The afternoon had been clear, and even warm. Every cloud had passed away from the sky; and when, about a quarter to six, Eda Brandon retired to her own room to dress for dinner, the sun, set about a quarter of an hour before, had left the sky all studded with stars. She was fond of seeing the heavens, and the curtains of her windows were not drawn; so that while she sat at her toilette table, with the maid dressing her beautiful hair, she could gaze out at the orbs of light in the firmament, which was spread like a scroll written with characters of fire before her eyes.
It was very dark, however, for--as the reader learned in moons will comprehend from what was said at the beginning of this work--the fair planet of the night had not yet risen; and as Eda continued to gaze, there suddenly shot up through the obscurity what seemed a bright, rushing ball of fire; then pausing, suspended as it were, in the air for a moment, it burst into a thousand glittering sparks, which descended slowly towards the earth again.
"What can that be?" exclaimed Eda. '"La! ma'am, it's a rocket," said the maid. "I shouldn't wonder if it was some of those Chartist people's signals. They are making a great stir about here just now, I can tell you, Miss Eda; and I am getting horribly afraid for what will happen next."
"Do you mean to say that such things are taking place in this neighbourhood?" inquired Eda, in some surprise. "I think you must be confounding the reports from the manufacturing districts."
"Oh! dear, no, ma'am!" replied the maid. "My brother, who is servant with Mr. Gaspey, told me yesterday, that he had seen full fifty of them marching across, two and two, to some of their meetings; and he and his master both think we shall have a row. La! there goes another rocket: it's their doings, depend upon it."
"That cannot be," answered Eda. "Those rockets are thrown up from the sea. I should not wonder if it was some ship in distress. Open the window, and listen if there are guns."
The maid obeyed, but all was silent, though the wind blew dead upon the coast; and Eda, finishing her toilette, descended to the drawing-room.
A number of the neighbouring gentry had been invited to dine at Brandon on that day, and the table was well-nigh full. As soon as that pause in devouring took place, which usually succeeds when people have eaten fully sufficient to satisfy the hungry man, and have nothing left but to pamper the epicure, conversation, which was very slack before, became animated upon the subject of the movements which were taking place in different parts of the country, of the designs of the Chartists, and of the danger of 'the people's holiday' terminating in anarchy and bloodshed.
Eda watched her uncle, for she knew well that he entertained opinions upon political subjects very different from those of the gentlemen by whom he was surrounded. Sir Arthur changed colour several times while the subject was under discussion; but at length a young military man, with somewhat rash impetuosity, exclaimed, "Depend upon it, this is a disease that wants blood-letting. A few inches of cold iron, applied on the first attack, will soon cut it short."
Sir Arthur fired at the speech, and replied, warmly, "My opinion is totally different, sir. If it be a disease at all, it is one of those that are salutary in the end, and likely to clear off a mass of evils which have accumulated in the pursy and pampered constitution of this country. But," he continued, in a more moderate tone, "as the opinions at the table are very wide apart, it may be wise to avoid politics."
"Perhaps so," replied the young officer, with a courteous inclination of the head; and the subject dropped, much to Eda's relief.
She was destined, however, in the course of that evening to meet with a new subject of anxiety and annoyance. Lord Hadley, without actually getting at all tipsy, took enough wine after dinner to render him overbearing and irritable; and when Dudley seated himself beside her for a moment in the drawing-room, and said a few words to her in a low tone, the young peer instantly cut across their conversation, and in a haughty and domineering manner, gave a flat contradiction to something which his tutor had asserted.
Although of an amiable, and usually of a placable disposition, Dudley instantly retorted in severe terms: his growing contempt for the young peer overcoming his ordinary command over himself. Lord Hadley's words grew high, and tones loud; Edgar Adelon and the young officer, who had been one at the dinner-table, drew near; and the former listened with evident satisfaction to the severe castigation which the peer received at the hands of Mr. Dudley. It was given without loss of temper, but yet with an unsparing and a powerful hand; and the young man, almost furious, exposed himself every moment more and more, while the contemptuous smile of Edgar Adelon rendered his punishment still more bitter. The presence of Miss Brandon acted as a certain restraint; and as the eyes of several ladies in the room turned upon them, Lord Hadley, with a burning heart and a flushed cheek, turned away and left the room, while Edgar, with a laugh, muttered, "It will do him good;" and Dudley calmly resumed his conversation with Eda.
Miss Brandon, however, was herself much agitated and alarmed; and in the course of the evening, as the company from time to time broke into different groups, she took the opportunity of saying, at a moment when they were unobserved, "For pity's sake, Edward, do not let the dispute go any farther with that foolish young man. Remember, he is but a boy, in mind at all events, and really unworthy of your notice."
"Oh! fear not, dear Eda," replied Dudley; "for your sake, if for nothing else, I would not suffer such an idle dispute to deviate into a direct quarrel. But the relations between him and me must be immediately altered. As long as he thought fit to demean himself as a gentleman and a man of honour, there seemed to be nothing degrading in the position that I held. Now, however, the case is different."
Other persons coming up prevented their farther conversation; and when the guests had taken their leave, Eda retired, not to rest, but to think over events which were the cause of no slight anxiety. Slowly undressing, she dismissed her maid, and sitting down before the table, wrapped in her dressing-gown, meditated painfully over the probable result. The moments often fly fast in thought as well as in activity; and Eda, in surprise, heard a clock which stood near her door strike one, while she was still sitting at the table. She rose to go to bed, but at that moment a curious sound caught her ear. It seemed to proceed from the park, and was that of a dull, heavy tramp, sometimes sounding louder, sometimes softer, sometimes distinctly measured, sometimes varied into a mere rustle. It struck her as very curious; and although she tried to persuade herself that it was a herd of deer passing over the gravel in the avenue, yet she was not satisfied, and proceeding to a window, drew back the curtains and gazed out.
The moon was not yet to be seen in the sky, but still her approaching light shed a certain degree of lustre before her. The night was certainly clearer than it had appeared shortly after sunset, and the stars were more faint and pale. From the left-hand side of the park, moving rapidly across the wide open space in front of the house, at a distance of not more than a hundred yards, a stream of dark human figures was seen, tending towards the opposite side, where the stile led down into the little valley with the stream and the old priory. There seemed to be between two and three hundred men, principally walking two and two; but every here and there in the line, they were gathered into a little knot, and apparently carrying some heavy mass upon their shoulders. At one spot within sight they halted, and one of the burdens which they carried was shifted to the shoulders of fresh bearers, displaying to the eyes of Eda, as the change was effected, an object which, to imagination, looked much like the form of a man. It seemed very heavy, however, and took at least eight or ten persons to carry it. It required some time, too, to move it from one set of shoulders to another; and when the party marched on again, Eda said to herself, "This must be a train of those misguided men, the Chartists. How bold of them to come across the park! I trust my uncle has nothing to do with them; but I almost fear it."
Even as the thought passed through her mind, a single figure came forth from the terrace just below her, and followed upon the track of the others. The form, however, was too slight and graceful for that of Sir Arthur Adelon. It was that of a young and lightly made man; and Eda at once recognised her cousin Edgar.
The moment she did so, she threw open the window, and leaning out, spoke to him in a low voice. "What is all this, Edgar?" she said. "Who are those men, and what are they about?"
"I do not know, pretty cousin," he answered; "but I am going to see."
"Oh! for heaven's sake, take care," cried Eda. "You had better take no notice of them. There were two or three hundred men, and they may murder you."
"Pooh! pooh!" answered Edgar. "Go to bed, Eda, dear; you will catch cold, and then somebody will scold me to-morrow;" and away he walked after the party of men, which he also had seen from his room as he sat meditating near the window. The intruders seemed to know the park tolerably well, but Edgar Adelon knew it better; and cutting off an angle here, and taking a short turn there--by a hawthorn bush, round a clump of chestnuts, through a copse, over a rise--he contrived to come in sight of them continually, without being seen himself, till at length they reached the stone stile, and paused around it in an irregular mass. The young gentleman was at that moment standing with his back against a large horse-chestnut tree, and he could not at all make out the man[oe]uvres that followed. Some of the men stood upon the top of the stile, and seemed, with great labour and difficulty, to lift a large and very weighty object over the wall. Then came another effort of the same kind, and then the men began to pass rapidly into the road beyond the park.
As soon as the last had disappeared, young Edgar Adelon darted out of his place of concealment, and followed; but by the time he reached the lane, although the moon had now risen, not a trace of the mob could be discovered; and he was turning away to the left, when suddenly a murmur of voices from the copse and valley below showed him the direction which those he sought had taken. There were ways through that copse only known to himself and the gamekeepers, unless, indeed, some of the neighbouring poachers were as learned in its recesses; but following one of these paths, he soon came within sight of the open space before the old priory, and a strange scene presented itself to his eyes. Full two hundred men were there assembled; some sitting on fragments of the old ruin, some sauntering idly about the little green, some bathing their hands in the stream, which sparkled not only in the light, pure and pale, of the newly-risen moon, but in that of two or three torches, which had by this time been lighted. In the centre, however, there was a group of some thirty persons, more busily employed, in the midst of whom shone the torches I have mentioned; and by their glare, Edgar now perceived, for the first time clearly, the heavy objects which the men had carried, and saw what they were now doing with them. Two small field-pieces, apparently of brass, lay upon the ground, detached from their carriages, which had been taken to pieces, and which the mob were busily putting together. A good deal of skill was shown in the task, and no slight eagerness appeared in the rough, bronzed countenances of the men around, as they looked on or assisted from time to time. The fixing the carriages together was soon complete, and then came the more laborious work of slinging the cannon, and adjusting them in their proper position. This was not accomplished without difficulty, but it was at length complete; and Edgar Adelon felt inclined to turn away and go back to the house, when suddenly a loud voice exclaimed, "Now run them back into those dark nooks, and gather round and hear a word or two."
Eight or ten men instantly applied themselves to drag the field-pieces into the recesses of the building, and then came forth again, gathering round the person who had spoken. He then placed himself upon a large mass of fallen masonry, and in a loud, clear tone, and with powerful and energetic language, pronounced an harangue, which gave to Edgar Adelon the astounding information that his father was looked upon as the leader of the rash men he saw before him, and their future guide and support in schemes which seemed to his fresh young mind nothing but mete madness. A part, at least, of their plans and purposes was displayed; and with a heart filled with terror and anxiety for his father, Edgar Adelon made his way out of the copse, to return to Brandon House, asking himself how he should act, and resolving to consult the priest as soon as he could see him on the following morning.
What a whimsical thing is that strange composition--man. The very elements of his nature war against each other, though bound together by hoops of steel. The spirit and the body are continually at variance, and the activity of the one often renders the other inert. Eda Brandon could not sleep after Edgar Adelon left her; her imagination, ever busy, presented to her continually scenes the most fearful and the most terrible, where the gibbet, and the axe, and the deadly shot were seen and heard; and her uncle's form appeared as a criminal, freed for an hour or two from dark imprisonment, to endure the torture of a public trial. She judged of all she knew as a woman judges: with keen foresight and penetration, but without sufficient experience to make that penetration available. But still her fancy was busy, and it kept her waking. For more than one hour she did not sleep; but still she tried hard to do so, for she proposed to rise early on the following morning, when she knew that those whom she had determined to consult, as to all the questions before her, would be up. But such resolutions are vain. Fatigue and exhaustion imperatively counselled repose; and at length, when her eyes closed, notwithstanding all her determinations to watch, she went on in a profound slumber for more than one hour after her usual time of rising.
A morning of hurry and anxiety succeeded. Dudley had already gone out with the gamekeepers and Edgar to shoot; Lord Hadley was still in bed; Mr. Filmer had been summoned to a dying man at daybreak.
Sir Arthur ate his breakfast absorbed in journals and papers; and Eda, though she loved him, had still doubts and hesitations, which prevented her from speaking to her uncle on the subject predominant in her thoughts. At length he looked at his watch, and rose suddenly, saying, "I must leave you, dear Eda. It is strange that Mr. Norries has not arrived, as I expected him on business."
No mention was made of the peculiar influence that the one party possessed over the other; and the tone, too, was so commonplace, that Eda began to imagine she had been over-penetrating, and had imagined things that did not exist; so that she saw her uncle depart with comparative tranquillity, and remained alone for near an hour, trying to occupy herself with the ordinary amusements of the morning. At the end of that time, however, her maid opened the door of her own little sitting-room, saying, "Miss Clive, ma'am," and Helen was soon seated by Eda Brandon.
"What is the matter, Helen dear," said Eda, as the other, at her invitation, sat down on the sofa beside her. "You look pale; and agitated I am sure you are; for however we may hide it, dear Helen, and however difficult it may be to detect in line or feature, the anxiety of the heart writes itself upon the face in characters faint but very distinct. You are anxious about something, Helen. Something has gone amiss. Tell me, dear Helen; for I think I need not say that if I can console or help, you have only to tell the how, to Eda Brandon."
"You are ever kind to your own little Helen, as you used to call me in my childhood, Eda," replied her beautiful companion. "You were then but a child yourself, but from that day to this there has been no change, and it is time that I should try to return the kindness. Dearest Eda, it is you I am anxious for--at least yours; and I cannot refrain from telling you what I know, in the hope that you may be able to avert the danger; but you must promise me first not to mention one word to any one of that which I am about to say."
"But, my dear Helen, how can I avert danger if I may not mention to any one the circumstances?" inquired Eda. "I am a very weak, powerless creature, Helen; and as you say the danger menaces mine more than myself, if I must speak of it to no one, how can I warn them."
"Listen, listen, Eda!" was the answer. "You must not indeed tell what I relate, except as I point out; but still you shall have room enough to warn those you love of the danger their own acts are bringing upon them. Do you promise, Eda?"
"Certainly, Helen," replied Eda Brandon; "it is for you to speak or be silent; and I must take your intelligence on your own conditions. Yet I think you might trust me entirely to act for the best, Helen."
"I must not," said Helen Clive. "What I have to say might involve the lives of others. Listen, then, Helen. Your uncle, Sir Arthur, is involved in schemes which will, I am sure, lead to his destruction. He is going this very evening to a place whence he will not come back without great guilt upon his head, and great danger hanging over him; perhaps he may never come back at all; but be sure that if he do go, peace and security are banished from him for ever. Persuade him not to go, Eda. That is the only thing which can save him."
She spoke with eager interest, and it was impossible, from her look, her tone, her whole manner, to doubt for one moment that she was fully impressed with the truth of what she said. Nor was Eda without her anxiety; all that she had seen the night before, all that she had remarked of her uncle's behaviour for several days, not only showed her that there was foundation for Helen Clive's assertion, but directed her suspicions aright; and though she paused, it was not in any doubt, but rather to consider how, without deceit, she could obtain further information from one who was not disposed to give it.
"I cannot persuade him, Helen," she said, at length, in a sad tone, "without much more intelligence than you have given: he would only laugh at me. Nay, perhaps with all that you could give, such would be the same result. Men are often sadly obstinate, and ridicule the prophetic fears of woman, who sees the events in which they are called to mingle, but from which she is excluded, not unfrequently more justly than themselves, because she is but a spectator. You have neither told me the place to which he is going, nor the hour, nor the object, no, nor the inducement. Inducement?" she continued, in a thoughtful tone, as if speaking to herself; "what can be a sufficient inducement for my uncle, with everything to lose and nothing to gain by such commotions, to take part in any of these rash schemes?"
"I see that you have yourself had fears," answered Helen, "and that those fears have not led you far from the truth. Then as to the inducement, Eda----"
"Oh! yes, speak of that," replied Miss Brandon; "if I knew what it was, perhaps I might remove it."
"Perhaps so," said Helen, thoughtfully, and then paused for an instant to consider. "I think you can, Eda," she continued. "If I know looks, and can understand tones, you certainly will be able. But there are several inducements, as I suppose there are in all things. There is the vanity, I believe, of adhering steadily to opinions once professed, how much soever the man, the circumstances, or the times may be changed; but that would have been nothing, had they not led him on from act to act, and whenever he wavered, whenever he thought of how much he risked upon an almost hopeless undertaking, still forced him forward by fears."
"By fears!" exclaimed Eda. "Of what? Of whom? Who has Sir Arthur Adelon to fear? What can he apprehend?"
She spoke somewhat proudly, and Helen gazed at her with a sad but tender look, while she replied, in a few brief words, "He whom he fears is one whom, if generously treated, there is no cause to fear. His name is Dudley, Eda! What he fears, is the discovery by Mr. Dudley of some dark transactions in the past--I know not what, for they did not mention it--the proofs of which these men have in their possession."
Eda sat before her, silent with amazement, for several moments; but then she put her hand to her brow, and the next moment a smile full of hope came up into her face. "If that be the inducement," she said, "I think it will be easily removed, dear Helen. But you spoke of others; may they not be sufficiently strong to carry him on in the same course still?"
"Oh, no!" replied Helen, "that is the great motive. Take that away, and he will be safe. Speak to Mr. Dudley first, Eda, and get him to say to Sir Arthur these words, or some that are like them: 'I have heard of some papers to be returned to me in a few days, Sir Arthur Adelon, affecting questions long past; but I think it right to say at once, that I wish all those gone-by affairs to be buried in oblivion; and I pledge you my word, if those papers are given to me, I will destroy them without looking at them.'"
"That is much to ask, Helen," exclaimed Eda, with a look of hesitation; "how can I tell that those papers do not affect his very dearest interests? I remember well that his father lost a fine property some years ago, by a suit at law. May not these very papers affect that transaction; may they not afford the means of recovering it?"
"They do not, they do not," answered Helen, eagerly; "and if they did, would he not promiseyou, Eda?"
The emphasis was so strong upon the word "you," that it brought the colour into Eda Brandon's cheek; for she found that woman's eyes had seen at once into woman's heart. Still she shrunk from owning the love that was between Dudley and herself; and she replied, "I had better ask my cousin Edgar to speak to Mr. Dudley about it."
"Speak to him yourself, Eda," replied Helen, with a faint smile; "your voice will be more powerful. But let me proceed, for I must be home without delay. When you have Mr. Dudley's promise to speak as I have said, then beg Sir Arthur yourself not to go this night where he is going. Mind not, Eda, whether he laughs or is angry, but do you detain him by every persuasion in your power."
"But if he should not come home?" said Eda; "such a thing is not impossible. He has been out very much lately, both by day and by night, and we are all ignorant of whither he goes on such occasions."
Helen once more paused before she replied, and then said, with evident hesitation and fear: "You must send some persons down to seek him, then, dear Eda. Let them go down to a place called Mead's Farm, half-way between this and Barhampton, about eight o'clock tonight. There is a large empty barn there; and at it, or near it, they will find two or three men standing, who will not let them pass along the path unless they give the word, 'Justice.' Then, if they go along the road before them, towards Barhampton, they will find the person they are seeking. But, oh! I trust, Eda, he will be found before that, for then it will be almost too late."
"Who can I send?" said Eda, in a low tone, as if speaking to herself; but Helen caught the words, and replied, in an imploring tone, "Not Mr. Adelon, Eda--not your cousin. He might be led on with his father, and ruin overtake him too."
Eda smiled sweetly, and laid her hand upon Helen Clive's, with a gentle and affectionate pressure; but, as she did so, some painful anticipations regarding the fate of her beautiful and highly-gifted companion crossed her mind, and she said, with a sigh, "Do you know, I am almost a Chartist too, Helen!"
Helen started, saying, "Indeed! I do not understand what you mean, Eda."
"What I mean is, dear Helen," replied Miss Brandon, "that I wish there were no distinctions upon earth, but virtue, and excellence, and high qualities."
Helen now understood her, and cast down her eyes with a blush and a sigh; and Eda put her arm round her neck, adding, "In time of need, my Helen, come to me. Tell me all and everything, and above all, how I can serve you; and you shall not find Eda Brandon wanting. But, hark! there's Lord Hadley's voice in the hall below."
Helen Clive turned pale and trembled. "He will not come here?" she said, eagerly. "Do not let him come here. Oh! how shall I get away?"
"Why, what is the matter?" asked Eda, in surprise; but before Helen could answer, another voice, rich and harmonious, but speaking in grave and almost stern tones, was heard. "My lord, I beg your pardon, but this is a matter which admits of no delay. I must repeat my request for a few minutes' conversation with you immediately."
Lord Hadley was then heard answering sharply; and the next moment the voices ceased, as if the speakers had retired into one of the rooms below.
"You do not seem to like Lord Hadley, Helen," said Eda, in a thoughtful tone.
"I abhor him," answered Helen Clive, "and I have cause. But now I must return to the Grange, and I will ask you as a favour, dear Eda, to send some one with me by the way. It is very strange to feel afraid at going out alone for one who has been accustomed, as I have been, to roam about like a free bird, without one thought of danger or annoyance; but now I tremble at every step I take, and watch every coming figure with apprehension."
"And has this young man done this?" asked Eda Brandon. "It is sad, very sad; but you shall have protection, Helen."
Helen Clive did not reply, and Eda rang the bell, and gave orders that one of the old servants, who had been attached for twenty years to her father's house, should accompany Helen back to the Grange.
They then parted, after some more brief explanations; but just as Helen reached the foot of the stairs, where the servant was waiting for her, the door of the library was thrown violently open, and Lord Hadley appeared with a flushed and angry countenance. Mr. Dudley was standing two or three steps behind him, and his cheek too was hot, and his brow frowning.
Without seeing Helen, and, indeed, in the blind fury of passion, without noticing any one else, the young nobleman turned before he left the library, and with a menacing gesture, said to Mr. Dudley: "Your insolence, sir, shall not go without notice. Don't suppose your rash and mercenary pretensions have escaped my eyes. Be you sure they will be treated with the contempt they merit; but I will take care that they shall be pursued no farther, for they shall be exposed to Sir Arthur Adelon this very day."
Dudley took a step forward and replied, with a stern look, "Your lordship had better take care what use you make of my name in your discourse, for depend upon it, if you treat it disrespectfully I shall know how to punish you for so doing."
It is probable that more angry words would have followed, but at that moment two other persons were added to the group, by the advance of Mr. Filmer from the outer hall, and by the appearance of the butler from the side of the offices, carrying a tray with letters.
"Two letters for your lordship," said the servant, advancing in a commonplace manner, as if he observed nothing of the angry discussion which was going on. "A letter for you, sir," he continued, addressing Dudley, as soon as Lord Hadley had taken what he presented.
The young nobleman gave a hurried glance around; and the slight pause which had been afforded was sufficient to allow reflection to come to his aid. By this time Mr. Filmer was speaking to Helen Clive, and both she and the priest were moving fast towards the great doors of the house; but the presence of the two servants was now enough to restrain Lord Hadley's impetuous temper; and without opening the letters he hurried away towards his bed-room, leaving Dudley alone in the library. The butler shut the door and retired to tell the housekeeper and some of his fellow-servants all that which he had seen and heard, but which he had affected not to observe.
Dudley, in the mean time, laid down the letter on the table, and stood in bitter thought. Although a man of strong command over himself--command gained during a long period of adversity--he was naturally of a quick and eager disposition, and a severe struggle was taking place in his bosom at that moment to maintain the ascendancy of principle over passion.
"No!" he said, at length--"No. I will make one more effort to reclaim him. I will not dwell upon his insulting conduct towards me; but I will point out the wickedness and the folly of the course he is pursuing, and endeavour to call him back to honour and to right." The very determination served to calm him; and looking down upon the letter on the table, he took it up, saying, "I wonder who this can be from? I do not know the hand. I must see, for the seal is black." And opening it, he found the following words:--
"Dear Sir,
"We have the melancholy task of informing you of the sudden decease, last night, at half-past nine o'clock, of our much respected friend and client, the Rev. Dr. Dudley, which took place at St. John's, just as he was about to retire to rest. Although we know that you will be greatly grieved at this sad event, we are forced to intrude some business upon your attention under the following circumstances. About a fortnight ago, our late respected client, having felt some apoplectic symptoms, judged it right to send for Mr. Emerson, of our firm, in order to make his will, which was in due form signed, sealed, and delivered. He therein appointed you his sole executor, having bequeathed all his property, real and personal, to yourself, with the exception of a few small legacies. He has also requested you to make all the arrangements for his funeral as you may think proper, merely directing that it should be conducted in a plain and unostentatious manner. It is therefore very necessary that you should return to Cambridge as soon as possible, or that you should send your directions by letter. In the mean time we will take all proper steps in the matter, and trust to be honoured with your confidence, as we have been with that of your lamented relative for many years."
The letter was signed by a well-known law firm in Cambridge.
The first emotion in the mind of Edward Dudley was that of deep grief--grief, simple and unalloyed, for the loss of one whom he had truly loved; but the next was a feeling of bereavement. His staff was broken, his support gone, The only one in all the world who had acted a kindly, almost a parental part to him, for long, long years, was no more. He felt, as I have said, bereaved; for although the love of Eda Brandon, that love which had been cherished in secret by both, was a great consolation and a comfort, yet it was so different, both in kind and in degree, from the affection entertained for him by his own relation, that they could not be brought at all into comparison the one with the other. New attachments never wholly compensate for old ties. They fill a different, perhaps a larger place, but they leave the others vacant. He mourned sincerely then; and it was some time before the thought--which would have presented itself much earlier to a worldly mind, came even to his memory--the thought that the riches of the earth, which can never compete, in a generous heart, with those affections which are above the earth, but which influence so much the course of human life and mortal happiness, were now his. That he was no more the impoverished student, seeking by hard labour to recover the position which his family had once maintained. That he was not only independent, but wealthy; and though perhaps not exactly upon a par in point of fortune with the heiress of large hereditary possessions, still no unportioned adventurer, seeking to mend his condition with her gold. He knew that his father's first cousin had himself inherited a very fair estate. He knew that he had held rich benefices and lucrative offices; and he also knew that, though a liberal and a kindly man, he had been also a very prudent one, and had certainly lived far within his income. Thus he was certain of more than a moderate fortune; but although it would be folly to deny that such a conviction was a relief to his mind, still sincere grief was predominant, and he felt that the wealth he had acquired by the loss of a friend could in no degree compensate for the bereavement.
While he thus meditated, he heard a quick but heavy step upon the stairs, the glass doors between the hall and the vestibule bang with a force which might almost have shaken the panes from the frame, and the moment after he saw the figure of Lord Hadley pass the windows of the library. Dudley instantly took up his hat, darted out and looked around; but the young nobleman had disappeared, and seeing one of the gamekeepers who had been out with him and Edgar in the morning, walking slowly away from the house, he stopped him and asked which way the young nobleman had taken. His manner was quick and eager, and the cloud of grief was still upon his brow, so that the man looked at him for a moment with some surprise before he answered. He then pointed out the way, and Dudley was turning at once to follow it, when the butler came out upon the terrace, saying, with a low bow, "Miss Brandon wishes to speak with you for a few moments, sir, if you are not otherwise engaged."
"If the business is not of great importance," said Dudley, "I will be back in ten minutes."
"It is nothing particular, I believe, sir," answered the man; "she has just had a note from Sir Arthur to say he won't be back to dinner. I fancy that is all."
"Then say I will wait upon her in ten minutes," replied Dudley; "I wish to catch Lord Hadley for a moment before he proceeds farther. We have something to speak about which must be settled at once." And he sped upon the way, as the gamekeeper had directed. It was in the direction of the Grange.
Ten minutes elapsed, and Dudley had not returned. A quarter of an hour, half an hour, an hour; and when he came back he was evidently a good deal excited. He calmed himself down, however, as much as possible, and immediately requested an interview with Miss Brandon, who came down and joined him in the library, remaining with him nearly till dinner-time. They were at last interrupted by the priest, who came in search of a book, and shortly after the dressing-bell rang. At the dinner-table, Lord Hadley, who appeared very late, was gloomy and thoughtful. He never addressed a word to Mr. Dudley, and spoke but little to Eda or the priest, who took one end of the table. Edgar Adelon did not at all seek to converse with him; and when any words passed between them, they were as sharp as the customs of society would permit. Dudley was very grave, and if he still took any interest in Lord Hadley's conduct he might not be altogether satisfied to see him drink so much wine. As soon as Eda had quitted the room, however, Dudley rose, saying that, with Mr. Filmer's permission, he would retire, as he was obliged to go out for a short time; and after emptying two more glasses, Lord Hadley also left the table, and the party broke up.
The young peer took his hat in the vestibule, and walked out upon the terrace, asking one of the men who were in the hall if he had seen which way Mr. Dudley took. The man replied, "Up the avenue, my lord;" and Lord Hadley pursued the same path. It was never to return.
The night was dark but fine; and innumerable stars spangled the sky, as four men stood on watch by the side of a large old barn, within sight of a farm-house. Although a human habitation was there, the place had a desolate and solitary aspect. There was the farm-stead, with its ricks and stacks, it is true, showing that industry was at work; but not another house was to be seen around except that yeoman's dwelling; not a labourer's cottage even; and the ground immediately around was uncultivated, and presented no homely and comfortable hedge-rows, no protection from the bleak winds which swept over the adjacent downs. Immediately round about the house, the ground, sloping hither and thither, was covered with short turf upon a sandy soil, which appeared in many a yellow patch and broken bank; and between two of the latter ran a good broad road, heavy to travel through with wain or cart. At the edge of this road, and not more than twenty or thirty yards from it, was the large, shapeless barn I have mentioned, the boarding broken off in several places, and the tiling in a very shattered condition. Between it and the road, upon the bank, which was not above three feet high, were seated the men, who, as I have stated, were placed on watch there; and it was evident that they listened from time to time, for distant sounds, breaking off their low-toned conversation, and bending an attentive ear at the word 'Hush!'
"They can't have got there yet, William," said one of them. "Remember, it is more than three miles."
"Ay, but they will go it quick," answered the other.
"That was at the first starting," replied the first. "Their march will be slower after a while. It is your impatience calculates your time and not your wit."
"I would rather be at work with them there," said another, "than lagging here, doing nothing."
"We have a post of more importance, and perhaps of more danger too," rejoined the second speaker. "The success of the whole may depend upon us. Hark! there is a footstep! Perhaps it is the soldiers they talked of. Now, jump down and stand to your arms, my lads. Remember--you, William, carry the intelligence at the first sight of them, while we hold them in parley as long as possible." And as he spoke, he jumped down into the road, first snatching up a musket that lay by his side.
Whoever or whatever it was they expected, only a single figure appeared, and as it came up the sandy path towards them, a voice shouted, "Stand! Give the word!"
"Justice," replied the clear, full voice of Mr. Dudley; and as he spoke, he continued to advance direct towards the men who barred the road.
"That's the word, sure enough," said one of them in a low tone; "but he has got no arms, and does not look like our people."
"I dare say he is one of Sir Arthur's men," replied another; and after a momentary hesitation, they made way to let him pass. Dudley, however, paused in the midst of them, inquiring, in a familiar tone, "Which way have they taken?" and after hearing the reply of "Straight on; you cannot miss it," he walked forward at the same rapid pace which had brought him thither.
For a little more than two miles farther, no sound nor sight indicated that he was approaching the scene of any important event. The road was varied, sometimes passing over a part of the bare downs, sometimes gliding in between little copses and hedge-rows, sometimes crossing over a shoulder of the hill, sometimes skirting its base. At length, however, a distant roar was heard, as of a multitude of human beings talking tumultuously; and coming out of the little valley, through which passed the byeway he was pursuing, a strange and not unpicturesque scene burst upon his eyes. He was now at the foot of the steep ascent which led up to the old gates of the small town of Barhampton; and the decayed walls, with their flanking towers, were seen crowning the rise, at the distance of somewhat more than a quarter of a mile. I have said that they were seen, though the night was very dark, and the moon had not yet risen; but it was by a less mellow and peaceful light than that of the fair planet that the crumbling fortifications were displayed. More than a hundred links were blazing with their red and smoky glare around the gate and beneath the walls; and a sea of human beings, moving to and fro, some on horseback and some on foot, was shown by the same fitful flames, with strange effects of light and shade, varying over them every moment as the groups themselves changed their forms, or the links were carried from place to place. At the same time, a dull, murmuring, subdued roar was heard, strong but not loud, as of many persons speaking eagerly; and every now and then a voice rose in a shout above the rest, as if giving directions or commands.
Without pausing even an instant to gaze upon the scene, however strange and interesting, Dudley hurried on up the ascent, sometimes running, sometimes walking, till he reached the outskirts of the mob, where a number of the less zealous and energetic were standing idly by, some with arms in their hands of various kinds and sorts: muskets, fowling-pieces, pikes, swords, scythes set upright upon poles; pistols and daggers, or large knives; some totally unarmed, like himself, or furnished merely with a bludgeon. In advance was the denser part of the crowd: agitated, vociferous, swaying hither and thither, and seeming to attend but little to the commands which were shouted from time to time by several persons on horseback. The confusion was indescribable, and little could be seen of what was going on in front, though the light of the torches caught strong on one or two of the banners, bearing inscriptions in gilt letters, and upon the figures of the horsemen, who were raised above the crowd on foot. Towards one of these Mr. Dudley strove to force his way; but it was with difficulty that he gained, every moment or two, a step in advance, till at length he came suddenly, in the midst of the densest mass of the people, upon a brass six-pounder, of somewhat antique form, with the two horses which had drawn it up the hill. There seemed to be another a little in advance; but seeing the space somewhat clear on the other side of the gun, Dudley leaped over it, and hurried on more freely towards the figure upon which his eyes had been fixed, and which he recognised at once, though some attempt had been made to disguise the person. As he was passing the other field-piece, however, a man of foreign appearance, with a large pair of mustachios, stopped him rudely, telling him in French to keep back.
Dudley replied in the same language, "I must pass, sir. I wish to speak with that gentleman;" and, at the same time, he thrust aside the other, who was much less powerful than himself, and was approaching Sir Arthur Adelon, when suddenly a broad blaze broke up just under the arch of the old gateway, and a loud voice exclaimed, "That will soon burn them down."
The crowd recoiled a little, and Dudley for a moment caught sight of a huge pile of dry bushes which had been placed against the old gates, and lighted by some gunpowder. The next instant he was by Sir Arthur's side, and then for the first time saw, a little in advance of the baronet, the lawyer Norries, apparently acting as the leader of the multitude, and at that moment giving directions for bringing round the muzzles of the field-pieces to bear upon the gates as soon as they should be destroyed by the flames.
The tumult and uproar were so great that Sir Arthur neither saw nor heard Dudley, till the latter had spoken to him three times, and then, when he turned his eyes upon him, he started, and became very pale.
"Sir Arthur, listen to me for a moment," said Dudley; "bend down your head, and hear what I have to say."
The baronet, seemingly by an involuntary movement, did as he was required; and Dudley continued, in a low voice, saying, "Take the first opportunity of turning your horse and riding away; and be sure----"
"Impossible, sir, impossible!" answered Sir Arthur, in the same tone.
"And be sure," continued Dudley, without heeding his reply, "that if you do not, you will have bitter cause to regret it. Listen to me yet one moment, sir, before you answer."
"There is a part of the gate down!" cried the loud voice of Norries. "Bring these cannon round quicker. Have you lost your hands and arms?"
"Sir Arthur Adelon," continued Dudley, earnestly, "I was asked a question by those who sent me, and to it I gave a willing reply. In accordance with that reply I was directed to say to you, I have heard that some papers will be given up to me in a few days affecting questions long past; but I say at once, I wish all those gone-by affairs to be buried in oblivion, and if you will retire at once from this scene of treasonable violence, I give you my word that when those papers are given to me, I will destroy them without looking at them."
"Then he has betrayed me!" murmured Sir Arthur, with a furious look towards Norries; "he has forced me forward into these deeds, and then betrayed me. But it is too late," he added, aloud, for the preceding words, though they were caught by Dudley, had been uttered in a very low tone. "I know not what you speak of, sir. If you have come here to put forth enigmas, I am too busy to unriddle them. It matters not to me whether you look at papers or not. That is all your own affair." And breaking off abruptly, he again gazed gloomily at Norries, and muttered something between his teeth, of which Dudley only heard the word, "Revenge."
There were two holsters at his saddle-bow, such as are commonly used in some of our volunteer regiments of cavalry; and as he spoke, Sir Arthur Adelon put his right hand to one of them, while he turned his horse with the other. But Dudley grasped his bridle rein, saying, "One word more, Sir Arthur, and then I must go. You are in great danger," he added, in a lower voice. "Not only are there troops within the town, but in five minutes you will have the yeomanry upon you. So much have I learned this day. Be advised for your own sake, for the sake of your family. Turn your horse, disentangle yourself from the crowd, and make the best of your way back to Brandon."
Sir Arthur gazed at him with a look of stupified astonishment; but ere he could answer, a voice shouted, "The gate's down!--the gate's down!" And immediately a rush forward took place, beginning with those behind, who heard the announcement without seeing what was going on in front.
"Orderly, orderly!" cried Norries; "let the guns advance first." But as he spoke, there was a loud ringing peal of musketry from the inner side of the gateway, and then a straggling shot or two. A man amongst the rioters dropped; another staggered, pressing his hand upon his side, and fell; and the horse which Norries was riding reared high, and then came thundering down.
At the same instant there came the sound of a wild "Hurrah!" from the side of the hill to the left, together with that of galloping horse. Another volley of shot rang from behind the gateway of the town; and then, with a cheer, a small but compact body of infantry advanced at the charge with fixed bayonets from within the walls. Two more of the rioters had fallen by the second discharge; the cry spread amongst them that the cavalry were upon them; those at the extreme verge of the crowd began to run; the centre remained firm for a moment, more from indecision than courage; but the next instant, panic seized all, and one general scene of flight and confusion followed.
Dudley caught one more glance of Sir Arthur Adelon, but it was only to see that he was spurring the fine horse he rode fiercely along the slope towards the other side from that which now presented the advancing line of a well-disciplined body of yeomanry cavalry.
It was now time that Dudley should think of his own safety. He was in the midst of a body of rioters, whose acts amounted to treason, though a more lenient construction was afterwards put upon them, under the merciful influence of modern civilisation. With quick step, then, but not at a run, he turned somewhat in the direction which had been taken by Sir Arthur Adelon, skirted round the town to the westward, and when he had got in amongst some houses which had been built beyond the walls, turned back, as if coming towards the scene of affray.
The great mass of the people had fled down the hill towards the villages and copses in the interior; and it must be said that the yeomanry, inexperienced in such proceedings, made but few prisoners, considering the number of people present at the attack upon the town. A confused noise, however, reached Dudley's ears, of galloping horse, and shouts and cries; but, keeping away to the right, he avoided the spot where the pursuit was going on, and at the same time endeavoured to regain the road which led towards Brandon. He was some time in finding it, and even when actually upon it, did not feel sure that he was right, till he perceived, after having gone on for a quarter of a mile, a tall finger-post, of a peculiar form, which he had remarked as he passed before.
The road was quite solitary, although he thought he heard steps running on fast before him; and no one did Dudley meet with during the whole weary seven miles he had still to walk before he reached the gates of Brandon Park. Sad and gloomy were the thoughts which kept him company by the way from that scene of mad violence. He reflected upon the fate of the misled men who had fallen or been taken; and with still more sorrowful feelings he thought of the future condition of the widow, the orphans, the parents of the dead, and all that were connected with or dependent upon the prisoners. But it is with his own fate I have to do, and not with his mere meditations, and therefore I will conduct him at once past the old barn and lonely farm-house, which marked about half the distance, and bring him to the gates of the park. The moon was by this time rising, but the light of a candle was in the lodge, and the small door leading into the park, at the side of the greater ones, was open. Dudley passed through, and advanced up the avenue towards the house; but he had not proceeded two hundred yards, when two men started out upon him from behind the trees, and seized him by the shoulder.
"Mr. Edward Dudley," said one, "I apprehend you in the Queen's name. Here is the warrant."
"Upon what charge?" demanded Dudley, without making any resistance.
"Why, it may be murder; it may be manslaughter," replied the constable; "that remains to be seen. You must come to the lodge for to-night, sir; for I am ordered to keep you there in safe custody, in the little room with the round window at the back."