress, though it injured his own cause; "I have no jealousy, good
cousin. I am not in the predicament. However, even were it so, that is
a matter very easily settled. Ask Margaret herself. Press her closely,
and either by her looks or words you will come at the truth. But, for
the moment, let us suppose that it is so; I would not blame him
either, were there any real love in the case; for, though I do not
know much of the heroic passion, yet I have heard that it sometimes
drives men mad. But if there has been no real love on his part; if he
has been moved only by mercenary motives; if he has been ready at any
moment to sacrifice her when he saw the prospect of greater fortune
than her own; if, the moment he has seen this young Baroness Danvers,
he has cast off all thought of Margaret, and paraded their intimacy
openly, in order that the poor girl might be satisfied at once of his
treachery; if he has pursued Lady Danvers the more eagerly because the
world gave out that you were to have her hand, would you think this
honest, honorable, kind in your generous, excellent cousin Ralph?"
"No, no," replied Henry Woodhall, fiercely, "I should think it base,
pitiful, mean, deserving instant chastisement. As to the matter with
Hortensia Danvers, I care not one straw. Let him win her and wear her
if he will. I never thought of her--never thought of marriage at
all--never shall, probably, till I find my mustachio turning gray, or
have got the gout in my right foot. Then is the time for matrimony and
a warm dressing-gown; but with Margaret he shall not trifle; and, if
he do, he shall answer for it. On this subject I will make full
inquiry from the dear girl herself. I shall know in a moment, for I
have been well accustomed to read her looks. It can not be done
to-night, however, for she has gone to rest. Have you aught else to
say?"
"Nothing that I hold of very much importance," replied Robert; "two
things, however, may as well be mentioned. First, he insulted me
grossly when I was endeavoring to aid your sister after she fainted."
"That is your own affair," cried Henry Woodhall; "you can send him
your cartel, and that is soon settled."
"You are mistaken," replied Robert, somewhat gloomily; "the Duke of
Norfolk has laid me under an obligation to forbear, and given me to
understand that he will have his eye continually upon me."
"Humph!" said Henry Woodhall, with a slight accent of contempt, for,
to say truth, he did not hold his cousin's courage very highly, "What
is number two?"
"It is a mere nothing in my eyes," answered Robert, smarting a little
from his cousin's tone, "and doubtless you will think nothing of it
either; for your sanctified men are abundant in charity to
peccadilloes of the kind--especially when they are committed by
themselves or their near relations. It is only this, that while making
love to Margaret, and doubtless vowing his whole heart to her, he was
amusing himself in another manner with a country girl in the
neighborhood--nay, do not look contemptuous and unbelieving; of this I
have the proof in my own hands. Nay, more, since he has been here--as,
it would seem, the young lady is in a difficult position--he has sent
his own servant over to see her, and bring him news of her estate."
"Why, he has no servant," replied Henry Woodhall. "He went away
without one. That I heard at The Grange, for I thought to offer him my
own lad Brown, that he might appear the better here."
"True--quite true," replied his cousin, with a laugh; "he kept the
matter very quiet; for he would not have his father know of the
politic arrangement. Oh, he is the most frank and candid of men! The
way he managed was this: he made compensation for the sister's ruin by
taking the brother into his high and mighty service. Other potentates
and lordly men have done the same. Then, to conceal the transaction,
he made the lad join him on the road, and uses him now as the
go-between of himself and the sister."
"And can you prove all this?" asked Henry Woodhall, in a grave tone.
"Every word of it, step by step," replied Robert; "but I attach no
importance to it."
"I do," answered Henry, sternly; "I must hear the proofs."
"Good," said Robert; and, rising, he opened the door, exclaiming,
"Roger, see if you can find some servant of the Duke of Norfolk's, and
ask him to come hither for a moment. Any one will do."
He then closed the door, seated himself, and remained silent,
internally enjoying the varied but painful emotions which sent their
traces like cloud-shadows over the face of his nobler cousin. There
was something in the mental torture which he had inflicted that
pleased him well, for Henry had galled him often, and he now had his
revenge.
At length the door of the room opened, and one of the duke's servants
was introduced, with a look of some surprise and curiosity. "You sent
for me, gentlemen," he said; "how can I serve you?"
"I only wish to ask you a question or two." said Robert Woodhall.
"Pray tell me, has my good cousin, Master Ralph Woodhall, a servant
here with him?"
"I think he is absent, sir," replied the man, "on some business of his
master's."
Robert Woodhall smiled, and then asked, "Had he one with him when he
arrived?"
"Oh yes, sir," replied the servant, "a man who calls himself Jack
Tuckett; but he has been away for about a week, I think. I have not
seen him at the third table."
"Thank you, that will do," replied Robert Woodhall. The man departed,
and the young gentleman then called in his own servant Roger. "Now,
Roger," he said, "examine this letter accurately. You admitted that
you read it. Now see if it be the same, in every respect, that you
gave to me about an hour ago."
The man took the letter, opened it deliberately, read it all through,
and then handed it back to his master, saying, "It is the same."
Robert threw it over to his cousin, who read it hastily, and then,
turning sharply to the man, demanded, "How came you by this letter?
Who gave it to you?"
"Tell the truth, I command you, Roger," cried his master; "the plain,
straightforward, unadorned truth."
"Certainly, sir," replied the man; then turning toward Henry, he
added, "Nobody gave it to me; I picked it up."
"That is a lie, Roger," said his master. "I insist on your telling the
truth as you told it to me--about this letter at least. I do not wish
you to compromise others; and whatever you say that may compromise
yourself shall be forgotten, and you forgiven."
"Very well, sir, I close the bargain," replied Roger, with the coolest
impudence. "If the truth must be told, then, I was in the stable-yard
to-night, when I saw Mr. Ralph's servant come in. I was rather anxious
to know where he had been gone so long, and seeing him go away for a
lantern, I thought I might as well investigate whether he had got any
thing particular about his saddle. I could make nothing of that, but I
found that he had thrown his horseman's cloak over the beast's
shoulder, and in the pocket I discovered the old bill I showed you and
that letter, which I perused carefully, and then brought to you. But I
do hope, sir, you will send it to Master Ralph, for I am afraid there
will be a fuss about it."
"We will take care of that, Roger," replied his master. "Have you any
questions to ask him, Henry?"
"No," replied the other; "he is a d----d scoundrel. But how do you
make out the brothership? This billet is signed Kate Stilling; the
other man said Ralph's servant was called Jack Tuckett."
"A traveling name, sir, a traveling name," replied Roger, mingling in
the conversation; "I know the man quite well, and have seen his pretty
sister Kate more than once. He may call himself Jack Tuckett at the
third table, if he likes, but his real name is Gaunt Stilling, and so
you will find him written down in the chamberlain's book, for I saw it
myself. He was for a couple of years a soldier in the Tangier
regiment, and very likely called himself Jack Tuckett there, for that
honorable corps did not like to always go by their own names."
"Go away," said Henry, sharply; and Roger quitted the room.
"There are now two things I have to ascertain," said Henry Woodhall,
composing himself with a strong effort, which gave a stern rigidity to
his manner; "first, whether Master Ralph Woodhall has been trifling
with the affections of my sister. Secondly, whether the name of Gaunt
Stilling is to be found, as his servant, in the chamberlain's books
here."
Robert nodded his head, but was silent, and the other went on. "All
this must be done to-morrow, for it is too late to-night; and as soon
as I am satisfied, we will converse further, Robert; for Ralph must be
taught, if he have done these things, that they do not go without
their reward. If I have done you injustice, my good cousin, I am very
sorry for it; perhaps it may be so; for when we find that we have been
bitterly mistaken in one man, we may suspect that we have been as
bitterly mistaken in another. Good-by for the present."
"Good night," replied Robert, who would not add another word, for fear
of lessening the impression he had produced; and they parted.