MR. SNOBLEIGH.
From the illuminated marble vestibule, I plunged out into the
darkness of the night, and goaded by my fierce and terrible thoughts,
was rushing down the avenue, when in my confusion I stumbled against
a marble Psyche, that stood in the centre of the carriage-way, about
a pistol-shot from the door, and fell, stunned and almost breathless
beside the pedestal.
I thought of my feeble mother about to be torn from the roof that had
sheltered her so long; I thought of my brave father now beneath the
sod, and of his fathers in that old ancestral burial-place, where
'shaded by sepulchral yew,' lay the warriors and the patriarchs of
our tribe, and where I would never lie; I thought of all that had
been, but could never be again; the stirring past, with all its
shadowy glory; the humiliating present with all its bitterness; the
dark and dubious future with all its doubts and fears; and a storm--a
devouring fever--raged within me!
Placing my hands upon my temples, I pressed my hot and throbbing brow
upon the cold marble pedestal, and endeavoured to reflect and to
breathe.
The three windows of the drawing-room, which in the French fashion,
were constructed to open down to the Portsoy marble steps that
descended to the lawn, were all unclosed, as the heat of the
atmosphere was great, and the luxury, lights, and music within made
me scan for a moment this magnificent apartment from the place where
I lingered. It was crowded by objects of _virtû_, and the subdued
lights of the crystal chandeliers, and chaste girondoles, fell on
antique Sevrès and China vases; on oriental jars and Dresden china
plateaux; on the Warwick vase in verde antique; on velvet hangings
draperied up with gold; on Dianas and Apollos, &c.; on Rosso de
Lavanti marble pillars; on bronzes and Medician vases, glittering
antique buhl and or-molu tables, and all that might please the eye,
or gratify the whim of a moment.
The notes of a piano--one of Errard's best--and the voice of a female
singing, came towards me, and I raised myself from the ground on my
elbow to listen. My heart beat wildly. The air was soft and sad and
touching; and--though then unknown to me--it was the divine _Spirito
Gentil_ from the opera of Donizetti. She who sang was Laura, and my
ears drank in every gentle note; the fierce conflict of pride and
passion died away within me; my heart was melted by the gentler
emotions that Laura's influence roused, and I could have wept--but
not a tear would come.
I could see her figure, with Clavering standing beside her, patting
time with his gloved hand, and turning over the leaves of the address
to Leonora. I wished him any place but there.
Laura looked charming!
From the crystal girandoles that stood on the little carved brackets
of the piano, the light fell in bright rays over her black silk
dress, which, in its darkness, contrasted strongly with the pure
whiteness of her beautiful neck and delicate hands. Her face was
full of sweetness and animation, and her soft voice so delightfully
modulated, was full of an enthusiasm that lent her usually pale cheek
a flush, as she sang that winning Italian air with all its requisite
pathos.
'Aw--vewy well--she does sing diwinely!' said a voice near me.
'Alboni--even little Piccolomini herself, could not surpass her.'
'Hush--pray,' said another.
'Aw--now it is ended--bravo!'
Close by me were Mr. Mac Fee the sheriff, and Mr. Snobleigh, smoking
each a choice cuba, and hovering so near the marble Psyche, that I
dared not move, lest I should be observed and suspected of
eaves-dropping.
'A dooced bad cigaw,' said Snobleigh, endeavouring to light a
refractory cabana, and swaying about in a manner that sufficiently
indicated how the fumes of the champagne had mounted into that vacuum
where his brains should have been; 'dem--I think your 'Ighland air
spoils them; and aw--aw--you admire Laura--eh; aw--now it draws; a
fine girl--say yes--why the devil don't you say yes?'
'Beautiful--and you are tender in that quarter?' simpered the servile
Mac Fee.
'Aw--yes, and have some devilish serious thoughts of matrimony, too.'
'Marriage is a serious thing, Mr. Snobleigh.'
'Aw--yes--demmed serious when one marries age, ugliness, or
aw--poverty; but with, with a charming young person like Miss
Everingham--it alters the case entirely. But don't you observe, old
fellow, that Laura talks too much of that aw--aw--peculiar
individual--that species of outlaw, as Mr. Snaggs names him--'
'Young Mac Innon?'
'Dem! yes--but to teaze me of course. What is that now? Fanny
Clavering at her aw--aw--everlasting song--
"I dare not seek to offer thee
A timid love like mine--"
'Like hers indeed--aw--aw--ha! ha! it has been offered to half the
fellows in the Household Brigade. Curse that pink champagne--it
makes one so devilish shaky in the aw--legs. Yes--Laura has talked
so much about this 'Ighland colt, Mac Innon, ever since the
shooting-match, that I--aw don't half like it. In fact, Clavering--a
good judge of both horses and aw--women--swears that she loves him.'
'You cannot be serious?'
'Aw--yes, frightfully serious. But only think of a girl like Laura
troubling her--aw head about such a wild Highland Sawney Bean? I
should like to see him handling my yacht, the _Bruiser_, in a stiff
nor'-easter off Cowes; taking the mettle out of a four-in-hand team;
aw--making up his book on the Derby; widing the winnaw at the Oaks;
knocking the balls about at billiards, or aw--aw--getting a child of
Judah to fork out the tip, or achieving anything else that savours of
town life, or of civilization. The chawming Laura in love with him
indeed; 'pon my soul the idea is--aw too absawd!'
'Absurd, indeed,' chorused Mr. Mac Fee.
'Absawd--my dear fellow, absawd!' added Snobleigh, as he staggered
away, followed by the obsequious Mac Fee.
Laura spoke of me frequently, and Clavering thought she loved me!
Loved me--could it be credible, or was it the mere jest of a heedless
heart, that linked our names together--a linking that, in love, has a
nameless charm to the young, the timid, the tender, and the true.
What a tumult was raised in my breast by this casual revelation! I
scarcely dared to breathe. If aught was wanting to increase the
bitterness of the struggle waged by pride and love within me, it was
the words of the thoughtless Snobleigh.
But these bright hopes of a vague and joyous future--and all their
train of burning thoughts and ardent aspirations, were doomed to be
crushed and forgotten for a time, by the terrible tidings awaiting me
at my desolate home.
Midnight was close at hand, when, turning away from this abode of
luxury and splendour, where every comfort that wealth can procure
surrounded the cold and selfish Sir Horace and his pampered
household, I bent my steps towards the mountains, and by a narrow
path through a dark and moonless copsewood--or rather, an old
primeval forest of the Middle Ages, I hastened towards Glen Ora.
I had much to reflect on, and above all the flood of bitter and
anxious thoughts that rolled like a dark and tempestuous sea around
me, I saw the image of Laura Everingham; for, boy like, and full of
mountain poetry, legendary lore, and old enthusiasm, to me she
naturally became a goddess, and the guiding-star of all my hopes and
aspirations; while serving to temper with something of reason the
fiery anger with which I was tempted to regard the cruelty and
harshness of her father; who, like too many of our new Highland
proprietors, was but the slave of mammon and the tool of a cunning
factor.
While threading my way--somewhat hastily I confess--through a deep
and savage cairn, which was terrible of old as the shade of a
mysterious spirit--a rushing sound, a crashing of branches struck my
ear, and something white passed near me, like a sunbeam, or a flash
of fire.
'The white stag!' I exclaimed, in a breathless voice, and
involuntarily grasped my dirk, while the perspiration started to my
brow; for by an old tradition in the glen, it was affirmed, that
whenever danger was near the race of Mac Innon, a _white stag_
crossed the Braes of Loch Ora.
'My mother! my mother!' was my next thought, and like a mountain
deer, I sprang away to reach the old jointure-house of our family.