We will examine if those accidents,
Which common fame calls injuries, happen to him
Deservedly or no.--The New Inn.
FROM LORD ULSWATER TO LADY WESTBOROUGH.
Forgive me, dearest Lady Westborough, for my violence: you know and
will allow for the infirmities of my temper. I have to make you and
Lady Flora one request, which I trust you will not refuse me.
Do not see or receive any communication from Mr. Linden till
Wednesday; and on that day at the hour of twelve suffer me to meet him
at your house. I will then either prove him to be the basest of
impostors, or, if I fail in this and Lady Flora honours my rival with
one sentiment of preference, I will without a murmur submit to her
decree and my rejection. Dare I trust that this petition will be
accorded to one who is, with great regard and esteem, etc.
"This is fortunate," said Lady Westborough gently to her daughter,
who, leaning her head on her mother's bosom, suffered hopes, the
sweeter for their long sleep, to divide, if not wholly to possess, her
heart. "We shall have now time well and carefully to reflect over
what will be best for your future happiness. We owe this delay to one
to whom you have been affianced. Let us, therefore, now merely write
to Mr. Linden, to inform him of Lord Ulswater's request; and to say
that if he will meet his lordship at the time appointed, we, that is
I, shall be happy to see him."
Lady Flora sighed, but she saw the reasonableness of her mother's
proposal, and pressing Lady Westborough's hand murmured her assent.
"At all events," thought Lady Westborough, as she wrote to Clarence,
"the affair can but terminate to advantage. If Lord Ulswater proves
Mr. Linden's unworthiness, the suit of the latter is of course at rest
forever: if not, and Mr. Linden be indeed all that he asserts, my
daughter's choice cannot be an election of reproach; Lord Ulswater
promises peaceably to withdraw his pretensions; and though Mr. Linden
may not possess his rank or fortune, he is certainly one with whom, if
of ancient blood, any family would be proud of an alliance."
Blending with these reflections a considerable share of curiosity and
interest in a secret which partook so strongly of romance, Lady
Westborough despatched her note to Clarence. The answer returned was
brief, respectful, and not only acquiescent in but grateful for the
proposal.
With this arrangement both Lady Westborough and Lady Flora were
compelled, though with very different feelings, to be satisfied; and
an agreement was established between them, to the effect that if
Linden's name passed unblemished through the appointed ordeal Lady
Flora was to be left to, and favoured in, her own election; while, on
the contrary, if Lord Ulswater succeeded in the proof he had spoken
of, his former footing in the family was to be fully re-established
and our unfortunate adventurer forever discarded.
To this Lady Flora readily consented; for with a sanguine and certain
trust in her lover's truth and honour, which was tenfold more strong
for her late suspicions, she would not allow herself a doubt as to the
result; and with an impatience, mingled with a rapturous exhilaration
of spirit, which brought back to her the freshness and radiancy of her
youngest years, she counted the hours and moments to the destined day.
While such was the state of affairs at Westborough Park, Clarence was
again on horseback and on another excursion. By the noon of the day
following that which had seen his eventful meeting with Lady Flora, he
found himself approaching the extreme boundaries of the county in
which Mordaunt Court and the memorable town of W---- were situated.
The characteristics of the country were now materially changed from
those which gave to the vicinity of Algernon's domains its wild and
uncultivated aspect.
As Clarence slowly descended a hill of considerable steepness and
length, a prospect of singular and luxurious beauty opened to his
view. The noblest of England's rivers was seen, through "turfs and
shades and flowers," pursuing "its silver-winding way." On the
opposite banks lay, embosomed in the golden glades of autumn, the busy
and populous town that from the height seemed still and lifeless as an
enchanted city, over which the mid-day sun hung like a guardian
spirit. Behind, in sweeping diversity, stretched wood and dale, and
fields despoiled of their rich harvest, yet still presenting a yellow
surface to the eye; and ever and anon some bright patch of green,
demanding the gaze as if by a lingering spell from the past spring;
while, here and there, spire and hamlet studded the landscape, or some
lowly cot lay, backed by the rising ground or the silent woods, white
and solitary, and sending up its faint tribute of smoke in spires to
the altars of Heaven. The river was more pregnant of life than its
banks: barge and boat were gliding gayly down the wave, and the glad
oar of the frequent and slender vessels consecrated to pleasure was
seen dimpling the water, made by distance smoother than glass.
On the right side of Clarence's road, as he descended the hill, lay
wide plantations of fir and oak, divided from the road by a park
paling, the uneven sides of which were covered with brown moss, and
which, at rare openings in the young wood, gave glimpses of a park,
seemingly extending over great space, the theatre of many a stately
copse and oaken grove, which might have served the Druids with fane
and temple meet for the savage sublimity of their worship.
Upon these unfrequent views, Clarence checked his horse, and gazed,
with emotions sweet yet bitter, over the pales, along the green
expanse which they contained. And once, when through the trees he
caught a slight glimpse of the white walls of the mansion they
adorned, all the years of his childhood seemed to rise on his heart,
thrilling to its farthest depths with a mighty and sorrowful yet sweet
melody, and--
"Singing of boyhood back, the voices of his home."
Home! yes, amidst those groves had the April of his life lavished its
mingled smiles and tears! There was the spot hallowed by his earliest
joys! and the scene of sorrows still more sacred than joys! and now,
after many years, the exiled boy came back, a prosperous and
thoughtful man, to take but one brief glance of that home which to him
had been less hospitable than a stranger's dwelling, and to find a
witness among those who remembered him of his very birth and identity!
He wound the ascent at last, and entering a small town at the foot of
the hill, which was exactly facing the larger one on the opposite
shore of the river, put up his horse at one of the inns, and then,
with a beating heart, remounted the hill, and entering the park by one
of its lodges found himself once more in the haunts of his childhood.