There is in the fine old town of Norwich, I believe, even to the present day, the remains of a whilom inn, which once stood not far from the River Wansum. Now nothing remains of it but a gable or two, transmuted to purposes very much below the dignity of receiving two-legged guests. Then, however, it was the principal inn in Norwich; and a great change had come over the state and condition of our inns since the time of Chaucer. In that day, inns had reached, in England, very nearly the climax of perfection. Hotels were an abomination unknown, although the name, descended from ancient times, still lingered in various parts of the country. Cleanliness, neatness, perfect ease, and independence characterized the inn of former years; the linen was white as snow; the food was generally of the best kind, however plain the cookery. There a man might take the world as it came; there he might pass his time as in a dream, obtruded upon by none of the hard realities of life, so long as he had in his purse wherewith to satisfy the demands of his host, which in those days were not very extravagant. There he might escape the impertinence, the annoyance, the importunity of the world. There he might riot or revel, muse or meditate, or read or write, or think or sleep, just as he pleased, without interruption. It afforded the most perfect species of liberty, the old English inn, without having any of the drawbacks of confusion and anarchy. No tax-gatherer ever came there, at least with the knowledge of the guests. The constable, even, was seen drinking his pot, or ladling out his punch, or smoking his pipe, with the other friendly persons round the bar, and, so long as order and decency were maintained, and perhaps a little longer, no one interfered with the quiet and ease that reigned within. The inn of the Half Moon, at the time I mention, was one of this sort; and toward it, in the first instance, as directed by others of experience, Ralph Woodhall took his way on his arrival in the city of Norwich, on a somewhat gloomy morning, about eleven o'clock. Before he took rest, however, or did more than brush his clothes from dust, and take off the heavy saddle-bags from their convenient position behind the saddle, to let his beast get a little refreshment and food, Ralph remounted, and rode away to another part of the town, higher up upon the Wansum. This was the old house, or palace of the old Dukes of Norfolk, in which, during their brief terms of residence in Norwich, they kept up in a limited sphere the state and dignity of a sovereign prince.
There had been some doubt in the mind of Ralph, when he arrived in the city, as to whether the nobleman on whom fancy, for the time, seemed to make his hopes depend, was in the town or not; but, as he passed along the streets, the number of servants which he saw in the Howard liveries, and the gayety and bustle which pervaded one quarter of the city, showed him that, so far as finding the duke, his first expectations were likely to be fulfilled. The antique gate-way, with a number of servants crowded under it--the wall surrounding the grounds extending to the river--the massive pile itself of the principal building, did not much impress him; for he thought it very much like one of the colleges at Cambridge, to which his eye was well accustomed. Appearing on horseback, and with a servant behind him, the gates were moved back by the retainers in the porch to give him admission into the court; and, descending there, he was led--while Stilling remained to look after the horses--to a little chamber on the ground floor called the Chamberlain's Office. There he explained his business by simply saying that he brought a letter for the duke from Lord Woodhall; and the grave-looking officer to whom he spoke, looking at the letter in his hand, led him into a waiting-room, where he found three other persons already in attendance on the duke's leisure. Each man was amusing the weary moments of expectation as best he might; one looking out of the window, which displayed an orchard in full beauty; one walking up and down the room, with eyes fixed upon the floor and hands behind the back; and one seated at a large table examining some books, which had been laid there, probably, to beguile the time. Patience and silence seemed to be the order of the day, and Ralph, after looking curiously at the splendid furniture which decorated even that plain room, betook himself to one of those volumes, which soon afforded him amusement to pass half an hour pleasantly. While he read, one after another of his companions in attendance was called out of the room, and at length, laying down the book, he fell into a revery, of that kind which often comes upon us at vacant moments--when brief summings up of the testimony borne by events to the progress of our fate, during a certain period just past, are made by memory, and left to the judgment of the mind, to see if any thing can be made of the case or not.
The great step was taken. Here he was, many miles from home, "seeking his fortune," as the term was then. He had entered the house of one who could at will advance his views or neglect his cause, with nothing to recommend him but one letter from a distant relation, and one from a person he did not know. Something, however, bearing on his destiny was to be decided soon, and he felt all that eager, fluttering anxiety of youth, which every man in early years must have experienced when the great object of the moment was in the balance. There was not much cause for hope, indeed; and expectation, even under the exaggeration of youth, could hardly see space to stand upon; but love is a great fanner of the flame of hope; and love was always mingling a word with all Ralph's cogitations.
The lesser incidents, too, which had lately occurred, presented themselves to the young man's mind when the greater facts were discussed; the interview with the strange personage calling himself Moraber; the conduct of Lady Coldenham; the meeting with Gaunt Stilling, and the misadventure which had occurred to the latter on the road, passed in review. Of all these, the demeanor of his new servant, his circumstances, and his conduct, puzzled Ralph most. What was he? Why did he at once obey the order to follow him? Was there any secret brotherhood or association in the land, like that of the disciples of the old man of the mountains, which bound its members to follow implicitly the orders of an unknown superior? There had been at that time whispers of such a league; and, if Stilling was a member thereof, what dangers and obstructions might not his own course be brought among by retaining the services of a person over whose conduct another maintained so absolute and independent a control? Then, again, the man's demeanor had not been without remarkable points. Perfectly respectful he always was; but that he had his own particular notions, and liked them better than all others, he did not fail to show. He seemed to have no feeling of degradation from the office of servant which he assumed. He gave no vain reason for his obedience; but there was something in his manner which seemed to say, "I have taken upon me certain duties, and the only proper, the only honorable course, is to fulfill them to the very best of my ability. No honest task degrades a man; the vanity of shirking it, or the fault of neglecting its requirements when undertaken, may degrade. These are the only acts which can make the position of a servant degrading. He is as honorable as his master, if he does his duty as well." No task seemed too hard for him; the very wordsmenial services, so often used obnoxiously by the mean and vulgar, he seemed to scorn. His pride was in doing well what he undertook. He appeared to feel that, in doing so, he made himself, in Nature's book, equal with all, superior to many placed continually above him by station and wealth. He would trust the care of the horses to none other; he was careful of his young master's wardrobe; he refused to sit down with him at table, even in small inns, where such a course was common, both in England and France.
All this showed a high mind and a clear intellect; but his character had other puzzling points. Sometimes--and, indeed, this seemed his general humor--he was as gay as the lark, full of glee and merriment; but ever and anon he would fall into deep reveries--fits of thought, deep, profound, even sad, from which it was difficult to rouse him.
Some days after the period of which I write, indeed, he received a letter by the carrier, which seemed to increase the frequency and intensity of these attacks of moodiness; but that had not occurred when Ralph sat in the room at the Duke of Norfolk's, as I have mentioned, and the temper or character of his servant had, to his eyes, all the first sharpness about it.
He was busily engaged in reflections upon all these things, when a stately servant, who had previously called the others out to the presence of the duke, came to summon him also, and led him, with slow and formal steps, to another room on the same floor. Little do the great of this world know how any stiff, haughty, or repulsive manner affects those who, reasonably or unreasonably, have been building up hopes upon their influence or kindness--what luster urbanity or gentleness gives to a favor intended to be conferred; how, by kind courtesy, a disappointment is softened and diminished. Very frequently, the man who will give thousands in charity will not spare a kind word, although it would relieve pangs a thousand-fold more bitter than any which gold can touch. Honor, high honor, to that man who does generous acts generously. There are some such in the world, and, thank God! I know them; but they are not many.
The manner of the Duke of Norfolk was freezing in the extreme. He received his young visitor standing; and, before hearing any thing he had to say, informed him, in a tone cold, though apologetic, that he was in some haste, as he had to go out. Ralph was the more surprised, as the duke had established, generally, a character for courtesy in his dealings with people of inferior rank; but he presented the letter of Lord Woodhall with the hope that that might produce some change in the great man's manner.
Such was not the case, however. The duke opened the letter, ran his eye hastily over it, as a somewhat tiresome ceremony, and then folding it up again, stood silent, as if expecting that Ralph would either say something or go. Seeing, however, that the young man remained silent likewise, he at length said, "Well, Mr. Woodhall, I must think over this, and will let you hear from me in a few days. Tell my chamberlain where you are to be found in Norwich."
"I do not think, my lord duke, that I shall be here very long," replied Ralph, making up his mind, with the rapid rashness of youth, to expect nothing more from the haughty nobleman before him; "I have another letter, however, which I may as well deliver to your grace now, lest I should not have an opportunity of seeing you again."
The duke seemed surprised, and not quite well pleased; but Ralph took out the letter which Stilling had brought him, put it in the nobleman's hand, and was about to retire. The moment the Duke of Norfolk saw the superscription, however, a great change came over his face. "Stay! stay!" he cried; "let me see what this letter contains before you go;" and he ran his eye quickly, but with evident attention, over the few lines within. Before he had quite done, he waved his hand toward a seat, saying, "Pray sit down, Mr. Woodhall," and then resumed the perusal. As soon as he had finished, he took a seat himself, and looking upon Ralph with a smiling countenance, inquired why he had not given him that letter first.
"Because, my lord duke," replied Ralph, "I thought the other from my cousin, Lord Woodhall, the most important. I do not actually know by whom the epistle you hold in your hand was written, it having been sent to me to deliver, without any other intimation; but I suspect that it came from a person so inferior in position to Lord Woodhall, that it might have less weight in your opinion than the other."
The duke smiled. "You were mistaken," he said; "we in the great world learn to estimate matters somewhat differently from others who have not mingled much with matters of general concern, and we give less weight than people generally imagine to rank and wealth. Lord Woodhall is a very excellent nobleman, and my particular good friend; but this gentleman," and he laid his hand significantly upon the paper, "is a very singular and extraordinary personage. Even in these days of infinite oddities he is very remarkable, and, besides his originality, he is a man of immense power of mind, strong will, vast patience, and unchangeable in his purposes; probably from a fixed opinion that certain things are to be, and that it is only required he should shape his course by them, and follow it perseveringly, in order to succeed in his endeavors. This turn has been given to his mind by a passion for judicial astrology, which he imbibed when he and I were fellow-students together at Oxford. He then belonged to Brazen Nose College, where that science, or pretended science, was a good deal cultivated, and although he never made a convert of me, yet I can not but admit that many of his predictions have had a very curious accomplishment. For instance, he named to me long ago, that a change, materially affecting the crown of England, would take place during the first week of February, one thousand six hundred and eighty-five. I read the prophecy to imply the death of the king, but throughout the whole of January his majesty remained perfectly well; and I saw him on the first of February without one token of decay, either in body or mind. I imagined my good friend's prediction would fail; when lo! came the startling news that he had been struck with apoplexy. You know the rest of the events of that week. His majesty died on the sixth, and a great change, indeed, took place."
The duke paused, and seemed to give his mind up to memory for some moments; and Ralph would not interrupt his reveries. At length he again broke silence, returning somewhat abruptly to the subject, and saying, "Moreover, my young friend, these two letters are written in a very different spirit. The first is a mere common letter of introduction, bespeaking my good offices for a young gentleman going to see the world. It is not even written in Lord Woodhall's own hand, though signed by him, and was never calculated to insure you more than merely the civility of an invitation to my house. The second, however, demands, in good broad terms, that I shall do whatever I can to promote your views, with sincerity and zeal; and, good faith, I am willing to do it, though the terms need not have been quite so imperative. First, however, I must know what those views are."
"I will explain them in a moment, my lord duke," replied Ralph; but the other cut him short, saying, "We shall not have time at present, for I am, in reality, going out upon business of some importance; I shall be back, however, in a few hours, and the best plan will be for you to come and take up your residence here for a fortnight or so. During that time we shall find plenty of opportunity for conversation, in the course of which I can learn all your intentions, and perhaps strike out some means of serving you. In the mean time, I will put you into the hands of my chamberlain, who will provide you with what rooms you need, and make you acquainted with the customs of the house."
Thus saying, the duke rang a small bell that stood upon the table, and summoned the chamberlain to his presence. Orders were cordially given for Ralph's hospitable entertainment, and leaving him in the hands of the officer, Norfolk went out to ride.
However far the duke might himself have unbent from his stateliness, the chamberlain remained as dignified as ever. Perfectly civil was he, indeed, for he had seen at a glance that the young stranger was high in the favor of his lord; but he was solemn and slow, with all the rigidity of a hackneyed official, putting a certain degree of state into the slightest movement, and uttering every word in a tone of ceremony. He inquired carefully what number of domestics Master Ralph Woodhall would bring with him, and finding that he was only to be accompanied by one, declared that that would render the arrangement of his apartments very easy, adding, with a pompous air, that gentlemen sometimes came accompanied by as many as twenty, which occasionally put the duke's officers to some inconvenience.
All, however, was at length arranged, a stable pointed out for the two horses, a small suite of rooms, at the western corner of the building, assigned to the master and his servant, and their names duly inscribed in the chamberlain's book.
This completed, Ralph took his departure, and returned to the inn, where Stilling was waiting his arrival, with some traces of anxiety upon his face.
"Well, sir, how has it gone?" he inquired, when Ralph appeared. "Is the duke courteous or not this morning? for the people here tell me his mood varies a good deal, according as he has many or few people to see; mighty civil to the first who come, somewhat short to the last."
"Matters have gone better than I could have expected," replied Ralph; "thanks, I believe, to the letter which you brought me, for till he saw that I can not say the duke showed any great urbanity."
"Ay, I knew that would do the business," replied Stilling.
"Why, I thought you did not know who it came from," observed Ralph
"True, I did not know," replied the man, laughing, "but I guessed. I have a rare bundle of guesses always about me, and they generally turn out tolerably right. But what is to come of it now, master! When shall we hear more? I do not like things to stick by the way."
"We shall hear more very soon, I trust," replied Ralph; "but, in the mean time, you must get ready, Stilling, to take up your abode with me at the duke's house."
"Hurrah!" cried Stilling, "that is progress, to have effected a lodgment on the walls already. But I won't lose a moment, sir, for that which is quick begun is quick ended, notwithstanding all that old women may say;" and away he went to lead forth the horses and replace the saddle-bags.
"If you please, sir," said Gaunt Stilling, on the second day after their arrival in Norwich, as he stood before his young master, who was seated reading, and had hardly raised his eyes at his entrance, "may I ask you a question?"
"Certainly," replied Ralph; "what is it, Stilling?"
"Why, only just this, sir," answered Stilling; "I should like to know if, before you set out, you mentioned my name to any one, or whether any one else knew that I was going in your service?"
"No one whatever, Stilling," replied Ralph, "except myself, our friend Moraber, and Mistress Margaret Woodhall, were at all acquainted with the fact; for I did not mention the subject to my father, as he might have imagined that I was about to launch into extravagance and encounter expenses incompatible with my small means, and, moreover, might have made himself uneasy during the whole period of my absence with this thought, which I should never have been able to remove from his mind, although I knew the impression to be wrong."
"Good, sir, good," replied Stilling; "and so now, by your leave and permission, I will be called Stilling no longer, but, as the old poet man says, 'your good servant ever;' I have my own reasons, sir."
"But I do not understand you," said Ralph; "do you wish to change your name, or rather take one that does not belong to you?"
"Yes, sir, any good traveling designation," replied the young man, gayly. "I am not of the rank or manners to dub myself captain; but any thing else will do as well."
"As far as I am concerned, it will," replied Ralph; "but do not the people of the house know your real name?"
"No, sir--no," replied Stilling; "I have waited till to-day to announce myself, and I know you have not betrayed me; for I was asked my name yesterday at supper at the third table, and begged time for consideration and preparation."
Ralph did not at the moment recollect that he had written the man's name with his own hand in the chamberlain's book, and he readily acceded to his wishes, not caring much by what name he went. Stilling fixed upon the designation of Tuckett--Jack Tuckett, and begged his master to call him so for the future, with which Ralph promised to comply unless memory played him an unpleasant trick, and brought back the old name when he was off his guard.
This was all settled, and for a time produced no consequences. Ralph did not choose to pry into the motives of this transformation; and, to say the truth, he was so occupied in thinking of the slow progress of his own affairs that he soon forgot the matter altogether, accustomed himself to call the servant Tuckett, and hardly remembered that he ever had another name. Slow progress! Oh, the eager hopes of youth, how they hurry us on to disappointing conclusions! He had been five days in the house of the Duke of Norfolk. He had seen more or less of that nobleman every day, and had been treated by him with kindness and distinction; but not a word had yet been said in regard to his views or prospects; and Ralph's spirit fretted within him to find the wheels move so much more slowly than he had expected.
At length one day the duke sent up a message to his room, importing that he was about, that morning, to set out upon a visit to a neighboring nobleman, at whose house the Earl of Sunderland was to meet him. He thought it might be advantageous to his young friend, he said, to be acquainted with that nobleman, and he would take him with him if he would consent to travel without a servant, as the house would be somewhat crowded.
Ralph smiled when he received the message, and immediately prepared to go. Stilling, or, as we must now call him, Jack Tuckett, seemed delighted with the arrangement, and asked permission, during his master's absence, to make an expedition of his own. His request was readily complied with; and the two parted not long after, Ralph to accompany the duke, and the other to go whithersoever his fancy led.
Nothing resulted from the interview with Lord Sunderland; and his character is too well known in history for me to dwell upon the impression he produced on Ralph's mind. The young man was naturally charmed with his winning address, and easy, unaffected manners. There was about him, too, a tone of superiority and confidence in his own opinions, which were somewhat impressive to inexperience. It is not to be wondered at, when men of great powers of mind, already forewarned of Sunderland's treacherous vacillation, yielded to the peculiar powers of fascination which he possessed, and believed him sincere and steady in his convictions, after he had been weighed a thousand times and found wanting, that a young man like Ralph Woodhall should be deceived by his pretensions to purity and truth.
The Duke of Norfolk, however, from to time read a comment upon the conduct of the statesman which was of service to his young friend; and several of the gentlemen who were present made observations upon Sunderland's professions, or told anecdotes of his former doings, which served in some degree to open Ralph's eyes. The time passed very pleasantly, however. Lord Sunderland seemed to have conceived a great friendship for the young country gentleman, would take a morning walk with him, and talk of classic lore and the stores of art in other lands with eloquence and information such as few possessed. But yet there was something unsatisfactory in the whole, which Ralph felt without being able to detect what it was--a want of something, probably of sincerity and frankness, which deprived his conversation of much of its charm.
At the end of six days the duke set out on his return, and the whole party reached Norwich somewhat late in the evening. Ralph found that his servant had not yet returned; but he was already a favorite in the household, and one of the duke's men came up to his room, and volunteered to perform the offices of "Mr. Tuckett."
"There are to be great doings to-night, sir," he said; "it is a ball night here. A great number of ladies and gentlemen have arrived from different parts to stay with his grace since you went; all the country round is invited, and the duke's carriages have gone out to bring in the company from the town. The state-rooms, too, are open, where every thing is of gold or silver, even to the tongs and pokers; so there will be a grand sight."
Ralph dressed himself as speedily as possible in the best array that his wardrobe would afford, and, receiving directions from the man who came to assist him as to the way toward the state apartments he had mentioned, descended without any of those emotions which vanity often produces in even the practiced in such scenes when they expect to play a conspicuous part. His mind was set upon higher objects; and he neither hoped nor wished to attract attention, or to win admiration in courtly halls. He had to descend--from the second floor of the house, where his rooms were situated--a large oaken stair-case, from which, at each landing-place, led away, in four directions, different corridors leading to numerous suites of apartments; and as, by the time he went down, guests were arriving thick, the galleries were thronged with gay groups, hurrying across or pausing for a moment to look over the balustrades at the parties entering the hall below. Among the rest, Ralph stopped for an instant to gaze upon the brilliant moving scene, and, leaning over, bent his eyes upon the landing-place just beneath. Suddenly a figure passed across, the sight of which made him start and run down with a quick step. It was gone before he reached the landing; but if there was any sight in the eyes of love, that figure, he felt certain, was that of his Margaret.
He hurried on to the state apartments, where more than a hundred persons were already assembled, while the duke, all affability and kindness, was standing in the third saloon, receiving his guests, and saying some kind and courteous words to each. It was a bright and cheerful scene, and perhaps excelled in splendor the court of royalty itself; but Ralph had no eyes for any thing but the search which he made among the ever-increasing crowd for the figure he had seen. The magnificent pictures on the walls, the beautiful statuary ranged around--master-pieces of ancient and of modern art--the costly decorations on which the wealth and taste of several generations had been lavished, detained him not for a moment; but onward he passed, till he reached the room where the duke had placed himself. There he paused for an instant to salute the lord of the mansion, intending to hurry on immediately after; but the duke called him kindly to his side, giving him his Christian name as a mark of familiarity, and introduced him to the bishop and several of the most distinguished guests. Still Ralph was anxious to escape; but his noble patron had other business for him.
"Here, Ralph," he said, "this fair lady, to whom I present you, Hortensia, Lady Danvers, is anxious to see the bowling-green and wilderness illuminated on this fine night. I must, alas! remain here to receive all my coming guests, or I would be her guide myself. I can not, however, intrust her to any one who will supply my place with gallant courtesy better than yourself, my young friend. Madam, let me beg you to know and esteem my young friend, Ralph Woodhall, whose good qualities he will commend to you himself better than any words of mine could do."
The lady whom he addressed was young and beautiful, and looked younger even than she really was; for the features were all exceedingly small and delicately chiseled, the complexion brilliantly fair, while there was a world of youthful, speaking tenderness in her eyes, a sort of beseeching look, which seldom survives a long acquaintance with the great hardening world. She was magnificently dressed, but in a style peculiar to herself, approaching that of the earlier part of the last reign, rather than the stiffer mode which was already beginning to prevail; but her rich brown hair, looped up in great masses with diamonds, was arranged in a fashion which probably had never found favor in any country generally; for it required features such as her own, and a brow as beautiful as hers, to render it at all becoming. With her the effect was beautiful and picturesque, and she certainly was as lovely a creature, as she stood there by the duke's side, as the eye could well behold.
Nevertheless, Ralph would have given all that he possessed in the world to be free from the task of escorting her; but that could not be. He had no excuse ready, even if any excuse could have been available in such circumstances; and bowing low, he said, with the pardonable hypocrisy of society, that he should be delighted to be her guide. He knew not, in his ignorance of the ways of courtly life, whether he ought to offer her his arm or not, and he hesitated; but he saw many a gentleman and lady passing through the apartments arm in arm, and bending his head as she took a step forward toward the door, he asked, "Will you not lean on me?"
"With pleasure," she replied, taking his arm at once; and they walked on through that room and the next. It must have been difficult for the lady not to see that her companion's thoughts were not so exclusively given to herself as she had perhaps a right to expect, or to avoid noticing that his eyes often wandered from her beautiful face to different parts of the halls, as if looking for something. But woman is a strange creature, and very full of varieties. Some persons, of irritable and all-absorbing vanity, would have felt offended, and might have shown their anger. Not so Lady Danvers, however. What might have offended, or rather, I should say, disgusted her more, would have been the empty compliments and overcharged affectation of gallantry which were so common in that day. At all events, Ralph's demeanor had somewhat of the charm of novelty in it; and she seemed to apply herself diligently to show him that she was worthy of more attention than he paid her.
For some little time she was silent; but at length she said, in a low voice, "I think you must be looking for some one, Mr. Woodhall."
"Only my cousin, of whom I caught a glance upon the stairs," replied Ralph.
"And now you are wishing me far away," rejoined the lady, with a smile; "but come, let us look for him before we go to the wilderness; I am quite willing to join in the chase."
Ralph felt his rudeness; and, what perhaps was more to the purpose at that moment, he was convinced--for he had used his eyes well--that Margaret was not in the rooms. He had either been mistaken altogether in supposing he had seen her, or else she had gone to change her dress, which might, for aught he had remarked, been merely a traveling costume.
He hastened, then, to atone, saying, "Oh no! I will not lead you such a chase on any account; nor must you suppose any such rudeness in my thoughts. I wished but to say two words to my cousin. But it matters not; I shall find, I trust, another opportunity. Now let us go to the wilderness; this is our way."
"You are very strange," said the lady, thoughtfully; "I have given you a dozen opportunities of saying pretty things to me, and you have not taken advantage of one. I suppose there is not another man in the whole room who would have neglected any of them."
Ralph was about to put forth some apology, and to try to make some amends; but Lady Danvers would not suffer him to proceed, lifting her beautiful soft eyes to his face, and saying, "Stop! not a word of excuse; I like you all the better. For wits, courtiers, gallants, and fools I have a wonderful aversion."
"But at all events," replied Ralph, smiling, as they descended the stone steps to the bank of the Wansum, "you must at one time have liked courtiers better to choose one for your husband."
"My husband!" exclaimed the lady, with a clear, merry laugh; "I have no such incumbrance, Mr. Woodhall. I see you do not know much about me, although I know every thing about you. Now I will tell you all about myself, which may, perhaps, cheer your task for you. The duke called me Lady Danvers, for the best of all possible reasons, because I am Lady Danvers--but in my own right, and not as the appendage of any husband in Christendom. I and poor Henrietta Wentworth were in the same position, baronesses in our own right, and great friends, too, till she went away, though she is older than I am."
"Why do you call her poor Henrietta Wentworth?" asked Ralph; "I should think to be an independent peeress did not deserve much compassion."
"Oh, ignorant man!" cried his fair companion; "I did not think there was any one in the whole world who did not know that poor girl's history. I can not tell it to you fully, for there is much therein I would not wish to dwell on. Suffice it that she sacrificed all to love--rank, wealth, consideration, friends, home, country!"
"I envy her," said Ralph, in a serious tone; "methinks that there could be no greater happiness on earth than the opportunity of making such a sacrifice."
"For a worthy object," replied the lady, in as grave a tone as his own.
"And is he not worthy, for whom she has sacrificed all this?" demanded Ralph, eagerly.
"Not worthy of such a sacrifice in any way," said Lady Danvers, "except in love for her; there I believe he is perfect. Graceful, handsome, affable, kind, and brave in the field he is; but I fear much he is weak, vacillating, inconstant, and ungrateful to all but her: I speak of Monmouth."
"What, the duke?" asked Ralph.
"The same," replied the lady; and there the conversation stopped for a moment or two, while, passing over the bowling-green, which was surrounded by a ring of lights, as if to shine upon fairy revels on the greensward, they entered what was called the wilderness, where a number of mazy walks, illuminated by many tricornered lanterns, afforded ample opportunities for private meetings and whispered tales of love.
"This is exceedingly pretty," said the lady, looking around her over the scene, where the lanterns, shining through the green leaves, produced the effect of a garden lighted by glowworms.
"Yes," replied Ralph, in an absent tone; "but you said just now, Lady Danvers, that I knew little about you, while you knew every thing about me. The first was unhappily quite true; the second, I doubt not, was quite true also; but yet I can not well comprehend how any thing regarding so insignificant a person as myself can have reached your ladyship's ears."
"Now have I a great mind," replied Lady Danvers, "to punish you for all your misdeeds this night, by keeping you in darkness and mystery. I will even aggravate your suffering by telling you that I desired the duke to introduce you to me, and leave you to discover the interpretation for yourself."
"Nay, nay," said Ralph, "I am sure you will not be so cruel."
As he spoke, another party, conversing in gay, laughing tones, passed along a walk close to that which they were following, and only separated from it by a thin screen of hornbeam. The lady paused ere she replied; but when the others had passed, she said, "Well, well, I will be merciful, and spare you an unquiet night. You are the son of Mr. Robert Woodhall, of The Grange, the duke told me. I must explain: I asked him who you were as you crossed the room--for I thought you very handsome, of course; and I thought you better dressed than any other man there, because you had less gold lace and embroidery about you. However, the duke told me; and then I knew all about you directly. My dear mother, who left me here on earth some eighteen months ago, was the early friend of your mother, her constant companion in the days of girlhood, and she has often talked to me about her. She had her picture ever hanging in her room, and I have seen it a thousand times; but she always said it did her little justice--that she was the most beautiful creature in all the world. Then my mother would tell me how yours had chosen your father against the wishes of many of her friends, and neglected high station and courtly celebrity to become the wife of a poor gentleman on whom she had no fortune to bestow, and how, when she died and left him, he had abandoned all the paths of worldly ambition which he had opened for himself, and retired to his small estate with her only child. Once or twice in the year, a letter passed between your father and my mother, for they had both loved the same person, and both mourned her as long as they lived."
There was something so touching in her voice and manner as she told the little tale, that Ralph, hardly knowing what he did, took her fair hand and pressed it in his own. Lady Danvers seemed not at all offended, and entered fully into his feelings toward his mother.
"I am sure I should love your father very much," she added, "for I have read several of his letters--especially toward the last years of my own parent's life--and in them he spoke in as beautiful and touching affection of his wife and her loss as if she had not been dead a year. I am sure I should love him."
"I think you would," replied Ralph; "though that one deep grief, which he experienced so early, has made him very negligent of all those graces which I am told he at one time possessed. He is now immersed in studies, curious and abstruse, and heeds little else besides his books."
"Well, you see," replied Lady Danvers, "I have, at all events, an hereditary right to your friendship; and all I can say is, that if I can promote your views in any way, Mr. Woodhall, I shall be very happy."
"To have a right to call you friend, dear lady," replied Ralph, warmly, "is quite enough, without taxing your kindness further. The picture you have of my mother must be, I suppose, a copy of that which my father possesses; and yet I should like to see it."
"Oh, no, it is no copy," answered the lady; "she sat expressly at my mother's request, shortly after her marriage. It is very beautiful; the face so full of love, and tenderness and self-devotion. Hers was a noble sacrifice and I am sure, if she had possessed millions to give as well as her hand, she would not have hesitated. I can read it in her face."
"I am glad to hear you speak thus," replied Ralph; "the world judges hardly of such sacrifices. Her own relations blamed and cast her off."
"The world is very foolish in its estimates," replied Lady Danvers; "surely the best wealth, and jewels, and rank, and station are happiness and high qualities, peace of heart and contentment. Case me in gold, and I am no better, no happier; put me on a throne, I am no wiser, no better contented; but give me the society of those I love, health, and enough, and the riches of the world can add very little--their want take very little away. I would not be the slave to all this decoration--to the mere ornaments of the human frame or of human life, which I see the greater number of the women of this land become, for all that earth can give."
"Nor I either," replied Ralph; "but yet, dear lady, wealth and station are sometimes needful, not to happiness, but to the means of attaining that better wealth of the heart."
"Never, I should think," replied the lady. "Let us suppose a case," said Ralph. "Imagine that a man, in other respects not ill endowed, but wanting in riches and in high rank, dares to fix his eyes upon some 'bright particular star,' and hopes to win it; suppose even that he has gained love for love, what chance has he of being made happy--of obtaining her he loves, in short? Friends, relations, guardians interpose, obstacles of every kind arise, which can only be overcome by gaining that wealth and station, the want of which is the impediment."
"Not so, not so!" replied Lady Danvers, eagerly. "Let her he loves be nobly firm, and bold in affection. Let her do as your mother did; and, if there be competence, there will be happiness; but really, let us look about us. We are talking so eagerly," she said, while a warm blush fluttered over her cheek, "that people will say we are making love, and the duke will ask me about the gardens, and I shall be able to tell him nothing. Then will his grace have his good joke at poor me. However, Mr. Woodhall, whenever you like to see that picture, you can. It is at my seat in Somersetshire, and if I am absent when you pass that way, you have but to use my name, and the servants will show it to you. Bid them treat you hospitably, too, for their mistress's sake; now tell me, what is this we are coming to?"
"It is the fish-pond--illuminated, too, I see," replied Ralph; "let us go near the edge and look in. By day one can see down to the marble beneath. I know not whether this light is strong enough. Yes, it is; see how those gentlemen, in their gold and silver coats, swim quietly about, as if their watery world had no strife or contention in it. They always look to me like the prosperous and wealthy of this earth, who never seem to dream of all the strife, and care, and agony of body and of mind that is going on around them."
"Not so with all the prosperous!" replied the lady, in a tone almost reproachful; "those who are not quite so fortunate often do them an injustice. They can not see beneath the surface, or know not how often the heart, which has few or no sorrows of its own, bleeds for the sorrows of others. Yet so far you are right, I believe. Prosperity may have a tendency to harden the heart. Without feeling grief or care, imagination can not picture it distinctly, and we are in danger of forgetting, in our own tranquillity, the sorrows and the pangs which are not apparent to the eye."
They continued for a moment or two gazing into the clear water without noticing the groups that passed by. At length, however, a voice familiar to Ralph's ear said, loud enough for him to hear, "Yes, very lover-like, indeed! Do not disturb them."
He started; but the speaker was already going down one of the little alleys of the wilderness.
"Did you hear that?" said Lady Danvers, looking up with a blush and a smile; "it is time for us to go back, I think; not that I ever trouble myself much about people's wrong constructions; but it is as well not to give them cause for such observations."
Charming as she was, and kind, Ralph was very willing to return; but as they went, she gave him a frank invitation to visit her, either in London or the country, adding, with a laugh, "I have always some old aunt or ancient cousin of the house staying with me, so as to escape scandal, Mr. Woodhall; and remember, if I can at any time serve you, and perhaps I may be able, all the little influence I possess may be commanded by the son of my dear mother's friend."
Ralph thanked her warmly, eagerly; and they walked on through the mazy walks toward the house with somewhat slower steps, perhaps, than he would have taken had he been alone.
There was an old white-haired man of distinguished mien standing by the Duke of Norfolk, and the latter said, with a good-humored smile, "You requested me, my lord, to take care of his fortunes. Now I have introduced him, this night, to the most beautiful, the most wealthy, and the most romantic young lady in the room, who knew something of his family, and seemed exceedingly interested in his fate. To make the matter more complete, I have sent them to take a walk together through the wilderness and by the bank of the river. Now, I look upon it as a hundred chances to one that they come back desperately in love with each other; for, as the dramatist has it, they have 'changed eyes' already. The lady has no one to control her, and, if I judge her rightly, she will some day or another bestow hand and fortune upon some poor gentleman of no rank, just to show the world how completely she despises the gifts the gods have given her."
"I am delighted, my lord duke," answered the other, "and trust with all my heart your anticipations may be fulfilled. Pray what is the lady's name?"
"Hortensia, Baroness Danvers," replied the duke. "She was once a great friend of poor Henrietta Wentworth, though somewhat more strict in her notions of propriety. I remember her weeping bitterly when told that Lady Wentworth had followed Monmouth. Before that, she would not believe any of the tales that were current. She is a good girl, but a fanciful little enthusiast."
There were only two other persons, besides Lord Woodhall, near enough to the Duke of Norfolk to hear his words. One was a very beautiful girl, who turned red and white alternately as the duke spoke, and the other was a young gentleman of no prepossessing mien, though the features of his face were generally good. He had a haggard and suspicious expression of countenance; and while the duke was concluding what he had to say of Lady Danvers, the young man addressed his fair companion, using a good number of the ribald expletives of the day, not very suitable to the ears of a lady.
"Demme, Margaret," he said, "that would never suit your brother, to have Master Ralph carry off the rich baroness. Gads zounds! I saw Henry fluttering round her in London like a blue and pink pigeon, and, depend upon it, he'll suffer no rivalry from a fellow like Ralph. He'll pink the book-worm in a minute, if there is any of that nonsense."
Margaret turned away with a look of disgust, but with a very pale cheek; and her father presented her to the duke, who received her with a graceful mingling of gallantry and respect. Lord Woodhall then introduced his kinsman, "Mr. Robert Woodhall, son of the late Lord Coldenham;" adding, with a well-satisfied look, "you see, my noble friend, that I have taken the liberty, in making this little detour on my road to London, to cast a number of my relations on your hospitality. My son Henry I think you have seen to-night."
"When monarchs make progresses," replied the duke, with a smile, "they must always be attended by their suite. Your son I saw half an hour ago; and if our friend Ralph would but return with his fair lady, we would have a family dance in the ball-room. Let me offer you my arm, Mistress Margaret; I think all the guests have arrived by this time."
When they reached the ball-room, they found Margaret's brother already engaged in the dance; and the duke and his party paused for some five or ten minutes, gazing upon the scene, while different groups of guests came forward, said a few words, and passed on. Margaret's eyes, however, were but little on the gay sight before her, and very frequently turned to the door by which they had entered with an anxious and eager glance. Ralph did not appear, however, and at length her cousin asked her to join in the dance with him. She could not refuse; and, taking their places, they were proceeding with one of the courtly dances of that day, Margaret with a pale cheek and inattentive mind, and Robert Woodhall with no great grace, but with some agility and skill, when two persons entered the room by the door exactly opposite to the dancers; and Lady Danvers, in all the splendor of her beauty, leaning listlessly on the arm of Ralph Woodhall, was before the eyes of Margaret.
At the same moment, Ralph saw her dancing with Robert Woodhall, and in spite of all he could do to command himself, his cheek grew fiery red. Margaret was fatigued with her long journey. She had been greatly agitated by the words which she had overheard from the lips of the Duke of Norfolk. She was one of those very few persons who undervalue themselves, and when she saw the resplendent beauty of Hortensia Danvers, arrayed and decorated by all that dress could do to heighten its effect, a chilly feeling of all the perils to which her love and happiness were to be exposed took possession of her. Her head became giddy; the objects swam before her eyes; her heart refused to beat and she sank fainting on the floor. The music was instantly stopped; a little crowd gathered round; and Ralph, letting Lady Danvers's arm drop from his own, sprang forward to render assistance. In so doing he came in contact with Robert Woodhall, who turned sharply upon him, exclaiming, "Demme, stand back, sir! You are impertinent! Who asked you to meddle?"
Ralph made no reply whatever, but took him by the collar with one hand, and forcibly drew him back into the center of the room. Then taking his place, he bent anxiously over Margaret, by whom her brother Henry was already standing.
The Duke of Norfolk had observed the whole scene, and had advanced toward the group gathered round Margaret, without, however, mingling with it. His voice was now heard exclaiming, "Carry the young lady out to her own room. She is only fainting with the heat, and will soon be better."
"Help me to carry her, Ralph," said Henry Woodhall, applying himself at once to the companion of his youth rather than to his cousin Robert.
They raised her in their arms and bore her out, Lord Woodhall following, and saying to those around, "She has only fainted--she has only fainted. The girl is not subject to such freaks; but that room was very hot. Pray do not follow--none of you--none of you. We shall bring her to herself very soon." Henry and Ralph carried their fair burden into an ante-room at some distance from the reception rooms, while an attendant ran away to call her own woman to her assistance, and as soon as they had placed her in a chair, Lord Woodhall said, "Now leave us, boys--leave us. I will soon bring her to herself. It is not the first time I have seen a woman faint in my life."
Henry obeyed his father's directions at once, but Ralph lingered for a moment, saying to the old nobleman, "Can I not render any assistance, my lord?"
"Only if you can contrive to unlace this stomacher, my dear boy," replied Lord Woodhall, who had been fumbling at the various lacings which went to complicate a lady's dress in those days, but apparently without much success "Margaret would not mind, I am sure. You have been always like a brother to her."
Ralph hastened to obey, and with hands which trembled with many emotions, and associations, dear but agitating, soon unfastened Margaret's dress and gave her fair bosom freer play. As he did so, the beautiful girl opened her eyes for a moment, fixing them with a look of thoughtful anxiety upon his face, and raised her hand faintly so that it lay upon his. Then, however, came the maid; and as he was once more desired by the old lord to leave himself and his daughter alone, the young man obeyed--reluctantly, it must be owned, and not without more than one glance turned back to her he was leaving. She was pale and insensible still, having fallen back into a fainting fit again almost as soon as she had opened her eyes; but the momentary look she had given him was not to be forgotten, and it was with regret that he quitted the room.
Instead of returning to the state apartments at once, the young gentleman wandered up and down the corridor for some minutes; but at length Lord Woodhall came forth with the welcome intelligence that Margaret had fully recovered; and with him Ralph returned to the ball-room.
In the mean time he had formed the subject of conversation in two of the different groups which that room contained. In one part Robert Woodhall was speaking eagerly with one or two gentlemen who surrounded him, saying, "He insulted me, sir--he insulted me; and he shall make me an apology, or I will know the reason why." The words were overheard by the Duke of Norfolk, who had just returned from bidding his guests go on with their dancing, assuring them that the little confusion which had occurred, had only been occasioned by a lady fainting from the heat, and ordering more windows to be opened to admit the fresh air. He immediately turned somewhat sharply toward Robert Woodhall, saying, "I beg your pardon, young gentleman, he did not insult you. You insulted him. He shall make you no apology, if he would remain my friend. Whether he will be content without an apology from you, must rest with himself. I shall not interfere."
At the other side of the room conversation of a different character was going on between the son of Lord Woodhall and the fair Lady Danvers. She had remained, after Ralph left her, on the same spot, watching, if the truth must be told, his proceedings with some interest, and suspecting, though not convinced of the truth. Henry Woodhall was an old acquaintance, but in her eyes nothing more; and when he approached her, as soon as he re-entered the ball-room, she inquired, "How is your sister?"
It was hypocrisy, I must needs admit; for had the question which first sprang to her lips been uttered, it would have been, "Where is your cousin?"
"Oh, she is getting better," replied Henry Woodhall, lightly; "ladies will faint, you know, most beautiful."
"Why, your cousin Ralph seems to take a deeper interest in the matter than you do," replied the lady, not seeking to make any mischief, but moved by a curiosity which perhaps had its source in some deeper motive still.
"Oh, they have been all their childhood together," replied Henry Woodhall; "Ralph is as much her brother, in all our eyes, as I am."
"I almost fancied it was something more than brotherly love," said Hortensia, in a low voice.
"Pooh! nothing of the kind," replied Henry Woodhall, in his gay, light tone. "Margaret is to be married to my cousin Robert, by the act in that case made and provided for