its sultry suns and breathless nights, when Grey ofttimes felt after an
evening over cards that it was mockery to go to bed, and lounged away
the residue of the night at his open window, enjoying the only coolness
and freshness that was to be had, as the wind came whispering from the
river charged with refreshing moisture.
Sometimes the river seemed to call him; and at such times he would lay
aside his finery, clothe himself in some plainer habit, and betake
himself through the silent house, where the night watchman was always
found slumbering at his post, out through the big courts and down to the
river steps, where a few light wherries were always kept moored, one of
which he would select, and shoot out upon the glimmering river to meet
the new day there.
Some of his happiest hours were spent thus; and at such times as these
he felt rising within him a vague sense of unrest and of disgust. He
had come to the world of London to conquer fate, to make for himself a
name and a career; and here he was wasting day after day in
coffee-houses or clubs, with a crowd of idlers whose thoughts never rose
above the fancy of the hour, whose only ambition was to kill time as
easily and pleasantly as possible, and to line their pockets with gold,
that they might have more to throw away on the morrow.
Was this what he would come to? Was this what he was made for? Would
he become like unto them, a mere roisterer and boon companion, a man
without aspirations and without ambition? His cheeks burned at the
thought; and he sent his light craft spinning rapidly up the stream as
the questions formed themselves.
It was an exquisite summer morning. The bells in the many towers and
steeples of the city had chimed the hour of five. The sun had long been
up, yet the glamour and glory of the new-born day still lay upon the
sleeping city and the dewy meadows of the opposite shore. Grey rowed on
rapidly, yet drinking in the beauty of all he saw. He knew not how far
he had rowed; he had lost count of his surroundings; he was absorbed in
a deep reverie, when he was suddenly brought up breathless and wondering
by the sound of a voice singing--a voice so clear and sweet and true
that he asked himself whether it could be any creature of earth that
sang, or whether it might be some nymph or mermaid such as sailors spoke
of in their wondrous tales.
He gazed about him. He saw that he was passing a garden, and that a
group of weeping willows overhung the water at this spot. The singing
seemed to come from thence. Burning curiosity possessed him, and he
very slowly and softly rowed himself onwards, till the prow of his boat
met the drooping boughs with a soft rustle. The song ceased suddenly.
Grey turned in his seat, and drew himself within the sheltering shade;
as he did so, a quick exclamation broke from him. He dropped his oars
as he exclaimed,--
"The Lady Geraldine!"
* * * * *
How had it come about? Grey never could have said. But now it was all
told--the story of his chequered life. She had been silent at the
first--not exactly resentful of his intrusion, not unwilling to let him
have speech of her again, but quiet, with a maidenly reserve and dignity
which had acted upon him like a charm. It brought back to him the
memory of his mother, and her noble dignity. The look in her eyes
recalled those things that he had learned at her knee, and those
aspirations after true greatness of life which she had cherished and
fostered. Suddenly his present life looked to him utterly sordid, mean,
and unworthy; and in a burst of confidence, for which he could have
given no reason, he told her all his tale, encouraged by the soft and
earnest glances of her beautiful eyes, although she scarcely spoke a
word from beginning to end.
And now she looked at him with a great compassion in her face.
"Oh, it is sad, it is sad!" she said in her earnest musical tones. "I
know a little how sad it is. I see it too. But you are a man. You are
strong, you are your own master. Why do you let yourself be made the
sport and plaything of fate? Oh, do not do it! Rise to your calling as
a man, as a gentleman, as a Christian! You can--I know you can! I read
it in your face! What is Lord Sandford to you? The acquaintance of a
few weeks. What are his comrades to you? You know that in your heart
you despise them. Then will you make yourself as one of them? Will you
sink to their level? Oh no, no, no! Break the fetters; they cannot be
fast riveted yet. Break them, and stand a free man, and then see what
the world has to offer you."
She was gazing at him now, not shyly, not as a maiden archly coquetting
with a handsome young swain, but as a woman yearning to reclaim one
whose footsteps had well-nigh slipped in the mire, and whose whole soul
was stirred by the effort.
Grey listened like a man who dreams; and yet his eyes were on fire, and
his heart was kindled to a great flame--shame at his own weakness,
yearnings after vanished memories and half-forgotten aspirations
struggling together with some new and utterly unknown emotion which
seemed to come surging over him like a flood, leaving him speechless,
motionless.
She had risen, and now held out her hand.
"You will triumph yet. I am assured of it. And I shall pray God to
give you His strength and grace. Farewell, sir; we may meet again
sometimes. I shall hear of you. I shall listen to hear naught but
good. Your mother's voice shall plead through mine. Give up evil
companions; give up idle dissipation, and all that it brings in its
train. Lead the higher life of the Courteous Knight, the Spotless
Knight, the Knight of the Holy Grail. Did we not speak of them all when
first we met, and methought you looked such a one yourself? Be true to
that better self; and so I say farewell again. May God be with you!"
She was gone, and Grey stood looking after her as a man who sees a
vision.
*CHAPTER VIII.*
*A STARTLING DISCOVERY.*
As Grey Dumaresq drifted downstream with the tide that sunny July
morning, he felt as though something new and wonderful had come into his
life, as though some great and marvellous change had fallen upon him,
which, for good or ill, must leave its mark upon his life.
He did not try to analyze the strange feelings which possessed him. For
a time he did not even consciously think. He seemed to be drifting
along a shining pathway--drifting, he scarce knew whither, and did not
care to ask. His heart was strangely heavy, and yet strangely light. A
curious loathing and shame at himself was blended with a sense of
exultant triumph, which held him in a mood of ecstasy. For a long while
he drifted onwards, scarce thinking or knowing whither he went, till a
sudden consciousness that he was passing Lord Sandford's house brought
him to himself with a sense of shock. He had left that house only two
hours before; yet it might have been as many years that had rolled over
his head, so different were his feelings, so changed was his outlook
upon life.
He moored his boat, and went up to his room. Before long he would be
expected to drink coffee or chocolate at his friend's levee, meet all
those of his comrades who had energy to pay their customary _devoirs_ to
their patron, and discuss the plans for the ensuing day and night. Grey
dashed some cold water over his hot head, and sat down to think.
What would Lord Sandford say if he suddenly expressed his intention of
giving up gambling in all its many insidious forms, in order to enter
upon a life totally different from that of the past weeks? It was not as
though he had any alternative plan to unfold to him. He was as ignorant
how his fortune was to be made now, after several weeks in gay London
town, as he had been on his first approach to that city. He could
almost hear the great guffaw of laughter with which Lord Sandford would
greet his confession. He half feared the powerful personality and the
imperious temper of the man who had been a good friend to him, and who
had the reputation of being a dangerous enemy when his will was crossed.
Grey knew that this man liked him--went near to loving him--would not
easily let him go. He knew that he would appear both ungrateful and
capricious; and the young man writhed at the thought of seeming either
the one or the other. But yet he must break away. Pacing up and down
the room, he seemed to see the soft earnest eyes of the Lady Geraldine
bent upon him. He had pledged his word to her, and in spirit to his
dead mother. From that pledge there was no drawing back. Yet how could
the break best be made?
He thought over the engagements already entered into. Was it needful
that these should be kept? He thought not--at least not those which were
but promises to meet at such and such clubs or coffee-houses for the
purposes of card-playing and similar recreations. But there was one
engagement that Grey did not see his way honourably to break. He had
promised to ride Don Carlos the following Saturday in a course against
three other picked horses, and heavy wagers, he knew, had been laid upon
or against his steed. This engagement he felt he could not break; but
the rest he would. He might even make the excuse that Don Carlos wanted
attention, and that he was going to take him into the country for
purposes of training; and, once away from Sandford House, he ought to be
able to pen a letter to the master which might excuse his return, and
explain the nature of the change which had come over him.
Yes, that would be the way. He would not go open-mouthed to him this
morning, to be perhaps scoffed or cajoled into some rash compromise.
Grey knew that his ability to see both sides of a question often led him
into difficulties and the appearance of vacillation. Surely he could
keep his pledge if he made the break with a certain diplomatic skill.
Not only would it be easier to himself, but it might prove the safer
method also.
When he saw Lord Sandford in the midst of his friends, laughing at the
last bit of scandal, passing jokes over the latest repartee of the
redoubtable Duchess of Marlborough to the meek Queen, discussing the
rivalries of the ministers, and the other rivalries (to them more
important) of the reigning beauties of the gay world, Grey felt that it
would indeed be impossible to speak in this company of any of those
things which were in his mind. He contented himself by standing aloof,
looking out of the window and sipping his chocolate, whilst the gay
flood of talk surged around him, and he caught a word here and a phrase
there, but always heard when Lord Sandford's resonant tones dominated
those of all others.
"Talk of rival beauties; we shall see sport to-night. Lady Romaine and
Lady Saltire--dearest friends and dearest foes--are to go to Vauxhall
Gardens to-night, each in a new toilet specially designed and ordered
for the occasion. It will be a ladies' battle, in very truth; and
public opinion must needs decide which of the rival queens is fairest to
look upon. I have promised both the dear creatures to be there, to give
my admiration to both alike. Shall I risk the undying enmity of either
by giving the palm to one? No such fool, gentlemen--no such fool is
Sandford. I vow I will have ready such a pretty speech or couplet for
each that she shall go away with a better opinion of me than ever! Ha,
ha, ha! I love to see the pretty dears, tricked out in their finery,
and ready to tear each other's eyes out! So, gentlemen, I cancel all
previous engagements for to-night. I am for Vauxhall, and Heaven only
knows how late we shall be detained there by the battle of beauty."
"We will all be there!" cried the young bloods, who were at all times
ready to follow Lord Sandford to whatever place of entertainment he
elected to go; and one voice followed with a laughing question,--
"Will the snow maiden be there in the train of her mother?"
Grey felt himself start, and was glad his face was turned away. He
would not for worlds that the sharp mocking eyes of Lord Sandford should
see him at this moment, albeit he had no notion of any sort that he had
special interest in his spotless Lady Geraldine.
[Illustration: He stood quite still to watch Lord Sandford lead away the
fair Geraldine (page 155).]
"I trow so," was the carelessly-spoken reply of Lord Sandford, as he
adjusted his wig and suffered his valet to spray some delicate perfume
over his person, as a finishing touch to his toilet. "The Lady
Geraldine is no longer to lead the life of a nun. It has been decreed
that she is to show her lovely face abroad, and add thereby a lustre to
her mother's charms."
"A lustre her ladyship would well dispense with," laughed another. "She
would sooner pose as the stepmother than the mother of a grown-up
daughter--ha, ha! How comes it that this young beauty hath never been
shown before to the world? Other damsels make their _debut_ at sixteen;
but the Lady Geraldine can scarce be less than twenty, and has the
dignity of matronhood."
"A vast deal more dignity than the most part of our matrons do show
forth," spoke Lord Sandford incisively. "Doubtless she learned it from
her grandam, her mother's mother and her father's aunt; for my Lord and
my Lady Romaine are cousins, and Mrs. Adair was trusted and revered by
both. Young children are in the way of such gay ladies of fashion,
wherefore the babe was sent to its grandam, and remained with her till
the virtuous and discreet old lady died, having bequeathed her store of
wisdom and discretion to the beautiful maid she had reared."
"And her fortune too," sniggered one gay dandy. "Do not forget that
item, my lord. It is whispered that it will make the biggest of her
charms. What is the figure? Doth anybody know?"
All disclaimed any precise information, and Lord Sandford spoke no word;
his brow was slightly furrowed, and there was a subdued gleam in his eye
which warned those who saw it that something in the conversation was not
to his mind. They therefore hastened to change it, and many of them
said adieu and sauntered away. Only a small knot remained with their
patron, discussing the plans for the day; and Grey stood still in the
embrasure of the window, his heart still beating with curious violence
and rapidity. When those men were speaking of Geraldine, he had scarce
been able to keep his fingers from their throats. What business had
they taking her pure name upon their lips? And why had they spoken of
her fortune? Could it be true that she was so great an heiress? He
hated to believe it; yet what was it to him? He was wakened from his
reverie by a quick question from Lord Sandford, which he heard as
through the mists of a dream, and answered,--
"'Tis true I am not quite myself. I slept not at all last night, and
have been on the river well-nigh since sunrise to rid me of the vapours.
Methinks I will seek some sleep in mine own rooms ere night. Reckon not
on me for to-day's pastime."
"Ay, you have the air of a man squeamish and in need of rest. Go get
thee a good sleep, friend Grey, for we must keep you in fettle for the
match on Saturday. Man and beast must come to the field strong and
robust, with nerve and wind and muscle true and taut. But you must make
one of our party to Vauxhall to-night. There will be many bright eyes
on the lookout for the gay cavalier, as the ladies call you for your
love-locks. You must not fail us there."
For a moment Grey hesitated, prudence and passion fighting together for
mastery. But the overwhelming desire to see Geraldine again--perhaps to
speak a word of farewell--overcame him, and he answered briefly as he
strolled through the room on his way out,--
"I shall be ready enough for that; you can reckon on me."
How the day passed Grey never knew, and it was still broad daylight when
he and his comrades started for the gardens of Vauxhall, where it was
the fashion to spend the evening hours when nothing more attractive
offered, and where such music and such illuminations as the times had to
offer were to be enjoyed, and where ladies and their attendant beaux
fluttered about like so many gay butterflies, and found opportunity as
the dusk fell for walks and talks of a more private nature in the bosky
alleys and shady paths than they could hope to gain in crowded routs and
card-parties. Supper could be obtained too, and pleasant little parties
made up; and the fashionable world found it agreeable on these hot
summer nights to take their pleasure out in the open air.
Grey detached himself from his friends upon the first opportunity, and
wandered alone through the gardens, avoiding encounters with persons he
knew, though often accosted with laugh and jest and challenge by masked
ladies, or young bloods eager to make friends with one whose face and
figure began to be known, owing to his successes in horsemanship with
Don Carlos, and his friendship with Lord Sandford. But Grey made small
response to overtures, quickly shook himself free, and pursued his
solitary ramble, till at length a sound of gay voices, laughter, and
almost uproarious mirth, in which the tones of Lord Sandford could
plainly be heard, drew him to a wide open space where an illuminated
fountain seemed to have drawn a great concourse of people; and there,
amid a tossing crowd of gaudy gallants, and ladies with towering heads,
mincing, giggling, uttering little shrieks, little jests, or playing off
an infinitude of coquetries and artifices to attract admiration, he
beheld the stately white-robed figure around which his thoughts and
fancies had been playing all through the long hours of the day.
He saw not the rival queens of beauty in their gorgeous apparel. He saw
not the surging crowd that eddied around them, appraising, flattering,
admiring, laughing. He only saw one white figure, standing aloof and
for the moment alone, the moonbeams glimmering upon the shining
whiteness of her dress, the fair face bent, as though in some sort of
sorrow or shame. He saw it, and he was instantly at her side.
Whether or not he spoke, he knew not. He offered his arm, and the next
moment he was leading her away from that giddy, mocking crowd; and he
felt the clinging clasp of her fingers thrilling him to his heart's
core. He heard the breath of relief as the chorus of flippant merriment
died away in the distance. He paused, and a quick exclamation escaped
his lips.
"This is no place for you, Lady Geraldine. Why do they bring you
hither?"
She answered not, but turned her gaze for a moment towards him, and then
dropped her eyes. With an impulse for which he could not account, he
covered the fingers which lay upon his arm with his own disengaged hand,
and passionate words sprang to his lips.
"Give me only the right, fair lady, and I will save you from them all.
I ask only to live and die as your knight--your champion--without
wages--without reward!"
Then he was silent. His breath came thick and fast. He felt the quiver
of the hand he held. He knew not how long the silence lasted, it was so
strangely sweet, so full of mysterious meaning.
"I thank you, sir. I trow that you speak truth, and that your words are
not idle froth--gone in a moment--as the words of so many of yonder
gallants. But it may not be. I may not give you such a right. A maiden
is not free to choose her friends; and the knights of chivalry are long
since vanished from the earth. I would that I might call you friend,
that sometimes we might meet and hold converse together. I trust that I
may learn a good report of you, that one day I may speak with pride of
having known you in your youth. But that must suffice us. Let it be
enough for both. I may not--"
She hesitated, and her voice died into silence. She spoke with a
repressed emotion which he scarcely understood. The tumult of his own
heart was such that he could not seek to gauge the depths of her
feelings.
"If I may not be your knight, let me at least be your friend--your
servant!" he pleaded. "And if there is anything wherein I can serve
you--"
She seemed struck by the phrase. She lifted her bent head and gazed
earnestly at him; but the words she spoke seemed strange.
"You are the friend of Lord Sandford; is it not so?"
"I have been his comrade these many weeks. He has shown me much
kindness and good-fellowship. I owe him gratitude."
"And you must know him well, I doubt not. Tell me, Sir Grey--and I pray
you deceive me not--what kind of a man is this same Lord Sandford? Is
he leal and true, faithful, loving, and loyal? Is he better than the
crowd who follow at his heels and ape his manners, use his name as a
watchword, and fawn upon his favour? Tell me, what think you of him? A
friend must needs speak sooth."
"Lady, you have asked a hard question, inasmuch as I know but little of
the man, albeit I have lived with him above a month. He attracts me,
and yet there be moments when he repels me too. He is a good friend--I
would not speak a word against him; yet it is said that he can be a
bitter and an unscrupulous enemy; and those who have lost his favour
withdraw themselves as speedily as possible from his notice, fearful
lest some evil may befall them."
"Is he then cruel and rancorous?"
"I can believe that he might be, were his passions roused. He has that
forceful nature which tends to vehement liking and bitter hatred. I
have experienced the one; I have not tasted of the other. For the rest,
he is a man of parts, and can do all well to which he puts his hand.
Methinks he would be strong enough to break off his reckless and vicious
habits, had he but motive sufficient to make him! desire to do so. But
for the nonce he floats with the current, and lives as the world lives.
More I cannot say."
At that moment a swift, firm tread was heard approaching along the dim
alley; and Geraldine looked hastily round, her hand dropping from Grey's
arm.
"It is he!" she whispered, and there was a catch in her voice which the
young man heard without understanding. He faced round, and beheld the
towering figure of Lord Sandford beside them.
"Well chanced upon!" quoth he in his resonant tones. "I was sent by
your mother in search of you, Lady Geraldine. The court of beauty has
sat. To her has been adjudged the prize. She now desires the presence
of her daughter, to share her triumph. We shall sup anon, and the table
will not be complete without one gracious and lovely presence. Lady
Geraldine, honour me by accepting my escort.--Grey, will you join us?"
He spoke the last words over his shoulder, and there was a note in his
voice which the young man had never heard before, and which he did not
fully understand. It seemed to sting him, but he knew not why.
"I thank you--no," he answered. "I am going home."
And then he stood quite still to watch Lord Sandford lead away the fair
Geraldine, who threw him one strange, half-appealing glance over her
shoulder, but spoke no word of farewell.
Grey had meant to go home, but somehow he could not bring himself to do
so. His brain seemed on fire, and his heart with it. He knew not what
ailed him, but a fever was consuming him. He left the gardens, but
walked on and on, not knowing or caring whither he went. The night was
far spent, and the dawn was beginning to blush in the eastern sky,
before he found himself in the region of Sandford House again.
The place was still and deserted. The revellers and roisterers seemed
all at home. A watchman dozed at his post, thankful for the peace of
the streets, and Grey met no interruption, till suddenly, round a
corner, he came face to face with his host, who gave him a look, uttered
a short laugh, and linked his arm within his.
"Well met, friend Grey! You too have had no desire to woo the somnolent
god? We find metal more attractive elsewhere. Say now, what think you
of the future Lady Sandford? Methought you had eyes but for her
to-night. Will she not queen it right royally here--the beautiful
stately creature? You have taste, Grey, and I am well pleased that you
have. Those painted, patched, and powdered Jezebels, smirking and
ogling and running all over the town for the adulation of the crowd, are
as little to your mind as to mine. We can flatter and fool and make
mock with the best; but when it comes to marriage! Faugh! one's soul
sickens at the thought. What man in his senses would trust his
happiness or his honour in the hands of that tawdry crew? Gilt and
tinsel do very well to play with; but when one desires to purchase, one
asks for gold."