“What my daughter requires,” said Adrian, as he mused over thesedomestic contrarieties, “is a companion of her own age. Her mother isthe very worst constant companion she could have. She requires somebodywith charm, and yet of a commanding mind; with youthful sympathy, andyet influencing her in the right way. It must be a person of birth andbreeding and complete self-respect. I do not want to have any parasitesin my house, or affected fine ladies. That would do no good. What I dowant is a thing very difficult to procure. And yet they say everythingis to be obtained. At least, I have always thought so, and found it so.I have the greatest opinion of an advertisement in the ‘Times.’ Igot some of my best clerks by advertisements in the ‘Times.’ If I hadconsulted friends, there would have been no end of jobbing for suchpatronage. One could not trust, in such matters, one’s own brother. Iwill draw up an advertisement and insert it in the ‘Times,’ and havethe references to my counting-house. I will think over the wording as Idrive to town.” This was the wording:—ADVERTISEMENTA Banker and his Wife require a Companion for their only child, ayoung lady whose accomplishments and acquirements are alreadyconsiderable. The friend that they would wish for her must be ofabout the same age as herself, and in every other respect theirlots will be the same. The person thus desired will be receivedand treated as a daughter of the house, will be allowed her ownsuite of apartments, her own servants and equipage. She must be aperson of birth, breeding, and entire self-respect; with a mindand experience capable of directing conduct, and with mannerswhich will engage sympathy.—Apply to H. H., 45 Bishopsgate StreetWithin.
This advertisement met the eye of Myra at Hurstley Rectory about a month after her father’s death, and she resolved to answer it. Her reply pleased Mr. Neuchatel. He selected it out of hundreds, and placed himself in communication with Mr. Penruddock. The result was, that Miss Ferrars was to pay a visit to the Neuchatels; and if, on experience, they liked each other, the engagement was to take place.
In the meantime the good rector of Hurstley arrived on the previous evening with his precious charge at Hainault House; and was rewarded for his kind exertions, not only by the prospect of assisting Myra, but by some present experience of a splendid and unusual scene.
“What do you think of her, mamma?” said Adriana, with glistening eyes, as she ran into Mrs. Neuchatel’s dressing-room for a moment before dinner.
“I think her manners are perfect,” replied Mrs. Neuchatel; “and as there can be no doubt, after all we have heard, of her principles, I think we are most fortunate. But what do you think of her, Adriana? For, after all, that is the main question.”
“I think she is divine,” said Adriana; “but I fear she has no heart.”
“And why? Surely it is early to decide on such a matter as that!”
“When I took her to her room,” said Adriana, “I suppose I was nervous; but I burst into tears, and threw my arms round her neck and embraced her, but she did not respond. She touched my forehead with her lips, and withdrew from my embrace.”
“She wished, perhaps, to teach you to control your emotions,” said Mrs. Neuchatel. “You have known her only an hour, and you could not have done more to your own mother.”
It had been arranged that there should be no visitors to-day; only a nephew and a foreign consul-general, just to break the formality of the meeting. Mr. Neuchatel placed Myra next to himself at the round table, and treated her with marked consideration—cordial but courteous, and easy, with a certain degree of deference. His wife, who piqued herself on her perception of character, threw her brown velvet eyes on her neighbour, Mr. Penruddock, and cross-examined him in mystical whispers. She soon recognised his love of nature; and this allowed her to dissert on the subject, at once sublime and inexhaustible, with copiousness worthy of the theme. When she found he was an entomologist, and that it was not so much mountains as insects which interested him, she shifted her ground, but treated it with equal felicity. Strange, but nature is never so powerful as in insect life. The white ant can destroy fleets and cities, and the locusts erase a province. And then, how beneficent they are! Man would find it difficult to rival their exploits: the bee, that gives us honey; the worm, that gives us silk; the cochineal, that supplies our manufactures with their most brilliant dye.
Mr. Penruddock did not seem to know much about manufactures, but always recommended his cottagers to keep bees.
“The lime-tree abounds in our village, and there is nothing the bees love more than its blossoms.”
This direct reference to his village led Mrs. Neuchatel to an inquiry as to the state of the poor about Hurstley, and she made the inquiry in a tone of commiseration.
“Oh! we do pretty well,” said Mr. Penruddock.
“But how can a family live on ten or twelve shillings a week?” murmured Mrs. Neuchatel.
“There it is,” said Mr. Penruddock. “A family has more than that. With a family the income proportionately increases.”
Mrs. Neuchatel sighed. “I must say,” she said, “I cannot help feeling there is something wrong in our present arrangements. When I sit down to dinner every day, with all these dishes, and remember that there are millions who never taste meat, I cannot resist the conviction that it would be better if there were some equal division, and all should have, if not much, at least something.”
“Nonsense, Emily!” said Mr. Neuchatel, who had an organ like Fine-ear, and could catch, when necessary, his wife’s most mystical revelations. “My wife, Mr. Penruddock, is a regular Communist. I hope you are not,” he added, with a smile, turning to Myra.
“I think life would be very insipid,” replied Myra, “if all our lots were the same.”
When the ladies withdrew, Adriana and Myra walked out together hand-in-hand. Mr. Neuchatel rose and sate next to Mr. Penruddock, and began to talk politics. His reverend guest could not conceal his alarm about the position of the Church and spoke of Lord John Russell’s appropriation clause with well-bred horror.
“Well, I do not think there is much to be afraid of,” said Mr. Neuchatel. “This is a liberal age, and you cannot go against it. The people must be educated, and where are the funds to come from? We must all do something, and the Church must contribute its share. You know I am a Liberal, but I am not for any rash courses. I am not at all sorry that Sir Robert Peel gained so much at the last general election. I like parties to be balanced. I am quite content with affairs. My friends, the Liberals, are in office, and, being there, they can do very little. That is the state of things, is it not, Melchior?” he added, with a smile to his nephew, who was an M.P. “A balanced state of parties, and the house of Neuchatel with three votes—that will do. We poor City men get a little attention paid to us now, but before the dissolution three votes went for nothing. Now, shall we go and ask my daughter to give us a song?”
Mrs. Neuchatel accompanied her daughter on the piano, and after a time not merely on the instrument. The organ of both was fine and richly cultivated. It was choice chamber music. Mr. Neuchatel seated himself by Myra. His tone was more than kind, and his manner gentle. “It is a little awkward the first day,” he said, “among strangers, but that will wear off. You must bring your mind to feel that this is your home, and we shall all of us do everything in our power to convince you of it. Mr. Penruddock mentioned to me your wish, under present circumstances, to enter as little as possible into society, and this is a very social house. Your feeling is natural, and you will be in this matter entirely your own mistress. We shall always be glad to see you, but if you are not present we shall know and respect the cause. For my own part, I am one of those who would rather cherish affection than indulge grief, but every one must follow their mood. I hear you have a brother, to whom you are much attached; a twin, too, and they tell me strongly resembling you. He is in a public office, I believe? Now, understand this; your brother can come here whenever he likes, without any further invitation. Ask him whenever you please. We shall always be glad to see him. No sort of notice is necessary. This is not a very small house, and we can always manage to find a bed and a cutlet for a friend.”
Nothing could be more successful than the connection formed between the Neuchatel family and Myra Ferrars. Both parties to the compact were alike satisfied. Myra had “got out of that hole” which she always hated; and though the new life she had entered was not exactly the one she had mused over, and which was founded on the tradition of her early experience, it was a life of energy and excitement, of splendour and power, with a total absence of petty vexations and miseries, affording neither time nor cause for the wearing chagrin of a monotonous and mediocre existence. But the crowning joy of her emancipation was the prospect it offered of frequent enjoyment of the society of her brother.
With regard to the Neuchatels, they found in Myra everything they could desire. Mrs. Neuchatel was delighted with a companion who was not the daughter of a banker, and whose schooled intellect not only comprehended all her doctrines, however abstruse or fanciful, but who did not hesitate, if necessary, to controvert or even confute them. As for Adriana, she literally idolised a friend whose proud spirit and clear intelligence were calculated to exercise a strong but salutary influence over her timid and sensitive nature. As for the great banker himself, who really had that faculty of reading character which his wife flattered herself she possessed, he had made up his mind about Myra from the first, both from her correspondence and her conversation. “She has more common sense than any woman I ever knew, and more,” he would add, “than most men. If she were not so handsome, people would find it out; but they cannot understand that so beautiful a woman can have a headpiece, that, I really believe, could manage the affairs in Bishopsgate Street.”
In the meantime life at Hainault resumed its usual course; streams of guests, of all parties, colours, and classes, and even nations. Sometimes Mr. Neuchatel would say, “I really must have a quiet day that Miss Ferrars may dine with us, and she shall ask her brother. How glad I shall be when she goes into half-mourning! I scarcely catch a glimpse of her.” And all this time his wife and daughter did nothing but quote her, which was still more irritating, for, as he would say, half-grumbling and half-smiling, “If it had not been for me she would not have been here.”
At first Adriana would not dine at table without Myra, and insisted on sharing her imprisonment. “It does not look like a cell,” said Myra, surveying, not without complacency, her beautiful little chamber, beautifully lit, with its silken hangings and carved ceiling and bright with books and pictures; “besides, there is no reason why you should be a prisoner. You have not lost a father, and I hope never will.”
“Amen!” said Adriana; “that would indeed be the unhappiest day of my life.”
“You cannot be in society too much in the latter part of the day,” said Myra. “The mornings should be sacred to ourselves, but for the rest of the hours people are to see and to be seen, and,” she added, “to like and be liked.”
Adriana shook her head; “I do not wish any one to like me but you.”
“I am sure I shall always like you, and love you,” said Myra, “but I am equally sure that a great many other people will do the same.”
“It will not be myself that they like or love,” said Adriana with a sigh.
“Now, spare me that vein, dear Adriana; you know I do not like it. It is not agreeable, and I do not think it is true. I believe that women are loved much more for themselves than is supposed. Besides, a woman should be content if she is loved; that is the point; and she is not to inquire how far the accidents of life have contributed to the result. Why should you not be loved for yourself? You have an interesting appearance. I think you very pretty. You have choice accomplishments and agreeable conversation and the sweetest temper in the world. You want a little self-conceit, my dear. If I were you and admired, I should never think of my fortune.”
“If you were the greatest heiress in the world, Myra, and were married, nobody would suppose for a moment that it was for your fortune.”
“Go down to dinner and smile upon everybody, and tell me about your conquests to-morrow. And say to your dear papa, that as he is so kind as to wish to see me, I will join them after dinner.”
And so, for the first two months, she occasionally appeared in the evening, especially when there was no formal party. Endymion came and visited her every Sunday, but he was also a social recluse, and though he had been presented to Mrs. Neuchatel and her daughter, and been most cordially received by them, it was some considerable time before he made the acquaintance of the great banker.
About September Myra may be said to have formally joined the circle at Hainault. Three months had elapsed since the terrible event, and she felt, irrespective of other considerations, her position hardly justified her, notwithstanding all the indulgent kindness of the family, in continuing a course of life which she was conscious to them was sometimes an inconvenience and always a disappointment. It was impossible to deny that she was interested and amused by the world which she now witnessed—so energetic, so restless, so various; so full of urgent and pressing life; never thinking of the past and quite heedless of the future, but worshipping an almighty present that sometimes seemed to roll on like the car of Juggernaut. She was much diverted by the gentlemen of the Stock Exchange, so acute, so audacious, and differing so much from the merchants in the style even of their dress, and in the ease, perhaps the too great facility, of their bearing. They called each other by their Christian names, and there were allusions to practical jokes which intimated a life something between a public school and a garrison. On more solemn days there were diplomatists and men in political office; sometimes great musical artists, and occasionally a French actor. But the dinners were always the same; dishes worthy of the great days of the Bourbons, and wines of rarity and price, which could not ruin Neuchatel, for in many instances the vineyards belonged to himself.
One morning at breakfast, when he rarely encountered them, but it was a holiday in the City, Mr. Neuchatel said, “There are a few gentlemen coming to dine here to-day whom you know, with one exception. He is a young man, a very nice young fellow. I have seen a good deal of him of late on business in the City, and have taken a fancy to him. He is a foreigner, but he was partly educated in this country and speaks English as well as any of us.”
“Then I suppose he is not a Frenchman,” said Mrs. Neuchatel, “for they never speak English.”
“I shall not say what he is. You must all find out; I dare say Miss Ferrars will discover him; but, remember, you must all of you pay him great attention, for he is not a common person, I can assure you.”
“You are mysterious, Adrian,” said his wife, “and quite pique our curiosity.”
“Well, I wish somebody would pique mine,” said the banker. “These holidays in the City are terrible things. I think I will go after breakfast and look at the new house, and I dare say Miss Ferrars will be kind enough to be my companion.”
Several of the visitors, fortunately for the banker whose time hung rather heavily on his hands, arrived an hour or so before dinner, that they might air themselves in the famous gardens and see some of the new plants. But the guest whom he most wished to greet, and whom the ladies were most curious to welcome, did not arrive. They had all entered the house and the critical moment was at hand, when, just as dinner was about to be announced, the servants ushered in a young man of distinguished appearance, and the banker exclaimed, “You have arrived just in time to take Mrs. Neuchatel in to dinner,” and he presented to her—COLONEL ALBERT.
The ladies were much interested by Colonel Albert. Mrs. Neuchatel exercised on him all the unrivalled arts by which she so unmistakably discovered character. She threw on him her brown velvet eyes with a subdued yet piercing beam, which would penetrate his most secret and even undeveloped intelligence. She asked questions in a hushed mystical voice, and as the colonel was rather silent and somewhat short in his replies, though ever expressed in a voice of sensibility and with refined deference of manner, Mrs. Neuchatel opened her own peculiar views on a variety of subjects of august interest, such as education, high art, the influence of women in society, the formation of character, and the distribution of wealth, on all of which this highly gifted lady was always in the habit of informing her audience, by way of accompaniment, that she was conscious that the views she entertained were peculiar. The views of Mrs. Neuchatel were peculiar, and therefore not always, or even easily, comprehended. That indeed she felt was rather her fate in life, but a superior intelligence like hers has a degree of sublimated self-respect which defies destiny.
When she was alone with the ladies, the bulletin of Mrs. Neuchatel was not so copious as had been expected. She announced that Colonel Albert was sentimental, and she suspected a poet. But for the rest she had discovered nothing, not even his nationality. She had tried him both in French and German, but he persisted in talking English, although he spoke of himself as a foreigner. After dinner he conversed chiefly with the men, particularly with the Governor of the Bank, who seemed to interest him much, and a director of one of the dock companies, who offered to show him over their establishment, an offer which Colonel Albert eagerly accepted. Then, as if he remembered that homage was due at such a moment to the fairer sex, he went and seated himself by Adriana, and was playful and agreeable, though when she was cross-examined afterwards by her friends as to the character of his conversation, she really could not recall anything particular except that he was fond of horses, and said that he should like very much to take a ride with her. Just before he took his departure, Colonel Albert addressed Myra, and in a rather strange manner. He said, “I have been puzzling myself all dinner, but I cannot help feeling that we have met before.”
Myra shook her head and said, “I think that is impossible.”
“Well,” said the colonel with a look a little perplexed and not altogether satisfied, “I suppose then it was a dream. May dreams so delightful,” and he bowed, “never be wanting!”
“So you think he is a poet, Emily,” said Mr. Neuchatel when they had all gone. “We have got a good many of his papers in Bishopsgate Street, but I have not met with any verses in them yet.”
The visit of Colonel Albert was soon repeated, and he became a rather frequent guest at Hainault. It was evident that he was a favourite with Mr. Neuchatel. “He knows very few people,” he would say, “and I wish him to make some friends. Poor young fellow: he has had rather a hard life of it, and seen some service for such a youth. He is a perfect gentleman, and if he be a poet, Emily, that is all in your way. You like literary people, and are always begging that I should ask them. Well, next Saturday you will have a sort of a lion—one of the principal writers in ‘Scaramouch.’ He is going to Paris as the foreign correspondent of the ‘Chuck-Farthing,’ with a thousand a year, and one of my friends in the Stock Exchange, who is his great ally, asked me to give him some letters. So he came to Bishopsgate Street—they all come to Bishopsgate Street—and I asked him to dine here on Saturday. By the by, Miss Ferrars, ask your brother to come on the same day and stay with us till Monday. I will take him up to town with me quite in time for his office.”
This was the first time that Endymion had remained at Hainault. He looked forward to the visit with anticipation of great pleasure. Hainault, and all the people there, and everything about it, delighted him, and most of all the happiness of his sister and the consideration, and generosity, and delicate affection with which she was treated. One morning, to his astonishment, Myra had insisted upon his accepting from her no inconsiderable sum of money. “It is no part of my salary,” she said, when he talked of her necessities. “Mr. Neuchatel said he gave it to me for outfit and to buy gloves. But being in mourning I want to buy nothing, and you, dear darling, must have many wants. Besides, Mrs. Neuchatel has made me so many presents that I really do not think that I shall ever want to buy anything again.”
It was rather a grand party at Hainault, such as Endymion had little experience of. There was a cabinet minister and his wife, not only an ambassador, but an ambassadress who had been asked to meet them, a nephew Neuchatel, the M.P. with a pretty young wife, and several apparently single gentlemen of note and position. Endymion was nervous when he entered, and more so because Myra was not in the room. But his trepidation was absorbed in his amazement when in the distance he observed St. Barbe, with a very stiff white cravat, and his hair brushed into unnatural order, and his whole demeanour forming a singular contrast to the rollicking cynicisms of Joe’s and the office.
Mr. Neuchatel presented St. Barbe to the lady of the mansion. “Here is one of our greatest wits,” said the banker, “and he is going to Paris, which is the capital of wits.” The critical moment prevented prolonged conversation, but the lady of the mansion did contrive to convey to St. Barbe her admiring familiarity with some of his effusions, and threw out a phrase which proved how finely she could distinguish between wit and humour.
Endymion at dinner sate between two M.P.‘s, whom his experience at the House of Commons allowed him to recognise. As he was a young man whom neither of them knew, neither of them addressed him, but with delicate breeding carried on an active conversation across him, as if in fact he were not present. As Endymion had very little vanity, this did not at all annoy him. On the contrary, he was amused, for they spoke of matters with which he was not unacquainted, though he looked as if he knew or heard nothing. Their conversation was what is called “shop:” all about the House and office; criticisms on speakers, speculations as to preferment, what Government would do about this, and how well Government got out of that.
Endymion was amused by seeing Myra, who was remote from him, sitting by St. Barbe, who, warmed by the banquet, was evidently holding forth without the slightest conception that his neighbour whom he addressed had long become familiar with his characteristics.
After dinner St. Barbe pounced upon Endymion. “Only think of our meeting here!” he said. “I wonder why they asked you. You are not going to Paris, and you are not a wit. What a family this is!” he said; “I had no idea of wealth before! Did you observe the silver plate? I could not hold mine with one hand, it was so heavy. I do not suppose there are such plates in the world. It gives one an idea of the galleons and Anson’s plunder. But they deserve their wealth,” he added, “nobody grudges it to them. I declare when I was eating that truffle, I felt a glow about my heart that, if it were not indigestion, I think must have been gratitude; though that is an article I had not believed in. He is a wonderful man, that Neuchatel. If I had only known him a year ago! I would have dedicated my novel to him. He is a sort of man who would have given you a cheque immediately. He would not have read it, to be sure, but what of that? If you had dedicated it to a lord, the most he would have done would have been to ask you to dinner, and then perhaps cut up your work in one of the Quality reviews, and taken money for doing it out of our pockets! Oh! it’s too horrid! There are some topsawyers here to-day, Ferrars! It would make Seymour Hicks’ mouth water to be here. We should have had it in the papers, and he would have left us out of the list, and called us, etc. Now I dare say that ambassador has been blundering all his life, and yet there is something in that star and ribbon; I do not know how you feel, but I could almost go down on my knees to him. And there is a cabinet minister; well, we know what he is; I have been squibbing him for these two years, and now that I meet him I feel like a snob. Oh! there is an immense deal of superstition left in the world. I am glad they are going to the ladies. I am to be honoured by some conversation with the mistress of the house. She seems a first-rate woman, familiar with the glorious pages of a certain classic work, and my humble effusions. She praised one she thought I wrote, but between ourselves it was written by that fellow Seymour Hicks, who imitates me; but I would not put her right, as dinner might have been announced every moment. But she is a great woman, sir,—wonderful eyes! They are all great women here. I sat next to one of the daughters, or daughters-in-law, or nieces, I suppose. By Jove! it was tierce and quart. If you had been there, you would have been run through in a moment. I had to show my art. Now they are rising. I should not be surprised if Mr. Neuchatel were to present me to some of the grandees. I believe them to be all impostors, but still it is pleasant to talk to a man with a star.
“‘Ye stars, which are the poetry of heaven,’
“Byron wrote; a silly line; he should have written,
“‘Ye stars, which are the poetry of dress.’”
St. Barbe was not disappointed in his hopes. It was an evening of glorious success for him. He had even the honour of sitting for a time by the side of Mrs. Neuchatel, and being full of good claret, he, as he phrased it, showed his paces; that is to say, delivered himself of some sarcastic paradoxes duly blended with fulsome flattery. Later in the evening, he contrived to be presented both to the ambassador and the cabinet minister, and treated them as if they were demigods; listened to them as if with an admiration which he vainly endeavoured to repress; never spoke except to enforce and illustrate the views which they had condescended to intimate; successfully conveyed to his excellency that he was conversing with an enthusiast for his exalted profession; and to the minister that he had met an ardent sympathiser with his noble career. The ambassador was not dissatisfied with the impression he had made on one of the foreign correspondents of the “Chuck-Farthing,” and the minister flattered himself that both the literary and the graphic representations of himself in “Scaramouch” might possibly for the future be mitigated.
“I have done business to-night,” said St. Barbe to Endymion, towards the close of the evening. “You did not know I had left the old shop? I kept it close. I could stand it no longer. One has energies, sir, though not recognised—at least not recognised much,” he added thoughtfully. “But who knows what may happen? The age of mediocrity is not eternal. You see this thing offered, and I saw an opening. It has come already. You saw the big-wigs all talking to me? I shall go to Paris now with someeclat. I shall invent a new profession; the literary diplomatist. The bore is, I know nothing about foreign politics. My line has been the other way. Never mind; I will read the ‘Debats’ and the ‘Revue des Deux Mondes,’ and make out something. Foreign affairs are all the future, and my views may be as right as anybody else’s; probably more correct, not so conventional. What a fool I was, Ferrars! I was asked to remain here to-night and refused! The truth is, I could not stand those powdered gentlemen, and I should have been under their care. They seem so haughty and supercilious. And yet I was wrong. I spoke to one of them very rudely just now, when he was handing coffee, to show I was not afraid, and he answered me like a seraph. I felt remorse.”
“Well, I have made the acquaintance of Mr. St. Barbe,” said Myra to Endymion. “Strange as he is, he seemed quite familiar to me, and he was so full of himself that he never found me out. I hope some day to know Mr. Trenchard and Mr. Waldershare. Those I look upon as your chief friends.”
On the following afternoon, Adriana, Myra, and Endymion took a long walk together in the forest. The green glades in the autumnal woods were inviting, and sometimes they stood before the vast form of some doddered oak. The air was fresh and the sun was bright. Adriana was always gay and happy in the company of her adored Myra, and her happiness and her gaiety were not diminished by the presence of Myra’s brother. So it was a lively and pleasant walk.
At the end of a long glade they observed a horseman followed by a groom approaching them. Endymion was some little way behind, gathering wild flowers for Adriana. Cantering along, the cavalier soon reached them, and then he suddenly pulled up his horse. It was Colonel Albert.
“You are walking, ladies? Permit me to join you,” and he was by their side. “I delight in forests and in green alleys,” said Colonel Albert. “Two wandering nymphs make the scene perfect.”
“We are not alone,” said Adriana, “but our guardian is picking some wild flowers for us, which we fancied. I think it is time to return. You are going to Hainault, I believe, Colonel Albert, so we can all walk home together.”
So they turned, and Endymion with his graceful offering in a moment met them. Full of his successful quest, he offered with eager triumph the flowers to Adriana, without casting a glance at her new companion.
“Beautiful!” exclaimed Adriana, and she stopped to admire and arrange them. “See, dear Myra, is not this lovely? How superior to anything in our glass-houses!”
Myra took the flower and examined it. Colonel Albert, who was silent, was watching all this time Endymion with intentness, who now looked up and encountered the gaze of the new comer. Their eyes met, their countenances were agitated, they seemed perplexed, and then it seemed that at the same time both extended their hands.
“It is a long time since we met,” said Colonel Albert, and he retained the hand of Endymion with affection. But Endymion, who was apparently much moved, said nothing, or rather only murmured an echo to the remarks of his new friend. And then they all walked on, but Myra fell a little back and made a signal to Endymion to join her.
“You never told me, darling, that you knew Colonel Albert.”
“Colonel Albert!” said Endymion, looking amazed, and then he added, “Who is Colonel Albert?”
“That gentleman before us,” said Myra.
“That is the Count of Otranto, whose fag I was at Eton.”
“The Count of Otranto!”
Colonel Albert from this day became an object of increased and deeper interest to Myra. His appearance and manners had always been attractive, and the mystery connected with him was not calculated to diminish curiosity in his conduct or fate. But when she discovered that he was the unseen hero of her childhood, the being who had been kind to her Endymion in what she had ever considered the severest trial of her brother’s life, had been his protector from those who would have oppressed him, and had cherished him in the desolate hour of his delicate and tender boyhood, her heart was disturbed. How often had they talked together of the Count of Otranto, and how often had they wondered who he was! His memory had been a delightful mystery to them in their Berkshire solitude, and Myra recalled with a secret smile the numberless and ingenious inquiries by which she had endeavoured to elicit from her brother some clue as to his friend, or to discover some detail which might guide her to a conclusion. Endymion had known nothing, and was clear always that the Count of Otranto must have been, and was, an English boy. And now the Count of Otranto called himself Colonel Albert, and though he persisted in speaking English, had admitted to Mrs. Neuchatel that he was a foreigner.
Who was he? She resolved, when she had an opportunity, to speak to the great banker on the subject.
“Do you know, Mr. Neuchatel,” she said, “that Endymion, my brother, was at school with Colonel Albert?”
“Ah, ah!” said Mr. Neuchatel.
“But when he was at school he had another name,” said Myra.
“Oh, oh!” said Mr. Neuchatel.
“He was then called the Count of Otranto.”
“That is a very pretty name,” said Mr. Neuchatel.
“But why did he change it?” asked Myra.
“The great world often change their names,” said Mr. Neuchatel. “It is only poor City men like myself who are always called Mr., and bear the same name as their fathers.”
“But when a person is called a count when he is a boy, he is seldom called only a colonel when he is a man,” said Myra. “There is a great mystery in all this.”
“I should not be surprised,” said Mr. Neuchatel, “if he were to change his name again before this time year.”
“Why?” asked Myra.
“Well, when I have read all his papers in Bishopsgate Street, perhaps I shall be able to tell you,” said Mr. Neuchatel, and Myra felt that she could pursue the theme no further.
She expected that Endymion would in time be able to obtain this information, but it was not so. In their first private conversation after their meeting in the forest, Endymion had informed Colonel Albert that, though they had met now for the first time since his return, they had been for some time lodgers in London under the same roof. Colonel Albert smiled when Endymion told him this; then falling into thought, he said; “I hope we may often meet, but for the moment it may be as well that the past should be known only to ourselves. I wish my life for the present to be as private as I can arrange it. There is no reason why we should not be sometimes together—that is, when you have leisure. I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance at my banker’s.”
Parliament had been dissolved through the demise of the crown in the summer of this year (1837), and London society had been prematurely broken up. Waldershare had left town early in July to secure his election, in which he was successful, with no intention of settling again in his old haunts till the meeting of the new House of Commons, which was to be in November. The Rodneys were away at some Kentish watering-place during August and September, exhibiting to an admiring world their exquisitely made dresses, and enjoying themselves amazingly at balls and assemblies at the public rooms. The resources of private society also were not closed to them. Mr. and Mrs. Gamme were also there and gave immense dinners, and the airy Mrs. Hooghley, who laughed a little at the Gammes’ substantial gatherings and herself improvised charming pic-nics. So there was really little embarrassment in the social relations between Colonel Albert and Endymion. They resolved themselves chiefly into arranging joint expeditions to Hainault. Endymion had a perpetual invitation there, and it seemed that the transactions between Mr. Neuchatel and the colonel required much conference, for the banker always expected him, although it was well known that they met not unfrequently in Bishopsgate Street in the course of the week. Colonel Albert and Endymion always stayed at Hainault from Saturday till Monday. It delighted the colonel to mount Endymion on one of his choice steeds, and his former fag enjoyed all this amazingly.
Colonel Albert became domiciled at Hainault. The rooms which were occupied by him when there were always reserved for him. He had a general invitation, and might leave his luggage and books and papers behind him. It was evident that the family pleased him. Between Mr. Neuchatel and himself there were obviously affairs of great interest; but it was equally clear that he liked the female members of the family—all of them; and all liked him. And yet it cannot be said that he was entertaining, but there are some silent people who are more interesting than the best talkers. And when he did speak he always said the right thing. His manners were tender and gentle; he had an unobtrusive sympathy with all they said or did, except, indeed, and that was not rarely, when he was lost in profound abstraction.
“I delight in your friend the colonel, Adrian,” said Mrs. Neuchatel, “but I must say he is very absent.”
“He has a good deal to think about,” said Mr. Neuchatel.
“I wonder what it can be,” thought Myra.
“He has a claim to a great estate,” said Mr. Neuchatel, “and he has to think of the best mode of establishing it; and he has been deprived of great honours, and he believes unjustly, and he wishes to regain them.”
“No wonder, then, he is absent,” said Mrs. Neuchatel. “If he only knew what a burthen great wealth is, I am sure he would not wish to possess it, and as for honours I never could make out why having a title or a ribbon could make any difference in a human being.”
“Nonsense, my dear Emily,” said Mr. Neuchatel. “Great wealth is a blessing to a man who knows what to do with it, and as for honours, they are inestimable to the honourable.”
“Well, I ardently hope Colonel Albert may succeed,” said Myra, “because he was so kind to my brother at Eton. He must have a good heart.”
“They say he is the most unscrupulous of living men,” said Mr. Neuchatel, with his peculiar smile.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Mrs. Neuchatel.
“How terrible!” said Adriana. “It cannot be true.”
“Perhaps he is the most determined,” said Myra. “Moral courage is the rarest of qualities, and often maligned.”
“Well, he has got a champion,” said Mr. Neuchatel.
“I ardently wish him success,” said Myra, “in all his undertakings. I only wish I knew what they were.”
“Has not he told your brother, Miss Ferrars?” asked Mr. Neuchatel, with laughing eyes.
“He never speaks of himself to Endymion,” said Myra.
“He speaks a good deal of himself to me,” said Mr. Neuchatel; “and he is going to bring a friend here to-morrow who knows more about his affairs even than I do. So you will have a very good opportunity, Miss Ferrars, of making yourself acquainted with them, particularly if you sit next to him at dinner, and are very winning.”
The friend of Colonel Albert was Baron Sergius, the baron who used to visit him in London at twilight in a dark brougham. Mrs. Neuchatel was greatly taken by his appearance, by the calmness of his mien, his unstudied politeness, and his measured voice. He conversed with her entirely at dinner on German philosophy, of which he seemed a complete master, explained to her the different schools, and probably the successful ones, and imparted to her that precise knowledge which she required on the subject, and which she had otherwise been unable to obtain. It seemed, too, that he personally knew all the famous professors, and he intimated their doctrines not only with profound criticism, but described their persons and habits with vividness and picturesque power, never, however, all this time, by any chance raising his voice, the tones of which were ever distinct and a little precise.
“Is this the first visit of your friend to this country?” asked Myra of Colonel Albert.
“Oh no; he has been here often—and everywhere,” added Colonel Albert.
“Everywhere! he must be a most interesting companion then.”
“I find him so: I never knew any one whom I thought equal to him. But perhaps I am not an impartial judge, for I have known him so long and so intimately. In fact, I had never been out of his sight till I was brought over to this country to be placed at Eton. He is the counsellor of our family, and we all of us have ever agreed that if his advice had been always followed we should never have had a calamity.”
“Indeed, a gifted person! Is he a soldier?”
“No; Baron Sergius has not followed the profession of arms.”
“He looks a diplomatist.”
“Well, he is now nothing but my friend,” said the colonel. “He might have been anything, but he is a peculiarly domestic character, and is devoted to private life.”
“You are fortunate in such a friend.”
“Well, I am glad to be fortunate in something,” said Colonel Albert.
“And are you not fortunate in everything?”
“I have not that reputation; but I shall be more than fortunate if I have your kind wishes.”
“Those you have,” said Myra, rather eagerly. “My brother taught me, even as a child, to wish nothing but good for you. I wish I knew only what I was to wish for.”
“Wish that my plans may succeed,” said Colonel Albert, looking round to her with interest.
“I will more than wish,” said Myra; “I will believe that they will succeed, because I think you have resolved to succeed.”
“I shall tell Endymion when I see him,” said Colonel Albert, “that his sister is the only person who has read my character.”