It is the most difficult thing in the world to convey to the mind of a reader the idea of extended space by a rapid sketch. You may say days passed, and weeks; but the reader does not believe a word of it. He takes up the narrative where it left off; an abstract proposition is put before him, and he does not pursue it to any of its consequences. He does not consider for one moment, unless it be clearly explained to him, how those days and those weeks, with all the events which they brought to pass, had wrought upon the characters, the circumstances, and the relative positions of the personages before him. In a mere sketch with the pencil you can do better: by lighter lines and finer touches you make distant objects recede; by bolder strokes and stronger delineations you bring forward the near and the distinct. Nevertheless, I must endeavour to pass over several days rapidly, curtailing every unnecessary description, rejecting every needless detail, and yet dwelling so far upon the several events as to mark to the reader's mind that time was passing, and bearing on its rapid and buoyant flood a multitude of small objects, marking to each individual the progress of time towards eternity.
Day after day was spent at Brandon House in the usual occupations of a country mansion. There were walks, and rides, and drives, and shooting parties; and the fact most important for Charles Dudley was, that he was frequently alone for more than an hour together with Eda Brandon. All was explained, all was promised, all was understood. In less than two months she would be of age, her hand and her property at her own disposal; and Dudley felt angry at himself, from a sensation of regret which he experienced, that he did not still possess the ancient estates of his house, that he might unite himself to her for ever, as pride termed it, upon equal terms.
Those were very, very happy interviews; sometimes over the green lawns or shady groves of the park, sometimes alone in the library or the drawing-room, sometimes sitting side by side near the river, or in the deep wood, and talking with a melancholy pleasure over the past, or looking forward with a cheerful hope unto the future. They wondered sometimes that these communications were so little interrupted, and that nobody observed or attempted to interfere; but Sir Arthur Adelon was frequently absent on business as he said; Lord Hadley was seized with a passion for roaming about the country, which he had never displayed before; and a sort of irritable gloom had fallen upon Edgar Adelon, the cause of which he explained to no one, but which was easily seen by the eyes of his cousin. He often sought solitude, shut himself up in his own room, walked, when he went forth, in a different direction from the rest of the party, and seemed involved in thought, even when Eda and himself, and Dudley, were together without witnesses.
Nevertheless, he was the person who most frequently cut short the interviews of the two lovers, or deprived them of opportunity when the golden fruit was at their lips. He seemed to have conceived a peculiar and extraordinary affection for Lord Hadley's tutor; and there was that confident reliance and unreserved frankness in the friendship he displayed with which Dudley could not help feeling gratified, and which he could not make up his mind to check, even for the sake of a few more happy moments with Eda Brandon. By fits and starts the young man would come and ask him to join him in his walks; would seek his society and his conversation; and would sometimes express his regard, nay, even his admiration, with a warmth and a candour which seemed to Dudley, ignorant of all cause for such sensations in his heart, as savouring too much of childish simplicity for one who was standing at the verge of manhood. His conversation, however, was very interesting, full of wild flights of fancy, rich and imaginative in terms, and overflowing with the deep stream of the heart. He insisted upon it that his companion should call him Edgar, and said that he would always use the name of Dudley; and many a counsel would he ask of him, and listen to his advice with that profound and deep attention which showed that, from some cause or other, reverence had been joined with affection. This extraordinary interest sometimes puzzled Dudley. He would ask himself could Edgar have perceived the mutual affection of Eda and himself, and could his regard for his fair cousin have taught him to love whomsoever she loved? But there was no appearance of such perception when they were together: not by a word, not by a smile, not by a quiet jest, did he ever show a knowledge of their affection; and Dudley at length concluded that it was one of those boyish friendships which, suddenly conceived, and nourished, by long after-intercourse, often form the basis of lasting regard which only terminates with life.
Another person, who seemed to have been much struck with Dudley, and who also occupied a good deal of his time, was Mr. Filmer; but to say the truth, Dudley himself was less pleased with his society than with that of Edgar Adelon. It was always smooth, easy, agreeable. There was not the slightest appearance of effort in his conversation; nothing strained, nothing at all peculiar in his demeanour. He was learned, witty, imaginative; mingling quiet cheerfulness and unobtrusive gaiety with occasional strains of thought so deep and so intense, yet so pellucid and bright, that the hearer was carried away with wonder and delight. He was fond of talking of religious subjects, and with all the many associated with them by his church. He had a love for, and an intimate acquaintance with, ancient architecture in all its branches; and he combined therewith fancies, hypotheses, or theories, as the reader may have it, which gave a sort of mystical signification to every part and portion of an old building, and spread, as it were, a religious feeling through the conception and the execution of the whole. Every church, or abbey, or cathedral, which had been raised in pure catholic times, was in his eyes but a symbol of the spiritual church--a hierarchy, as it were, in stone. He loved sacred music, too. There was not a chant, a canon, an anthem, a mass, or a dirge, that he did not know, and could descant upon eloquently, or sit down and play it with exquisite taste, if no great execution, joining occasionally a powerful and melodious voice in snatches of rich song, without the slightest appearance of vanity or display, but merely as if to give the hearer an idea of the composition which he had mentioned.
All this was very charming, but still there was something which made Charles Dudley prefer the frank, free, fearless conversation of Edgar Adelon. He knew not well what that something was; he could not term it a studiedness, but it was all too definite, too circumscribed by rules, too much tied down to purposes and views which allowed no expansion but in peculiar directions. Although there was no affectation, there seemed to be an object in everything he said. There was, in short, a predominant idea to which everything was referrible, and which deprived his conversation of that wide and natural range, that free and liberal course, which is one of the greatest charms of friendly intercourse. One felt that, in a very different sense from that in which the beautiful words were originally used--'he was in the world, but not of the world.'
A time came rapidly when much was explained that was at first dark; but we must turn to another of our characters, whose fate was intimately interwoven with that of Charles Dudley. Lord Hadley, as I have said, was frequently absent from Brandon House; and when he was present, there was something in his manner which showed a change of thought or feeling. He attempted to flirt with Eda Brandon--a difficult matter at any time, but more difficult still in the circumstances which existed, and especially when it was done with an effort. His manner towards Dudley, too, was very different. He sought his society but little; was captious in his conversation with him, and somewhat petulant in his replies. He seemed not well pleased when that gentleman was with Eda; and marked his feelings so plainly, that Dudley was sometimes inclined to fear that his pupil had conceived an attachment to the object of his own affection. But then, again, twice when they were sauntering in the park before the house, Lord Hadley made an excuse to leave him and Miss Brandon together, and walked away in the direction of the Grange, remaining absent for two or three hours.
In the mean time, rumours spread, and the newspapers announced that there were threatening signs in the manufacturing districts; that great meetings of artisans were taking place in public and in private; that the people determined to have what they called 'a holiday;' and that some great attempt at popular insurrection was contemplated by those immense masses, which, congregated within a very narrow space, have the means of rapid communication ever open, and whose amount of intelligence is sufficient to make them feel the ills they suffer, and the wrongs they are subject to, without showing them the best means of relieving the one or casting off the other. The prompt and decided measures of government, too, were detailed in the public prints; the march of different regiments was mentioned; and some portions were displayed of the general plan for suppressing any outbreak, which had been formed by the great master of strategy, sufficient to prove to any person not infatuated by false hopes, that the movements of the people would be effectually checked as soon as ever they transgressed the bounds of law.
To most of the little party assembled at Brandon, these reports came like the roar of the stormy ocean to persons calmly seated by the domestic hearth. They were far removed from the scene of probable strife; they had full confidence in the power and the wisdom of government. There were no manufactories for many miles around; and the nearest point at which there was any great congregation of artisans lay at some twenty or thirty miles' distance, where there were both mines and potteries. Nevertheless, Eda observed that her uncle read with the deepest attention everything that referred to the discontent of the manufacturing population. She saw, too, that he was uneasy; that there was a restlessness and an impatience about him which she could not account for; and she pointed it out to Dudley, who remarked it also. "I have not seen him in this state for years," she said; "and I cannot help thinking that something of great importance must be weighing upon his mind."
"I have heard," replied Dudley, "that at one time he took a very warm, I might almost say vehement, interest in political matters, and went through a contested election in the north, as the advocate of the most extreme pretensions of the people. I have cause to remember that period, dearest Eda, for with that election commenced the ruin of my poor father. He had represented the town for many years in parliament, when your uncle started against him upon principles almost republican. As they had been friends from boyhood, although the contest was carried on very fiercely by their several supporters, it was conducted with courtesy and kindness by themselves--as much courtesy and kindness, indeed, as could exist under such circumstances between men of the most opposite political principles. My father was returned, but some of the electors thought fit to petition against him, accusing his agents of the most extensive bribery and corruption. As the population was large and very equally divided in opinion, the expenses of the election itself had been enormous. Innumerable witnesses were brought before the committee on both sides; the investigation lasted for months; the most eminent barristers were retained by enormous fees; and though it ended in my father retaining his seat, an outlay of nearly thirty thousand pounds was incurred by the contest and the petition. To meet this expense, he proposed to mortgage the estates; when your worthy uncle, feeling, perhaps, that his supporters had not treated my father very well, offered to take the proposed mortgage at a low rate of interest. It was necessary, however, that the title deeds should be closely examined, and they were submitted to the inspection of his lawyer, a scoundrel of the name of Sherborne. This man, who was as keen and acute as he was unprincipled, discovered a flaw in the title; and instead of merely advising your uncle not to take the mortgage, he communicated the fact to another party, and a long law-suit was the consequence, which ended in our being stripped of the property which my grandfather had purchased and paid for. My father was now loaded with a very large debt besides, which he had no means of paying, and his spirits and his health sunk and gave way at once. In these circumstances, Sir Arthur Adelon acted with a degree of kindness which I can never forget. He purchased a very small property which had descended to me from my mother, at more than its real value, and did not even wait till I was of age to make the transfer before he paid the money. I had thus the means of comforting and soothing my father during an enforced absence from England, and the long period of sickness which preceded his death; and the moment I was of age I assigned the property to your uncle. Though I had never seen him myself, I wrote to thank him, at my father's death; but he did not answer my letter, and, what is somewhat strange, he has never adverted to the subject since I have been here, perhaps thinking rightly, that it must be a very painful one to me. I have been led into a long story," he continued, "when I only wished to explain to you that Sir Arthur is known to feel very intensely upon the subject of the people's rights and claims. That he sympathises deeply with these poor men in the manufacturing districts, there can be no doubt; and I rather think you will find that the anxiety and uneasiness he displays are to be attributed to the interest he feels in them."
Eda mused, but did not reply. She was deeply attached to her uncle, who for many years had acted as a father towards her; but yet she might know his character better than Dudley, and might entertain reasonable doubts as to his being moved by the feelings which that gentleman ascribed to him. She did not express those doubts, however, and the conversation took another turn.
The fifth day of Dudley's stay at Brandon was a Sunday, and it commenced with a tremendous storm of wind and rain. The nearest village church was, as I have shown, at some distance; and Sir Arthur Adelon, though he courteously proposed to order the carriage to carry any of the party, who might desire it, to the morning's service, added some remarks upon the state of the weather and the likelihood of the servants getting very wet, which prevented any one from accepting his offer. A room had been fitted up at Brandon, and decorated as a chapel; and at the usual hour, Mr. Filmer appeared, to officiate in the celebration of mass.
Eda Brandon was not present; for, as she informed Dudley, she had promised her mother, before her death, never to be present at the services of the Roman Catholic church. Lord Hadley and his tutor, however, with less rigid notions, accompanied Sir Arthur and a number of his servants to the chapel; and somewhat to Dudley's surprise, Mr. Clive and his daughter also appeared soon after, notwithstanding the tempest that was raging without.
Dudley felt a reverence for religion in all its forms; the worship of God was to him always the worship of God; and though he did not affect to adore in a wafer the real presence of his Saviour, he behaved with gravity and decorum through the whole ceremony. Lord Hadley, on the contrary, treated the whole matter somewhat lightly; paid little attention to the offices of the church; and kept his eyes fixed, during a great part of the service, upon Helen Clive, with a look which was not altogether pleasing to his tutor. Nor did it seem so to Edgar Adelon either; for when he glanced towards Lord Hadley for a moment, his colour became suddenly heightened, and his eyes flashed fire, giving to Dudley, for the first time, a key to what was passing in his bosom.
After mass was concluded, Sir Arthur took Clive familiarly by the arm, and walking with him into the library, begged him not to think of returning to the Grange with Helen till the storm had passed. Mr. Clive declined to stay, however, saying that he did not feel the weather himself, and that, as he had come up in his own little sociable, Helen would be under cover as she went back. The day passed as other days had done; but during the afternoon Mr. Filmer paid particular attention to Dudley, and was altogether more cheerful and entertaining than he had been for some time, as if the services of his religion formed a real pleasure to him, the effect of which remained for several hours after they were over.
The morning of the second day of the week once more broke calm and clear, and Dudley was musing in his room on much that had lately passed. From all that he had observed the day before, he feared that the conduct of Lord Hadley towards Helen Clive was not that which he could approve; and although he might have regretted much to leave the society of Eda at that moment, he would not have suffered any personal feeling to prevent him from urging an immediate removal from what he conceived a dangerous position, if he had not recollected that the young nobleman was so nearly of age as to be very likely to resist any interference. He was considering, therefore, how he should act, when he was again visited in his room by Mr. Filmer, for the purpose of engaging him to take a stroll in the fresh morning air.
With many men, the effect of intense thought and mental anxiety is very great upon the mere body; and Dudley felt heated and almost feverish. He believed, too, that in the course of their ramble he might, perhaps, obtain some farther information regarding his pupil's conduct from the priest; for he well knew that the clergy of the Romish church look upon it almost as a matter of duty to ascertain the facts of every transaction in which any of their flock are concerned. He therefore agreed to the proposal at once; and after they had issued forth into the park, pondered, even while they were conversing, upon the best means of introducing the topic of which he was desirous of speaking.
As they walked on, detached masses of cloud, left by the storm of the preceding day, floated heavily overhead; and the shadows and the gleams crossed the landscape rapidly, bringing out many points of beauty, which were not observable either under the broad sunshine of summer, or the cold, gray expanse of the wintry sky.
"The scenery here is certainly very lovely," said Dudley; "and I think that of the park peculiarly so. It is more varied, as well as more extensive, than any park that I have seen in England."
"Yes, it is very beautiful," replied the priest, in a somewhat common-place tone; "and, indeed, the whole property is a very fine one. There are few heiresses in England who can boast of such an estate as Miss Brandon."
"Miss Brandon!" said Dudley, in a tone of some surprise. "Do you mean to say that she is the owner of this beautiful place? I thought it was the property of her uncle."
The priest turned a short, quick glance to his face, and then replied, in a very marked manner, but yet with a well-satisfied smile, "I am glad to hear you thought so, my young friend; but in answer to your question, this property is Miss Brandon's. Sir Arthur is only here as her guardian. It was much her mother's wish that she should live with him till her marriage; but, at the same time, she expressed a strong desire that her principal residence should be at Brandon. Sir Arthur is a very conscientious man, and he consequently, having undertaken the task, carries out his sister's views more fully than most men would be inclined to do. The bulk of his own property is in Yorkshire, as I believe you know; but he is not there more than a month in the year. The rest of his time is spent at Brandon or in London."
"May I ask," said Dudley, "what there could be pleasing to you in my believing this property to be Sir Arthur Adelon's?"
Mr. Filmer smiled. "Perhaps," he said, "it might be more courteous to leave your question unanswered than to answer it; but nevertheless I will not affect reserve. I look upon it, in ordinary cases, to be rather a misfortune than otherwise for a young lady to inherit a large fortune. There are three results, each very common. Sometimes her relations and friends arrange and bring about a marriage for her with a man perhaps the least suited to her on the face of the earth; some coarse and wealthy brute; some dissolute peer. At other times, she becomes the prey of a designing sharper; a man probably without honour, honesty, or principle: low in birth and mind as in fortunes. Or if she escapes these perils, and reaches the age of discretion unmarried, from a knowledge of the risks she has escaped, she is filled with suspicions of every gentleman who approaches her; doubts the motives of all who profess to love her, and fancies that her wealth, and not her heart, is the object sought. I know not which of these results is most to be deprecated." He made a pause, and then continued, with a smile: "That you did not know the property to belong to her, shows that you can be influenced by no motives but such as must be gratifying to herself."
Dudley cast down his eyes and mused for several moments. He was not at all aware that his conduct towards Eda had been such as to display the secret of their hearts to even the keenest eye; and he was surprised, and not well pleased, to find that it had been penetrated at once by the shrewd priest. As he did not answer, Mr. Filmer went on, with a frank and even friendly tone: "I need not tell you, Mr. Dudley, after what has fallen from me," he said, "that I wish you success, not with any of the rash enthusiasm of a young man in favour of a friend, but upon calm and due deliberation. You are a gentleman by birth and education; a man of high honour and feeling I sincerely believe you to be, and this Lord Hadley is in no degree fitted for her. Light and volatile as a withered leaf; with no fixed principles, and no strong religious feelings; full of unbridled passions, and appetites that have been pampered from his boyhood; the effect of wealth and high station, those two great touchstones of the human character, will be disastrous to him. He is in the high road now to become a confirmed libertine, and even at the present moment is labouring to destroy the peace of a happy family far more ancient and respectable than his own, and to introduce discord into a peaceful neighbourhood, where, happily, we have few such as himself to stir up the angry feelings of our nature."
"You have touched upon a subject, my dear sir," replied Dudley, who could not help feeling gratified by many of the expressions he had used, "in regard to which I much wished to speak with you; and I was meditating upon the very point when you came into my room. I have remarked, for some days past, that Lord Hadley has been much absent from the house at which he is visiting, so much so as almost to be discourteous; and yesterday, in the chapel, I could not help observing indications of feelings which I regretted much to see, and in regard to which you have confirmed my suspicions."
"His conduct there was very reprehensible," said Mr. Filmer, in a grave tone. "He spends the time during his long absences from Brandon either in visiting at Mr. Clive's house, or in lying in wait for poor Helen in her walks. His object is not to be mistaken by any one of ordinary sagacity and knowledge of the world; but yet, Clive, though a very sensible man, does not perceive it. You must have remarked how blind parents usually are under such circumstances. He looks upon Lord Hadley as a mere boy, and a frank and agreeable one. He thinks that his visits are to himself; and the young gentleman, with more art than one would have supposed him capable of, takes care to go down to the Grange when he knows that the master is out, and has some excuse ready for waiting till he returns."
"From what you tell me," replied Dudley, "it seems absolutely necessary that one of two courses should be pursued: either I must immediately endeavour to induce Lord Hadley to remove from Brandon--in which case I am afraid he would resist, as in a few weeks he will be of age--or else Mr. Clive must be warned, and take such measures as may put a stop to this young man's visits."
"I do not know that either is necessary," answered Mr. Firmer; "nor would either have the effect that you anticipate. Lord Hadley would not go, or would return to pursue the same course when he is his own master; and in regard to warning Clive, I should have done it before, had I not known and felt that it might be dangerous to do so. He is a man of a very strong and hasty spirit: resolute, bold, determined, and easily moved by anything that looks like indignity, to bursts of passion of which you can form no idea, never having seen him roused. Neither have I any fear whatsoever for Helen. She is guarded not only by high principle, and a pure and noble heart, but by other feelings, which are often a woman's greatest safeguard. Lord Hadley will then find his designs in vain; and I do not think he would venture to insult her in any way."
Dudley mused for a moment, having learned more of his pupil during their journey on the Continent than he had known when he undertook the task of guiding him. "I do not know," he said, in a doubtful tone: "I do not know."
"He had better not," said Mr. Filmer, sternly; "but be sure, my dear young friend, that there shall be an eye, not easily blinded, on all his actions. The interest you take in this matter raises you more highly in my esteem than ever; and I will own, that I could not help drawing a comparison, very unfavourable to this young lord, between your conduct and his in the chapel yesterday. Reverence to the ceremonies of religion is due even to decency, if not to principle; but there was something more in your demeanour, which gave me good hope that if you would sometimes attend to the various services of our church, receive even but slight instruction in its doctrines, cast from your mind the prejudices of education, and meditate unbiassed over the principal differences between our church and yours--of course, not without full explanation of all our views upon those dogmas which are so erroneously stated by most Protestant writers--your conduct gave me good hope, I say, that under these circumstances you might be regained to that true faith of which many of your ancestors were the greatest ornaments."
Dudley smiled. The secret was now before him. The priest had really conceived the design of converting him; and his full and strong attachment to the Protestant religion, his unhesitating condemnation in his own heart of the errors of the Romish church, made the very idea ridiculous in his eyes. "I fear, my dear sir," he replied, as the slight smile passed away, "that your expectation is altogether vain. There is no chance whatever, let me assure you, of my ever abandoning the religion in which I have been brought up."
"Do not be too sure, my friend," replied Mr. Filmer, smiling also; "I have seen more obstinate heretics than yourself brought to a knowledge of the truth. I do not despair of you at all. You have a mind free from many prejudices which affect others of your religion. You are not at all bigoted or intolerant; and you view these matters so calmly, and yet devoutly, that with my firm convictions, after much study and thought, I cannot help thinking, if you will but look into the matter fully, you will arrive at a just conclusion."
"I trust, undoubtedly, that such will be the case," was Dudley's answer; "but I believe, my dear sir, that I have arrived at a just conclusion already. It has not been without study either, nor from the showing of Protestant divines, but rather from the works of your own church, many of which I have examined with great care and attention, and which have only strengthened me in my convictions. The more impartial a man is in forming his opinions, and the less vehement and passionate he is in their assertion, the more firm he is likely to be when they are formed, and the more steady in their maintenance."
They had by this time reached the other side of the park, and passing through a little wicket gate, were entering the road beyond the walls. Mr. Filmer's lips were compressed as he listened, and he seemed to struggle against some strong emotion; but just at that moment the tramp of numerous feet was heard, and looking up the road, they saw a multitude of people, in the dress of country labourers and working men, advancing at a quick pace, two and two, in an orderly and decorous manner. Mr. Filmer and his companion paused to let them pass; and as they went by, talking together, Filmer could not help remarking, that in the countenances of many there was a stern and thoughtful, and in others an enthusiastic and excited expression, which seemed to indicate that they were engaged in no ordinary occupation. They passed on without taking any notice of the two gentlemen, although two or three times Dudley heard the name of Sir Arthur Adelon mentioned amongst them; and when the last had gone by, he inquired, not unwilling to change the matter of their conversation, "Who can these men be, and what can be their object in this curious sort of array?"
"I really do not know," answered Mr. Filmer; "but it would not surprise me if they were Chartists."
"Have you many of them here?" asked Dudley.
"Oh, yes! they are very numerous," replied the priest, "both amongst the peasantry and the townspeople, and these may very likely be going to some of their meetings on the downs. They are all very orderly and quiet in our county, however; and, indeed, form the best behaved and most respectable part of our population. A great enthusiasm is very often extremely useful. The men who feel it are often restrained thereby from anything low or base, or degrading to the great principle which moves them. Such, my young friend, ought to be the power of religion upon the heart; and such it is, as you must have yourself seen, with a great many of the ecclesiastics of the church to which I belong. Base and bad men may be found in every country, and will disgrace every creed; but I cannot help thinking you will find, if you will really read and study some works which I will lend you, that the natural tendency of every doctrine of the Catholic religion is to elevate and purify the hearts of men, and to mortify and subdue every corrupt affection. I know," he continued, "that the exact reverse has been stated by Protestant writers, but they have been mistaken--I will not use a harsher term--and will only add, study, and you will see."
"I will certainly read the books with great pleasure," replied Dudley; "but at the same time I must not lead you to expect for one moment that they will make any change in my opinions."
He spoke in the most decided tone; and Mr. Filmer replied, with a slight contraction of the brows, and a very grave and serious manner, "Then I fear your dearest hopes will be disappointed."
Dudley felt somewhat indignant at the implied threat; but he was prevented from answering by the appearance of Lord Hadley, who came towards them, not from the side of Brandon, and who, instantly joining them, returned in their company towards the house, affecting an exuberant degree of gaiety, and laughing and jesting in a manner which harmonized ill with the more serious thoughts of his two companions. The subject of the mass, at which they had been present the day before, was accidentally introduced in the course of their conversation, which thence deviated to the ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion in other countries; and the young peer said, laughing, "If it were not for its mummeries, Mr. Filmer, I should think it a very good religion too, a capital religion. It is so pleasant to think that one can shuffle off all one's peccadilloes on the shoulders of another man, that I wonder who would not be a Roman Catholic, if he could."
A scowl, momentary, but fiend-like, crossed the countenance of the priest; and Dudley, who had observed it, was surprised to hear him say, the next moment, with a bland smile, "You are a little mistaken in your views, my lord; and I think if you would examine the subject well, under a competent instructor, you would not find it so difficult a thing to be a Roman Catholic as you imagine."
"I should prefer an instructress," answered Lord Hadley, with a laugh; but Mr. Filmer did not reply, finding it, perhaps, somewhat difficult to guide his arguments between two men of such totally different characters and views as the young lord and his tutor. The rest of their walk back through the park passed almost in silence; but from various indications Dudley judged that the previous gaiety of Lord Hadley had been more affected than real.
To a person inexperienced in the ways of life and in human character, it might seem strange that a man should pursue one woman with every appearance of passion, and should yet, at the same time, not only seek the love of another, but also entertain some feeling of jealousy at any sign of favour for a rival. But yet this is the case every day, and it was so with Lord Hadley. Had he been asked whether he admired Helen Clive or Eda Brandon most, he would have replied, if he answered sincerely, "Helen Clive;" but she was in his eyes merely a plaything, to be possessed, to sport with, and to cast away; while Eda was looked upon in a very different light--to add wealth to his wealth; to flatter his vanity by the display of her beauty and her grace as his wife; to gratify his pride by uniting the blood of the Brandons, one of the oldest families in the land, to that of the Hadleys, who, to say the truth, required not a little to graft their young plant upon a more ancient stock. Whatever feelings he entertained for her certainly did not reach the height of passion; but yet, when he was beside her, he evidently sought to win regard, and it was plain that he by no means liked the preference she showed for Dudley.
Sir Arthur Adelon saw that something had gone amiss with his young and noble guest; and while they were sitting at luncheon, with not the most placable of feelings existing on the part of Lord Hadley towards his tutor, Sir Arthur was considering what could be the cause of the coldness and haughtiness of tone which he remarked, when a servant entering announced to Mr. Dudley that a gentleman of the name of Norries wished to speak with him for a few moments in the library.
Sir Arthur instantly turned deadly pale; but recovering himself in a moment, he started up before his guest could reply, saying, "I beg you ten thousand pardons, Mr. Dudley, but I have something of much importance to say to Mr. Norries, and if you will permit me I will take up his time for a moment or two while you finish your luncheon, as I have got business which will call me out immediately, and perhaps your conversation with him may be somewhat long."
Dudley was replying that he really did not know what business Mr. Norries could have with him, as he knew no such person, when, with a familiar nod, Sir Arthur said, "I will not detain him three minutes," and hurried out of the room, followed by the keen, cold eye of the priest.
"Who is Mr. Norries, father?" inquired Eda Brandon. "I never heard of him before."
"An old acquaintance of Sir Arthur's," replied Mr. Filmer, in a common-place tone. "He was once a lawyer, I believe, and too honest a man for a profession from which he retired some time ago."
Not two minutes elapsed before Sir Arthur Adelon was in the room again. His conference with Mr. Norries had been short indeed; but it seemed to have been satisfactory, for when he returned his lip wore a smile, although his face was now a good deal flushed, as if from some recent and great excitement.
"You will find Norries in the library, Mr. Dudley," said the baronet, as soon as he entered; and while Dudley rose and walked to the door, Sir Arthur seated himself at the table and fell into deep thought.
In the mean time Dudley proceeded to the room to which he had been directed, and found there, waiting his arrival, the same powerful, hard-featured man whom I have before described.
The keen gray eyes of Norries were fixed upon the door, and when Dudley entered a slight flush passed over his cheek. "Mr. Dudley," he said; "there is no mistaking you. You are very like your father."
"I believe I am, Mr. Norries," replied Dudley, "pray be seated. You were well acquainted with my poor father, I presume."
"No, I had not that honour, sir," answered Norries. "I have seen him more than once, however, as the partner of Mr. Sherborne, the Yorkshire solicitor of Sir Arthur Adelon."
Dudley's face grew stern, and he made a movement as if to rise, but refrained, merely saying, "Mr. Sherborne's name, sir, is an unpleasant one to me. I should not like to speak my opinion of him to his partner; but were he still living, I should undoubtedly let him hear it in person."
"I was his partner, sir, in business, but not in rascality," replied Norries, "the full extent of which I did not know till he was dead. Nature did not make me for a lawyer, Mr. Dudley; and the result of my study of the profession has been to show me that, either by errors in their original formation, or by perversions which have crept in through the misinterpretation of judges, the laws of this land do not afford security against injustice, redress for wrongs committed, protection to the innocent, punishment to the guilty, or equity in any of the relations between man and man. With this view of the case, I could not remain in a profession which aided to carry out, in an iniquitous manner, iniquitous laws, and I therefore quitted it. Before I did so, however, it became my task to examine all the papers in the office of my deceased partner and myself, many of which I had never seen or heard of before. In so doing, sir, I found some which affected your father; and amongst others, several letters of his, apparently of importance. The latter you shall have; the other papers, relating to a contested election in which he took part, are at present necessary to myself."
"I feel much obliged to you, Mr. Norries," replied Dudley. "Of course I shall feel glad to have my poor father's letters. In regard to the other papers relative to the election, as that has been a business long settled, they can be of no service to me, and I do by no means wish to recall old grievances. I am now in the house of my father's opponent on that occasion, and I am well aware that he then acted honourably, and afterwards most liberally and kindly to my poor father."
Norries knit his brows, and shut his teeth tight, but he suffered no observation to escape him; and Dudley continued, saying, "I do not, therefore, wish for one moment to revive any unpleasant memories connected with that contest, and think the papers referring to it just as well in your hands as in mine. Was this the only matter you wished to speak to me upon!"
"I have nothing farther to say, Mr. Dudley," replied Norries, rising, "but that I will in a few days send your father's letters to you at any place you please to mention." And after having received Mr. Dudley's address at St. John's College, Cambridge, he took his leave. Once he stopped for a moment as he was going out--thought, muttered something to himself, but without adding anything more, departed.
On quitting Brandon House, Norries made his way straight to the avenue which I have mentioned once or twice before; and walking hurriedly down under the shade of the trees, he turned into a path which led through the copse on the right to a stile over the wall. His direction was towards the Grange, but he did not follow exactly the same road which had been pursued by Edgar Adelon. About a hundred yards up the lane there lay the entrance of another narrow footway which was sunk deep between two banks, with a hedge at the top, forming an exceedingly unpleasant and dangerous cut in the way of any horseman following the fox-hounds; and indeed there was a tradition of two gentlemen having broken their necks there some fifty years ago, in consequence of having come suddenly upon this unseen hollow way, in leaping the hedge above. Along it, however, Mr. Norries now sped with a quick step, till it opened out upon a little green, where stood two cottages in a complete state of ruin, to arrive at which more easily from the high road, the path had probably been cut in former years. On the other side of the green, mounting over the bank and passing through the fields, was a more open footway, with a stile at the bottom of the descent, upon which was sitting, when Norries came up, a short, slightly-made man, with a sharp face, and keen, eager, black eyes. "Well, Nichols," said Norries, approaching, "I have not kept you long."
"No, no," answered the other man, quickly; "but what news--what news, Mr. Norries? What does he say?
"Why he will come, Nichols, whenever we give the word," answered Norries, "without hesitation or delay."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the other; "better news than I thought. I feared he was shirking, from what he said last time, or else that he would take so long to consider that we should lose our opportunity."
"I took means to quicken his decision," said Norries. "But let us get on, Nichols, for I expect Conway and Mac Dermot to join me at Clive's for a consultation; and we must then separate till to-morrow night."
"Is Clive's a safe place?" asked Nichols, following, as the other strode on rapidly. "He is dead against us, you know, Norries."
"But he would not betray any man," replied the other; "and besides, he is out at the town, and will not be back for two or three hours."
Nothing farther was said till they reached the Grange, where, going in without ceremony, Norries put his head into Helen's drawing-room, saying, "I can go into the up-stairs room which I had before, Helen dear, I suppose?"
"Oh, certainly!" answered Helen. "Everything is there just as you left it; but my father is not at home, and will not return for some hours."
"That does not matter," answered Norries; and calling one of the maids, he told her, if any gentlemen came to inquire for him, to show them up stairs to him; and mounting the steps, he led the person called Nichols into the room where his conference had been held with Sir Arthur Adelon. Helen in the mean time remained below, unoccupied, apparently, with anything but thought, for though there was a book open before her, she seldom looked at it. She was seated with her face to the window, which commanded a view of the garden, and through the trees across the river to the opposite side of the little dell in which it flowed. With one arm in a sling, and the other resting across the book upon the table, she gazed forth from the window, watching that opposite bank with an anxious, almost apprehensive expression of countenance, and if she dropped her eyes to the page for a moment, she raised them again instantly. Hardly three minutes had passed after Norries' arrival, when a figure was indistinctly seen coming over the slope, and Helen, starting up, exclaimed, "There he is again! This is really too bad. I am glad my uncle is here!" But before the words were well uttered, the figure came more fully in sight, and Helen saw that it was that of a perfect stranger. Another equally unknown to her, followed close behind the first; and she sat down again, murmuring with a slight smile, "I frighten myself needlessly. But it is really very hard to be so treated. I do not know what to do. If I were to tell my father what he had said, and how he had treated me, he would kill him on the spot; and if I told Edgar all, they would fight, I am sure. Poor, dear, generous Edgar! I can see he is very uneasy, and yet I dare not speak. It is very strange that Father Peter should treat the matter with such indifference. I believe my best way would be to tell my uncle."
As she thus went on murmuring broken sentences, the two men whom she had seen approached the house, rang the bell, and Helen could hear their heavy footsteps mount the stairs.
She had turned her head towards the door when they came into the house; but the moment that her eyes were directed towards the window again, she saw the figure of Lord Hadley, coming down the path with a proud, light, self-confident step, and instantly starting up once more, she closed the book, and ran out of the room. A maid was in the passage, and in an eager and frightened tone, the beautiful girl exclaimed, "Tell him exactly what I said, Margaret. If he asks for me, say I will not see him. Make no excuses, but tell him plainly and at once, I will not."
"That I will, Miss Helen," answered the woman, heartily. "Shall I ask Ben the ploughman to thrash him if he won't go away?"
If Helen had uttered the reply that first rose in her mind, her words would have been, "I wish to heaven you would!" but she refrained, and saying, "No; no violence, Margaret," she ran up stairs to her own room, and seated herself near a little table, after locking the door.
What passed below she could not hear; but between that chamber and the next was a partition of old dark oak, not carved into panels, as in the rooms below, but running in long polished planks from the ceiling to the floor, with the edges rounded into mouldings, for the sake of some slight degree of ornament. They were tightly joined together, but still the words of any one speaking in a loud tone in the one room, could be heard in the other; and it seemed to Helen, from the pitch to which two or three of the voices were elevated, that one of the party at least in her uncle's chamber was somewhat hard of hearing. Her thoughts for a moment or two after she entered, were too much agitated for her to pay any particular attention; but all remained still below, and she said to herself, "He has gone in to wait for my father, or to sit down and rest himself, as he pretends, I dare say. I wonder how a gentleman can have recourse to such false excuses, and here I must be kept a prisoner till he chooses to go."
As she thus thought, some words from the neighbouring room caught her ear, and instantly fixed her attention. It was without design she listened: by an impulse that was irresistible. Her cheek turned paler than it was before; her lips parted with eagerness and apparent anxiety; and she put her hand to her brow, murmuring, "Good heaven! I hope my father has no share in all this! I will go down upon my knees to him, and beg him not to meddle with it." But the next moment other words were spoken, and the look of terror passed away from her beautiful face like a dark cloud from a summer sky. Then again the name of Sir Arthur Adelon was mentioned frequently, and again the cloud came over Helen's fair brow; but now there was surprise mingled with fear, for it was marvellous to her, that a man of great wealth, station, and respectability, should be implicated so deeply in the schemes which she heard.
About half an hour passed in this manner, and then the maid came up and tapped at her door, saying, "He is gone, Miss Helen:" and the fair prisoner, glad to be released, opened her door and descended to the room below. "What shall I do? How shall I act?" was Helen's first thought. "To betray them to justice I cannot, I must not; but yet it is very horrible. There will be terrible bloodshed! And Sir Arthur Adelon, too; who could ever have suspected that he would join them? Oh, I wish he would be warned! I will tell Eda. She has more power over him than any one, and he may be persuaded to refrain. My uncle will have his course; nothing will turn him, I am sure, and he will ruin himself utterly in the end; but I do hope and trust he will have no influence over my father. Oh, no! the men said he would have nought to do with it. But hark!"
There were steps heard descending. Two or three people quitted the house, and after a lapse of a few minutes, Norries entered the room with a calm, even cheerful countenance, and seated himself beside Helen.
"What is the matter, little pet?" he said. "You look sad and anxious. Is your arm paining you, my dear?"
"Oh, no!" replied Helen; "it has never pained me at all since it was set. I think it is quite well now."
"Who was that came in about half an hour ago?" asked Norries, somewhat abruptly. "I heard the bell ring, and a man's foot in the passage."
"It was Lord Hadley," answered Helen, colouring a little at the very mention of his name. "He came in to to wait for my father, I suppose, or upon some such excuse."
"My dear Helen," said Norries, laying his hand quietly upon hers, "have nought to do with him, see him as little as possible; for though to suspect you, my dear child, of anything that is wrong, is quite out of the question for those who know you, yet the frequent visits of men who, in our bad state of society, hold a rank far superior to your own, and especially of such a dissolute, thoughtless youth as this, may injure your fair fame with those who do not know you."
The kindly tone in which he spoke encouraged Helen; and looking up in his face, she said, "This is a subject on which I much wish to speak to you, for I dare not tell my father. I did not see Lord Hadley, my dear uncle, for I went to my own room the moment I saw him coming, and ordered the maid to tell him, if he asked for me, that Iwould notsee him, in those plain terms."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Norries, now much interested; "then he must have done something very wrong, Helen."
"He has said things to me which I cannot repeat, my dear uncle," she replied, with a glowing face. "He wanted to persuade me to leave my father's house, and go away to London with him; and--and--he has behaved very ill to me, in short."
"Did he dare?" exclaimed her uncle, with his eyes flashing, and his cheek turning red. "Your father must know this, Helen."
"Oh, no, no!" cried Helen Clive; "I dare not tell him, indeed. I am sure if he knew all he would kill him on the spot. You know how very violent he is when he is made angry, and how angry he would be if he knew I had been insulted as I have been."
"I do know it well, Helen," replied Norries, thoughtfully, "and I will acknowledge yours is a difficult position. You are no coquette, my dear child, to give this man any encouragement, even at the first, before he had shown himself in his true colours; and I feel sure you have done your best to keep him from the house."
"Indeed I have," replied Helen Clive; "I have never liked him from the first, though I felt gratitude for the kindness which I received from him and his friend Mr. Dudley, and expressed it. But oh! how different has Mr. Dudley's conduct ever been. It was to him, indeed, I owed my safety, though the other was kind also at the time; but the very night when they had brought me here, he looked at me in a way--I cannot describe it--but it made me feel very uncomfortable."
"And Mr. Dudley has been always kind?" asked her uncle.
"I cannot tell you how kind," answered Helen. "His manner was so gentle, so like a gentleman; and he seemed to feel so much for me in every way, both when he was extricating me from the heap of stones and earth, and afterwards when I was anxious to let my father know what had happened, that I can never forget it; and then, when I saw him the day after, there was such a difference between his conduct and Lord Hadley's, that in any moment of danger I would have clung to him like a brother, while I shrunk from the other's very look. I did not know why then; but I know now."
"It is like the race of Dudley," replied Norries, and leaning his head upon his hand, he fell into deep and seemingly bitter thought. "How men may be led into great errors!" he exclaimed at length. "Helen, your father must know of all this; but I will tell him, and tell him why you dared not. That in itself will act as a check upon him; for with high hearts like his, to see the consequences of their passions is to regret them. But fear not, little pet, I will take care to tell him when he will have time for calm thought before he can act. Helen, it must be! A daughter must not show a want of confidence in her father."
"I would not for the world," replied Helen Clive; "but oh! take care, my dear uncle, for I tremble to think of the consequences."
"I will take care, poor thing," said Norries; "although, dear Helen, we must never think of consequences where a matter of right and duty is concerned; and now farewell." Thus saying, he took his departure, and left her, with an anxious mind and agitated heart, to await the coming events.