"'Uniting lands and moneyIn the holy estate of matrimony.'"
"'Uniting lands and moneyIn the holy estate of matrimony.'"
"But now tell me, beautiful lady," he continued, "will you dance with me?"
"Poor girl!" said Lady Danvers, with a sigh, not heeding his request at all.
"Why do you say poor girl?" asked Henry Woodhall.
"Because she ought to be a poor girl to marry your cousin Robert," replied Lady Danvers, bluntly, "and because she will be a poor girl if she does marry him."
"Marry him she will, assuredly," replied Henry. "These things always come to pass when the old people arrange them; and they do very well after all. You would be obliged to marry me, if your great-great-grandfather had arranged it with my great-great-grandmother."
"That I would not," replied Lady Danvers, "if all our ancestors had arranged it from Adam downward."
"Well, never mind that," replied Henry, laughing; "nobody asks you. The question at present is, Will you dance with me?"
"Then the answer is, No, I will not," replied Lady Danvers; "I shall not dance to-night."
"Then I shall look for some one else," answered Henry; and, turning gayly away, he left her.
Lady Danvers remained for a moment or two musing in the same place. She asked herself, Was there any love between Ralph and Margaret? The heightened color in his cheek when first his eyes fell on his fair cousin, she had not remarked, but she had seen the eager gaze which Margaret fixed first upon him and then upon herself, and the impetuous haste with which he had flown to her aid when she fainted. She argued, however, thus: "Perhaps the sight of a relation so kind and so noble in his feelings, at the moment when she was dancing with a man whom she could not love, forced upon her by her relations, may have moved feelings deep enough to overpower her. Perhaps Ralph's eagerness might be all very natural and right; nay, itwasnatural and right, in one brought up with the poor girl in fraternal affection such as Henry Woodhall had described. Perhaps--" But there was no end of perhapses. Lady Danvers was willing to believe that there was no love between the two, and did believe it; and yet she asked herself, when her musing came to an end, "What matters it to me whether there be love or not?"
Had she been seeing sights and dreaming dreams? It might be so; and certain it is, that among the sweetest of all those dreams which flit deceptive before man's eyes, from the cradle to the grave, are those which are so faint and intangible that we are not ourselves conscious of their passing till they have passed.
However that may be, and whatever silent streams of that peculiar current of the mind which runs between thought and feeling--partaking, like the mingled waters of the Rhine and Maine, of the distinct coloring of each--had been flowing through her brain, certain it is that she hung about in the ball-room, now in one place, now in another, avoiding all long conversation with any one till Ralph made his appearance again, and that soon after they were talking together as before. Her first questions were for Margaret; but Ralph had by this time recovered full command over himself, and knew how dangerous it might be for all his hopes to suffer the feelings of his heart to appear. He replied, therefore, in as cool a tone of indifference as he could assume, and exerted himself during the rest of the evening to appear at ease and unconcerned.
Margaret did not reappear. Robert Woodhall also quitted the ball-room, and was seen in it no more; but Henry continued dancing and talking, and more than once mingled gayly and good-humoredly in conversation with his cousin Ralph and the young baroness, seeming just as well pleased with the intimacy which had so suddenly sprung up between them as if he had taken part in introducing them to each other.
Lord Woodhall was well pleased also. He was not a man of very quick perceptions--no great schemer or arranger of plans; and, although he would have been very willing to see his son marry any woman on earth with the fortune of Lady Danvers, it had never struck him that the alliance was worth seeking for any member of his family till the notion was propounded to him, already arranged, by the Duke of Norfolk. Neither did he feel any inclination to meddle with it after finding it thus settled to his hand. All he thought was, that Ralph was a very lucky fellow in having such an opportunity afforded him.
Such were the feelings of several personages on the scene when supper was announced, and the guests sat down to one of the most splendid entertainments of the period. I need not pause to give any account of the supper, nor to tell how the guests were served on massive plate of silver gilt, nor how they drank out of goblets of pure gold. Is it not written in the book of chronicles of the house of Howard? and do we not know that even the pokers, the tongs, the shovels, and the fenders of the palace of Norwich were of solid silver?
Before the evening meal was completely ended, however, a servant bent over Henry Woodhall's chair and whispered something in his ear. That young gentleman remained at table for a few minutes longer, but as soon as he could find a good opportunity, he slipped away from the table and did not return.
Not long after, the duke and his friends rose from supper, and dancing recommenced, going on till night had far waned. In common courtesy, Ralph asked his fair companion of the evening to tread a measure with him, and her answer was very different from that which she had given to Henry Woodhall.
"I would with pleasure," she replied, "for I am fond of dancing; but I have refused several to-night, and among the rest your cousin Henry."
"Oh, Henry would not mind," replied Ralph; "he is hot in temper, but kind and good-humored; I will take the responsibility upon myself."
"No," replied Lady Danvers, "I said distinctly that I should not dance this evening, and therefore I will not. See what it is," she continued, in a gayer tone, "to neglect opportunity. If you had asked me while we were walking together in the wilderness, I would have danced with you at once, and then might have refused all other comers at my own will and pleasure; but now that I have declared my intention not to dance at all, I must not offend some very worthy people by dancing with any one."
"Well, if you do not dance, will you walk?" asked Ralph; "the air upon the terrace will be sweet and cool. There are many people walking there also."
"Be it so," replied Lady Danvers, with a smile; "the fresh air will do me good, for my head feels hot, and my brain somewhat giddy with the multitude of people crammed into the same room. There is nothing so strange as what people call pleasure; all who are here are seeking it in things where it does not dwell--nay, more, are trying to extract it from materials distasteful to most of them. What care they for dancing? What care they for the crowded ball-room? What care they for all the labor and trouble of dressing themselves forth for this grand occasion? It is always something else they are seeking than that which they pretend to be enjoying. Strange alchemy of the human mind, which changes lead into gold, and from things that are fatiguing, hurtful, or annoying, produces what is called pleasure, if not happiness. One dances to show a fine form or graceful teaching, not for any enjoyment of the dance. Another comes here to display a gown finer than her neighbor's; a third--who would rather have been in bed--to say that she was at the great ball, or perhaps," she added, laughing, "to prevent others from saying that she was not. I am beginning to think that every thing is hypocrisy in this world, Mr. Woodhall; is it not so?"
"God forbid!" replied Ralph; and quietly led her on to the terrace, where they wandered about for a few minutes. They soon, however, found their way down to the banks of the Wansum again, and walked musingly along, gazing upon the lights reflected in the water. Sometimes they talked together, sometimes they mused; but Lady Danvers leaned all the time upon his arm; and certainly, to the eyes of those who passed them, they seemed more like a pair of lovers happy in each other's affection than two persons who had met that night for the first time. At length the sounds of departure warned them to return; and as they parted, Hortensia said, "We shall meet again to-morrow."
Is a room not very large, upon the upper floor but one of the Duke of Norfolk's palace in Norwich, sat Robert Woodhall by the side of a table on which were placed two large wax tapers. His hat had been thrown upon the ground at some distance; his sword and sword-belt lay upon the table; his head was bent forward as he reclined in the chair, and his left foot was thrown listlessly over the right.
I have described his features as good, though the expression of his face was unprepossessing, and there was now on it a thoughtful look, slightly varying from time to time, as if he were revolving some subject of much interest, or laying out some plan upon which much depended. Now a frown would gather on his brow; and now the frown would be chased by a smile; and now the smile would give place to a scornful curl of the lip, as if he were mentally sneering at some one present to his thoughts.
"Ay, Master Ralph!" he muttered, between his teeth, "we will fit you with something;" and then again he fell into silence. A moment or two after he muttered in the same tone, "Harry's a fool! He's as hot as pepper, though, when put up, and one can make something of that, perhaps."
Once more a moment or two passed without his saying any thing, and then came the words. "Yes, it must be that way if he has been tampering with Margaret's heart, and is now half won away from her by this bright Hortensia. Demme, it might be my game to let him win the young baroness, and make sure if Mistress Margaret myself. She is very handsome--would show well; and then her mother's fortune, that is all her own at once. No--zounds! I will not play that game; for, though I might win the stakes, yet he would carry off more still; and, by ----, he shall not triumph. My mother told me to avoid him through life; for that, if a struggle came between us, he mightthrow me: that was her word. Now we have run against each other, and the struggle must come. But we will see, mother mine which will throw the other. He may have the strength, but I have the trick. What the fiend can be keeping that lad? he has had time enough to learn the whole history of every body in the house."
Once more he relapsed into silence; but if he were waiting for any one, he had full a quarter of an hour to remain in expectation. At the end of that time a tall, powerful, but agile fellow, in the garb of a servant, entered the room, and with a sort of tip-toe, sliding, and noiseless step, approached the back of the young gentleman's chair. There standing he spoke over his shoulder, saying, "I have plenty of news for you, sir."
"You have had time enough to get it," replied Robert Woodhall, sharply; "speak out, and be quick."
"This cousin of yours is not here alone, as you thought, sir," said the man; "he has got a servant with him, and who do you think that servant is?"
"Nay, I know not, and what matters it?" rejoined his master; "though where the beggarly animal picked up a servant, or got money to keep him, I can not divine."
"He is none other, sir, but our old friend Gaunt Stilling," said the servant, by those few words causing his young master to start upon his feet with a look of vindictive fierceness which would have done honor to a tragedy-villain. The next instant, however, he sat down again with a laugh, saying, "That is impossible, you fool! That scoundrel Stilling went away with my pretty Kate, to take her out of my reach. I will find her, though. I heard the whole plan, and set three men to belabor him on the road, and bring her back. They failed in the latter, for she had gone on with her old fool of a father; but they succeeded in the former part of the business--at least they swore so, and if they cheated me, I will trounce them. It is impossible, I tell you. The men did overtake him, and one of them got a sharp poke in the shoulder from a companion of his. I saw the wound myself; and it was not such a scratch as a man might give himself, for the sake of a little bloody evidence to support a lie. What you tell me is impossible, I say."
"It is quite true, sir," said the man, in a soft, insinuating tone; "I will tell you all about it; but let me just say, in the mean time, sir, that if you had but condescended to trust me in the matter of the young lady, Mistress Kate, I would have had her back for you, and snug in the little cottage, within a single day."
"I never trust any body too much," replied Robert Woodhall, in a surly tone. "How the devil did you know any thing about the cottage?"
"Oh, I know every thing that goes on, sir," answered the servant, with a slight touch of self-sufficient confidence in his tone; "I believe you would find it better to trust one than many."
"Come, come, leave your preaching," cried Robert Woodhall, interrupting him sharply; "I do not desire to be schooled by such as you. You say this tale you tell me is true; I say it it impossible. Now make these two meet."
"Why, sir, you have been misinformed," replied the man. "Gaunt did not go with his sister, but the old man did. Gaunt stayed to go along, as servant, with your poor cousin Ralph; and it was Mr. Woodhall who slit Jack Naseby's arm. They had not much time to belabor Master Gaunt either, for they took to their heels and ran as soon as his master came to his rescue."
"Gaunt Stilling turned his servant?" said Robert Woodhall, in a tone of doubt and surprise; "I can not believe it, Roger. He is as proud as a prince, demme; he would be no man's servant."
"Oh, there are ways of taming pride, sir," answered the man. "It would not surprise me if you were to find means to tame the pride of both brother and sister."
"What is it you mean?" demanded his master, sternly. "Zounds! sir, do not trifle with me, or you shall suffer for it. Give me some connected account at once. Tell me what you have heard, and as you heard it."
"Well, sir, well," replied Roger, "I have both seen and heard. But, to give you a connected account, as you say: after I left you I went into the still-room, and pretended to have a defluxion which required some herb water. I soon got into conversation with the still-room maid, and then went with her to talk with the young ladies of the third table. I there heard that Mr. Ralph Woodhall had a servant with him who called himself Jack Tuckett, and that the said Jack had gone, or been sent by his master, on some expedition on horseback four or five days ago. Now I think I know every man's name within forty miles of Coldenham tolerably well, but I did not recollect such a person as Jack Tuckett among all my acquaintance. It sounds like a false name, too, sir; and so I determined I would go away to the duke's chamberlain and find out more. So, when I got to the chamberlain's office, I took off my hat, and bowed low, and the old gentleman said, with a grand air, 'What do you want, my man?' To which I replied, humbly, below my breath, 'My master ordered me to see that his name was rightly put down in the books, for there are more gentlemen than one who may be marked R. Woodhall.'"
"Come, be not so particular," cried his master, whose oaths and expletives shall be omitted for the future, or supplied by the reader's imagination rather than my pen. "Come to the point, sir."
"Well, sir, the point was that I saw the books," replied the worthy Roger, "and there I saw written Mr. Ralph Woodhall, and Gaunt Stilling, his man, with date and designation."
"It is impossible!" cried Robert Woodhall, in a tone of doubt rather than negation. "Why, but a few days ago he was bearding my mother like a lion--and it needs no less to beard her; and now, a servant to this poor, miserable cousin of mine, who has hardly money enough to keep himself in clean linen!"
"Well, sir, I was surprised too," replied the man, "though it must be a tough joke that surprises me; but just as I was crossing the stable yard, who should I see but Gaunt Stilling himself getting off that very good brown horse he rides, and leading him right into the stables. It was dark enough there, and I kept out of the way; but he caught sight of me, and all the menservants being busy in the house, he hallooed to me, 'Good friend, just hold my beast a minute, while I go in and get a lantern to look for the rack comb and brushes!' But I answered, in the voice of a Blunderbore, 'I'm no servant of the house; hold the beast yourself.' He gave me a benediction, tied his horse to the manger the best way he could, and away for a light. Then it, just came across me that I might find something out by a little feeling. So I went into the stable, missed a kick from a skittish mare, and, creeping up by the side of the new-come beast, who was as dull as a long journey could make him, I ran my hand over the saddle and its adjuncts. I found a pair of bags with padlocks on them, which there was no time to pick; and I found two horse-pistols at the saddle-bow, out of which it was not worth while to take the bullets; and I found a horseman's cloak, good broad-cloth enough it seemed to the feel, but it would not do to take it bodily, for people ask after their cloaks sometimes. I could not help feeling it, however, for it was so soft and good--ten times as soft as my lady gives her people--and as I felt it here and felt it there, I felt something crackle like paper. 'Here's a pocket,' said I; and I soon found it; and, gently insinuating my hand, I found these papers, which I brought incontinent to you."
Robert Woodhall took them, and looked at the first, which was a somewhat crumpled document, written on coarse paper, and seemingly a bill. He threw it down on the floor with a contemptuous look, which the servant immediately remarked and commented on.
"The next is more to the purpose, sir," he said.
"What! then you have examined them!" exclaimed his master, turning sharply upon him.
But Roger was not to be daunted easily; and he replied, with the utmost coolness, "Certainly, sir; I could not tell there might not be something immoral or irreligious in them, and I could not venture to bring you ribaldry."
His master laughed coarsely, and turned the paper, which was an open letter, till he could see the address. It was written in a very tolerable female hand, and was, in effect:
"To Master R. Woodhall."These from--"
Here the writer seemed to have been interrupted, for the writing broke short off.
Without ceremony, Robert Woodhall began to unfold the letter; but his servant observed, in a quiet tone, "I do not know, sir, whether it is for Mr. Ralph or you. That is a question. There is nothing in the letter to show--"
"What! then you have read it all, you infernal scoundrel!" exclaimed his master.
"Certainly, sir," replied the man, "every word."
"Then, by ----, I will--" cried Robert, with an angry look; but there he stopped, and, spreading out the sheet, read as follows:
"I am here in bondage, dearest love; if you do but love me half as much as you have sworn, come and deliver me. My father nor brother do not know all, or nearly all; but you know that the truth can not long be concealed. I am ready to fly with you, as you used to ask me, to the world's end: only come--and come as fast as possible. There is nothing to stop us here. Come, then, to your unhappyKate Stilling."
The place from which the letter was dated was A small town in Dorsetshire, and the date itself three days before.
Robert Woodhall smiled as he mused over those few lines, and then he turned to the address again, and seemed to consider it attentively, muttering, "Master R. Woodhall."
"You see, sir," said his servant, "one can not tell whether it is for you or your cousin, Master Ralph."
"What the devil do you mean?" cried his master, fixing his eyes eagerly upon him.
"Why simply, sir," replied the man, "that it would make a desperate good handle against him if it fell into the hands of the other."
"I think I understand you, Roger," said his master, in a much more placable tone; "but Ralph does not even know my fair Kate."
"We can not tell that, sir," answered the servant; "he was over at Coldenham lately."
"Only one day," replied Robert, "and soon got his answer from my mother."
"He was in the church with old Stilling, and in old Stilling's house," said the man; "that I know for sure."
"Was he?" exclaimed Robert, in a tone of much surprise; but, after a moment's thought, he added, "Ay, ay, to hire this young vagabond for a servant. But I understand what you mean, and perhaps may act upon it."
"Only be so good as to remember, sir," replied Roger, "that the letter was brought by his own servant over here, after being sent away, no one knows where, for several days; and the letter R may stand for Ralph as well as for Robert--or Roger either, for that matter."
His master laughed: "Would you make me jealous of Kate?" he said. "No, no, Roger, I understand all this clearly. Gaunt Stilling has gone over to see her while his master was absent with the duke. He has caught her writing this letter, and brought it away by force. Do you not see how the address breaks off? Perhaps he wishes to make use of it against me when he finds occasion; for my lady mother threatened me highly if I continued to persecute these people, as she called it. Luckily, the letter fell into good hands."
"Do you not think, sir, that those hands deserve some little lining?" asked the man, with a grin.
"They do--they do," replied Robert; "I am marvelous poor just now; but there is a guinea for you. You shall have more some day soon, if you continue to serve me as well. Now go and contrive to get my cousin Hal to come and speak with me as soon as possible. This letter, perhaps, may serve me much in one way; but I have another matter in hand which will need quick attention."
The man bowed low and retired, but he expressed no thanks for the present he had received; and when he had reached the other side of the door, he tossed up the piece of coin with a contemptuous air, saying, "A guinea!"
"Well, Robert, what is your important business?" demanded Henry Woodhall, entering his cousin's room with a look of haste and impatience. "Be quick, for I want to return to the ball."
"The ball will be over before we have done Henry," replied his cousin, in a grave and emphatic tone; "I have several things to say to you of importance."
"In the way of homily?" asked Henry Woodhall, laughing; "come, then, put off your solemnity, Bob, and let us hear what it is."
Thus saying, he threw himself into a chair, and his cousin replied, "Some things I have to say affect myself alone; some affect you and me; some affect you only."
"First, second, and to conclude," said the gay young man. "Why, what is all this? How comes it that my rattle-pated, dissolute, latitudinarian cousin Robert has, all of a sudden, become metamorphosed into a parson? Where are your demmes and your zoundses? Where are your remarkable oaths, and your satin embroidery blasphemy? Why, Robert, you must be in love, or have taken physic, had the cholic, or the heartache. They tell me that powdered unicorn's horn is a sovereign thing for clearing the brain of melancholic humors, and that a few grains of mummy, taken in goat's whey, will purge the liver of black bile. Let me commend them to your consideration."
"All very well laughing, Hal," replied Robert; "but this is no laughing matter, by ----."
"Come, come, there's an oath!" cried his cousin; "the patient is getting better. Well, if we are not to laugh, what are we to cry about?"
"About being made fools of by a raw Cambridge student," replied his cousin, bitterly; "about being cheated, deceived, betrayed--about having all your father's plans and my mother's overthrown--about your losing the hand of a rich and beautiful heiress, and my losing my future wife's heart."
"Well-a-day, well-a-day!" cried Henry Woodhall, "this is a serious matter. But let us hear the particulars. Imprimis, about your future wife's heart; by which, I suppose, you mean the heart, or muscular pin-cushion, of my sister Margaret. But first let me observe, Bob, before you proceed, that Maggy is not quite certainly your future wife. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip, Robert; and that matter is not quite settled yet."
"Quite settled between your father and my mother," replied Robert Woodhall, "and quite settled as far as I am concerned. With regard to Margaret, the matter may be different; for I am certain that this mean, pitiful fellow, Ralph, has been trifling with her affections, and has won them too."
"Awkward for you!" replied his cousin, "and one reason the more for my saying this matter is not settled between you and Maggy. I tell you fairly, Robert, I will have a say in any thing wherein she is concerned, and you shall not have her hand unless between this and then you show yourself more worthy of her."
"How will you prevent it?" asked Robert Woodhall, in a sharp, almost fierce tone.
"By running you through the liver, if need be," replied Henry Woodhall; "I tell you, Robert, that as you two stand just now, you with your vices and Ralph with his poverty, I would rather see him Margaret's husband than you."
Robert Woodhall fixed his eyes full upon his cousin's face, and contemplated him for a moment or two in silence, while a dark, malignant smile gradually came upon his lip. "You love hypocrites, I think, Henry?" he said, at length.
"No. I hate them," replied the other, sharply.
"You can not say that I have any hypocrisy," rejoined his cousin; "all that I do, be it bad or good, is open, in the face of day. I am frank and bold at least. But are you sure that this young lad, on whom you pin your faith, has not learned hypocrisy at Cambridge as well as Greek and Latin? Are you sure that his heart is not as mercenary as a money-lender's? that his conduct is not as foul and corrupt as a street prostitute's? that his hypocrisy is not as great as a non-juring preacher's?"
"Pooh, pooh!" said Henry Woodhall, "I have known him from infancy: we have been boys--have grown up men together. We have been like brothers, and his thoughts are as common to me as to himself."
Still that same dark smile hung upon the lips of Robert Woodhall as he listened.
There was something triumphant in it, a sort of cool self-confidence, which conveyed, before he even spoke, the idea that he possessed the means of overthrowing all the arguments opposed to him in a moment.
"Well," he said, "let us look a little at Mr. Ralph's real conduct, and see whether it be such as you quite approve. Men have singular opinions on these subjects. Your own are somewhat curious; and perhaps you may admire all this. First, taking advantage of your father's hospitality and kindness, he makes love to Margaret, and wins her heart; then--"
"Stay, stay!" cried his cousin; "of that we have no proof but your own jealousy; and, if there be any thing between them, it is more than probable that they have mutually grown up to love each other, and then some casual word or accidental circumstance has betrayed the secret of each breast to the other. I can not blame him, Robert. Margaret is a little angel, and any man might well love her. But still, I say, we have no proof of this but your jealousy."
"My jealousy! Henry," replied Robert, with a sneer which he could not repress, though it injured his own cause; "I have no jealousy, good cousin. I am not in the predicament. However, even were it so, that is a matter very easily settled. Ask Margaret herself. Press her closely, and either by her looks or words you will come at the truth. But, for the moment, let us suppose that it is so; I would not blame him either, were there any real love in the case; for, though I do not know much of the heroic passion, yet I have heard that it sometimes drives men mad. But if there has been no real love on his part; if he has been moved only by mercenary motives; if he has been ready at any moment to sacrifice her when he saw the prospect of greater fortune than her own; if, the moment he has seen this young Baroness Danvers, he has cast off all thought of Margaret, and paraded their intimacy openly, in order that the poor girl might be satisfied at once of his treachery; if he has pursued Lady Danvers the more eagerly because the world gave out that you were to have her hand, would you think this honest, honorable, kind in your generous, excellent cousin Ralph?"
"No, no," replied Henry Woodhall, fiercely, "I should think it base, pitiful, mean, deserving instant chastisement. As to the matter with Hortensia Danvers, I care not one straw. Let him win her and wear her if he will. I never thought of her--never thought of marriage at all--never shall, probably, till I find my mustachio turning gray, or have got the gout in my right foot. Then is the time for matrimony and a warm dressing-gown; but with Margaret he shall not trifle; and, if he do, he shall answer for it. On this subject I will make full inquiry from the dear girl herself. I shall know in a moment, for I have been well accustomed to read her looks. It can not be done to-night, however, for she has gone to rest. Have you aught else to say?"
"Nothing that I hold of very much importance," replied Robert; "two things, however, may as well be mentioned. First, he insulted me grossly when I was endeavoring to aid your sister after she fainted."
"That is your own affair," cried Henry Woodhall; "you can send him your cartel, and that is soon settled."
"You are mistaken," replied Robert, somewhat gloomily; "the Duke of Norfolk has laid me under an obligation to forbear, and given me to understand that he will have his eye continually upon me."
"Humph!" said Henry Woodhall, with a slight accent of contempt, for, to say truth, he did not hold his cousin's courage very highly, "What is number two?"
"It is a mere nothing in my eyes," answered Robert, smarting a little from his cousin's tone, "and doubtless you will think nothing of it either; for your sanctified men are abundant in charity to peccadilloes of the kind--especially when they are committed by themselves or their near relations. It is only this, that while making love to Margaret, and doubtless vowing his whole heart to her, he was amusing himself in another manner with a country girl in the neighborhood--nay, do not look contemptuous and unbelieving; of this I have the proof in my own hands. Nay, more, since he has been here--as, it would seem, the young lady is in a difficult position--he has sent his own servant over to see her, and bring him news of her estate."
"Why, he has no servant," replied Henry Woodhall. "He went away without one. That I heard at The Grange, for I thought to offer him my own lad Brown, that he might appear the better here."
"True--quite true," replied his cousin, with a laugh; "he kept the matter very quiet; for he would not have his father know of the politic arrangement. Oh, he is the most frank and candid of men! The way he managed was this: he made compensation for the sister's ruin by taking the brother into his high and mighty service. Other potentates and lordly men have done the same. Then, to conceal the transaction, he made the lad join him on the road, and uses him now as the go-between of himself and the sister."
"And can you prove all this?" asked Henry Woodhall, in a grave tone.
"Every word of it, step by step," replied Robert; "but I attach no importance to it."
"I do," answered Henry, sternly; "I must hear the proofs."
"Good," said Robert; and, rising, he opened the door, exclaiming, "Roger, see if you can find some servant of the Duke of Norfolk's, and ask him to come hither for a moment. Any one will do."
He then closed the door, seated himself, and remained silent, internally enjoying the varied but painful emotions which sent their traces like cloud-shadows over the face of his nobler cousin. There was something in the mental torture which he had inflicted that pleased him well, for Henry had galled him often, and he now had his revenge.
At length the door of the room opened, and one of the duke's servants was introduced, with a look of some surprise and curiosity. "You sent for me, gentlemen," he said; "how can I serve you?"
"I only wish to ask you a question or two." said Robert Woodhall. "Pray tell me, has my good cousin, Master Ralph Woodhall, a servant here with him?"
"I think he is absent, sir," replied the man, "on some business of his master's."
Robert Woodhall smiled, and then asked, "Had he one with him when he arrived?"
"Oh yes, sir," replied the servant, "a man who calls himself Jack Tuckett; but he has been away for about a week, I think. I have not seen him at the third table."
"Thank you, that will do," replied Robert Woodhall. The man departed, and the young gentleman then called in his own servant Roger. "Now, Roger," he said, "examine this letter accurately. You admitted that you read it. Now see if it be the same, in every respect, that you gave to me about an hour ago."
The man took the letter, opened it deliberately, read it all through, and then handed it back to his master, saying, "It is the same."
Robert threw it over to his cousin, who read it hastily, and then, turning sharply to the man, demanded, "How came you by this letter? Who gave it to you?"
"Tell the truth, I command you, Roger," cried his master; "the plain, straightforward, unadorned truth."
"Certainly, sir," replied the man; then turning toward Henry, he added, "Nobody gave it to me; I picked it up."
"That is a lie, Roger," said his master. "I insist on your telling the truth as you told it to me--about this letter at least. I do not wish you to compromise others; and whatever you say that may compromise yourself shall be forgotten, and you forgiven."
"Very well, sir, I close the bargain," replied Roger, with the coolest impudence. "If the truth must be told, then, I was in the stable-yard to-night, when I saw Mr. Ralph's servant come in. I was rather anxious to know where he had been gone so long, and seeing him go away for a lantern, I thought I might as well investigate whether he had got any thing particular about his saddle. I could make nothing of that, but I found that he had thrown his horseman's cloak over the beast's shoulder, and in the pocket I discovered the old bill I showed you and that letter, which I perused carefully, and then brought to you. But I do hope, sir, you will send it to Master Ralph, for I am afraid there will be a fuss about it."
"We will take care of that, Roger," replied his master. "Have you any questions to ask him, Henry?"
"No," replied the other; "he is a d----d scoundrel. But how do you make out the brothership? This billet is signed Kate Stilling; the other man said Ralph's servant was called Jack Tuckett."
"A traveling name, sir, a traveling name," replied Roger, mingling in the conversation; "I know the man quite well, and have seen his pretty sister Kate more than once. He may call himself Jack Tuckett at the third table, if he likes, but his real name is Gaunt Stilling, and so you will find him written down in the chamberlain's book, for I saw it myself. He was for a couple of years a soldier in the Tangier regiment, and very likely called himself Jack Tuckett there, for that honorable corps did not like to always go by their own names."
"Go away," said Henry, sharply; and Roger quitted the room.
"There are now two things I have to ascertain," said Henry Woodhall, composing himself with a strong effort, which gave a stern rigidity to his manner; "first, whether Master Ralph Woodhall has been trifling with the affections of my sister. Secondly, whether the name of Gaunt Stilling is to be found, as his servant, in the chamberlain's books here."
Robert nodded his head, but was silent, and the other went on. "All this must be done to-morrow, for it is too late to-night; and as soon as I am satisfied, we will converse further, Robert; for Ralph must be taught, if he have done these things, that they do not go without their reward. If I have done you injustice, my good cousin, I am very sorry for it; perhaps it may be so; for when we find that we have been bitterly mistaken in one man, we may suspect that we have been as bitterly mistaken in another. Good-by for the present."
"Good night," replied Robert, who would not add another word, for fear of lessening the impression he had produced; and they parted.
Early in the morning of the day after that of which we have just been speaking, a young gentleman walked up and down the terrace, on the garden side of the Duke of Norfolk's palace in Norwich. His eyes were generally bent upon the ground, but ever, when he turned, he raised them for a moment to one particular window on the second floor of the building. His walk continued for fully half an hour uninterrupted. The guests and the servants had been up late, and nobody felt himself inclined to rise betimes except that young gentleman, who, to say truth, had not closed his eyes all night. All the windows of the house were still defended from the attack of the morning sun by the large gray wooden shutters which folded over them from the outside. At length a solitary housemaid appeared at one of the doors which opened on the terrace, sweeping out a quantity of dust, mingled with flowers, and bugles, and other gew-gaws, without noticing at all whether with them might not be mingled diamonds, or rubies, or other precious things.
Shortly after, the window toward which the young gentleman's eyes had been so frequently turned was opened, and the shutters thrown back, in the act of doing which a maid's head and shoulders appeared. Instantly the young gentleman stopped, saying, "Tell Margaret, Vernon, that I wish to speak with her as soon as she can admit me."
"Very well, sir," replied the maid, and withdrew her head.
Henry Woodhall took two or three more turns up and down the terrace, and then brushing hastily past the girl who was sweeping out the hall, he mounted the stair-case and knocked at his sister's door. The maid admitted him, and was about to recommence her labors upon the toilet of Margaret, who was seated before a table near the window, with her beautiful hair hanging in large masses over her shoulders. But Henry turned toward her, saying, in an impetuous tone, "Leave us, Vernon! I wish to speak with my sister alone. You shall come back in a few minutes."
Margaret had started up at the sharp sound of her brother's voice, feeling some degree of alarm, which was only increased by the strange change which she perceived upon his usually placable and good-humored countenance. The moment, however, that the waiting-woman had retired and closed the door, Henry's whole aspect softened. Margaret was still frightened, however; and, throwing her beautiful arms round his neck, she said, "What is the matter, Henry? You frighten me."
Henry put one arm round her waist, led her gently back to her chair, and seated himself by her side. Then again drawing her nearer to his heart, he said, in the kindest and tenderest tone, "Dearest Margaret, I have come to comfort and console you. You and I are the only children of the house, Margaret. I have always loved you better than any thing on earth, and have seemed to feel no wish or hope separate from your happiness. Let us, dear Margaret, have confidence in one another; and you will always find that you may rely upon me as a stay and counselor in any moment of difficulty, and that I will think of your happiness without any consideration of avarice, ambition, or prejudice, which may have weight with others."
Margaret hid her face upon his shoulder; but he could see the cheek, and temple, and the fair, delicately-chiseled ear glowing like an evening sunset.
"You need not tell me, Margaret," continued Henry; "I know and see how it is with you and Ralph. But only speak, dear girl--only let me know how this came about. Has he sought you eagerly? Has he taught you to conceal this from my father and me till this moment? Has he instilled into your mind lessons of concealment from those who love you best? Has he taken advantage of my father's kindness secretly to win your heart, without a brother's knowledge, and against a parent's will?"
"Oh heavens, no! No, no," cried Margaret, raising her head and gazing on her brother's face; and then, with warm, impetuous words, which I can not repeat, for they were all confused, almost incoherent, but all very natural, she poured forth the whole tale of her love, showing how, from early years, almost from infancy, she and Ralph had become attached to each other; how little kindnesses, and some important services, and frequent communication, and the interchange of mutual thought, had ripened early regard into fraternal affection, and warmed fraternal affection into mature love. Then she told him how by the merest accident, their mutual feelings had become known to each other, and how they had trembled, and dreaded, and agreed that it was in vain to hope, and had determined to part; how, in consequence of this resolution, Ralph had remained one whole vacation at his college; and how they fancied, in the end, they could meet calmly, and forget their love; and how, when they did meet, they found that passion was stronger than reason, and that it was in vain to hope that the memory of first true love could ever be obliterated. Then she added that Ralph had determined to go forth and seek his fortune, lighted on his way by the hope of winning her, and how he had not even bound her by any engagement, except that deep, strong bond of the heart, which she fondly fancied could never be severed; and then she once more hid her face on her brother's bosom, and tears told the rest.
Henry was a great deal moved. "His crime is not so great," he said, thoughtfully.
"Crime! crime!" repeated Margaret; "what do you mean, Henry?"
"Yes, crime," answered her brother; "for it is a crime, Margaret, to trifle with affections such as yours."
As he held her to his heart, he felt her shudder at the confirmation of the fears she herself had entertained. But Henry went on, determined to say all at once, in order to spare the pain of after explanations.
"There is more besides this, Margaret," he said; "more besides his conduct to you and Lady Danvers. There are other affections he can trifle with--other hearts he can break, Margaret. I am moved by no pride, no family prejudice, no desire of wealth. You could be happy with small means with a man who deserved you; but I tell you, my dear sister, you must think of this man no more, for he deserves you not."
"Other hearts he can break!" said Margaret, in a low, sad tone; "I do not comprehend you, Henry."
"There, read that letter, Margaret," said her brother, putting the billet he had received from their cousin into his sister's hands.
Margaret gazed at it, read it by fits and snatches, and then said, "I know not what this means--Kate Stilling! Who is Kate Stilling?"
"An unhappy peasant girl," replied her brother; "look at the back, Margaret. It was brought by his own servant after a long absence, and fell into my hands by chance."
Margaret turned the paper, and, as her eyes rested upon the words of the address, she sank slowly down into the chair from which she had just before risen, and the letter dropped upon the floor.
Henry thought she had fainted again, and took a step to call for assistance, but Margaret's voice stopped him.
"Stay, Henry, stay, I beseech you," she cried; "say not a word of this to any one, if you do love me indeed. Let us never talk of it but when we are alone together. You shall henceforth know every thought of my breast--Only--only beseech ray father to quit this place at once. Tell him I shall be ill here; tell him I shall die;" and, starting up with a burst of uncontrollable emotion, she sprang to the side of her bed, cast herself upon her knees, and, burying her face in the coverings, sobbed loud and vehemently.
Henry gazed upon his sister for a moment with feelings of deep sympathy and compassion, and then hurrying out of the room, found her waiting-woman near the door.
"Go in to your lady, Vernon," he said; "comfort her and soothe her, but say no word of her state to any one; for I have had to grieve her much, and it would only double her grief if others were to know it."
Thus saying, he strode on and sought the higher chamber which had been assigned to his cousin Robert. The latter was still in bed and asleep, but Henry soon roused him.
"I have inquired, Robert," he said, as soon as the eyes of his cousin were fully open; "I have inquired, and the whole of the tale you told me is but too true. Ralph is a scoundrel and a hypocrite, and must be punished. Get up; you must bear him a billet from me."
"No need of such great hurry, Hal," replied Robert, in his usual affected tone. "Demme, Ralph is not a wild goose that will take wing every time you fire near him. He will stay here as long as the bright baroness does, believe me."
"But I must go," replied Henry; "ay, and this very day. Margaret must be here no longer. Last night my father hesitated whether to go on this morning or to stay another day. A word from me will turn the balance, and that word I will speak."
"Your plan is a bad one, Hal," said his cousin; "if you attempt to bring your enemy to the ground this morning, you will be frustrated, depend upon it. All the world is up and busy; the Duke of Norfolk has eyes upon us all; there will be no slipping away unobserved for such a time as would be needful to get out of Norwich. No, no, you must go more cautiously to work."
"But Margaret has besought me earnestly to have her taken hence at once," replied Henry; "she says she will die if she stays, and, on my life, I think she says the truth."
"Well, have her taken hence," replied Robert; "let her and your father go, and let us stay behind; or, better still, let us all go; it will lull suspicion."
"Four-and-twenty hours shall not pass ere I have satisfaction upon Ralph Woodhall," replied Henry, vehemently.
"No need that they should," answered his cousin; "only hear me out. Send your cartel this morning before you set out; take it for granted at once that this ambitious youth will not refuse his good cousin a meeting at the sword's point, and name the wilderness as the place, at any hour of the night when you can be sure, by the almanac, that the moon is up. Give him a hint that, though you seem to be going Londonward, you will be back for the pleasure of pinking his doublet; and bid him come to the ground alone, as you will do."
Henry Woodhall mused for some time over this plan, but eventually agreed to follow his cousin's suggestions; and Robert, springing from his bed, soon produced writing materials for drawing up the challenge. Henry sat down to the table, and wrote for a few moments in a fine, bold hand, and when he had concluded, read the letter aloud to his cousin as follows: