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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38871-0.txt b/38871-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e6302f --- /dev/null +++ b/38871-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16108 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chippinge Borough, by Stanley J. Weyman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Chippinge Borough + +Author: Stanley J. Weyman + +Release Date: February 13, 2012 [eBook #38871] +[Most recently updated: June 13, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Charles Bowen + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIPPINGE BOROUGH *** + + + + +Chippinge Borough + +BY + +STANLEY J. WEYMAN + +Author of “The Long Night,” Etc. + +NEW YORK +McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. +MCMVI + +_Copyright_, 1906, _by_ +McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. + +Copyright, 1905, 1905, by Stanley J. Weyman. + + + CHAPTER I. The Dissolution. + CHAPTER II. The Spirit of the Storm. + CHAPTER III. Two Letters. + CHAPTER IV. Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! + CHAPTER V. Rosy-fingered Dawn. + CHAPTER VI. The Patron of Chippinge. + CHAPTER VII. The Winds of Autumn. + CHAPTER VIII. A Sad Misadventure. + CHAPTER IX. The Bill for Giving Everybody Everything. + CHAPTER X. The Queen's Square Academy for Young Ladies. + CHAPTER XI. Don Giovanni Flixton. + CHAPTER XII. A Rotten Borough. + CHAPTER XIII. The Vermuyden Dinner. + CHAPTER XIV. Miss Sibson's Mistake. + CHAPTER XV. Mr. Pybus's Offer. + CHAPTER XVI. Less than a Hero. + CHAPTER XVII. The Chippinge Election. + CHAPTER XVIII. The Chippinge Election (_Continued_). + CHAPTER XIX. The Fruits of Victory. + CHAPTER XX. A Plot Unmasked. + CHAPTER XXI. A Meeting of Old Friends. + CHAPTER XXII. Women's Hearts. + CHAPTER XXIII. In the House. + CHAPTER XXIV. A Right and Left. + CHAPTER XXV. At Stapylton. + CHAPTER XXVI. The Scene in the Hall. + CHAPTER XXVII. Wicked Shifts. + CHAPTER XXVIII. Once More, Tantivy! + CHAPTER XXIX. Autumn Leaves. + CHAPTER XXX. The Mayor's Reception in Queen's Square. + CHAPTER XXXI. Sunday in Bristol. + CHAPTER XXXII. The Affray at the Palace. + CHAPTER XXXIII. Fire. + CHAPTER XXXIV. Hours of Darkness. + CHAPTER XXXV. The Morning of Monday. + CHAPTER XXXVI. Forgiveness. + CHAPTER XXXVII. In the Mourning Coach. + CHAPTER XXXVIII. Threads and Patches. + + + + +CHIPPINGE BOROUGH + + + + +I +THE DISSOLUTION + + +Boom! + +It was April 22, 1831, and a young man was walking down Whitehall in +the direction of Parliament Street. He wore shepherd’s plaid trousers +and the swallow-tail coat of the day, with a figured muslin cravat +wound about his wide-spread collar. He halted opposite the Privy +Gardens, and, with his face turned skywards, listened until the sound +of the Tower guns smote again on the ear and dispelled his doubts. To +the experienced, his outward man, neat and modestly prosperous, denoted +a young barrister of promise or a Treasury clerk. His figure was good, +he was above the middle height, and he carried himself with an easy +independence. He seemed to be one who both held a fair opinion of +himself and knew how to impress that opinion on his fellows; yet was +not incapable of deference where deference was plainly due. He was +neither ugly nor handsome, neither slovenly nor a _petit-maître_; +indeed, it was doubtful if he had ever seen the inside of Almack’s. But +his features were strong and intellectual, and the keen grey eyes which +looked so boldly on the world could express both humour and good +humour. In a word, this young man was one upon whom women, even great +ladies, were likely to look with pleasure, and one woman—but he had not +yet met her—with tenderness. + +Boom! + +He was only one among a dozen, who within the space of a few yards had +been brought to a stand by the sound; who knew what the salute meant, +and in their various ways were moved by it. The rumour which had flown +through the town in the morning that the King was about to dissolve his +six-months-old Parliament was true, then! so true that already in the +clubs, from Boodle’s to Brooks’s, men were sending off despatches, +while the long arms of the semaphore were carrying the news to the +Continent. Persons began to run by Vaughan—the young man’s name was +Arthur Vaughan; and behind him the street was filling with a multitude +hastening to see the sight, or so much of it as the vulgar might see. +Some ran towards Westminster without disguise. Some, of a higher +station, walked as fast as dignity and their strapped trousers +permitted; while others again, who thought themselves wiser than their +neighbours, made quickly for Downing Street and the different openings +which led into St. James’s Park, in the hope of catching a glimpse of +the procession before the crowd about the Houses engulfed it. + +Nine out of ten, as they ran or walked—nay, it might be said more +truly, ninety-nine out of a hundred—evinced a joy quite out of the +common, and such as no political event of these days produces. One +cried, “Hip! Hip! Hip!”; one flung up his cap; one swore gaily. +Strangers told one another that it was a good thing, bravely done! And +while the whole of that part of the town seemed to be moving towards +the Houses, the guns boomed on, proclaiming to all the world that the +unexpected had happened; that the Parliament which had passed the +People’s Bill by one—a miserable one in the largest House which had +ever voted—and having done that, had shelved it by some shift, some +subterfuge, was meeting the fate which it deserved. + +No man, be it noted, called the measure the Reform Bill, or anything +but the Bill, or, affectionately, the People’s Bill. But they called it +that repeatedly, and in their enthusiasm, exulted in the fall of its +enemies as in a personal gain. And though here and there amid the +general turmoil a man of mature age stood aside and scowled on the +crowd as it swept vociferating by him, such men were but as straws in a +backwater of the stream—powerless to arrest the current, and liable at +any moment to be swept within its influence. + +That generation had seen many a coach start laurel-clad from St. +Martin’s and listened many a time to the salvoes that told of victories +in France or Flanders. But it was no exaggeration to say that even +Waterloo had not flung abroad more general joy, nor sown the dingy +streets with brighter faces, than this civil gain. For now—now, +surely—the People’s Bill would pass, and the people be truly +represented in Parliament! Now, for certain, the Bill’s ill-wishers +would get a fall! And if every man—about which some doubts were +whispered even in the public-houses—did not get a vote which he could +sell for a handful of gold, as his betters had sold their votes time +out of mind, at least there would be beef and beer for all! Or, if not +that, something indefinite, but vastly pleasant. Few, indeed, knew +precisely what they wished and what they were going to gain, but + +_Hurrah for Mr. Brougham!_ +_Hurrah for Gaffer Grey!_ +_Hurrah for Lord John!_ + + +Hurrah, in a word, for the Ministry, hurrah for the Whigs! And above +all, three cheers for the King, who had stood by Lord Grey and +dissolved this niggling, hypocritical Parliament of landowners. + +Meanwhile the young man who has been described resumed his course; but +slowly, and without betraying by any marked sign that he shared the +general feeling. Still, he walked with his head a little higher than +before; he seemed to sniff the battle; and there was a light in his +eyes as if he saw a wider arena before him. “It is true, then,” he +muttered. “And for to-day I shall have my errand for my pains. He will +have other fish to fry, and will not see me. But what of that! Another +day will do as well.” + +At this moment a ragamuffin in an old jockey-cap attached himself to +him, and, running beside him, urged him to hasten. + +“Run, your honour,” he croaked in gin-laden accents, “and you’ll ’ave a +good place! And I’ll drink your honour’s health, and Billy the King’s! +Sure he’s the father of his country, and seven besides. Come on, your +honour, or they’ll be jostling you!” + +Vaughan glanced down and shook his head. He waved the man away. + +But the lout looked only to his market, and was not easily repulsed. +“He’s there, I tell you,” he persisted. “And for threepence I’ll get +you to see him. Come on, your honour! It’s many a Westminster election +I’ve seen, and beer running, from Mr. Fox, that was the gentleman had +always a word for the poor man, till now, when maybe it’s your honour’s +going to stand! Anyway, it’s, Down with the mongers!” + +A man who was clinging to the wall at the corner of Downing Street +waved his broken hat round his head. “Ay, down with the +borough-mongers!” he cried. “Down with Peel! Down with the Dook! Down +with ’em all! Down with everybody!” + +“And long live the Bill!” cried a man of more respectable appearance as +he hurried by. “And long live the King, God bless him!” + +“They’ll know what it is to balk the people now,” chimed in a fourth. +“Let ’em go back and get elected if they can. Ay, let ’em!” + +“Ay, let ’em! Mr. Brougham’ll see to that!” shouted the other. “Hurrah +for Mr. Brougham!” + +The cry was taken up by the crowd, and three cheers were given for the +Chancellor, who was so well known to the mob by the style under which +he had been triumphantly elected for Yorkshire that his peerage was +ignored. + +Vaughan, however, heard but the echo of these cheers. Like most young +men of his time, he leant to the popular side. But he had no taste for +the populace in the mass; and the sight of the crowd, which was fast +occupying the whole of the space before Palace Yard and even surging +back into Parliament Street, determined him to turn aside. He shook off +his attendant and, crossing into Whitehall Place, walked up and down, +immersed in his reflections. + +He was honestly ambitious, and his thoughts turned naturally on the +influence which this Bill—which must create a new England, and for many +a new world—was likely to have on his own fortunes. The owner of a +small estate in South Wales, come early to his inheritance, he had +sickened of the idle life of an officer in peacetime; and after three +years of service, believing himself fit for something higher, he had +sold his commission and turned his mind to intellectual pursuits. He +hoped that he had a bent that way; and the glory of the immortal three, +who thirty years before had founded the “Edinburgh Review,” and, by so +doing, made this day possible, attracted him. Why should not he, as +well as another, be the man who, in the Commons, the cockpit of the +nation, stood spurred to meet all comers—in an uproar which could +almost be heard where he walked? Or the man who, in the lists of +Themis, upheld the right of the widow and the poor man’s cause, and to +whom judges listened with reluctant admiration? Or best of all, highest +of all, might he not vie with that abnormal and remarkable man who wore +at once the three crowns, and whether as Edinburgh Reviewer, as knight +of the shire for York, or as Chancellor of England, played his part +with equal ease? To be brief, it was prizes such as these, distant but +luminous, that held his eyes, incited him to effort, made him live +laborious days. He believed that he had ability, and though he came +late to the strife, he brought his experience. If men living from hand +to mouth and distracted by household cares could achieve so much, why +should not he who had his independence and his place in the world? Had +not Erskine been such another? He, too, had sickened of barrack life. +And Brougham and the two Scotts, Eldon and Stowell. To say nothing of +this young Macaulay, whose name was beginning to run through every +mouth; and of a dozen others who had risen to fame from a lower and +less advantageous station. + +The goal was distant, but it was glorious. Nor had the eighteen months +which he had given to the study of the law, to attendance at the +Academic and at a less ambitious debating society, and to the output of +some scientific feelers, shaken his faith in himself. He had not yet +thought of a seat at St. Stephen’s; for no nomination had fallen to +him, nor, save from one quarter, was likely to fall. And his income, +some six hundred a year, though it was ample for a bachelor, would not +stretch to the price of a seat at five thousand for the Parliament, or +fifteen hundred for the Session—the quotations which had ruled of late. +A seat some time, however, he must have; it was a necessary +stepping-stone to the heights he would gain. And the subject in his +mind as he paced Whitehall Place was the abolition of the close +boroughs and the effect which the transfer of electoral power to the +middle-class would have on his chances. + +A small thing—no more than a quantity of straw laid thickly before one +of the houses—brought his thoughts down to the present. By a natural +impulse he raised his eyes to the house; by a coincidence, less +natural, a hand, even as he looked, showed itself behind one of the +panes of a window on the first floor, and drew down the blind. Vaughan +stood after that, fascinated, and watched the lowering of blind after +blind. And the solemn contrast between his busy thoughts and that which +had even then happened in the house—between that which lay behind the +darkened windows and the bright April sunshine about him, the +twittering of the sparrows in the green, and the tumult of distant +cheering—went home to him. + +He thought of the lines, so old and so applicable: + +_Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium_ +_Versatur urna, serius, ocius_, + +_Sors exitura, et nos in æternum_ + +_Exilium impositura cymbæ_. + + +He was still rolling the words on his tongue with that love of the +classical rhythm which was a mark of his day—and returns no more than +the taste for the prize-ring which was coeval with it—when the door of +the house opened and a man came clumsily and heavily out, closed the +door behind him, and, with his head bent low and the ungainly movements +of an automaton, made off down the street. + +The man was very stout as well as tall, his dress slovenly and +disordered. His hat was pulled awry over his eyes, and his hands were +plunged deep in his breeches pockets. Vaughan saw so much. Then the +door opened again, and a face, unmistakably that of a butler, looked +out. + +The servant’s eyes met his, and though the man neither spoke nor +beckoned, his eyes spoke for him. Vaughan crossed the way to him. “What +is it?” he asked. + +The man was blubbering. “Oh, Lord; oh, Lord!” he said. “My lady’s gone +not five minutes, and he’ll not be let nor hindered! He’s to the House, +and if the crowd set upon him he’ll be murdered. For God’s sake, follow +him, sir! He’s Sir Charles Wetherell, and a better master never walked, +let them say what they like. If there’s anybody with him, maybe they’ll +not touch him.” + +“I will follow him,” Vaughan answered. And he hastened after the stout +man, who had by this time reached the corner of the street. + +Vaughan was surprised that he had not recognised Wetherell. For in +every bookseller’s window caricatures of the “Last of the +Boroughbridges,” as the wits called him, after the pocket borough for +which he sat, were plentiful as blackberries. Not only was he the +highest of Tories, but he was a martyr in their cause; for, +Attorney-General in the last Government, he had been dismissed for +resisting the Catholic Claims. Since then he had proved himself, of all +the opponents of the Bill, the most violent, the most witty, and, with +the exception of Croker perhaps, the most rancorous. At this date he +passed for the best hated man in England; and representative to the +public mind of all that was old-fashioned and illiberal and exclusive. +Vaughan knew, therefore, that the servant’s fears were not unfounded, +and with a heart full of pity—for he remembered the darkened house—he +made after him. + +By this time Sir Charles was some way ahead and already involved in the +crowd. Fortunately the throng was densest opposite Old Palace Yard, +whence the King was in the act of departing; and the space before the +Hall and before St. Stephen’s Court—the buildings about which abutted +on the river—though occupied by a loosely moving multitude, and +presenting a scene of the utmost animation, was not impassable. Sir +Charles was in the heart of the crowd before he was recognised; and +then his stolid unconsciousness and the general good-humour, born of +victory, served him well. He was too familiar a figure to pass +altogether unknown; and here and there a man hissed him. One group +turned and hooted after him. But he was within a dozen yards of the +entrance of St. Stephen’s Court, with Vaughan on his heels, before any +violence was offered. There a man whom he happened to jostle recognised +him and, bawling abuse, pushed him rudely; and the act might well have +been the beginning of worse things. But Vaughan touched the man on the +shoulder and looked him in the face. “I shall know you,” he said +quietly. “Have a care!” And the fellow, intimidated by his words and +his six feet of height, shrank into himself and stood back. + +Wetherell had barely noticed the rudeness. But he noted the +intervention by a backward glance. “Much obliged,” he grunted. “Know +you, too, again, young gentleman.” And he went heavily on and passed +out of the crowd into the court, followed by a few scattered hisses. + +Behind the officers of the House who guarded the entrance a group of +excited talkers were gathered. They were chiefly members who had just +left the House and had been brought to a stand by the sight of the +crowd. On seeing Wetherell, surprise altered their looks. “Good G—d!” +cried one, stepping forward. “You’ve come down, Wetherell?” + +“Ay,” the stricken man answered without lifting his eyes or giving the +least sign of animation. “Is it too late?” + +“By an hour. There’s nothing to be done. Grey and Bruffam have got the +King body and soul. He was so determined to dissolve, he swore that +he’d come down in a hackney-coach rather than not come. So they say!” + +“Ay!” + +“But I hope,” a second struck in, in a tone of solicitude, “that as you +are here, Lady Wetherell has rallied.” + +“She died a quarter of an hour ago,” he muttered. “I could do no more. +I came here. But as I am too late, I’ll go back.” + +Yet he stood awhile, as if he had no longer anything to draw him one +way more than another; with his double chin and pendulous cheeks +resting on his breast and his leaden eyes sunk to the level of the +pavement. And the others stood round him with shocked faces, from which +his words and manner had driven the flush of the combat. Presently two +members, arguing loudly, came up, and were silenced by a glance and a +muttered word. The ungainly attitude, the ill-fitting clothes, did but +accentuate the tragedy of the central figure. They knew—none better—how +fiercely, how keenly, how doggedly he had struggled against death, +against the Bill. + +And yet, had they thought of it, the vulgar caricatures that had hurt +her, the abuse that had passed him by to lodge in her bosom, would hurt +her no more! + +Meanwhile, Vaughan, as soon as he had seen Sir Charles within the +entrance reserved for members, had betaken himself to the main door of +the Hall, a few paces to the westward. He had no hope that he would now +be able to perform the errand on which he had set forth; for the +Chancellor, for certain, would have other fish to fry and other people +to see. But he thought that he would leave a card with the usher, so +that Lord Brougham might know that he had not failed to come, and might +make a fresh appointment if he still wished to see him. + +Of the vast congeries of buildings which then encased St. Stephen’s +Chapel and its beautiful but degraded cloisters, little more than the +Hall is left to us. The Hall we have, and in the main in the condition +in which the men of that generation viewed it; as Canning viewed it, +when with death in his face he paced its length on Peel’s arm, and +suspecting, perhaps, that they two would meet no more, proved to all +men the good-will he bore his rival. Those among us whose memories go +back a quarter of a century, and who can recall its aspect in +term-time, with three score barristers parading its length, and thrice +as many suitors and attorneys darting over its pavement—all under the +lofty roof which has no rival in Europe—will be able to picture it as +Vaughan saw it when he entered. To the bustle attending the courts of +law was added on this occasion the supreme excitement of the day. In +every corner, on the steps of every court, eager groups wrangled and +debated; while above the hubbub of argument and the trampling of feet, +the voices of ushers rose monotonously, calling a witness or enjoining +order. + +Vaughan paused beside the cake-stall at the door and surveyed the +scene. As he stood, one of two men who were pacing near saw him, and +with a whispered word left his companion and came towards him. + +“Mr. Vaughan,” he said, extending his hand with bland courtesy, “I hope +you are well. Can I do anything for you? We are dissolved, but a frank +is a frank for all that—to-day.” + +“No, I thank you,” Vaughan answered. “The truth is, I had an +appointment with the Chancellor for this afternoon. But I suppose he +will not see me now.” + +The other’s eyebrows met, with the result that his face looked less +bland. He was a small man, with keen dark eyes and bushy grey whiskers, +and an air of hawk-like energy which sixty years had not tamed. He wore +the laced coat of a sergeant at law, powdered on the shoulders, as if +he had but lately and hurriedly cast off his wig. “Good G—d!” he said. +“With the Chancellor!” And then, pulling himself up, “But I +congratulate you. A student at the Bar, as I believe you are, Mr. +Vaughan, who has appointments with the Chancellor, has fortune indeed +within his grasp.” + +Vaughan laughed. “I fear not,” he said. “There are appointments and +appointments, Sergeant Wathen. Mine is not of a professional nature.” + +Still the sergeant’s face, do what he would, looked grim. He had his +reasons for disliking what he heard. “Indeed!” he said drily. “Indeed! +But I must not detain you. Your time,” with a faint note of sarcasm, +“is valuable.” And with a civil salutation the two parted. + +Wathen went back to his companion. “Talk of the Old One!” he said. “Do +you know who that is?” + +“No,” the other answered. They had been discussing the coming election. +“Who is it?” + +“One of my constituents.” + +His friend laughed. “Oh, come,” he said. “I thought you had but one, +sergeant—old Vermuyden.” + +“Only one,” Wathen answered, his eyes travelling from group to group, +“who counts; or rather, who did count. But thirteen who poll. And +that’s one of them.” He glanced frowning in the direction which Vaughan +had taken. “And what do you think his business is here, confound him?” + +“What?” + +“An appointment with old Wicked Shifts.” + +“With the Chancellor? Pheugh!” + +“Ay,” the sergeant answered morosely, “you may whistle. There’s some +black business on foot, you may depend upon it. And ten to one it’s +about my seat. He’s a broom,” he continued, tugging at the whiskers +which the late King had stamped with the imprimatur of fashion, “that +will make a clean sweep of us if we don’t take care. Whatever he does, +there’s something behind it. Some bedchamber plot, or some intrigue to +get A. out and put B. in. If it was a charwoman’s place he wanted, he’d +not ask for it and get it. That wouldn’t please him. But he’d tunnel +and tunnel and tunnel—and so he’d get it.” + +“Still,” the other replied, with secret amusement—for he had no seat, +and the woes of our friends, especially our better-placed friends, have +their comic side—“I thought that you had a safe thing, Wathen? That old +Vermuyden’s nomination at Chippinge was as good as an order on the Bank +of England?” + +“It was,” Wathen answered drily. “But with the country wild for the +Bill, there’s no saying what may happen anywhere. Safe!” he continued, +with a snarl. “Was there ever a safer seat than Westbury? Or a man who +had a place in better order than old Lopes, who owned it, and died last +month; taken from the evil to come, Jekyll said, for he never could +have existed in a world without rotten boroughs! It’s not far from +Chippinge, so I know—know it well. And I tell you his system was +beautiful—beautiful! Yet when Peel was there—after he had rattled on +the Catholic Claims and been thrown out at Oxford, Lopes made way for +him, you remember?—he would not have got in, no, by G—d, he wouldn’t +have got in if there had been a man against him. And the state in which +the country was then, though there was a bit of a Protestant cry, too, +wasn’t to compare with what it will be now. That man”—he shook his fist +stealthily in the direction of the Chancellor’s Court—“has lighted a +fire in England that will never be put out till it has consumed King, +Lords, and Commons—ay, every stick and stone of the old Constitution. +You take my word for it. And to think—to think,” he added still more +savagely, “that it is the Whigs have done this. The Whigs! who own more +than half the land in the country; who are prouder and stiffer than old +George the Third himself; who wouldn’t let you nor me into their +Cabinet to save our lives. By the Lord,” he concluded with gusto, +“they’ll soon learn the difference!” + +“In the meantime—there’ll be dead cats and bad eggs flying, you think?” + +Wathen groaned. “If that were the end of it,” he said, “I’d not mind.” + +“Still, with it all, you are pretty safe, I suppose?” + +“With that fellow closeted with the Chancellor? No, no!” + +“Who is the young spark!” the other asked carelessly. “He looked a +decentish kind of fellow. A little of the prig, perhaps.” + +“He’s that!” Wathen answered. “A d——d prig. What’s more, a cousin of +old Vermuyden’s. And what’s worse, his heir. That’s why they put him in +the corporation and made him one of the thirteen. Thought the vote safe +in the family, you see? And cheaper?” He winked. “But there’s no love +lost between him and old Sir Robert. A bed for a night once a year, and +one day in the season among the turnips, and glad to see your back, my +lad! That’s about the position. Now I wonder if Brougham is going to +try—but Lord! there’s no guessing what is in that man’s head! He’s +fuller of mischief than an egg of meat!” + +The other was about to answer when one of the courts, in which a case +of some difficulty had caused a late sitting, discharged its noisy, +wrangling, perspiring crowd. The two stepped aside to avoid the +evasion, and did not resume their talk. Wathen’s friend made his way +out by the main door near which they had been standing; while the +sergeant, with looks which mirrored the gloom that a hundred Tory faces +wore on that day, betook himself to the robing-room. There he happened +upon another unfortunate. They fell to talking, and their talk ran +naturally upon the Chancellor, upon old Grey’s folly in letting himself +be led by the nose by such a rogue; finally, upon the mistakes of their +own party. They differed on the last topic, and in that natural and +customary state we may leave them. + + + + +II +THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM + + +The Court of Chancery, the preserve for nearly a quarter of a century +of Eldon and Delay, was the farthest from the entrance on the +right-hand side of the Hall—a situation which enabled the Chancellor to +pass easily to that other seat of his labours, the Woolsack. Two steps +raised the Tribunals of the Common Law above the level of the Hall. But +as if to indicate that this court was not the seat of anything so +common as law, but was the shrine of that more august conception, +Patronage, and the altar to which countless divines of the Church of +England looked with unwinking devotion, a flight of six or eight steps +led up to the door. + +The privacy thus secured had been much to the taste of Lord Eldon. +Doubt and delay flourish best in a close and dusty atmosphere; and if +ever there was a man to whom that which was was right, it was “Old +Bags.” Nor had Lord Lyndhurst, his immediate successor, quarrelled with +an arrangement which left him at liberty to devote his time to society +and his beautiful wife. But the man who now sat in the marble chair was +of another kind from either of these. His worst enemy could not lay +dulness to his charge; nor could he who lectured the Whitbreads on +brewing, who explained their art to opticians, who vied with Talleyrand +in the knowledge of French literature, who wrote eighty articles for +the first twenty numbers of the “Edinburgh Review,” be called a +sluggard. Confident of his powers, Brougham loved to display them; and +the wider the arena the better he was pleased. His first sitting had +been graced by the presence of three royal dukes, a whole Cabinet, and +a score of peers in full dress. Having begun thus auspiciously, he was +not the man to vegetate in the gloom of a dry-as-dust court, or to be +content with an audience of suitors, whom equity, blessed word, had +long stripped of their votes. + +Again and again during the last six months, by brilliant declamations +or by astounding statement, he had filled his court to the last inch. +The lions in the Tower, the tombs in the Abbey, the New Police—all were +deserted; and countryfolk flocked to Westminster, not to hear the +judgments of the highest legal authority in the land, but to see with +their own eyes the fugleman of reform—the great orator, whose voice, +raised at the Yorkshire election, had found an echo that still +thundered in the ears and the hearts of England. + +“I am for Reform!” he had said in the castle yard of York; and the +people of England had answered: “So are we; and we will have it, or——” + +The lacuna they had filled, not with words, but with facts stronger +than words—with the flames of Kentish farmhouses and Wiltshire +factories; with political unions counting their numbers by scores of +thousands; with midnight drillings and vague and sullen murmurings; +above all, with the mysterious terror of some great change which was to +come—a terror that shook the most thoughtless and affected even the +Duke, as men called the Duke of Wellington in that day. For was not +every crown on the Continent toppling? + +Vaughan did not suppose that, in view of the startling event of the +day, he would be admitted. But the usher, who occupied a high stool +outside the great man’s door, no sooner read his card than he slid to +the ground. “I think his lordship will see you, sir,” he murmured +blandly; and he disappeared. + +He was back on the instant, and, beckoning to Vaughan to follow him, he +proceeded some paces along a murky corridor, which the venerable form +of Eldon seemed still to haunt. Opening a door, he stood aside. + +The room which Vaughan saw before him was stately and spacious, and +furnished with quiet richness. A deep silence, intensified by the fact +that the room had no windows, but was lighted from above, reigned in +it—and a smell of law-calf. Here and there on a bookcase or a pedestal +stood a marble bust of Bacon, of Selden, of Blackstone. And for a +moment Vaughan fancied that these were its only occupants. On advancing +further, however, he discovered two persons, who were writing busily at +separate side-tables; and one of them looked up and spoke. + +“Your pardon, Mr. Vaughan!” he said. “One moment, if you please!” + +He was almost as good as his word, for less than a minute later he +threw down the pen, and rose—a gaunt figure in a black frockcoat, and +with a black stock about his scraggy neck—and came to meet his visitor. + +“I fear that I have come at an untimely moment, my lord,” Vaughan said, +a little awed in spite of himself by what he knew of the man. + +But the other’s frank address put him at once at his ease. “Politics +pass, Mr. Vaughan,” the Chancellor answered lightly, “but science +remains.” He did not explain, as he pointed to a seat, that he loved, +above all things, to produce startling effects; to dazzle by the ease +with which he flung off one part and assumed another. + +Henry Brougham—so, for some time after his elevation to the peerage, he +persisted in signing himself—was at this time at the zenith of his +life, as of his fame. Tall, but lean and ungainly, with a long neck and +sloping shoulders, he had one of the strangest faces which genius has +ever worn. His clownish features, his high cheek-bones, and queer +bulbous nose are familiar to us; for, something exaggerated by the +caricaturist, they form week by week the trailing mask which mars the +cover of “Punch.” Yet was the face, with all its ugliness, singularly +mobile; and the eyes, the windows of that restless and insatiable soul, +shone, sparkled, laughed, wept, with incredible brilliance. That which +he did not know, that which his mind could not perform—save sit still +and be discreet—no man had ever discovered. And it was the knowledge of +this, the sense of the strange and almost uncanny versatility of the +man, which for a moment overpowered Vaughan. + +The Chancellor seated himself opposite his visitor, and placed a hand +on each of his wide-spread knees. He smiled. + +“My friend,” he said, “I envy you.” + +Vaughan coloured shyly. “Your lordship has little cause,” he answered. + +“Great cause,” was the reply, “great cause! For as you are I was—and,” +he chuckled, as he rocked himself to and fro, “I have not found life +very empty or very unpleasant. But it was not to tell you this that I +asked you to wait on me, Mr. Vaughan, as you may suppose. Light! It is +a singular thing that you at the outset of your career—even as I thirty +years ago at the same point of mine—should take up such a parergon, and +alight upon the same discovery.” + +“I do not think I understand.” + +“In your article on the possibility of the permanence of reflection—to +which I referred in my letter, I think?” + +“Yes, my lord, you did.” + +“You have restated a fact which I maintained for the first time more +than thirty years ago! In my paper on colours, read before the Royal +Society in—I think it was ’96.” + +Vaughan stared. His colour rose slowly. “Indeed?” he said, in a tone +from which he vainly strove to banish incredulity. + +“You have perhaps read the paper?” + +“Yes, I have.” + +The Chancellor chuckled. “And found nothing of the kind in it?” he +said. + +Vaughan coloured still more deeply. He felt that the position was +unpleasant. “Frankly, my lord, if you ask me, no.” + +“And you think yourself,” with a grin, “the first discoverer?” + +“I did.” + +Brougham sprang like a boy to his feet, and whisked his long, lank body +to a distant bookshelf. Thence he took down a much-rubbed manuscript +book. As he returned he opened this at a place already marked, and, +laying it on the table, beckoned to the young man to approach. “Read +that,” he said waggishly, “and confess, young sir, that there were +chiefs before Agamemnon.” + +Vaughan stooped over the book, and having read looked up in perplexity. +“But this passage,” he said, “was not in the paper read before the +Royal Society in ’96?” + +“In the paper read? No. Nor yet in the paper printed? There, too, you +are right. And why? Because a sapient dunder-head who was in authority +requested me to omit this passage. He did not believe that light +passing through a small hole in the window-shutter of a darkened room +impresses a view of external objects on white paper; nor that, as I +suggested, the view might be made permanent if cast instead on ivory +rubbed with nitrate of silver!” + +Vaughan was dumbfounded, and perhaps a little chagrined. “It is most +singular!” he said. + +“Do you wonder now that I could not refrain from sending for you?” + +“I do not, indeed.” + +The Chancellor patted him kindly on the shoulder, and by a gesture made +him resume his seat. “No, I could not refrain,” he continued; “the +coincidence was too remarkable. If you come to sit where I sit, the +chance will be still more singular.” + +Vaughan coloured with pleasure. “Alas!” he said, smiling, “one swallow, +my lord, does not made a summer.” + +“Ah, my friend,” with a benevolent look. “But I know more of you than +you think. You were in the service, I hear, and left it. _Cedant arma +togæ_, eh?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I, too, after a fashion. Thirty years ago I served a gun with +Professor Playfair in the Volunteer Artillery of Edinburgh. God knows,” +he continued complacently, “if I had gone on with it, where I should +have landed! Where the Duke is, perhaps! More surprising things have +happened.” + +Vaughan did not know whether to take this, which was gravely and even +sentimentally spoken, for jest or earnest. He did not speak. And +Brougham, seated in his favourite posture, with a hand on either knee, +his lean body upright, and the skirts of his black coat falling to the +floor on either side of him, resumed. “I hear, too, that you have done +well at the Academic,” he said, “and on the right side, Mr. Vaughan. +Light? Ay, always light, my friend, always light! Let that be our +motto. For myself,” he continued earnestly, “I have taken it in hand +that this poor country shall never lack light again; and by God’s help +and Johnny Russell’s Bill I’ll bring it about! And not the +phosphorescent light of rotten boroughs and corrupt corporations, Mr. +Vaughan. No, nor the blaze of burning stacks, kindled by wretched, +starving, ignorant—ay, above all, Mr. Vaughan, ignorant men! But the +light of education, the light of a free Press, the light of good +government and honest representation; so that, whatever they lack, +henceforth they shall have voices and means and ways to make their +wants known. You agree with me? But I know you do, for I hear how well +you have spoken on that side. Mr. Cornelius,” turning and addressing +the gentleman who still continued to write at his table, “who was it +told us of Mr. Vaughan’s speech at the Academic?” + +“I don’t know,” Mr. Cornelius answered gruffly. + +“No?” the Chancellor said, not a whit put out. “He never knows +anything!” And then, throwing one knee over the other, he regarded +Vaughan with closer attention. “Mr. Vaughan,” he said, “have you ever +thought of entering Parliament?” + +Vaughan’s heart bounded, and his face betrayed his emotions. Good +heavens, was the Chancellor about to offer him a Government seat? He +scarcely knew what to expect or what to say. The prospect, suddenly +opened, blinded him. He muttered that he had not as yet thought of it. + +“You have no connection,” Brougham continued, “who could help you to a +seat? For if so, now is the time. Presently there will be a Reformed +Parliament and a crowd of new men, and the road will be blocked by the +throng of aspirants. You are not too young. Palmerston was not so old +when Perceval offered him a seat in the Cabinet.” + +The words, the tone, the assumption that such things were for him—that +he had but to hold out his hand and they would fall into it—dropped +like balm into the young man’s soul. Yet he was not sure that the other +was serious, and he made a tremendous effort to hide the emotion he +felt. “I am afraid,” he said, with a forced smile, “that I, my lord, am +not Lord Palmerston.” + +“No?” Brougham answered with a faint sneer. “But not much the worse for +that, perhaps. So that if you have any connection who commands a seat, +now is the time.” + +Vaughan shook his head. “I have none,” he said, “except my cousin, Sir +Robert Vermuyden.” + +“Vermuyden of Chippinge?” the Chancellor exclaimed, in a voice of +surprise. + +“The same, my lord.” + +“Good G—d!” Brougham cried. It was not a mealy-mouthed age. And he +leant back and stared at the young man. “You don’t mean to say that he +is your cousin?” + +“Yes.” + +The Chancellor laughed grimly. “Oh, dear, dear!” he said. “I am afraid +that he won’t help us much. I remember him in the House—an old high and +dry Tory. I am afraid that, with your opinions, you’ve not much to +expect of him. Still—Mr. Cornelius,” to the gentleman at the table, +“oblige me with Oldfield’s ‘House of Commons,’ the Wiltshire volume, +and the private Borough List. Thank you. Let me see—ah, here it is!” + +He proceeded to read in a low tone, skipping from heading to heading: +“Chippinge, in the county of Wilts, has returned two members since the +twenty-third of Edward III. Right of election in the Alderman and the +twelve capital burgesses, who hold their places for life. Number of +voters, thirteen. Patron, Sir Robert Vermuyden, Bart., of Stapylton +House. + +“Umph, as I thought,” he continued, laying down the book. “Now what +does the list say?” And, taking it in turn from his knee, he read: + +“In Schedule A for total disfranchisement, the population under 2000. +Present members, Sergeant Wathen and Mr. Cooke, on nomination of Sir +Robert Vermuyden; the former to oblige Lord Eldon, the latter by +purchase. Both opponents of Bill; nothing to be hoped from them. The +Bowood interest divides the corporation in the proportion of four to +nine, but has not succeeded in returning a member since the election of +1741—on petition. The heir to the Vermuyden interest is——” He broke off +sharply, but continued to study the page. Presently he looked over it. + +“Are you the Mr. Vaughan who inherits?” he asked gravely. + +“The greater part of the estates—yes.” + +Brougham laid down the book and rubbed his chin. “Under those +circumstances,” he said, after musing a while, “don’t you think that +your cousin could be persuaded to return you as an independent member?” + +Vaughan shook his head with decision. + +“The matter is important,” the Chancellor continued slowly, and as if +he weighed his words. “I cannot precisely make a promise, Mr. Vaughan; +but if your cousin could see the question of the Bill in another light, +I have little doubt that any object in reason could be secured for him. +If, for instance, it should be necessary in passing the Bill through +the Upper House to create new—eh?” + +He paused, looking at Vaughan, who laughed outright. “Sir Robert would +not cross the park to save my life, my lord,” he said. “And I am sure +he would rather hang outside the White Lion in Chippinge marketplace +than resign his opinions or his borough!” + +“He’ll lose the latter, whether or no,” Brougham answered, with a touch +of irritation. “Was there not some trouble about his wife? I think I +remember something.” + +“They were separated many years ago.” + +“She is alive, is she not?” + +“Yes.” + +Brougham saw, perhaps, that the subject was not palatable, and he +abandoned it. With an abrupt change of manner he flung the books from +him with the recklessness of a boy, and raised his sombre figure to its +height. “Well, well,” he said, “I hoped for better things; but I fear, +as Tommy Moore sings— + +“_He’s pledged himself, though sore bereft_ + +_Of ways and means of ruling ill_, + +_To make the most of what are left_ + +_And stick to all that’s rotten still!_ + + +And by the Lord, I don’t say that I don’t respect him. I respect every +man who votes honestly as he thinks.” And grandly, with appropriate +gestures, he spouted: + +“_Who spurns the expedient for the right_ + +_Scorns money’s all-attractive charms,_ + +_And through mean crowds that clogged his flight_ + +_Has nobly cleared his conquering arms_. + + +That’s the Attorney-General’s. He turns old Horace well, doesn’t he?” + +Vaughan coloured. Young and candid, he could not bear the thought of +taking credit where he did not deserve it. “I fear,” he said awkwardly, +“that would bear rather hardly on me if we had a contest at Chippinge, +my lord. Fortunately it is unlikely.” + +“How would it bear hardly on you?” Brougham asked, with interest. + +“I have a vote.” + +“You are one of the twelve burgesses?” in a tone of surprise. + +“Yes, by favour of Sir Robert.” + +The Chancellor, smiling gaily, shook his head. “No,” he said, “no; I do +not believe you. You do yourself an injustice. Leave that sort of thing +to older men, to Lyndhurst, if you will, d——d Jacobin as he is, +preening himself in Tory feathers, and determined whoever’s in he’ll +not be out; or to Peel. Leave it! And believe me you’ll not repent it. +I,” he continued loftily, “have seen fifty years of life, Mr. Vaughan, +and lived every year of them and every day of them, and I tell you that +the thing is too dearly bought at that price.” + +Vaughan felt himself rebuked; but he made a fight. “And yet,” he said, +“are there no circumstances, my lord, in which such a vote may be +justified?” + +“A vote against your conscience—to oblige someone?” + +“Well, yes.” + +“A Jesuit might justify it. There is nothing which a Jesuit could not +justify, I suppose. But though no man was stronger for the Catholic +Claims than I was, I do not hold a Jesuit to be a man of honour. And +that is where the difference lies. There! But,” he continued, with an +abrupt change from the lofty to the confidential, “let me tell you a +fact, Mr. Vaughan. In ’29—was it in April or May of ’29, Mr. +Cornelius?” + +“I don’t know to what you refer,” Mr. Cornelius grunted. + +“To be sure you don’t,” the Chancellor replied, without any loss of +good-humour; “but in April or May of ’29, Mr. Vaughan, the Duke offered +me the Rolls, which is £7000 a year clear for life, and compatible with +a seat in the Commons. It would have suited me better in every way than +the Seals and the House of Lords. It was the prize, to be frank with +you, at which I was aiming; and as at that time the Duke was making his +right-about-face on the Catholic question, and was being supported by +our side, I might have accepted it with an appearance of honour and +consistency. But I did not accept it. I did not, though my refusal +injured myself, and did no one any good. But there, I am chattering.” +He broke off, with a smile, and held out his hand. “However, + +“_Est et fideli tuta silentio +Merces!_ + + +You won’t forget that, I am certain. And you may be sure I shall +remember you. I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Vaughan. +Decide on the direction, politics or the law, in which you mean to +push, and some day let me know. In the meantime follow the light! +Light, more light! Don’t let them lure you back into old Giant +Despair’s cave, or choke you with all the dead bones and rottenness and +foulness they keep there, and that, by God’s help, I’ll sweep out of +the world before it’s a year older!” + +And still talking, he saw Vaughan, who was murmuring his +acknowledgments, to the door. + +When that had closed on the young man Brougham came back, and, throwing +wide his arms, yawned prodigiously. “Now,” he said, “if Lansdowne +doesn’t effect something in that borough, I am mistaken.” + +“Why,” Cornelius muttered curtly, “do you trouble about the borough? +Why don’t you leave those things to the managers?” + +“Why? Why, first because the Duke did that last year, and you see the +result—he’s out and we’re in. Secondly, Corny, because I am like the +elephant’s trunk, that can tear down a tree or pick up a pin.” + +“But in picking up a pin,” the other grunted, “it picks up a deal of +something else.” + +“Of what?” + +“Dirt!” + +“Old Pharisee!” the Chancellor cried. + +Mr. Cornelius threw down his pen, and, turning in his seat, opened fire +on his companion. “Dirt!” he reiterated sternly. “And for what? What +will be the end of it when you have done all for them, clean and dirty? +They’ll not keep you. They use you now, but you’re a new man. What, +you—_you_ think to deal on equal terms with the Devonshires and the +Hollands, the Lansdownes and the Russells! Who used Burke, and when +they had squeezed him tossed him aside? Who used Tierney till they wore +him and his fortune out? Who would have used Canning, but he did not +trust them, and so they worried him—though they were all dumb dogs +before him—to his death. Ay, and presently, when you have served their +turn, they will cast you aside.” + +“They will not dare!” Brougham cried. + +“Pshaw! You are Samson, but you are shorn of your strength. They have +been too clever for you. While you were in the Commons they did not +dare. Harry Brougham was their master. So they lured you, poor fool, +into the trap, into the Lords, where you may spout, and spout, and +spout, and it will have as much effect as the beating of a bird’s wings +against the bars of its cage!” + +“They will not dare!” Brougham reiterated. + +“You will see. They will throw you aside.” + +Brougham walked up and down the room, his eyes glittering, his quaint, +misshapen features working passionately. + +“They will throw you aside,” Mr. Cornelius repeated, watching him +keenly. “You are a man of the people. You are in earnest. You are +honestly in favour of retrenchment, of education, of reform. But to +these Whigs—save and except to Althorp, who is that _lusus naturæ_, an +honest man, and to Johnny Russell, who is a fanatic—these are but +catchwords, stalking-horses, the means by which, after the dull old +fashion of their fathers and their grandfathers and their +great-grandfathers, they think to creep into power. Reform, if reform +means the representation of the people by the people, the rule of the +people by the people, or by any but the old landed families—why, the +very thought would make them sick!” + +Brougham stopped in his pacing to and fro. “You are right,” he said +sombrely. + +“You acknowledge it?” + +“I have known it—here!” And, drawing himself to his full height, he +clapped his hand to his breast. “I have known it here for months. Ay, +and though I have sworn to myself that they would not dare to treat me +as they treated Burke, and Sheridan, and Tierney, and as they would +have treated Canning, I knew it was a lie, my lad; I knew they would. +My mother—ay, my old mother, sitting by the chimneyside, out of the +world there, knew it, and warned me.” + +“Then why did you go into the Lords?” Cornelius asked. “Why be lured +into the gilded cage, where you are helpless?” + +“Because, mark you,” Brougham replied sternly, “if I had not, they had +not brought in this Bill. And we had waited, and the people had waited, +another twenty years, maybe!” + +“And so you went into the prison-house shorn of your strength?” + +Brougham looked at him with a gleam of ferocity in his brilliant eyes. +“Ay,” he said, “I did. And by that act,” he continued, stretching his +long arms to their farthest extent, “mark you, mark you, never forget +it, I avenged all—not only all I may suffer at their hands, but all +that every slave who ever ground in their mill has suffered, the +slights, the grudged meticulous office, the one finger lent to +shake—all, all! I went into the prison-house, but when I did so I laid +my hands upon the pillars. And their house falls, falls. I hear it—I +hear it falling even now about their ears. They may throw me aside. But +the house is falling, and the great Whig families—pouf!—they are not in +the heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the water that is +under the earth. You call Reform their stalking-horse? Ay, but it is +into their own Troy that they have dragged it; and the clatter of +strife which you hear is the death-knell of their power. They have let +in the waves of the sea, and dream fondly that they can say where they +shall stop and what they shall not touch. They may as well speak to the +tide when it flows; they may as well command the North Sea in its rage; +they may as well bid Hume be silent, or Wetherell be sane. You say I am +spent, Cornelius; and so I am, it may be. I know not. But this I know. +Never again will the families say ‘Go!’ and he goeth, and ‘Do!’ and he +doeth, as in the old world that is passing—passing even at this minute, +passing with the Bill. No,” he continued, flinging out his arms with +passion; “for when they thought to fool me, and to shut me dumb among +dumb things behind the gilded wires, I knew—I knew that I was dragging +down their house upon their heads.” + +Mr. Cornelius stared at him. “By G—d!” he said, “I believe you are +right. I believe that you are a cleverer man than I thought you were.” + + + + +III +TWO LETTERS + + +The Hall was empty when Vaughan came forth; and as the young man strode +down its echoing length there was nothing save his own footsteps on the +pavement to distract his mind from the scene in which he had taken +part. He was excited and a little uplifted, as was natural. The +promises made, if they were to be counted as promises, were of the +vague and indefinite character which it is as easy to evade as to +fulfil. But the Chancellor had spoken to him as to an equal and treated +him as one who had but to choose a career to succeed in it, and to win +the highest prizes which it could bestow. This was flattering; nor was +it to a young man who had little experience of the world, less +flattering to be deemed the owner of a stake in the country, and a +person through whom offers of the most confidential and important +character might be properly made. + +He walked to his rooms in Bury Street with a pleasant warmth at his +heart. And at the Academic that evening, where owing to the events of +the day there was a fuller house than had ever been known, and a +fiercer debate, he championed the Government and upheld the dissolution +in a speech which not only excelled his previous efforts, but was a +surprise to those who knew him best. Afterwards he recognised that his +peroration had been only a paraphrase of Brougham’s impassioned “Light! +More Light!” and that the whole owed more than he cared to remember to +the same source. But, after all, why not? It was not to be expected +that he could at once rise to the heights of the greatest of living +orators. And it was much that he had made a hit; that as he left the +room he was followed by all eyes. + +Nor did a qualm worthy of the name trouble him until the morning of the +27th, five days later—a Wednesday. Then he found beside his breakfast +plate two letters bearing the postmark of Chippinge. + +“What’s afoot?” he muttered. But he had a prevision before he broke the +seal of the first. And the contents bore out his fears. The letter ran +thus: + +“Stapylton, Chippinge. + +“Dear Sir—I make no apology for troubling you in a matter in which your +interest is second only to mine and which is also of a character to +make apology beside the mark. It has not been necessary to require your +presence at Chippinge upon the occasion of former elections. But the +unwholesome ferment into which the public mind has been cast by the +monstrous proposals of Ministers has nowhere been more strongly +exemplified than here, by the fact that, for the first time in half a +century, the right of our family to nominate the members for the +Borough is challenged. Since the year 1783 no serious attempt has been +made to disturb the Vermuyden interest. And I have yet to learn +that—short of this anarchical Bill, which will sweep away all the +privileges attaching to property—such an attempt can be made with any +chance of success. + +“I am informed nevertheless that Lord Lansdowne, presuming on a small +connection in the Corporation, intends to send at least one candidate +to the poll. Our superiority is so great that I should not, even so, +trouble you to be present, were it not an object to discourage these +attempts by the exhibition of our full strength, and were it not still +more important to do so at a time when the existence of the Borough +itself is at stake. + +“Isaac White will apprise you of the arrangements to be made and will +keep you informed of all matters which you should know. Be good enough +to let Mapp learn the day and hour of your arrival, and he will see +that the carriage and servants meet the coach at Chippenham. Probably +you will come by the York House. It is the most convenient. + +“I have the honour to be + +“Your sincere kinsman, + +“Robert Vermuyden. + +“To Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, Esquire, +“17 Bury Street, St. James’s.” + +Vaughan’s face grew long, and his fork hung suspended above his plate, +as he perused the old gentleman’s epistle. When all was read he laid it +down, and whistled. “Here’s a fix!” he muttered. And he thought of his +speech at the Academic; and for the first time he was sorry that he had +made it. “Here’s a fix!” he repeated. “What’s to be done?” + +He was too much disturbed to go on with his breakfast, and he tore open +the other letter. It was from Isaac White, his cousin’s attorney and +agent. It ran thus: + +“High Street, Chippinge, + +“April 25, 1831. + +“_Chippinge Parliamentary Election_. + + +“Sir.—I have the honour to inform you, as upon former occasions, that +the writ in the above is expected and that Tuesday the 3rd day of May +will be appointed for the nomination. It has not been needful to +trouble you heretofore, but on this occasion I have reason to believe +that Sir Robert Vermuyden’s candidates will be opposed by nominees in +the Bowood Interest, and I have therefore, honoured Sir, to intimate +that your attendance will oblige. + +“The Vermuyden dinner will take place at the White Lion on Monday the +2nd, when the voters and their friends will sit down at 5 P. M. The +Alderman will preside, and Sir Robert hopes that you will be present. +The procession to the Hustings will leave the White Lion at ten on +Tuesday the 3d, and a poll, if demanded, will be taken after the usual +proceedings. + +“Any change in the order of the arrangements will be punctually +communicated to you. + +“I have the honour to be, Sir, + +“Your humble obedient servant, + +“Isaac White. + + +“Arthur V. Vaughan, Esq., +(late H.M.’s 14th Dragoons), + +“17 Bury Street, London.” + + +Vaughan flung the letter down and resumed his breakfast moodily. It was +a piece of shocking ill-fortune, that was all there was to be said. + +Not that he really regretted his speech! It had committed him a little +more deeply, but morally he had been committed before. It is a poor +conscience that is not scrupulous in youth; and he was convinced, or +almost convinced, that if he had never seen the Chancellor he would +still have found it impossible to support Sir Robert’s candidates. + +For he was sincere in his support of the Bill; a little because it +flattered his intellect to show himself above the prejudices of the +class to which he belonged; more, because he was of an age to view with +resentment the abuses which the Bill promised to sweep away. A +Government truly representative of the people, such as this Bill must +create, would not tolerate the severities which still disgraced the +criminal law. It would not suffer the heartless delays which made the +name of Chancery synonymous with ruin. Under it spring-guns and +man-traps would no longer scare the owner from his own coverts. The +poor would be taught, the slave would be freed. Above all, whole +classes of the well-to-do would no longer be deprived of a voice in the +State. No longer would the rights of one small class override the +rights of all other classes. + +He was at an age, in a word, when hope invites to change; and he was +for the Bill. “Ay, by Jove, I am!” he muttered, casting the die in +fancy, “and I’ll not be set down! It will be awkward! It will be +odious! But I must go through with it!” + +Still, he was sorry. He sprang from the class which had profited by the +old system—that system under which some eight-score men returned a +majority of the House of Commons. He had himself the prospect of +returning two members. He could, therefore enter, to a degree—at times +to a greater degree than he liked,—into the feelings with which the +old-fashioned and the interested, the prudent and the timid, viewed a +change so great and so radical. But his main objection was personal. He +hated the necessity which forced him to cross the wishes and to trample +on the prejudices of an old man whom he regarded with respect, and even +with reverence: a solitary old man, the head of his family, to whom he +owed the very vote he must withhold; and who would hardly, even by the +logic of facts, be brought to believe that one of his race and breeding +could turn against him. + +Still it must be done; the die was cast. The sooner, therefore, it was +done, the better. He would go down to Stapylton at once, while his +courage was high; and he would tell Sir Robert. Then, whatever came of +it, he would have nothing with which to reproach himself. In the heat +of resolve he felt very brave and very virtuous; and the moment he rose +from breakfast he went to the coach office, and finding that the York +House, the fashionable Bath, coach was full for the following day, he +booked an outside seat on the Bristol White Lion Coach, which also +passed through Chippenham. From Chippenham, Chippinge is distant a +short nine miles. + +That evening proved to be memorable; for the greater part of London was +illuminated by the Reformers in honour of the Dissolution; not without +rioting and drunkenness, violence on the part of the mob, and rage on +the side of the minority. When Vaughan passed through the streets +before six next morning, on his way to the White Horse Cellars, traces +of the night’s work still remained; and where the early sun fell on +them showed ugly and grisly and menacing enough. A moderate reformer +might well have blenched at the sight, and questioned—as many did +question—whither this was tending. But Vaughan was late; the coach, one +out of three which were waiting to start, was horsed. He had only eyes, +as he came hurriedly up, for the seat he had reserved behind the +coachman. + +It was empty, and so far his fears were vain. But it annoyed him to +find that his next-door neighbour was a young lady travelling alone. +She had the seat on the near side. + +He climbed up quickly, and to reach his place had to pass before her. +The space between the seat and the coachman’s box was narrow, and as +she rose to allow him to pass she glanced up. Their eyes met; Vaughan +raised his hat in mute apology, and took his seat. He said no word. But +a miracle had happened, as miracles do happen, when the world is young. +In his mind, as he sat down, he was not repeating, “What a nuisance!” +but was saying, “What eyes! What a face! And, oh, heaven, what beauty! +What blush-rose cheeks! What a lovely mouth!” + +_For ’twas from eyes of liquid blue_ + +_A host of quivered Cupids flew_, + +_And now his heart all bleeding lies_ + +_Beneath the army of the eyes_. + + +He gazed gravely at the group of watermen and night-birds who stood in +the roadway below waiting to see the coach start. And apparently he was +unmoved. Apparently he was the same Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan who had +passed round the boot of the coach to reach the ladder and his place. +But he was not the same. His thoughts were no longer querulous, full of +the haste he had made, and the breakfast he had to make; but of a pair +of gentle eyes which had looked for one instant into his, of a modest +face, sweet and shy, of a Quaker-like bonnet that ravished as no other +bonnet had ever ravished the most susceptible! + +He was still gazing at the group of loiterers, without seeing them, +when he became aware that an elderly woman plainly but respectably +dressed, who was standing by the forewheel of the coach, was looking up +at him, and trying to attract his attention. Seeing that she had caught +his eye she spoke: + +“Gentleman! Gentleman!” she said—but in a restrained voice, as if she +did not wish to be generally heard. “The young lady’s address! Please +say that she’s not left it! For the laundress!” + +He turned and made sure that there was only one of the sex on the +coach. Then—to be honest, not without a tiny flutter at his heart—he +addressed his neighbour. “Pardon me,” he said “but there is someone +below who wants your address.” + +She turned her eyes on him and his heart gave a perceptible jump. “My +address?” she echoed in a voice as sweet as her face. “I think that +there must be some mistake.” And then for a moment she looked at him as +if she doubted his intentions. + +The doubt was intolerable. “It’s for the laundress,” he said. “See, +there she is!” + +The girl rose to look over the side of the coach and perforce leant +across him. He saw that she had the slenderest waist and the prettiest +figure—he had every opportunity of seeing. Then the coach started with +a jerk, and if she had not steadied herself by laying her hand on his +shoulder, she must have relapsed on his knees. As it was she fell back +safely into her seat. She blushed. + +“I beg your pardon,” she said. + +But he was looking back. He had his eye on the woman, who remained in +the roadway, pointing after the coach and apparently asking a bystander +some question respecting it—perhaps where it stopped. “There she is!” +he exclaimed. “The woman with the umbrella! She is pointing after us.” + +His neighbour looked back but made nothing of it. “I know no one in +London,” she said a little primly—but with sweet primness—“except the +lady at whose house I stayed last night. And she is not able to leave +the house. It must be a mistake.” And with a gentle reserve which had +in it nothing of coquetry, she turned her face from him. + +Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! They were away, bowling down the slope of +broad empty Piccadilly with the four nags trotting merrily, and the +April sun gilding the roofs of the houses, and falling aslant on the +verdure of the Green Park. Then merrily up the rise to Hyde Park +Corner, where the new Grecian Gates looked across at the equally new +arch on Constitution Hill; and where Apsley House, the residence of +“the Duke,” hiding with its new coat of Bath stone the old brick walls, +peeped through the trees at the statue of Achilles, erected ten years +back in the Duke’s honour. + +But, alas! what was this? Wherefore the crowd that even at this early +hour was large enough to fill the roadway and engage the attention of +the New Police? Vaughan looked and saw that every blind in Apsley House +was lowered, and that more than half of the windows were shattered. And +the little French gentleman who, to the coachman’s disgust, had taken +the box-seat, saw it too; nay, had seen it before, for he had come that +way to the coach office. He pointed to the silent, frowning mansion, +and snapped his fingers. + +“That is your reward for your Vellington!” he cried, turning in his +excitement to the two behind him. “And his lady, I am told, she lie +dead behind the broken vindows! They did that last night, your +_canaille!_ But he vill not forget! And when the refolution come—bah—he +vill have the iron hand! He vill be the Emperor and he vill repay!” + +No one answered; they treated him with silent British scorn. But they +one and all stared back at the scene, at the grim blind house in the +early sunshine, and the gaping crowd—as long as it remained in sight. +And some, no doubt, pondered the sight. But who, with a pretty face +beside him and a long day’s drive before him, a drive by mead and +shining river, over hill and down, under the walls of grey churches and +by many a marketplace and cheery inn-yard—who would long dwell on +changes past or to come? Or fret because in the womb of time might lie +that “refolution” of which the little Frenchman spoke? + + + + +IV +TANTIVY! TANTIVY! TANTIVY! + + +The White Lion coach was a light coach carrying only five passengers +outside, and merrily it swept by Kensington Church, whence the +travellers had a peep of Holland House—home of the Whigs—on their +right. And then in a twinkling they were swinging through Hammersmith, +where the ale-houses were opening and lusty girls were beginning to +deliver the milk. They passed through Turnham, through Brentford, +awakening everywhere the lazy with the music of their horn. They saw +Sion House on their left, and on their right had a glimpse of the +distant lawns of Osterley—the seat of Lady Jersey, queen of Almack’s, +and the Holland’s rival. Thence they travelled over Hounslow Heath, and +by an endless succession of mansions and lawns and orchards rich at +this season with apple blossom, and framing here and there a view of +the sparkling Thames. + +Vaughan breathed the air of spring and let his eyes dwell on scene +after scene; and he felt that it was good to be young and to sit behind +fast horses. He stole a glance at his neighbour and judged by the +brightness of her eyes, her parted lips and rapt expression, that she +felt with him. And he would have said something to her, but he could +think of nothing worthy of her. At last: + +“It’s a beautiful morning,” he ventured, and cursed his vapidity. + +But she did not seem to find bathos in the words. “It is, indeed!” she +answered with an enthusiasm which showed that she had forgotten her +doubts of him. “And,” she added simply, “I have not been on a coach +since I was a child!” + +“Not on a coach?” he cried in astonishment. + +“No. Except on the Clapham Stage. And that is not a coach like this!” + +“No, perhaps it is not,” he said. And he thought of her, and—oh, +Lord!—of Clapham! And yet after all there was something about her, +about her grey, dove-like dress and her gentleness, which smacked of +Clapham. He wondered who she was and what she was; and he was still +wondering when she turned her eyes on him, and, herself serenely +unconscious, sent a tiny shock through him. + +“I enjoy it the more,” she said, “because I—I am not usually free in +the morning.” + +“Oh, yes!” + +He could say no more; not another word. It was the stupidest thing in +the world, but he was tongue-tied. Seeing, however, that she had turned +from him and was absorbed in the view of Windsor rising stately amid +its trees, he had the cleverness to steal a glance at the neat little +basket which nestled at her feet. Surreptitiously he read the name on +the label. + +Mary Smith + +Miss Sibson’s + +Queen’s Square, Bristol. + +Mary Smith! Just Mary Smith! For the moment—it is not to be denied—he +was sobered by the name. It was not a romantic name. It was anything +but high-sounding. The author of “Tremayne” or “De Vere,” nay, the +author of “Vivian Grey”—to complete the trio of novels which were in +fashion at the time—would have turned up his nose at it. But what did +it matter? He desired no more than to make himself agreeable for the +few hours which he and this beautiful creature must pass together—in +sunshine and with the fair English landscape gliding by them. And that +being so, what need he reck what she called herself or whence she came. +It was enough that under her modest bonnet her ears were shells and her +eyes pure cornflowers, and that a few pleasant words, a little April +dalliance—if only that Frenchman would cease to peep behind him and +grin—would harm neither the one nor the other. + +But opportunities let slip do not always recur. As he turned to address +her they rose the ascent of Maidenhead Bridge, had on either hand a +glimpse of the river framed in pale green willows, and halted with +sweating horses before the King’s Arms. The boots advanced, amid a +group of gazers, and reared a ladder against the coach. “Half an hour +for breakfast, gentlemen!” he cried briskly. And through the windows of +the inn the travellers had a view of a long table whereat the +passengers on the up night-coach were already feasting. + +Our friends hastened to descend, but not so fast that Vaughan failed to +note the girl’s look of uncertainty, almost of distress. He guessed +that she was not at ease in a scene so bustling and so new to her. And +the thought gave him the courage that he needed. + +“Will you allow me to find you a place at the table?” he said. “I know +this inn and they know me. Guard, the ladder here!” And he took her +hand—oh, such a little, little hand!—and aided her in her descent. + +“Will you follow me?” he said. And he made way for her through the knot +of starers who cumbered the doorway. But once in the coffee-room he +had, cunning fellow, an inspiration. “Find this lady a seat!” he +commanded one of the attendant damsels. And when he had seen her seated +and the coffee set before her, he took himself deliberately to the +other end of the room. But whether he did so out of pure respect for +her feelings, or because he thought—and hugged himself on the +thought—that he would be missed, he did not himself know. Nor was he so +much a captive, though he counted how many rolls she ate, and looked a +dozen times to see if she looked at him, as to be unable to make an +excellent breakfast. + +The cheery, noisy throng at the tables, the brisk coming and going of +the servants, the smell of hot coffee, the open windows, and the +sunshine outside—where the fresh team of the up night-coach were +already tossing their heads impatiently—he wondered how it all struck +her, new to such scenes and to this side of life. And then while he +wondered he saw that she had risen from the table and was going out +with one of the waiting-maids. To reach the door she had to pass near +him; and, oh bliss, her eyes found him—and she blushed. She blushed, ye +heavens! He saw it clearly, and he sat thinking about it until, though +the coach was not due to start for another five minutes and he might +count on the guard summoning him, he was taken with fear lest some one +should steal his seat. And he hurried out. + +She was alone on the top of the coach, and a youthful waterman, one of +the crowd of loiterers below, was making eyes at her to the delight of +his companions. When Vaughan came forth, “I’d like to be him,” the wag +said, winking with vulgar gusto. And the bystanders grinned at the +good-looking young man who stood in the doorway buttoning up his +box-coat. The position might soon have become embarrassing to her if +not to him; but in the nick of time the eye of an inside passenger, who +had followed him through the doorway, alighted on a huge placard which +hung behind the coach. + +“Take that down!” the stranger cried loudly and pompously. And in a +moment all eyes were upon him. He prodded with his umbrella at the +offending bill. “Do you hear me? Take it down, sir,” he repeated, +turning to the guard. He was a portly man, reddish about the gills. +“Take it down, sir, or I will! It is disgraceful! I shall report this +conduct to your employers.” + +The guard hesitated. “It don’t harm you, sir,” he pleaded, anxious, it +was clear, to propitiate a man who would presently be good for half a +crown. + +“Don’t harm me?” the choleric gentleman retorted. “Don’t harm me? +What’s that to do with it? What right—what right have you, man, to put +party filth like that on a public vehicle in which I pay to ride? ‘The +Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the Bill!’ D—n the Bill, sir!” +with violence. “Take it down! Take it down at once!” he repeated, as if +his order closed the matter. + +The guard frowned at the placard, which bore, largely printed, the +legend which the gentleman found so little to his taste. He rubbed his +head. “Well, I don’t know, sir,” he said. And then—the crowd about the +coach was growing—he looked at the driver. “What do you say, Sammy?” he +asked. + +“Don’t touch it,” growled the driver, without deigning to turn his +head. + +“You see, sir, it is this way,” the guard ventured civilly. “Mr. Palmer +has a Whig meeting at Reading to-day and the town will be full. And if +we don’t want rotten eggs and broken windows—we’ll carry that!” + +“I’ll not travel with it!” the stout gentleman answered positively. “Do +you hear me, man? If you don’t take it down I will!” + +“Best not!” cried a voice from the little crowd about the coach. And +when the angry gentleman turned to see who spoke, “Best not!” cried +another behind him. And he wheeled about again, so quickly that the +crowd laughed. This raised his wrath to a white heat. + +He grew purple. “I shall have it taken down!” he said. “Guard, remove +it!” + +“Don’t touch it,” growled the driver—one of a class noted in that day +for independence and surly manners. “If the gent don’t choose to travel +with it, let him stop here and be d—d!” + +“Do you know,” the insulted passenger cried, “that I am a Member of +Parliament?” + +“I’m hanged if you are!” coachee retorted. “Nor won’t be again!” + +The crowd roared at this repartee. The guard was in despair. “Anyway, +we must go on, sir,” he said. And he seized his horn. “Take your seats, +gents! Take your seats!” he cried. “All for Reading! I’m sorry, sir, +but I’ve to think of the coach.” + +“And the horses!” grumbled the driver. “Where’s the gent’s sense?” + +They all scrambled to their seats except the ex-member. He stood, +bursting with rage and chagrin. But at the last moment, when he saw +that the coach would really go without him, he swallowed his pride, +plucked open the coach-door, and amid the loud jeers of the crowd, +climbed in. The driver, with a chuckle, bade the helpers let go, and +the coach swung cheerily away through the streets of Maidenhead, the +merry notes of the horn and the rattle of the pole-chains drowning the +cries of the gutter-boys. + +The little Frenchman turned round. “You vill have a refolution,” he +said solemnly. “And the gentleman inside he vill lose his head.” + +The coachman, who had hitherto looked askance at Froggy, as if he +disdained his neighbourhood, now squinted at him as if he could not +quite make him out. “Think so?” he said gruffly. “Why, Mounseer?” + +“I have no doubt,” the Frenchman answered glibly. “The people vill +have, and the nobles vill not give! Or they vill give a leetle—a +leetle! And that is the worst of all. I have seen two refolutions!” he +continued with energy. “The first when I was a child—it is forty years! +My bonne held me up and I saw heads fall into the basket—heads as young +and as lofly as the young Mees there! And why? Because the people would +have, and the King, he give that which is the worst of all—a leetle! +And the trouble began. And then the refolution of last year—it was +worth to me all that I had! The people would have, and the Polignac, +our Minister—who is the friend of your Vellington—he would not give at +all! And the trouble began.” + +The driver squinted at him anew. “D’you mean to say,” he asked, “that +you’ve seen heads cut off?” + +“I have seen the white necks, as white and as small as the Mees there; +I have seen the blood spout from them; bah! like what you call pump! +Ah, it was ogly, it was very ogly!” + +The coachman turned his head slowly and with difficulty, until he +commanded a full view of Vaughan’s pretty neighbour; at whom he gazed +for some seconds as if fascinated. Then he turned to his horses and +relieved his feelings by hitting one of the wheelers below the trace; +while Vaughan, willing to hear what the Frenchman had to say, took up +the talk. + +“Perhaps here,” he said, “those who have will give, and give enough, +and all will go well.” + +“Nefer! Nefer!” the Frenchman answered positively. “By example, the +Duke whose château we pass—what you call it—Jerusalem House?” + +“Sion House,” Vaughan answered, smiling. “The Duke of Northumberland.” + +“By example he return four members to your Commons House. Is it not so? +And they do what he tell them. He have this for his nefew, and that for +his niece, and the other thing for his _maître d’hôtel!_ And it is he +and the others like him who rule the country! Gives he up all that? To +the _bourgeoisie?_ Nefer! Nefer!” he continued with emphasis. “He will +be the Polignac! They will all be the Polignacs! And you will have a +refolution. And by-and-by, when the _bourgeoisie_ is frightened of the +_canaille_ and tired of the blood-letting, your Vellington he will be +the Emperor. It is as plain as the two eyes in the face! So plain for +me, I shall not take off my clothes the nights!” + +“Well, King Billy for me!” said the driver. “But if he’s willing, +Mounseer, why shouldn’t the people manage their own affairs?” + +“The people! The people! They cannot! Your horses, will they govern +themselves? Will you throw down the reins and leave it to them, up +hill, down hill? The people govern themselves Bah!” And to express his +extreme disgust at the proposition, the Frenchman, who had lost his all +with Polignac, bent over the side and spat into the road. “It is no +government at all!” + +The driver looked darkly at his horses as if he would like to see them +try it on. “I am afraid,” said Vaughan, “that you think we are in +trouble either way then, whether the Tories give or withhold?” + +“Eizer way! Eizer way!” the Frenchman answered _con amore_. “It is +fate! You are on the edge of the what you call it—_chute!_ And you must +go over! We have gone over. We have bumped once, twice! We shall bump +once, twice more, _et voilà_—Anarchy! Now it is your turn, sir. The +government has to be—shifted—from the one class to the other!” + +“But it may be peacefully shifted?” + +The little Frenchman shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “I have nefer +seen the government shifted without all that that I have told you. +There will be the guillotine, or the barricades. For me, I shall not +take off my clothes the nights!” + +He spoke with a sincerity so real and a persuasion so clear that even +Vaughan was a little shaken, and wondered if those who watched the game +from the outside saw more than the players. As for the coachman: + +“Dang me,” he said that evening to his cronies in the tap of the White +Lion at Bristol, “if I feel so sure about this here Reform! We want +none of that nasty neck-cutting here! And if I thought Froggy was right +I’m blest if I wouldn’t turn Tory!” + +And for certain the Frenchman voiced what a large section of the timid +and the well-to-do were thinking. For something like a hundred and +fifty years a small class, the nobility and the greater gentry, turning +to advantage the growing defects in the representation—the rotten +boroughs and the close corporations—had ruled the country through the +House of Commons. Was it to be expected that the basis of power could +be shifted in a moment? Or that all these boroughs and corporations, in +which the governing class were so deeply interested, could be swept +away without a convulsion; without opening the floodgates of change, +and admitting forces which no man could measure? Or, on the other side, +was it likely that, these defects once seen and the appetite of the +middle class for power once whetted, their claims could be refused +without a struggle from which the boldest must flinch? No man could say +for certain, and hence these fears in the air. The very winds carried +them. They were being discussed in that month of April not only on the +White Lion coach, not on the Bath road only, but on a hundred coaches, +and a hundred roads over the length and breadth of England. Wherever +the sway of Macadam and Telford extended, wherever the gigs of “riders” +met, or farmers’ carts stayed to parley, at fair and market, sessions +and church, men shook their heads or raised their voices in high +debate; and the word _Reform_ rolled down the wind! + +Vaughan soon overcame his qualms; for his opinions were fixed. But he +thought that the subject might serve him with his neighbour, and he +addressed her. + +“You must not let them alarm you,” he said. “We are still a long way, I +fancy, from guillotines or barricades.” + +“I hope so,” she answered. “In any case I am not afraid.” + +“Why, if I may ask?” + +She glanced at him with a gleam of humour in her eyes. “Little shrubs +feel little wind,” she murmured. + +“But also little sun, I fear,” he replied. + +“That does not follow,” she said, without raising her eyes again. +“Though it is true that I—I am so seldom free in a morning that a +journey such as this, with the sunshine, is like heaven to me.” + +“The morning is a delightful time,” he said. + +“Oh!” she cried, as if she now knew that he felt with her. “That is it! +The afternoon is different.” + +“Well, fortunately, you and I have—much of the morning left.” + +She made no reply to that, and he wondered in silence what was the +employment which filled her mornings and fitted her to enjoy with so +keen a zest this early ride. The Gloucester up-coach was coming to meet +them, the guard tootling merrily on his horn, and a blue and yellow +flag—the Whig colours—flying on the roof of the coach, which was +crowded with smiling passengers. Vaughan saw the girl’s eyes sparkle as +the two coaches passed one another amid a volley of badinage; and +demure as she was, he was sure that she had a store of fun within. He +wished that she would remove her cheap thread gloves that he might see +if her hands were as white as they were small. She was no common +person, he was sure of that; her speech was correct, though formal, and +her manner was quiet and refined. And her eyes—he must make her look at +him again! + +“You are going to Bristol?” he said. “To stay there?” + +Perhaps he threw too much feeling into his voice. At any rate the tone +of her answer was colder. “Yes,” she said, “I am.” + +“I am going as far as Chippenham,” he volunteered. + +“Indeed!” + +There! He had lost all the ground he had gained. She thought him a +possible libertine, who aimed at putting himself on a footing of +intimacy with her. And that was the last thing—confound it, he meant +that to do her harm was the last thing he had in his mind. + +It annoyed him that she should think anything of that kind. And he +cudgelled his brain for a subject at once safe and sympathetic, without +finding one. But either she was not so deeply offended as he fancied, +or she thought him sufficiently punished. For presently she addressed +him; and he saw that she was ever so little embarrassed. + +“Would you please to tell me,” she said, in a low voice, “how much I +ought to give the coachman?” + +Oh. bless her! She did not think him a horrid libertine. “You?” he said +audaciously. “Why nothing, of course.” + +“But—but I thought it was usual?” + +“Not on this road,” he answered, lying resolutely. “Gentlemen are +expected to give half a crown, others a shilling. Ladies nothing at +all. Sam,” he continued, rising to giddy heights of invention, “would +give it back to you, if you offered it.” + +“Indeed!” He fancied a note of relief in her tone, and judged that +shillings were not very plentiful. Then, “Thank you,” she added. “You +must think me very ignorant. But I have never travelled.” + +“You must not say that,” he returned. “Remember the Clapham Stage!” + +She laughed at the jest, small as it was; and her laugh gave him the +most delicious feeling—a sort of lightness within, half exhilaration, +half excitement. And of a sudden, emboldened by it, he was grown so +foolhardy that there is no knowing what he would not have said, if the +streets of Reading had not begun to open before them and display a +roadway abnormally thronged. + +For Mr. Palmer’s procession, with its carriages, riders, and flags, was +entering ahead of them; and the train of tipsy rabble which accompanied +it blocked King Street, and presently brought the coach to a stand. The +candidate, lifting his cocked hat from time to time, was a hundred +paces before them and barely visible through a forest of flags and +banners. But a troop of mounted gentry in dusty black, and smiling +dames in carriages—who hardly masked the disgust with which they viewed +the forest of grimy hands extended to them to shake—were under the +travellers’ eyes, and showed in the sunlight both tawdry and false. Our +party, however, were not long at ease to enjoy the spectacle. The crowd +surrounded the coach, leapt on the steps, and hung on to the boot. And +presently the noise scared the horses, which at the entrance to the +marketplace began to plunge. + +“The Bill! The Bill!” cried the rabble. And with truculence called on +the passengers to assent. “You lubbers,” they bawled, “shout for the +Bill! Or we’ll have you over!” + +“All right! All right!” replied Sammy, controlling his horses as well +as he could. “We’re all for the Bill here! Hurrah!” + +“Hurrah! Palmer for ever, Tories in the river!” cried the mob. +“Hurrah!” + +“Hurrah!” echoed the guard, willing to echo anything. “The Bill for +ever! But let us pass, lads! Let us pass! We’re for the Bear, and we’ve +no votes.” + +“Britons never will be slaves!” shrieked a drunken butcher as the +marketplace opened before them. The space was alive with flags and gay +with cockades, and thronged by a multitude, through which the +candidate’s procession clove its way slowly. “We’ll have votes now! +Three cheers for Lord John!” + +“Hurrah! Hurrah!” + +“And down with Orange Peel!” squeaked a small tailor in a high +falsetto. + +The roar of laughter which greeted the sally startled the horses +afresh. But the guard had dropped down by this time and fought his way +to the head of one of the leaders; and two or three good-humoured +fellows seconded his efforts. Between them the coach was piloted slowly +but safely through the press; which, to do it justice, meant only to +exercise the privileges which the Election season brought with it. + + + + +V +ROSY-FINGERED DAWN + + +“_Beaucoup de bruit, pas de mal!_” Vaughan muttered in his neighbour’s +ear; and saw with as much surprise as pleasure that she understood. + +And all would have gone well but for the imprudence of the inside +passenger who had distinguished himself by his protest against the +placard. The coach was within a dozen paces of the Bear, the crowd was +falling back from it, the peril, if it had been real, seemed past, the +most timid was breathing again, when he thrust out his foolish head, +and flung a taunt—which those on the roof could not hear—at the rabble. + +Whatever the words, their effect was disastrous. A bystander caught +them up and repeated them, and in a trice half-a-dozen louts flung +themselves on the door and strove to drag it open, and get at the man; +while others, leaning over their shoulders, aimed missiles at the +inside passengers. + +The guard saw that more than the glass of his windows was at stake; but +he could do nothing. He was at the leaders’ heads. And the passengers +on the roof, who had risen to their feet to see the fray, were as +helpless. Luckily the coachman kept his head and his reins. “Turn ’em +into the yard!” he yelled. “Turn ’em in!” + +The guard did so, almost too quickly. The frightened horses wheeled +round, and, faster than was prudent, dashed under the low arch, +dragging the swaying coach after them. + +There was a cry of “Heads! Heads!” and then, more imperatively, “Heads! +Stoop! Stoop!” + +The warning was needed. The outsides were on their feet engrossed in +the struggle at the coach door. And so quickly did the coach turn +that—though a score of spectators in the street and on the balcony of +the inn saw the peril—it was only at the last moment that Vaughan and +the two passengers at the back, men well used to the road, caught the +warning, and dropped down. And it was only at the very last moment that +Vaughan felt rather than saw that the girl was still standing. He had +just time, by a desperate effort, and amid a cry of horror—for to the +spectators she seemed to be already jammed between the arch and the +seat—to drag her down. Instinctively, as he did so, he shielded her +face with his arm; but the horror was so near that, as they swept under +the low brow, he was not sure that she was safe. + +He was as white as she was, when they emerged into the light again. But +he saw that she was safe, though her bonnet was dragged from her head; +and he cried unconsciously, “Thank God! Thank God!” Then, with that +hatred of a scene which is part of the English character, he put her +quickly back into her seat again, and rose to his feet, as if he wished +to separate himself from her. + +But a score of eyes had seen the act; and however much he might wish to +spare her feelings, concealment was impossible. + +“Christ!” cried the coachman, whose copper cheeks were perceptibly +paler. “If your head’s on your shoulders, Miss, it is to that young +gentleman you owe it. Don’t you ever go to sleep on the roof of a coach +again! Never! Never!” + +“Here, get a drop of brandy!” cried the landlady, who, from one of the +doors flanking the archway, had seen all. “Do you stay where you are, +Miss,” she continued, “and I’ll send it up to you.” + +Then amid a babel of exclamations and a chorus of blame and praise, the +ladder was brought, and Vaughan made haste to descend. A waiter tripped +out with the brown brandy and water on a tray; and the young lady, who +had not spoken, but had remained, sitting white and still, where +Vaughan had placed her, sipped it obediently. Unfortunately the +landlady’s eyes were sharp; and as Vaughan passed her to go into the +house—for the coach must be driven up the yard and turned before they +could set off again—she let fall a cry. + +“Lord, sir!” she said, “your hand is torn dreadful! You’ve grazed every +bit of skin off it!” + +He tried to silence her; and failing, hurried into the house. She +fussed after him to attend to him; and Sammy, who was not a man of the +most delicate perceptions, seized the opportunity to drive home his +former lesson. “There, Miss,” he said solemnly, “I hope that’ll teach +you to look out another time! But better his hand than your head. You’d +ha’ been surely scalped!” + +The girl, a shade whiter than before, did not answer. And he thought +her, for so pretty a wench, “a right unfeelin’ un!” + +Not so the Frenchman. “I count him a very locky man!” he said +obscurely. “A very locky man.” + +“Well,” the coachman answered with a grunt, “if you call that lucky——” + +“_Vraiment! Vraiment!_ But I—alas!” the Frenchman answered with an +eloquent gesture, “I have lost my all, and the good fortunes are no +longer for me!” + +“Fortunes!” the coachman muttered, looking askance at him. “A fine +fortune, to have your hand flayed! But where’s”—recollecting +himself—“where’s that there fool that caused the trouble! D—n me, if he +shall go any further on my coach. I’d like to double-thong him, and +it’d serve him right!” + +So when the ex-M.P. presently appeared, Sammy let go his tongue to such +purpose that the political gentleman; finding himself in a minority of +one, retired into the house and, with many threats of what he would do +when he saw the management, declined to go on. + +“And a good riddance of a d—d Tory!” the coachman muttered. “Think all +the world’s made for them! Fifteen minutes he’s cost us already! Take +your seats, gents, take your seats! I’m off!” + +Vaughan, with his hand hastily bandaged, was the last to come out. He +climbed as quickly as he could to his place, and, without looking at +his neighbour, he said some common-place word. She did not reply, and +they swept under the arch. For a moment the sight of the thronged +marketplace diverted him. Then he looked at her, and he saw that she +was trembling. + +If he was not quite so wise as the Frenchman, having had no _bonnes +fortunes_ to speak of, he had, nevertheless, keen perceptions. And he +guessed that the girl, between her maiden shyness and her womanly +gratitude, was painfully placed. It could not be otherwise. A girl who +had spent her years, since childhood, within the walls of a school at +Clapham, first as genteel apprentice, and then as assistant; who had +been taught to consider young men as roaring lions with whom her own +life could have nothing in common, and from whom it was her duty to +guard the more giddy of her flock; who had to struggle at once with the +shyness of youth, the modesty of her sex, and her inexperience—above +all, perhaps with that dread of insult which becomes the instinct of +lowly beauty—how was she to carry herself in circumstances so different +from any which she had ever imagined? How was she to express a tithe of +the feelings with which her heart was bursting, and which overwhelmed +her as often as she thought of the hideous death from which he had +snatched her? + +She could not; and with inborn good taste she refrained from the +commonplace word, the bald acknowledgment, in which a shallow nature +might have taken refuge. On his side, he guessed some part of this, and +discerned that if he would relieve her he must himself speak. +Accordingly, when they had left the streets behind them and were +swinging merrily along the Newbury Road, he leant towards her. + +“May I beg,” he said in a low voice, “that you won’t think of what has +happened? The coachman would have done as much, and scolded you! I +happened to be next you. That was all.” + +In a strangled voice, “But your hand,” she faltered. “I fear—I——” She +shuddered, unable to go on. + +“It is nothing!” he protested. “Nothing! In three days it will be +well!” + +She turned her eves on him, eyes which possessed an eloquence of which +their owner was unconscious. “I will pray for you,” she murmured. “I +can do no more.” + +The pathos of her simple gratitude was such that Vaughan could not +laugh it off. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “We shall then be more than +quits.” And having given her a few moments in which to recover herself, +“We are nearly at Speenhamland,” he resumed cheerfully. “There is the +George and Pelican! It’s a great baiting-house for coaches. I am afraid +to say how much corn and hay they give out in a day. They have a man +who does nothing else but weigh it out.” And so he chattered on, doing +his utmost to talk of indifferent matters in an indifferent tone. + +She could not repulse him after what had passed. And now and then, by a +timid word, she gave him leave to talk. Presently he began to speak of +things other than those under their eyes, and when he thought that he +had put her at her ease, “You understand French?” he said looking at +her suddenly. + +“I spoke it as a child,” she answered. “I was born abroad. I did not +come to England until I was nine.” + +“To Clapham?” + +“Yes. I have been employed in a school there.” + +Prudently he hastened to bring the talk back to the road again. And she +took courage to steal a look at him when his eyes were elsewhere. He +seemed so strong and gentle and courteous; this unknown creature which +she had been taught to fear. And he was so thoughtful of her! He could +throw so tender a note into his voice. Beside d’Orsay or Alvanley—but +she had never heard of them—he might have passed muster but tolerably; +but to her he seemed a very fine gentleman. She had a woman’s eye for +the fineness of his linen, and the smartness of his waistcoat—had not +Sir James Graham, with his chest of Palermo stuffs, set the seal of +Cabinet approval on fancy waistcoats? Nor was she blind to the easy +carriage of his head, and his air of command. + +And there she caught herself up: reflecting with a blush that it was by +the easy path of thoughts such as these that the precipice was +approached; that so it was the poor and pretty let themselves be led +from the right road. Whither was she travelling? In what was this to +end? She trembled. And if they had not at that moment swung out of +Savernake Forest and sighted the red roofs of Marlborough, lying warm +and sung at the foot of the steep London Hill, she did not know what +she should have done, since she could not repulse him. + +They rattled in merry style through the town, the leaders cantering, +the bars swinging, the guard tootling, the sun shining; past a score of +inn signs before which the heavy stages were baiting; past the two +churches, while all the brisk pleasantness of this new, this living +world, appealed to her to go its way. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! Swerving to +the right they pulled up bravely, with steaming horses, before the door +of the far-famed Castle Inn. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! “Half an hour for +dinner, gentlemen!” + +“Now,” said Vaughan, thinking that all was well, or rather declining to +think of anything but her shy glances and the delightful present. “You +must cut my meat for me!” + +She did not reply, and he saw that her eyes went to the basket at her +feet. He guessed that she wished to avoid the expense of dining. “Or, +perhaps, you are not coming in?” he said. + +“I did not intend to do so,” she replied. “I suppose,” she continued +timidly, “that I may stay here?” + +“Certainly. You have something with you?” + +“Yes.” + +He nodded pleasantly and left her; and she remained in her seat. As she +ate, the target for many a sly glance of admiration, she was divided +between gratitude and self-reproach; now thinking of him with a +quickened heart, now taking herself to task for her weakness. The +result was that when he strode out, confident and at ease, and looked +up at her with laughing eyes, she blushed furiously—to her own +unspeakable mortification. + +Vaughan was no Lothario, and for a moment the telltale colour took him +aback. Then he told himself that at Chippenham, less than twenty miles +down the road, he was leaving her. It was absurd to suppose that, in +the short space which remained, either could be harmed. And he mounted +gaily, and masking his knowledge of her emotion with a skill which +surprised himself, he chatted pleasantly, unaware that with every word +he was stamping the impression of her face, her long eyelashes, her +graceful head, her trick of this and that, more deeply upon his memory. +While she, reassured by the same thought that they would part in an +hour—and in an hour what harm could happen?—closed her eyes and drank +the sweet draught—the sweeter for its novelty, and for the bitter which +lurked at the bottom of the cup. Meantime Sammy winked sagely at his +horses, and the Frenchman cast envious glances over his shoulders, and +Silbury Hill, Fyfield, and the soft folds of the downs swept by, and on +warm commons and southern slopes the early bees hummed above the gorse. + +Here was Chippenham at last; and the end was come. He must descend. A +hasty touch, a murmured word, a pang half-felt; she veiled her eyes. If +her colour fluttered and she trembled, why not? She had cause to be +grateful to him. And if he felt as his foot touched the ground that the +world was cold, and the prospect cheerless, why not, when he had to +face Sir Robert, and when his political embarrassments, forgotten for a +time, rose nearer and larger? + +It had often fallen to him to alight before the Angel at Chippenhan. +From boyhood he had known the wide street, in which the fairs were +held, the red Georgian houses, and the stone bridge of many arches over +the Avon. But he had never seen these things, he had never alighted +there, with less satisfaction than on this day. + +Still this was the end. He raised his hat, saluted silently, and turned +to speak to the guard. In the act he jostled a person who was +approaching to accost him. Vaughan stared. “Hallo, White!” he said. “I +was coming to see you.” + +White’s hat was in his hand. “Your servant, sir,” he said. “Your +servant, sir. I am glad to be here to meet you, Mr. Vaughan.” + +“But you didn’t expect me?” + +“No, sir, no; I came to meet Mr. Cooke, who was to arrive by this +coach. But I do not see him.” + +A light broke in upon Vaughan. “Gad! he must be the man we left behind +at Reading,” he said. “Is he a peppery chap?” + +“He might be so called, sir,” the agent answered with a smile. “I +fancied that you knew him.” + +“No. Sergeant Wathen I know; not Mr. Cooke. Any way, he’s not come, +White.” + +“All the better, sir, if I can get a message to him by the up-coach. +For he’s not needed. I am glad to say that the trouble is at an end. My +Lord Lansdowne has given up the idea of contesting the borough, and I +came over to tell Mr. Cooke, thinking that he might prefer to go on to +Bristol. He has a house at Bristol.” + +“Do you mean,” Vaughan said, “that there will be no contest?” + +“No, sir, no. Not now. And a good thing, too. Upset the town for +nothing! My lord has no chance, and Pybus, who is his lordship’s man +here, he told me himself——” + +He paused with his mouth open, and his eyes on a tall lady wearing a +veil, who, after standing a couple of minutes on the further side of +the street, was approaching the coach. To enter it she had to pass by +him, and he stared, as if he saw a ghost. “By Gosh!” he muttered under +his breath. And when, with the aid of the guard, she had taken her seat +inside, “By Gosh!” he muttered again, “if that’s not my lady—though +I’ve not seen her for ten years—I’ve the horrors!” + +He turned to Vaughan to see if he had noticed anything. But Vaughan, +without waiting for the end of his sentence, had stepped aside to tell +a helper to replace his valise on the coach. In the bustle he had noted +neither White’s emotion nor the lady. + +At this moment he returned. “I shall go on to Bristol for the night, +White,” he said. “Sir Robert is quite well?” + +“Quite well, sir, and I shall be happy to tell him of your promptness +in coming.” + +“Don’t tell him anything,” the young man said, with a flash of +peremptoriness. “I don’t want to be kept here. Do you understand, +White? I shall probably return to town to-morrow. Anyway, say nothing.” + +“Very good, sir,” White answered. “But I am sure Sir Robert would be +pleased to know that you had come down so promptly.” + +“Ah, well, you can let him know later. Good-bye, White.” + +The agent, with one eye on the young squire and one on the lady, whose +figure was visible through the small coach-window, seemed to be about +to refer to her. But he checked himself. “Good-bye, sir,” he said. “And +a pleasant journey! I’m glad to have been of service, Mr. Vaughan.” + +“Thank you, White, thank you,” the young man answered. And he swung +himself up, as the coach moved. A good-natured nod, and—Tantivy! +Tantivy! Tantivy! The helpers sprang aside, and away they went down the +hill, and over the long stone bridge, and so along the Bristol road; +but now with the shades of evening beginning to spread on the pastures +about them, and the cawing rooks, that had been abroad all day on the +uplands, streaming across the pale sky to the elms beside the river. + +But _varium et mutabile femina_. When he turned, eager to take up the +fallen thread, Clotho could not have been more cold than his neighbour, +nor Atropos with her shears more decisive. “I’ve had good news,” he +said, as he settled his coat about him. “I came down with a very +unpleasant task before me. And it is lifted from me.” + +“Indeed!” + +“So I am going on to Bristol instead of staying at Chippenham.” + +No answer. + +“It is a great relief to me,” he continued cheerfully. + +“Indeed!” She spoke in the most distant of voices. + +He raised his brows in perplexity. What had happened to her? She had +been so grateful, so much moved, a few minutes before. The colour had +fluttered in her cheek, the tear had been visible in her eye, she had +left her hand the fifth of a second in his. And now! + +Now she was determined that she would blush and smile and be kind no +more. She was grateful—God knew she was grateful, let him think what he +would. But there were limits. Her weakness, as long as she believed +that Chippenham must part them, had been pardonable. But if he had it +in his mind to attend her to Bristol, to follow her or haunt her—as she +had known foolish young cits at Clapham to haunt the more giddy of her +flock—then her mistake was clear; and his conduct, now merely +suspicious, would appear in its black reality. She hoped that he was +innocent. She hoped that his change of plan at Chippenham had been no +subterfuge; that he was not a roaring lion. But appearances were +deceitful and her own course was plain. + +It was the plainer, as she had not been blind to the respect with which +all at the Angel had greeted her companion; even White, a man of +substance, with a gold chain and seals hanging from his fob, had stood +bareheaded while he talked to him. It was plain that he was a fine +gentleman; one of those whom young persons in her rank of life must +shun. + +So he drew scarcely five words out of her in as many miles. At last, +thrice rebuffed, “I am afraid you are tired,” he said. Was it for this +that he had chosen to go on to Bristol? + +“Yes,” she answered. “I am rather tired. If you please I would prefer +not to talk.” + +He was a little huffed then, and let her be; nor did he guess, though +he was full of conjectures about her, how she hated her seeming +ingratitude. But there was nought else for it; better seem thankless +now than be worse hereafter. For she was growing frightened. She was +beginning to have more than an inkling of the road by which young +things were led to be foolish. Her ear retained the sound of his voice +though he was silent. The fashion in which he had stooped to her—though +he was looking another way now—clung to her memory. His laugh, though +he was grave now, rang for her, full of glee and good-fellowship. She +could have burst into tears. + +They stayed at Marshfield to take on the last team. And she tried to +divert her mind by watching a woman in a veil who walked up and down +beside the coach, and seemed to return her curiosity. But she tried to +little purpose, for she felt strained and weary, and more than ever +inclined to cry. Doubtless the peril through which she had passed had +shaken her. + +So that she was thankful when, after descending perilous Tog Hill, they +saw from Kingswood heights the lights of Bristol shining through the +dusk; and she knew that she was at her journey’s end. To arrive in a +strange place on the edge of night is trying to anyone. But to alight +friendless and alone, amid the bustle of a city, and to know that new +relations must be created and a new life built up—this may well raise +in the most humble and contented bosom a feeling of loneliness and +depression. And doubtless that was why Mary Smith, after evading +Vaughan with a success beyond her hopes, felt as she followed her +modest trunk through the streets that—but she bent her head to hide the +unaccustomed tears. + + + + +VI +THE PATRON OF CHIPPINGE + + +Much about the time that the “Spectator” was painting in Sir Roger the +most lovable picture of an old English squire which our gallery +contains, Cornelius Vermuyden, of a younger branch of the Vermuydens +who drained the fens, was making a fortune in the Jamaica trade. Having +made it in a dark office at Bristol, and being, like all Dutchmen, of a +sedentary turn, he proceeded to found a family, purchase a borough, +and, by steady support of Whig principles and the Protestant +succession, to earn a baronetcy in the neighbouring county of Wilts. + +Doubtless the first Vermuyden had things to contend with, and at assize +ball and sessions got but two fingers from the De Coverleys and their +long-descended dames. But he went his way stolidly, married his son +into a family of like origin—the Beckfords—and, having seen little +George II. firmly on the throne, made way for his son. + +This second Sir Cornelius rebuilt Stapylton, the house which his father +had bought from the decayed family of that name, and after living for +some ten years into the reign of Farmer George, vanished in his turn, +leaving Cornelius Robert to succeed him, Cornelius George, the elder +son, having died in his father’s lifetime. + +Sir Cornelius Robert was something after the pattern of the famous Mr. +Onslow— + +_What can Tommy Onslow do? +He can drive a chaise and two. +What can Tommy Onslow more? +He can drive a chaise and four._ + + +Yet he fitted the time, and, improving his father’s pack of +trencher-fed hounds by a strain of Mr. Warde’s blood, he hunted the +country so conscientiously that at his death a Dutch bottle might have +been set upon his table without giving rise to the slightest +reflection. He came to an end, much lamented, with the century, and Sir +Robert, fourth and present baronet, took over the estates. + +By that time, rid of the foreign prenomen, well allied by three good +marriages, and since the American war of true blue Tory leanings, and +thorough Church and King principles, the family was able to hold up its +head among the best in the south of England. There might be some who +still remembered that— + +_Saltash was a borough town +When Plymouth was a breezy down_. + + +But the property was good, the borough safe, and any time these twenty +years their owner might have franked his letters “Chippinge” had he +willed it. As it was, he passed, almost as much as Mr. Western in the +east or Sir Thomas Acland in the west, for the type of a country +gentleman. The most powerful Minister gave him his whole hand; and at +county meetings, at Salisbury or Devizes, no voice was held more +powerful, nor any man’s hint more quickly taken than Sir Robert +Vermuyden’s. + +He was a tall and very thin man, of almost noble aspect, with a nose +after the fashion of the Duke’s, and a slight stoop. In early days he +had been something of a beau, though never of the Prince’s following, +and he still dressed finely and with taste. With a smaller sense of +personal dignity, or with wider sympathies, he might have been a +happier man. But he had married too late—at forty-five; and the four +years which followed, and their sequel, had darkened the rest of his +life, drawn crow’s-feet about his eyes and peevish lines about his +mouth. Henceforth he had lived alone, nursing his pride; and the +solitude of this life—which was not without its dignity, since no word +of scandal touched it—had left him narrow and vindictive, a man just +but not over-generous, and pompous without complacency. + +The neighbourhood knew that he and Lady Sybil—he had married the +beautiful daughter of the last Earl of Portrush—had parted under +circumstances which came near to justifying divorce. Some held that he +had divorced her; but in those days an Act of Parliament was necessary, +and no such Act stood on the Statute-book. Many thought that he ought +to have divorced her. And while the people who knew that she still +lived and still plagued him were numerous, few save Isaac White were +aware that it was because his marriage had been made and marred at +Bowood—and not purely out of principle—that Sir Robert opposed the very +name of Lansdowne, and would have wasted a half of his fortune to wreck +his great neighbour’s political power. + +Not that his Tory principles were not strong. During five Parliaments +he had filled one of his own seats, and had spoken from time to time +after a dignified fashion, with formal gestures and a copious +sprinkling of classical allusions. The Liberal Toryism of Canning had +fallen below his ideal, but he had continued to sit until the betrayal +of the party by Peel and the Duke—on the Catholic Claims—drove him from +the House in disgust, and thenceforth Warren’s Hotel, his residence +when in town, saw him but seldom. He had fancied then that nothing +worse could happen; that the depths were plumbed, and that he and those +who thought with him might punish the traitor and take no harm. With +the Duke of Cumberland, the best hated man in England—which was never +tired of ridiculing his moustachios—Eldon, Wetherell, and the +ultra-Tories, he had not rested until he had seen the hated pair flung +from office; nor was any man more surprised and confounded when the +result of the work began to show itself. The Whigs, admitted to power +by this factious movement, and after an exile so long that Byron could +write of them— + +_Naught’s permanent among the human race +Except the Whigs not getting into place_ + + +—brought in no mild and harmless measure of reform, promising little +and giving nothing, such as foe and friend had alike expected; but a +measure of reform so radical that O’Connell blessed it, and Cobbett +might have fathered it: a measure which, if it passed, would sweep away +Sir Robert’s power and the power of his class, destroy his borough, and +relegate him to the common order of country squires. + +He was at first incredulous, then furious, then aghast. To him the Bill +was not only the doom of his own influence but the knell of the +Constitution. Behind it he saw red revolution and the crash of things. +Lord Grey was to him Mirabeau, Lord John was Lafayette, Brougham was +Danton; and of them and of their kind, when they had roused the +many-headed, he was sure that the end would be as the end of the +Gironde. + +He was not the less furious, not the less aghast, when the moderates of +his party pointed out that he had himself to thank for the catastrophe. +From the refusal to grant the smallest reform, from the refusal to +transfer the franchise of the rotten borough of Retford to the +unrepresented city of Birmingham—a refusal which he had urged his +members to support—the chain was complete; for in consequence of that +refusal Mr. Huskisson had left the Duke’s Cabinet. The appointment of +Mr. Fitzgerald to fill his seat had rendered the Clare election +necessary. O’Connell’s victory at the Clare election had converted Peel +and the Duke to the necessity of granting the Catholic Claims. That +conversion had alienated the ultra-Tories, and among these Sir Robert. +The opposition of the ultra-Tories had expelled Peel and the Duke from +power—which had brought in the Whigs—who had brought in the Reform +Bill. + +_Hinc illæ lacrimæ!_ For, in place of the transfer of the franchise of +one rotten borough to one large city—a reform which now to the most +bigoted seemed absurdly reasonable—here were sixty boroughs to be swept +away, and nearly fifty more to be shorn of half their strength, a +Constitution to be altered, an aristocracy to be dethroned! + +And Calne, Lord Lansdowne’s pocket borough, was spared! + +Sir Robert firmly believed that the limit had been fixed with an eye to +Calne. They who framed the Bill, sitting in wicked, detestable +confabulation, had fixed the limit of Schedule B so as to spare Calne +and Tavistock—_Arcades ambo_, Whig boroughs both. Or why did they just +escape? In the whole matter it was this, strangely enough, which +troubled him most sorely. For the loss of his own borough—if the worst +came to the worst—he could put up with it. He had no children, he had +no one to come after him except Arthur Vaughan, the great-grandson of +his grandmother. But the escape of Calne, this clear proof of the +hypocrisy of the righteous Grey, the blatant Durham, the whey-faced +Lord John, the demagogue Brougham—this injustice kept him in a state of +continual irritation. + +He was thinking of this as he paced slowly up and down the broad walk +beside the Garden Pool, at Stapylton—a solitary figure dwarfed by the +great elms. The placid surface of the pool, which mirrored the shaven +lawns beyond it and the hoary church set amidst the lawns, the silence +about him, broken only by the notes of song-birds or a faint yelp from +the distant kennels, the view over the green undulations of park and +covert—all vainly appealed to him to-day, though on summer evenings his +heart took sad and frequent leave of them. For that which threatened +him every day jostled aside for the present that which must happen one +day. The home of his fathers might be his for some years yet, but shorn +of its chief dignity, of its pride, its mastery; while Calne—Calne +would survive, to lift still higher the fortunes of those who had sold +their king and country, and betrayed their order. + +Daily a man and horse awaited the mail-coach at Chippenham that he +might have the latest news; and, seeing a footman hurrying towards him +from the house, he supposed that the mail was in. But when the man, +after crossing the long wooden bridge which spanned the pool, +approached with no diminution of speed, he remembered that it was too +early for the post; and hating to be disturbed in his solitary +reveries, he awaited the servant impatiently. + +“What it is?” he asked. + +“If you please, Sir Robert, Lady Lansdowne’s carriage is at the door.” + +Only Sir Robert’s darkening colour betrayed his astonishment. He had +made his feelings so well known that none but the most formal +civilities now passed between Stapylton and Bowood. + +“Who is it?” + +“Lady Lansdowne, Sir Robert. Her ladyship bade us say that she wishes +to see you urgently, sir.” The man, as well as the master, knew that +the visit was unusual. + +The baronet was a proud man, and he bethought him that the +drawing-rooms, seldom used and something neglected, were not in the +state in which he would wish his enemy’s wife to see them. “Where have +you put her ladyship?” he asked. + +“In the hall, Sir Robert.” + +“Very good. I will come.” + +The man hastened away over the bridge, and Sir Robert followed, more at +leisure, but still quickly. When he had passed the angle of the church +which stood in a line with the three blocks of building, connected by +porticos, which formed the house, and which, placed on a gentle +eminence, looked handsomely over the park, he saw that a carriage with +four greys ridden by postillions and attended by two outriders stood +before the main door. In the carriage, her face shaded by the large +Tuscan hat of the period, sat a young lady reading. She heard Sir +Robert’s footstep, and looked up, and in some embarrassment met his +eyes. + +He removed his hat. “It is Lady Louisa, is it not?” he said, looking +gravely at her. + +“Yes,” she said; and she smiled prettily at him. + +“Will you not go into the house?” + +“Thank you,” she replied, with a faint blush; “I think my mother wishes +to see you alone, Sir Robert.” + +“Very good.” And with a bow, cold but perfectly courteous, he turned +and passed up the broad, shallow steps, which were of the same +time-tinted lichen-covered stone as the rest of the building. Mapp, the +butler, who had been looking out for him, opened the door, and he +entered the hall. + +In his heart, which was secretly perturbed, was room for the wish that +he had been found in other than the high-buttoned gaiters and breeches +of his country life. But he suffered no sign of that or of his more +serious misgivings to appear, as he advanced to greet the still +beautiful woman, who sat daintily warming one sandalled foot at the red +embers on the hearth. She was far from being at ease herself. Warnings +which her husband had addressed to her at parting recurred and +disturbed her. But it is seldom that a woman of the world betrays her +feelings, and her manner was perfect as he bent low over her hand. + +“It is long,” she said gently, “much longer than I like to remember, +Sir Robert, since we met.” + +“It is a long time,” he answered gravely; and when she had reseated +herself he sat down opposite her. + +“It is an age,” she said slowly; and she looked round the hall, with +its panelled walls, its deep window-seats, and its panoply of fox-masks +and antlers, as if she recalled the past, “It is an age,” she repeated. +“Politics are sad dividers of friends.” + +“I fear,” he replied, in a tone as cold as courtesy permitted, “that +they are about to be greater dividers.” + +She looked at him quickly, with appeal in her eyes. “And yet,” she +said, “we saw more of you once.” + +“Yes.” He was wondering much, behind the mask of his civility, what had +drawn her hither. He knew that it could be no light, no passing matter +which had brought her over thirteen miles of Wiltshire roads to call +upon a man with whom intercourse had been limited, for years past, to a +few annual words, a formal invitation as formally declined, a measured +salutation at race or ball. She must have a motive, and a strong one. +It was only the day before that he had learned that Lord Lansdowne +meant to drop his foolish opposition at Chippinge; was it possible that +she was here to make a favour of this? And perhaps a bargain? If that +were her errand, and my lord had sent her, thinking to make refusal +less easy, Sir Robert felt that he would know how to answer. He waited. + + + + +VII +THE WINDS OF AUTUMN + + +Lady Lansdowne looked pensively at the tapering sandal which she held +forward to catch the heat. “Time passes so very, very quickly,” she +said with a sigh. + +“With some,” Sir Robert answered. “With others,” he bowed, “it stands +still.” + +His gallantry did not deceive her. She knew it for the salute which +duellists exchange before the fray, and she saw that if she would do +anything she must place herself within his guard. She looked at him +with sudden frankness. “I want you to bear with me for a few minutes, +Sir Robert,” she said in a tone of appeal. “I want you to remember that +we were once friends, and, for the sake of old days, to believe that I +am here to play a friend’s part. You won’t answer me? Very well. I do +not ask you to answer me.” She pointed to the space above the mantel. +“The portrait which used to hang there?” she said. “Where is it? What +have you done with it? But there, I said I would not ask, and I am +asking!” + +“And I will answer!” he replied. This was the last, the very last thing +for which he had looked; but he would show her that he was not to be +overridden. “I will tell you,” he repeated. “Lady Lansdowne, I have +destroyed it.” + +“I do not blame you,” she rejoined. “It was yours to do with as you +would. But the original—no, Sir Robert,” she said, staying him +intrepidly—she had taken the water now, and must swim—“you shall not +frighten me! She was, she is your wife. But not yours, not your +property to do with as you will, in the sense in which that picture—but +there, I am blaming where I should entreat. I——” + +He stayed her by a peremptory gesture. “Are you here—from her?” he +asked huskily. + +“I am not.” + +“She knows?” + +“No, Sir Robert, she does not.” + +“Then why,”—there was pain, real pain mingled with the indignation in +his tone—“why, in God’s name, Madam, have you come?” + +She looked at him with pitying eyes. “Because,” she said, “so many +years have passed, and if I do not say a word now I shall never say it. +And because—there is still time, but no more than time.” + +He looked at her fixedly. “You have another reason,” he said. “What is +it?” + +“I saw her yesterday. I was in Chippenham when the Bristol coach +passed, and I saw her face for an instant at the window.” + +He breathed more quickly; it was evident that the news touched him +home. But he would not blench nor lower his eyes. “Well?” he said. + +“I saw her for a few seconds only, and she did not see me. And of +course—I did not speak to her. But I knew her face, though she was +changed.” + +“And because”—his voice was harsh—“you saw her for a few minutes at a +window, you come to me?” + +“No, but because her face called up the old times. And because we are +all growing older. And because she was—not guilty.” + +He started. This was getting within his guard with a vengeance. “Not +guilty?” he cried in a tone of extreme anger. And he rose. But as she +did not move he sat down again. + +“No,” she replied firmly. “She was not guilty.” + +His face was deeply red. For a moment he looked at her as if he would +not answer her, or, if he answered, would bid her leave his house. +Then, “If she had been,” he said grimly, “guilty, Madam, in the sense +in which you use the word, guilty of the worst, she had ceased to be my +wife these fifteen years, she had ceased to bear my name, ceased to be +the curse of my life!” + +“Oh, no, no!” + +“It is yes, yes!” And his face was dark. “But as it was, she was guilty +enough! For years”—he spoke more rapidly as his passion grew—“she made +her name a byword and dragged mine in the dirt. She made me a +laughing-stock and herself a scandal. She disobeyed me—but what was her +whole life with me, Lady Lansdowne, but one long disobedience? When she +published that light, that foolish book, and dedicated it to—to that +person—a book which no modest wife should have written, was not her +main motive to harass and degrade me? Me, her husband? While we were +together was not her conduct from the first one long defiance, one long +harassment of me? Did a day pass in which she did not humiliate me by a +hundred tricks, belittle me by a hundred slights, ape me before those +whom she should not have stooped to know, invite in a thousand ways the +applause of the fops she drew round her? And when”—he rose, and paced +the room—“when, tried beyond patience by what I heard, I sent to her at +Florence and bade her return to me, and cease to make herself a scandal +with that person, or my house should no longer be her home, she +disobeyed me flagrantly, wilfully, and at a price she knew! She went +out of her way to follow him to Rome, she flaunted herself in his +company, ay, and flaunted herself in such guise as no Englishwoman had +been known to wear before! And after that—after that——” + +He stopped, proud as he was, mastered by his feelings; she had got +within his guard indeed. For a while he could not go on. And she, +picturing the old days which his passionate words brought back, days +when her children had been infants, saw, as it had been yesterday, the +young bride, beautiful as a rosebud and wild and skittish as an Irish +colt—and the husband staid, dignified, middle-aged, as little in +sympathy with his captive’s random acts and flighty words as if he had +spoken another tongue. + +Thus yoked, and resisting the lightest rein, the young wife had shown +herself capable of an infinity of folly. Egged on by the plaudits of a +circle of admirers, she had now made her husband ridiculous by childish +familiarities: and again, when he found fault with these, by airs of +public offence, which covered him with derision. But beauty’s sins are +soon forgiven; and fretting and fuming, and leading a wretched life, he +had yet borne with her, until something which she chose to call a +passion took possession of her. “The Giaour” and “The Corsair” were all +the rage that year; and with the publicity with which she did +everything she flung herself at the head of her soul’s affinity; a +famous person, half poet, half dandy, who was staying at Bowood. + +The world which knew her decided that the affair was more worthy of +laughter than of censure, and laughed immoderately. But to the +husband—the humour of husbands is undeveloped—it was terrible. She +wrote verses to the gentleman, and he to her; and she published, with +ingenuous pride, the one and the other. Possibly this or the laughter +determined the admirer. He fled, playing the innocent Æneas; and her +lamentations, crystallising in the shape of a silly romance which made +shop-girls weep and great ladies laugh, caused a separation between the +husband and wife. Before this had lasted many months the illness of +their only child brought them together again; and when, a little later, +the doctors advised a southern climate, Sir Robert reluctantly +entrusted the girl to her. She went abroad with the child, and the +parents never met again. + +Lady Lansdowne, recalling the story, could have laughed with her mind +and wept with her heart; scenes so absurd under the leafy shades of +Bowood or Lacock jostled the tragedy; and the ludicrous—with the +husband an unwilling actor in it—so completely relieved the pathetic! +But her bent towards laughter was short. Sir Robert, unable to bear her +eyes, had turned away; and she must say something. + +“Think,” she said gently, “how young she was!” + +“I have thought of it a thousand times!” he retorted. “Do you suppose,” +turning on her with harshness, “that there is a day on which I do not +think of it!” + +“So young!” + +“She had been three years a mother!” + +“For the dead child’s sake, then,” she pleaded with him, “if not for +hers.” + +“Lady Lansdowne!” There were both anger and pain in his voice as he +halted and stood before her. “Why do you come to me? Why do you trouble +me? Why? Is it because you feel yourself—responsible? Because you know, +because you feel, that but for you my home had not been left to me +desolate? Nor a foolish life been ruined?” + +“God forbid!” she said solemnly. And in her turn she rose in agitation; +moved for once out of the gracious ease and self-possession of her +life, so that in the contrast there was something unexpected and +touching. “God forbid!” she repeated. “But because I feel that I might +have done more. Because I feel that a word from me might have checked +her, and it was not spoken. True, I was young, and it might have made +things worse—I do not know. But when I saw her face at the window +yesterday—and she was changed, Sir Robert—I felt that I might have been +in her place, and she in mine!” Her voice trembled. “I might have been +lonely, childless, growing old; and alone! Or again, if I had done +something, if I had spoken as I would have another speak, were the case +my girl’s, she might have been as I am! Now,” she added tremulously, +“you know why I came. Why I plead for her! In our world we grow hard, +very hard; but there are things which touch us still, and her face +touched me yesterday—I remembered what she was.” She paused a moment, +and then, “After long years,” she continued softly, “it cannot be hard +to forgive; and there is still time. She did nothing that need close +your door, and what she did is forgotten. Grant that she was foolish, +grant that she was wild, indiscreet, what you will—she is alone now, +alone and growing old, Sir Robert, and if not for her sake, for the +sake of your dead child——” + +He stopped her by a peremptory gesture, but for the moment he seemed +unable to speak. At length, “You touch the wrong chord,” he said +hoarsely. “It is for the sake of my dead child I shall never, never +forgive her! She knew that I loved it. She knew that it was all to me. +It grew worse! Did she tell me? It was in danger; did she warn me? No! +But when I heard of her disobedience, of her folly, of things which +made her a byword, and I bade her return, or my house should no longer +be her home, then, then she flung the news of the child’s death at me, +and rejoiced that she had it to fling. Had I gone out then and found +her in the midst of her wicked gaiety, God knows what I should have +done! I did try to go. But the Hundred Days had begun, I had to return. +Had I gone, and learned that in her mad infatuation she had neglected +the child, left it to servants, let it fade, I think—I think, Madam, I +should have killed her!” + +Lady Lansdowne raised her hands. “Hush! Hush!” she said. + +“I loved the child. Therefore she was glad when it died, glad that she +had the power to wound me. Its death was no more to her than a weapon +with which to punish me! There was a tone in her letter—I have it +still—which betrayed that. And, therefore—therefore, for the child’s +sake, I will never forgive her!” + +“I am sorry,” she murmured in a voice which acknowledged defeat. “I am +very sorry.” + +He stood for a moment gazing at the blank space above the fireplace; +his head sunk, his shoulders brought forward. He looked years older +than the man who had walked under the elms. At length he made an effort +to speak in his usual tone. “Yes,” he said, “it is a sorry business.” + +“And I,” she said slowly, “can do nothing.” + +“Nothing,” he replied. “Time will cure this, and all things.” + +“You are sure that there is no mistake?” she pleaded. “That you are not +judging her harshly?” + +“There is no mistake.” + +Then she saw the hopelessness of argument and held out her hand. + +“Forgive me,” she said simply. “I have given you pain, and for nothing. +But the old days were so strong upon me—after I saw her—that I could +not but come. Think of me at least as a friend, and forgive me.” + +He bowed low over her hand, but he gave her no assurance. And seeing +that he was mastering his agitation, and fearing that if he had leisure +to think he might resent her interference, she wasted no time in +adieux. She glanced round the well-remembered hall—the hall once smart, +now shabby—in which she had seen the flighty girl play many a mad +prank. Then she turned sorrowfully to the door, more than suspecting +that she would never pass through it again. + +He had rung the bell, and Mapp, the butler, and the two men were in +attendance. But he handed her to the carriage himself, and placed her +in it with old-fashioned courtesy, and with the same scrupulous +observance stood bareheaded until it moved away. None the less, his +face by its set expression betrayed the nature of the interview; and +the carriage had scarcely swept clear of the grounds and entered the +park when Lady Louisa turned to her mother. + +“Was he very angry?” she asked, eager to be instructed in the mysteries +of that life which she was entering. + +Lady Lansdowne essayed to snub her. “My dear,” she said, “it is not a +fit subject for you.” + +“Still, mother dear, you might tell me. You told me something, and it +is not fair to turn yourself into Mrs. Fairchild in a moment. Besides, +while you were with him I came on a passage so beautiful, and so pat, +it almost made me cry.” + +“My dear, don’t say ‘pat,’ say ‘apposite.’” + +“Then apposite, mother,” Lady Louisa answered. “Do you read it. There +it is.” + +Lady Lansdowne sniffed, but suffered the book to be put into her hand. +Lady Louisa pointed with enthusiasm to a line. “Is it a case like that, +mother?” she asked eagerly. + +_But never either found another +To free the hollow heart from paining. +They stood aloof, the scars remaining, +Like cliffs which had been rent asunder. +A dreary sea now flows between, +But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, +Shall wholly do away, I ween, +The marks of that which once hath been_. + + +The mother handed the book back to the daughter without looking at her. +“No,” she said; “I don’t think it is a case like that.” + +But a moment later she wiped her eyes furtively, and then she told her +daughter more, it is to be feared, than Mrs. Fairchild would have +approved. + +* * * * * + +Sir Robert, when they were gone, went heavily to the library, a +panelled room looking to the back, in which it was his custom to sit. +For many years he had passed some hours of every day, when he was at +home, in that room; and until now it had never occurred to his mind +that it was dull or shabby. But it was old Mapp’s habit to lower the +blinds for his master’s after-luncheon nap, and they were still down; +and the half light which filtered in was like the sheet which rather +accentuates than hides the sharp features of the dead. The faded +engravings and the calf-bound books which masked the walls, the +escritoire, handsome and massive, but stained with ink and strewn with +dog’s eared accounts, the leathern-covered chair long worn out of shape +by his weight, the table beside it with yesterday’s “Standard,” two or +three volumes of the “Anti-Jacobin,” and the “Quarterly,” a month old +and dusty—all to his opened eyes wore a changed aspect. They spoke of +the slow decay of years, unchecked by a woman’s eye, a woman’s hand. +They told of the slow degradation of his lonely life. They indicated a +like change in himself. + +He stood a few moments on the hearth, looking about him with a shocked, +pained face. The months and the years had passed irrevocably, while he +sat in that chair, poring in a kind of lethargy over those books, +working industriously at those accounts. Asked, he had answered that he +was growing old, and grown old. But he had never for a moment +comprehended, as he comprehended now, that he was old. He had never +measured the difference between this and that; between those days +troubled by a hundred annoyances, vexations, cares, when in spite of +all he had lived, and these days of sullen stagnancy and mere +vegetation. + +He found the room, he found the reflection, intolerable. And he went +out, took with an unsteady hand his garden hat and returned to that +broad walk under the elms beside the pool which was his favourite +lounge. Perhaps he fancied that the wonted scene would deaden the pain +of memory and restore him to his wonted placidity. But his thoughts had +been too violently broken. His hands shook, hid lip trembled with the +tearless passion of later life. And when his agitation began to die +down and something like calmness supervened, this did but enable him to +feel more keenly the pangs, not of remorse, but of regret; of bitter, +unavailing regret for all the things of which the woman who had lain on +his bosom had robbed his life. + +Stapylton stood in a side valley projected among the low green hills +which fringe the vale of the Wiltshire Avon. From where he stood all +within sight, the gentle downs above the house, the arable land which +fringed them, the rich pastures below—all, mill and smithy and inn, +snug farm and thatched cottage, called him lord. Nay, from the south +end of the pool, where a wicket gave entrance to the park—whence also a +side view of the treble front of the house could be obtained—the spire +of Chippinge church was visible, rising from its ridge in the Avon +alley; and to the base of that spire all was his, all had been his +father’s and his grandfather’s. But not an acre, not a rood, would be +his child’s. + +This was no new thought. It was a thought that had saddened him on many +and many a summer evening when the shadow of the elms lay far across +the sward, and the silence of the stately house, the pale water, the +far-stretching farms whispered of the passing of the generations, of +the passage of time, of the inevitable end. Where he walked his father +had walked; and soon he would go whither his father had gone. And the +heir would walk where he walked, listen to the same twilight +carollings, hear the first hoot of the distant owl. + +_Cedes coemptis saltibus, el domo +Villaque, flavus quam Tiberis lavit_, + +_Cedes, et exstructis in altum_ + +_Divitiis potietur heres_. + + +But no heir of his blood. No son of his. No man of the Vermuyden name. +And for that he had to thank her. + +It was this which to-day gave the old thought new poignancy. For that +he had to thank her. Truly, in the words wrung from him by the +bitterness of his feelings, she had left his house unto him desolate. +If even the little girl had lived, the child would have succeeded; and +that had been something, that had been much. But the child was dead; +and in his heart he laid her death at his wife’s door. And a stranger, +or one in essentials a stranger, the descendant by a second marriage of +his grandmother, Katherine Beckford, was the heir. + +Presently the young man would succeed and the old chattels would be +swept away to cottage or lumber-room. The old horses would be shot, the +old dogs would be hanged, the old servants discharged, perhaps the very +trees under which he walked and which he loved would be cut down. The +house, the stables, the kennels, all but the cellars would be +refurnished; and in the bustle and glitter of the new _régime_, begun +in the sunshine, the twilight of his own latter days would be forgotten +in a month. + +_We die and are forgotten, ’tis Heaven’s decree, +And thus the lot of others will be the lot of me!_ + + +Sunday by Sunday he had read those lines on the grave of a kinsman, a +man whom he had known. He had often repeated them, he could as soon +forget them as his prayers. To-day the old memories and the old times, +which Lady Lansdowne had made to rise from the dead, gave them a new +meaning and a new bitterness. + + + + +VIII +A SAD MISADVENTURE + + +Arthur Vaughan was not a little relieved by the tidings which Isaac +White had conveyed to him at Chippenham. The news freed him from a duty +which did not appear the less distasteful because it was no longer +inevitable. To cast against Sir Robert the vote which he owed to Sir +Robert must have exposed him to odium, whatever the matter at stake. +But at this election, at which the issue was, aye or no, was the +borough to be swept away or not, to vote “aye” was an act from which +the least sensitive must have shrunk, and which the most honest must +have performed with reluctance. Add the extreme exasperation of public +feeling, of which every day and every hour brought to light the most +glaring proofs, and he had been fortunate indeed if he had not incurred +some general blame as well as the utmost weight of Sir Robert’s +displeasure. + +He was spared all this, and he was thankful. Yet, when he rose on the +morning after his arrival at Bristol, his heart was not as light as a +feather. On the contrary, as he looked from the window of the White +Lion into the bustle of Broad Street, he yawned dolefully; admitting +that life, and particularly the prospect before him, of an immediate +return to London, was dull. Why go back? Why stay here? Why do +anything? The Woolsack? Bah! The Cabinet? Pooh! They were but gaudy +baits for the shallow and the hard-hearted. Moreover, they were so +distant, so unattainable, that pursuit of them seemed the merest +moonshine; more especially on this fine April morning, made for nothing +but a coach ride through an enchanted country, by the side of the +sweetest face, the brightest eyes, the most ravishing figure, the +prettiest bonnet that ever tamed the gruffest of coachmen. + +Heigh-ho! If it were all to do over again how happy would he be! How +happy had he been, and not known it, the previous morning! It was +pitiful to think of him in his ignorance, with that day, that blissful +day, before him. + +Well, it was over. And he must return to town. For he would play no +foolish tricks. The girl was not in his rank in life, and he could not +follow her without injury to her. He was no preacher, and he had lived +for years among men whose lives, if not worse than the lives of their +descendants, wore no disguise; who, if they did not sin more, sinned +more openly. But he had a heart, and to mar an innocent life for his +pleasure had shocked him; even if the girl’s modesty and self-respect, +disclosed by a hundred small things, had not made the notion of +wronging her abhorrent. None the less he took his breakfast in a kind +of dream, whispered “Mary!” three times in different tones, and, being +suddenly accosted by the waiter, was irritable. + +With all this he was wise enough to know his own weakness, and that the +sooner he was out of Bristol the better. He sent to the Bush office to +book a place by the midday coach to town; and then only, when he had +taken the irrevocable step, he put on his hat to kill the intervening +time in Bristol. + +Unfortunately, as he crossed the hall, intending to walk towards +Clifton, he heard himself named; and turning, he saw that the speaker +was the lady in black, and wearing a veil, whom he had remarked walking +up and down beside the coach, while the horses were changing at +Marshfield. + +“Mr. Vaughan?” she said. + +He raised his hat, much surprised. “Yes,” he answered. He fancied that +she was inspecting him very closely through her veil. “I am Mr. +Vaughan.” + +“Pardon me,” she continued—her voice was refined and low—“but they gave +me your name at the office. I have something which belongs to the lady +who travelled with you yesterday, and I am anxious to restore it.” + +He blushed; nor could he have repressed the blush if his life had hung +upon it. “Indeed?” he murmured. His confusion did not permit him to add +another word. + +“Doubtless it was left in the coach,” the lady explained, “and was +taken to my room with my luggage. Unfortunately I am leaving Bristol at +once, within a few minutes, and I cannot myself return it. I shall be +much obliged if you will see that she has it safely.” + +She spoke as if the thing were a matter of course. But Vaughan had now +recovered himself. “I would with pleasure,” he said; “but I am myself +leaving Bristol at midday, and I really do not know how—how I can do +it.” + +“Then perhaps you will arrange the matter,” the lady replied in a tone +of displeasure. “I have sent the parcel to your room and I have not +time to regain it. I must go at once. There is my maid! Good morning!” +And with a distant bow she glided from him, and disappeared through the +nearest doorway. + +He stood where she had left him, looking after her in bewilderment. For +one thing he was sure that she was a stranger, and yet she had +addressed him in the tone of one who had a right to be obeyed. Then how +odd it was! What a coincidence! He had made up his mind to end the +matter, to go and walk the Hot Wells like a good boy; and this happened +and tempted him! + +Yes, tempted him. + +He would—— But he could not tell what he would do until he had seen if +the parcel were really in his room. The parcel! The mere thought that +it was hers sent a foolish thrill through him. He would go and see, and +then—— + +But he was interrupted. There were people standing or sitting round the +hall, a low-ceiled, dark wainscoted room, with sheaves of way-bills +hung against the square pillars, and theatre notices flanking the bar +window. As he turned to seek his rooms a hand gripped his arm and +twitched him round, and he met the grinning face of a man in his old +regiment, Bob Flixton, commonly called the Honourable Bob. + +“So I’ve caught you, my lad,” said he. “This is mighty fine. Veiled +ladies, eh? Oh, fie! fie!” + +Vaughan, innocent as he was, was a little put out. But he answered +good-humouredly, “What brought you here, Flixton?” + +“Ay, just so! Very unlucky, ain’t it?” grinning. “Fear I’ll cut you +out, eh? You’re a neat artist, I must say.” + +“I don’t know the good lady from Eve!” + +“Tell that to—— But here, let me make you known to Brereton,” hauling +him towards a gentleman who was seated in one of the window recesses. +“Old West Indian man, in charge of the recruiting district, and a good +fellow, but a bit of a saint! Colonel,” he rattled on, as they joined +the gentleman, “here’s Vaughan, once of ours, become a counsellor, and +going to be Lord Chancellor. As to the veiled lady, mum, sir, mum!” +with an exaggerated wink. + +Vaughan laughed. It was impossible to resist Bob’s impudent +good-humour. He was a fair young man, short, stout, and inclining to +baldness, with a loud, hearty voice, and a manner which made those who +did not know him for a peer’s son, think of a domestic fowl with a high +opinion of itself. He was for ever damning this and praising that with +unflagging decision; a man with whom it was impossible to be +displeased, and in whom it was next to impossible not to believe. Yet +at the mess-table it was whispered that he did not play his best when +the pool was large; nor had he ever seen service, save in the lists of +love, where his reputation stood high. + +His companion, Vaughan saw, was of a different stamp. He was tall and +lean, with the air and carriage of a soldier, but with features of a +refined and melancholy cast, and with a brooding sadness in his eyes +which could not escape the most casual observer. He was somewhat +sallow, the result of the West Indian climate, and counted twenty years +more than Flixton, for whom his gentle and quiet manner formed an +admirable foil. He greeted Vaughan courteously, and the Honourable Bob +forced our hero into a seat beside them. + +“That’s snug!” he said. “And now mum’s the word, Vaughan. We’ll not ask +you what you’re doing here among the nigger-nabobs. It’s clear enough.” + +Vaughan explained that the veiled lady was a stranger who had come down +in the coach with him, and that, for himself, it was election business +which had brought him. + +“Old Vermuyden?” returned the Honourable Bob. “To be sure! Man you’ve +expectations from! Good old fellow, too. I know him. Go and see him one +of these days. Gad, Colonel, if old Sir Robert heard your views he’d +die on the spot! D——n the Bill, he’d say! And I say it too!” + +“But afterwards?” Brereton returned, drawing Vaughan into the argument +by a courteous gesture. “Consider the consequences, my dear fellow, if +the Bill does not pass.” + +“Oh, hang the consequences!” + +“You can’t,” drily. “You can hang men—we’ve been too fond of hanging +them—but not consequences! Look at the state of the country; everywhere +you will find excitement, and dangerous excitement. Cobbett’s writings +have roused the South; the papers are full of rioters and special +commission to try them! Not a farmer can sleep for thinking of his +stacks, nor a farmer’s wife for thinking of her husband. Then for the +North; look at Birmingham and Manchester and Glasgow, with their +Political Unions preaching no taxation without representation. Or, +nearer home, look at Bristol here, ready to drown the Corporation, and +Wetherell in particular, in the Float! Then, if that is the state of +things while they still expect the Bill to pass, what will be the +position if they learn it is not to pass? No, no! You may shrug your +shoulders, but the three days in Paris will be nothing to it.” + +“What I say is, shoot!” Flixton answered hotly. “Shoot! Shoot! Put ’em +down! Put an end to it! Show ’em their places! What do a lot of d——d +shopkeepers and peasants know about the Bill? Ride ’em down! Give ’em a +taste of the Float themselves! I’ll answer for it a troop of the 14th +would soon bring the Bristol rabble to their senses!” + +“I should be sorry to see it tried,” Brereton answered, shaking his +head. “They took that line in France last July, and you know the +result. You’ll agree with me, Mr. Vaughan, that where Marmont failed we +are not likely to succeed. The more as his failure is known. The three +days of July are known.” + +“Ay, by the Lord,” the Honourable Bob cried. “The revolution in France +bred the whole of this trouble!” + +“The mob there won, and the mob here know it. In my opinion,” Brereton +continued, “conciliation is our only card, if we do not want to see a +revolution.” + +“Hang your conciliation! Shoot, I say!” + +“What do you think, Mr. Vaughan?” + +“I think with you, Colonel Brereton,” Vaughan answered, “that the only +way to avoid such a crisis as has befallen France is to pass the Bill, +and to set the Constitution on a wider basis by enlisting as large a +number as possible in its defence.” + +“Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” from Flixton. + +“On the other hand,” Vaughan continued, “I would put down the +beginnings of disorder with a strong hand. I would allow no +intimidation, no violence. The Bill should be passed by argument.” + +“Argument? Why, d——n me, intimidation is your argument!” the Honourable +Bob struck in, with more acuteness than he commonly evinced. “Pass the +Bill or we’ll loose the dog! At ’em, Mob, good dog! At ’em! That’s your +argument!” triumphantly. “But I’ll be back in a minute.” And he left +them. + +Vaughan laughed. Brereton, however, seemed to be unable to take the +matter lightly. “Do you really mean, Mr. Vaughan,” he said, “that if +there were trouble, here, for instance, you would not hesitate to give +the order to fire?” + +“Certainly, sir, if it could not be put down with the cold steel.” + +The Colonel shook his head despondently. “I don’t think I could,” he +said. “I don’t think I could. You have not seen war, and I have. And it +is a fearful thing. Bad enough abroad, infinitely worse here. The first +shot—think, Mr. Vaughan, of what it might be the beginning! What +hundreds and thousands of lives might hang upon it! How many scores of +innocent men shot down, of daughters made fatherless!” He shuddered. +“And to give such an order on your own responsibility, when the first +volley might be the signal for a civil war, and twenty-four hours might +see a dozen counties in a blaze! It is horrible to think of! Too +horrible! It’s too much for one man’s shoulders! Flixton would do it—he +sees no farther than his nose! But you and I, Mr. Vaughan—and on one’s +own judgment, which might be utterly, fatally wrong! My God, no!” + +“Yet there must be a point,” Vaughan replied, “at which such an order +becomes necessary; becomes mercy!” + +“Ay,” Brereton answered eagerly; “but who is to say when that point is +reached; and that peaceful methods can do no more? Or, granted that +they can do no more, that provocation once given, your force is +sufficient to prevent a massacre! A massacre in such a place as this!” + +Vaughan saw that the idea had taken possession of the other’s mind, +and, aware that he had distinguished himself more than once on foreign +service, he wondered. It was not his affair, however; and “Let us hope +that the occasion may not arise,” he said politely. + +“God grant it!” Brereton replied. And then again, to himself and more +fervently, “God grant it!” he muttered. The shadow lay darker on his +face. + +Vaughan might have wondered more, if Flixton had not returned at that +moment and overwhelmed him with importunities to dine with him the next +evening. “Gage and Congreve of the 14th are coming from Gloucester,” he +said, “and Codrington and two or three yeomanry chaps. You must come. +If you don’t, I’ll quarrel with you and call you out! It’ll do you good +after the musty, fusty, goody-goody life you’ve been leading. +Brereton’s coming, and we’ll drink King Billy till we’re blind!” + +Vaughan hesitated. He had taken his place on the coach, but—but after +all there was that parcel. He must do something about it. It seemed to +be his fate to be tempted, yet—what nonsense that was! Why should he +not stay in Bristol if he pleased? + +“You’re very good,” he said at last. “I’ll stay.” + +Yet on his way to his room he paused, half-minded to go. But he was +ashamed to change his mind again, and he strode on, opened his door, +and saw the parcel, a neat little affair, laid on the table. + +It bore in a clear handwriting the address which he had seen on the +basket at Mary Smith’s feet. But, possibly because an hour of the +Honourable Bob’s company had brushed the bloom from his fancy, it moved +him little. He looked at it with something like indifference, felt no +inclination to kiss it, and smiled at his past folly as he took it up +and set off to return it to its owner. He had exaggerated the affair +and his feelings; he had made much out of little, and a romance out of +a chance encounter. He could smile now at that which had moved him +yesterday. Certainly: + +_Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart_, + +_’Tis woman’s whole existence; man may range_ + +_The Court, camp, Church, the vessel and the mart_, + +_Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange_ + +_Pride, fame, ambition to fill up his heart_. + + +And the Honourable Bob, with his breezy self-assertion, had brought +this home to him and, with a puff of everyday life, had blown the +fantasy away. + +He was still under this impression when he reached Queen’s Square, once +the pride of Bristol, and still, in 1831, a place handsome and well +inhabited. Uniformly and substantially built, on a site surrounded on +three sides by deep water, it lay, indeed, rather over-near the quays, +of which, and of the basins, it enjoyed a view through several +openings. But in the reign of William IV. merchants were less averse +from living beside their work than they are now. The master’s eye was +still in repute, and though many of the richest citizens had migrated +to Clifton, and the neighbouring Assembly Rooms in Prince’s Street had +been turned into a theatre, the spacious square, with its wide lawn, +its lofty and umbrageous elms, its colony of rooks, and, last of all, +its fine statue of the Glorious and Immortal Memory, was still the +abode of many respectable people. In one corner stood the Mansion +House; a little further along the same side the Custom House; and a +third public department, the Excise, also had offices here. + +The Cathedral and the Bishop’s Palace, on College Green, stood, as the +crow flies, scarce a bow-shot from the Square; on which they looked +down from the westward, as the heights of Redcliffe looked down on it +from the east. But marsh as well as water divided the Square from these +respectable neighbours; nor, it must be owned, was this the only +drawback. The centre of the city’s life, but isolated on three sides by +water, the Square was as easily reached from the worse as from the +better quarters, and owing to the proximity of the Welsh Back, a +coasting quay frequented by the roughest class, it was liable in times +of excitement to abrupt and boisterous inroads. + +Vaughan entered the Square by Queen Charlotte Street, and had traversed +one half of its width when his nonchalance failed him. Under the elms, +in the corner which he was approaching, were a dozen children. They +were at play, and overlooking them from a bench, with their backs to +him, sat two young persons, the one in that mid-stage between childhood +and womanhood when the eyes are at their sharpest and the waist at its +thickest, the other, Mary Smith. + +The colour rose to his brow, and to his surprise he found that he was +not indifferent. Nor was the discovery that the back of her head and an +inch of the nape of her neck had this effect upon him the worst. He had +to ask himself what, if he was not indifferent, he was doing there, +sneaking on the skirts of a ladies’ school. What were his intentions, +and what his aim? For to healthy minds there is something distasteful +in the notion of an intrigue connected, ever so remotely, with a girls’ +school. Nor are conquests gained on that scene laurels of which even a +Lothario is over-proud. If Flixton saw him, or some others of the +gallant Fourteenth! + +And yet, in the teeth of all this, and under the eyes of all Queen’s +Square, he must do his errand. And sheepish within, brazen without, he +advanced and stood beside her. She heard his step, and, unsuspicious as +the youngest of her flock, looked up to see who came—looked, and saw +him standing within a yard of her, with the sunshine falling through +the leaves on his wavy, fair hair. For the twentieth part of a second +he fancied a glint of glad surprise in her eyes. Then, if anything +could have punished him, it was the sight of her confusion; it was the +blush of distress which covered her face as she rose to her feet. + +Oh, cruel! He had pursued her, when to pursue was an insult! He had +followed her when he should have known that in her position a breath of +scandal was ruin! And oh, the round eyes of the round-faced child +beside her! + +“I must apologise,” he murmured humbly, “but I am not trespassing upon +you without a cause. I—I think that this is yours.” And rather lamely, +for the distress in her face troubled him, he held out the parcel. + +She put her hand behind her, and as stiffly as Miss Sibson—of the +Queen’s Square Academy for Young Ladies of the Genteel and Professional +Classes—could have desired. “I do not understand, sir,” she said. She +was pale and red by turns, as the round eyes saw. + +“You left this in the coach.” + +“I beg your pardon?” + +“You left this in the coach,” he repeated, turning very red himself. +Was it possible that she meant to repudiate her own property because he +brought it? “It is yours, is it not?” + +“No.” + +“It is not!” in incredulous astonishment. + +“No.” + +“But I am sure it is,” he persisted. Confound it, this was a little +overdoing modesty! He had no desire to eat the girl! “You left it +inside the coach, and it has your address upon it. See!” And he tried +to place it in her hands. + +But she drew back with a look of reprobation of which he would not have +believed her eyes capable. “It is not mine, sir,” she said. “Be good +enough to leave us!” And then, drawing herself up, mild creature as she +was, “You are intruding, sir,” she said. + +Now, if Vaughan had really been guilty of approaching her upon a +feigned pretext, he had certainly retired on that with his tail between +his legs. But being innocent, and both incredulous and angry, he stood +his ground, and his eyes gave back some of the reproach which hers +darted. + +“I am either mad or it is yours,” he said stubbornly, heedless of the +ring of staring children who, ceasing to play, had gathered round them. +“It bears your name and address, and it was left in the coach by which +you travelled yesterday. I think, Miss Smith, you will be sorry +afterwards if you do not take it.” + +She fancied that his words imported a bribe; and in despair of ridding +herself of him, or in terror of the tale which the children would tell, +she took her courage in both hands. “You say that it is mine?” she +said, trembling visibly. + +“Certainly I do,” he answered. And again he held it out to her. + +But she did not take it. Instead, “Then be good enough to follow me,” +she replied, with something of the prim dignity of the school-mistress. +“Miss Cooke, will you collect the children and bring them into the +house?” + +And, avoiding his eyes, she led the way across the road to the door of +one of the houses. He followed, but reluctantly, and after a moment of +hesitation. He detested the scene which he now foresaw, and bitterly +regretted that he had ever set foot inside Queen’s Square. To be +suspected of thrusting an intrigue upon a little schoolmistress, to be +dragged, with a pack of staring, chattering children in his train, +before some grim-faced duenna—he, a man of years and affairs, with whom +the Chancellor of England did not scorn to speak on equal terms! It was +hateful; it was an intolerable position. Yet to turn back, to say that +he would not go, was to acknowledge himself guilty. He wished—he wished +to heaven that he had never seen the girl. Or at least that he had had +the courage, when she first denied the thing, to throw the parcel on +the seat and go. + +It was not an heroic frame of mind; but neither was the position +heroic. And something may be forgiven him in the circumstances. + +Fortunately the trial was short. She opened the door of the house, and +on the threshold he found himself face to face with a tall, bulky +woman, with a double chin, and an absurdly powdered nose, who wore a +cameo of the late Queen Charlotte on her ample bosom. Miss Sibson had +viewed the encounter from an upper window, and her face was a picture +of displeasure, slightly tempered by powder. + +“What is this?” she asked, in an intimidating voice. “Miss Smith, what +is this, if you please?” + +Perhaps Mary, aware that her place was at stake, was desperate. At any +rate she behaved with a dignity which astonished Vaughan. “This +gentleman, Madam,” she explained, speaking with firmness though her +face was on fire, “travelled with me on the coach yesterday. A few +minutes ago he appeared and addressed me, and insisted that the—the +parcel he carries is mine, and that I left it in the coach. It is not +mine, and I have not seen it before.” + +Miss Sibson folded her arms upon her ample person. The position was not +altogether new to her. + +“Sir,” she said, eying the offender majestically, “have you any +explanation to offer—of this extraordinary conduct?” + +He had, indeed. As clearly as his temper permitted he told his tale, +his tone half ironical, half furious. + +When he paused, “Who do you say gave it to you?” Miss Sibson asked in a +deep voice. + +“I do not know her name. A lady who travelled in the coach.” + +Miss Sibson’s frown grew even deeper. “Thank you,” she replied, “that +will do. I have heard enough, and I understand. I understand, sir. Be +good enough to leave the house.” + +“But, Madam——” + +“Be good enough to leave the house,” she repeated. “That is the door,” +pointing to it. “That is the door, sir! Any apology you may wish to +make, you can make by letter to me. To me, you understand! I think one +were not ill-fitting!” + +He lost his temper altogether at that, and he flung the parcel with +violence, and with a violent word, on a chair. “Then at any rate I +shall not take that, for it’s not mine!” he cried. “You may keep it, +Madam!” + +And he flung out, his retreat hampered and made humiliating by the +entrance of the pupils, who, marshalled by the round-eyed one, and all +round-eyed themselves, blocked the doorway at that unlucky moment. He +broke through them without ceremony, though they represented the most +respectable families in Bristol, and with his head bent he strode +wrathfully across the Square. + +To be turned out of a girls’ boarding-school! To be shown the door like +some wretched philandering schoolboy, or a subaltern in his first +folly! He, the man of the world, of experience, of ambition! The man +with a career! He was furious. + +“The little cat!” he cried as he went. “I wish I had never seen her +face! What a fool, what a fool I was to come!” + +Unheroic words and an unheroic mood. But though there were heroes +before Agamemnon, it is not certain that there were any after George +the Fourth. At any rate, any who, like that great man, were heroic +always and in all circumstances. + +Probably Vaughan would have forgiven the little cat had he known that +she was at that moment weeping very bitterly, with her face plunged +into the pillow of her not over-luxurious bed. For she was young, and a +woman. And because, in her position, the name of love was taboo; +because to her the admiring look, which to a more fortunate sister was +homage, was an insult; because the _petits soins_, the flower, the +note, the trifle that to another were more precious than jewels, were +not for her, it did not follow that she was not flesh and blood, that +she had not feeling, affection, passion. True, the pang was soon +deadened, for habit is strong. True, the bitter tears were soon dried, +for employers like not gloomy looks. True, she soon cried shame on her +own discontent, for she was good as gold. And yet to be debarred, in +the tender springtime, from the sweet scents, the budding blooms, the +gay carols, to have but one April coach-ride in a desert of days, is +hard—is very hard. Mary Smith, weeping on her hopeless pillow—not +without thought of the cruel arch stooping to crush her, the cruel fate +from which he had snatched her, not without thought of her own +ingratitude, her black ingratitude—felt that it was hard, very hard. + + + + +IX +THE BILL FOR GIVING EVERYBODY EVERYTHING! + + +It is difficult to describe and impossible to exaggerate the heat of +public feeling which preceded the elections of ’31. Four-fifths of the +people of this country believed that the Bill—from which they expected +so much that a satirist has aptly given it the title at the head of +this chapter—had been defeated in the late House by a trick. That trick +the King, God bless him, had punished by dissolving the House. It +remained for the people to show their sense of the trick by returning a +very different House; such a House as would not only pass the Bill, but +pass it by a majority so decisive that the Lords, and particularly the +Bench of Bishops, whose hostility was known, would not dare to oppose +the public will. + +But as no more than a small proportion of these four-fifths had votes, +they were forced to act, if they would make their will obeyed, +indirectly; in one place by the legitimate pressure of public opinion, +in another by bribery, in a third by intimidation, in a fourth, and a +fifth, and a sixth by open violence; everywhere by the unspoken threat +of revolution. And hence arose the one good, sound, and firm argument +against the Bill which the Tory party enjoyed. + +One or two of their other arguments are not without interest, if only +as the defence set up for a system so anomalous as to seem to us +incredible—a system under which Gatton, with no inhabitants, returned +two members, and Sheffield, with something like a hundred thousand +inhabitants, returned none; under which Dunwich, long drowned under the +North Sea, returned two members, and Birmingham returned none; under +which the City of London returned four and Lord Lonsdale returned nine; +under which Cornwall, with one-fourth of the population of Lancashire, +returned thrice as many representatives; under which the South vastly +outweighed the North, and land mightily outweighed all other property. + +Moreover, in no two boroughs was the franchise the same. One man lived +in a hovel and had a vote; his neighbour lived in a mansion and had no +vote. Frequently the whole of the well-to-do townsfolk were voteless. +Then, while any man with five thousand pounds might buy a seat, nor see +the face of a single elector, on the other hand, the poll might be kept +open for fifteen days, and a single county election might cost two +hundred thousand pounds. Bribery, forbidden in theory, was permitted in +practice. The very Government bribed under the rose, and it was +humorously said that all that a man’s constituents required was to be +satisfied of the _impurity_ of his intentions! + +An anomalous system; yet its defenders had something to say for it. + +First, that narrow as the franchise seemed, every class found somewhere +in England its mouthpiece. At Preston, where all could vote who slept +in the borough the previous night, the poorest class; in the +potwalloping boroughs where a fireplace gave a vote, the next class; in +a city like Westminster, the ratepayers; in the counties, the +freeholders; in the universities, the clergy. And so on, the argument +being that the very anomalies of the system provided a mixed +representation without giving the masses a preponderant voice. + +Secondly, they said that it insured a House of ability, by enabling +young men of parts, but small means, to obtain seats. Those who put +this forward flourished a long list of statesmen who had come in for +nomination boroughs. It began with Pitt and ended with Macaulay—a +feather plucked from the enemy’s wing; and Burke stood for much in it. +It became one of the commonplaces of the struggle. + +The third contention was of greater weight. It was that, with all its +abuses, the old system had worked well. This argument, too, had its +commonplace. The proverb, _stare super antiquas vias_, was thundered +from a thousand platforms, coupled with copious references to the +French wars, and to the pilot who had weathered the storm. This was the +argument of the old, and the rich, and the timid—of those who clung to +top-boots in the daytime and to pantaloons in the evening. But as the +struggle progressed it came to be merged in the one sound argument to +which reference has been made. + +“If you do not pass the Bill,” said the Whigs, “there will be a +revolution.” + +“Possibly,” the Tories rejoined. “And whom have we to thank for that? +Who, using the French Revolution of last July as a fulcrum, have +unsettled the whole country? And now, having disturbed everything, tell +us that we must grant to force what is not due to reason? You! But if +the Bill is to pass, not because it is a good Bill, but because the mob +desire it, where will this end? Pass Bills out of fear, and where will +you end? Presently there will arise a ranting adventurer, more violent +than Brougham, a hoary schemer more unscrupulous than Grey, an angry +boy, outscolding Durham, a pedant more bloodless than Lord John, an +honest fanatic blinder than Althorp! And when _they_ threaten _you_ +with the terrors of the mob, what will you say?” + +To which the Whigs could only reply that the people must be trusted; +and—and that the Bill must pass, or not only coronets but crowns would +be flying. + +Dry arguments nowadays; but in those days alive, and to the party on +its defence—the party which found itself thrust against the wall, that +its pockets might be emptied—of vital interest. From scores of +platforms candidates, leaning forward, bland and smiling, with one hand +under the coat-tails and the other gently pumping, pumping, pumping, +enunciated them—old hands these; or, red in the face, thundered them, +striking fist into palm and overawing opposition; or, hopeless amid the +rain of dead cats and stale eggs, muttered them in a reporter’s ear, +since the hootings of the crowd made other utterance impossible. But +ever as the contest went on, the smiling candidate grew rarer; for day +by day the Tories, seeing their cause hopeless, seeing even Whigs, such +as Sir Thomas Acland in Devonshire and Mr. Wilson Patten in Lancashire, +cast out if they were lukewarm, grew more desperate, cried more loudly +on high heaven, asserted more frantically that justice was dead on the +earth. All this, while those who believed that the Bill was going to +give everything to everybody pushed their advantage without mercy. Many +a borough which had not known a contest for a generation, many a +county, was fought and captured. No Tory felt safe; no bargain, though +signed and sealed, held good; no patron, though he had held his income +from his borough as secure as any part of his property, could say that +his voters would dare to go to the poll. + +This last was the apprehension in the mind of Isaac White, Sir Robert +Vermuyden’s agent, as on the day after Lady Lansdowne’s visit he drove +his gig and fast-trotting cob up the avenue. The treble front of the +house looked down on him from its gentle eminence; its windows blinked +in the afternoon sunshine, and the mellow tints of the stone harmonised +with the russet bloom which in April garbs the poplar and the +later-bursting trees. Tradition said that the second baronet had built +a wing for each of his two sons. After the death of the elder, however, +the east wing had been devoted to kitchens and offices, and the west to +a splendid hospitality. In these days the latter wing was so seldom +used that it had almost fallen into decay. Laurels grew up before the +side windows and darkened them, and bats lived in the dry chimneys. The +rooms above stairs were packed with the lumber of the last century, +with the old wig-boxes, the old travelling-trunks, the old +harpsichords, even an old sedan chair; while the lower rooms, swept and +bare, and hung with flat, hard portraits, enjoyed an evil reputation in +the servants’ quarters, where many a one could tell of skirts that +rustled unseen, and dead feet that trod the polished floors. + +But to Isaac White all this was nought. He had seen the house in every +aspect; and to-day his mind was filled with other things—with votes and +voters, with some anxiety on his own account and more on his patron’s. +What would Sir Robert say if aught went wrong at Chippinge? True, the +loss of the borough seemed barely possible; it had been held securely +for many years. But the times were so stormy, public feeling ran so +high, the mob was so rough, that nothing seemed impossible, in view of +the stress to which the soundest candidates were exposed. If Mr. Bankes +stood to fail in Dorset, if Mr. Duncombe had small chance in Yorkshire, +if Sir Edward Knatchbull was a lost man in Kent, if Mr. Hart Davies was +no better in Bristol, if no man but an out-and-out Reformer could count +on success, who was safe? + +White’s grandfather, his father, he himself had lived and thriven by +the system which he saw tottering to its fall. He belonged to it, he +was part of it; did he not mark his allegiance to it by wearing +top-boots in the daytime and shorts in full dress? And he was +prepared—were it only out of gratitude to the ladder by which he had +risen—to stand by it and by his patron to the last. But, strange +anomaly, White was at heart a Cobbett man. His sneaking sympathies +were, in his own despite, with the class from which he sprang. He saw +commons filched from the poor, while the labourers fell on the rates. +He saw large taxes wrung from the country to be spent in the town. He +saw the severity of the laws, and especially the game laws. He saw +absentee rectors and starving curates. He saw the dumb impotence of +nine-tenths of the people; and he felt that the system under which +these things had grown up was wrong. But wrong or right, he was part of +it, he was pledged to it; and all the theories in the world, and all +the “Political Registers” which he digested of an evening, would not +induce him to betray it. + +Notwithstanding, he feared that in the matter of the borough he had not +been quite so wide-awake as became him; or Pybus, the Bowood man, would +not have stolen a march upon him. His misgivings grew as he came in +sight of the door, and saw Sir Robert on the flight of steps which led +to it. Apparently the baronet had seen him, for as White drove up a +servant appeared to lead the mare to the stables. + +Sir Robert looked her over as she was led away. “The grey looks well, +White,” he said. She was of his breeding. + +“Yes, Sir Robert. Give me a good horse and they may have the +new-fangled railroads that like them. But I am afraid, sir——” + +“One moment!” The servant was out of hearing, and the baronet’s tone, +as he caught White up, betrayed agitation. “Who is that looking over +the Lower Wicket, White?” he continued. “She has been there a quarter +of an hour, and—and I can’t make her out.” + +His tone surprised White, who looked and saw at a distance of a hundred +paces the figure of a woman leaning on the wicket-gate nearest the +stables. She was motionless, and he had not looked many seconds before +he caught the thought in Sir Robert’s mind. “He’s heard,” he reflected, +“that her ladyship is in the neighbourhood, and it has alarmed him.” + +“I cannot see at this distance, sir,” he answered prudently, “who it +is.” + +“Then go and ask her her business,” Sir Robert said, as indifferently +as he could. “She has been there a long time.” + +White went, a little excited himself; but half-way to the woman, who +continued to gaze at the house as if unconscious of his approach, he +discovered that, whoever she was, she was not Lady Sybil. She was +stout, middle-aged, plain; and he took a curt tone with her when he +came within earshot. “What are you doing here?” he said. “That’s the +way to the servants’ hall.” + +The woman looked at him. “You don’t know me, Mr. White?” she said. + +He looked hard in return. “No,” he answered bluntly, “I don’t.” + +“Ah, well, I know you,” she replied. “More by token——” + +He cut her short. “Have you any message?” he asked. + +“If I have, I’ll give it myself,” she retorted drily. “Truth is, I’m in +two minds about it. What you have, you have, d’you see, Mr. White; but +what you’ve given ain’t yours any more. Anyway——” + +“Anyway,” impatiently, “you can’t stay here!” + +“Very good,” she replied, “very good. As you are so kind, I’ll take a +day to think of it.” And with a cool nod she turned her back on the +puzzled White, and went off down the park towards the town. + +He went back to Sir Robert. “She’s a stranger, sir,” he said; “and, I +think, a bit gone in the head. I could make nothing of her.” + +Sir Robert drew a deep breath. “You’re sure she was a stranger?” he +said. + +“She’s no one I know, sir. After one of the men, perhaps.” + +Sir Robert straightened himself. He had spent a bad ten minutes gazing +at the distant figure. “Just so,” he said. “Very likely. And now what +is it, White?” + +“I’ve bad news, sir, I’m afraid,” the agent said, in an altered tone. + +“What is it?” + +“It’s that d——d Pybus, sir! I’m afraid that, after all——” + +“They’re going to fight?” + +“I’m afraid, Sir Robert, they are.” + +The old gentleman’s eyes gleamed. “Afraid, sir, afraid?” he cried. “On +the contrary, so much the better. It will cost me some money, but I can +spare it; and it will cost them more, and nothing for it. Afraid? I +don’t understand you.” + +The agent, standing on the step below him, coughed dubiously. “Well, +sir,” he said, “what you say is reasonable. But——” + +“But! But what?” + +“There is so much excitement in the country at this time——” + +“So much greediness in the country,” Sir Robert retorted, striking his +stick upon the stone steps. “So much unscrupulousness, sir; so many +liars promising, and so many fools listening; so much to get, and so +many who would like it! There’s all that, if you please; but for +excitement, I don’t know”—with a severe look—“what you mean, or what it +has to do with us.” + +“I am afraid, sir, there is bad news from Devon, where it is said our +candidate is retiring.” + +“A good man, but weak; neither one side nor the other.” + +“And from Dorset, sir, where they say Mr. Bankes will be beaten.” + +“I’ll not believe it,” Sir Robert answered positively. “I’ll never +believe it. Mr. Bankes beaten in Dorset! Absurd! Why do you listen to +such tales? Why do you listen? By G—d, White, what is the matter with +you? Or how does it touch us if Mr. Bankes is beaten? Nine votes to +four! Nine will still be nine, and four four, if he be beaten. When you +can make four to be more than nine you may come whining to me!” + +White coughed. “Dyas, the butcher——” + +“What of him?” + +“Well, Sir Robert, I am afraid he has been getting some queer notions.” + +“Notions?” the baronet echoed in astonishment. + +“He has been listening to someone, and—and thinks he has views on the +Bill.” + +Sir Robert exploded. “Views!” he cried. “Views! The butcher with views! +Why, damme, White, you must be mad! Mad! Since when have butchers taken +to politics, or had views?” + +“I don’t know anything about that, sir,” White mumbled. + +Sir Robert struck his stick fiercely on a step. “But I do! I do! And I +know this,” he continued, “that for twenty years he’s had thirty pounds +a year to vote as I tell him. By gad, I never heard such a thing in my +life! Never! You don’t mean to tell me that the man thinks the vote’s +his own to do what he likes with?” + +“I am afraid,” the agent admitted reluctantly, “that that is what he’s +saying, sir.” + +Sir Robert’s thin face turned a dull red. “I never heard of such +impudence in all my life,” he said, “never! A butcher with views! And +going to vote for them! Why, damme,” he continued, with angry sarcasm, +“we’ll have the tailors, the bakers, and the candlestickmakers voting +their own way next. Good G—d! What does the man think he’s had thirty +pounds a year for for all these years, if not to do as he is bid?” + +“He’s behaving very ill, sir,” White said, severely, “very ill.” + +“Ill!” Sir Robert cried; “I should think he was, the scoundrel!” And he +foamed over afresh, though we need not follow him. When he had cooled +somewhat, “Well,” he said, “I can turn him out, and that I’ll do, neck +and crop! By G—d, I will! I’ll ruin him. But there, it’s the big rats +set the fashion and the little ones follow it. This is Spinning Jenny’s +work. I wish I had cut off my hand before I voted for him. Well, well, +well!” And he stood a moment in bitter contemplation of Sir Robert +Peel’s depravity. It was nothing that Sir Robert was sound on reform. +By adopting the Catholic side on the claims he—he, whose very nickname +was Orange Peel—had rent the party. And all these evils were the +result! + +The agent coughed. + +Sir Robert, who was no fool, looked sharply at him. “What!” he said +grimly. “Not another renegade?” + +“No, sir,” White answered timidly. “But Thrush, the pig-killer—he’s one +of the old lot, the Cripples, that your father put into the +corporation——” + +“Ay, and I wish I had kept them cripples.” Sir Robert growled. “All +cripples! My father was right, and I was a fool to think better men +would do as well, and do us credit. In his time there were but two of +the thirteen could read and write; but they did as they were bid. They +did as they were bid. And now—well, man, what of Thrush?” + +“He was gaoled yesterday by Mr. Forward, of Steynsham, for assault.” + +“For how long?” + +“For a fortnight, sir.” + +Sir Robert nearly had a fit. He reared himself to his full height, and +glared at White. “The infernal rascal!” he cried. “He did it on +purpose!” + +“I’ve no doubt, sir, that it determined them to fight,” the agent +answered. “With Dyas they are five. And five to seven is not such—such +odds that they may not have some hope of winning.” + +“Five to seven!” Sir Robert repeated; and at an end of words, at an end +of oaths, could only stare aghast. “Five to seven!” he muttered. +“You’re not going to tell me—there’s something more.” + +“No, sir, no; that’s the worst,” White answered, relieved that his tale +was told. “That’s the worst, and may be bettered. I’ve thought it well +to postpone the nomination until Wednesday the 4th, to give Sergeant +Wathen a better chance of dealing with Dyas.” + +“Well, well!” Sir Robert muttered. “It has come to that. It has come to +dealing with such men as butchers, to treating them as if they had +minds to alter and views to change. Well, well!” + +And that was all Sir Robert could say. And so it was settled; the +Vermuyden dinner for the 2nd, the nomination and polling for the 4th. +“You’ll let Mr. Vaughan know,” Sir Robert concluded. “It’s well we can +count on somebody.” + + + + +X +THE QUEEN’S SQUARE ACADEMY FOR YOUNG LADIES + + +Miss Sibson sat in state in her parlour in Queen’s Square. Rather more +dignified of mien than usual, and more highly powdered of nose, the +schoolmistress was dividing her attention between the culprit in the +corner, the elms outside—between which fledgeling rooks were making +adventurous voyages—and the longcloth which she was preparing for the +young ladies’ plain-sewing; for in those days plain-sewing was still +taught in the most select academies. Nor, while she was thus engaged in +providing for the domestic training of her charges, was she without +assurance that their minds were under care. The double doors which +separated the schoolroom from the parlour were ajar, and through the +aperture one shrill voice after another could be heard, raised in +monotonous perusal of Mrs. Chapone’s “Letters to a Young Lady upon the +Improvement of the Mind.” + +Miss Sibson wore her best dress, of black silk, secured half-way down +the bodice by the large cameo brooch. But neither this nor the reading +in the next room could divert her attention from her duties. + +“The tongue,” she enunciated with great clearness, as she raised the +longcloth in both hands and carefully inspected it over her glasses, +“is an unruly member. Ill-nature,” she continued, slowly meting off a +portion, and measuring a second portion against it, “is the fruit of a +bad heart. Our opinions of others”—this with a stern look at Miss +Hilhouse, fourteen years old, and in disgrace—“are the reflections of +ourselves.” + +The young lady, who was paying with the backboard for a too ready wit, +put out the unruly member, and, narrowly escaping detection, looked +inconceivably sullen. + +“The face is the mirror to the mind,” Miss Sibson continued +thoughtfully, as she threaded a needle against the light. “I hope, Miss +Hilhouse, that you are now sorry for your fault.” + +Miss Hilhouse maintained a stolid silence. Her shoulders ached, but she +was proud. + +“Very good,” said Miss Sibson placidly; “very good! With time comes +reflection.” + +Time, a mere minute, brought more than reflection. A gentleman walked +quickly across the fore-court to the door, the knocker fell sharply, +and Miss Hilhouse’s sullenness dropped from her. She looked first +uncomfortable, then alarmed. “Please, may I go now?” she muttered. + +Wise Miss Sibson paid no heed. “A gentleman?” she said to the maid who +had entered. “Will I see him? Procure his name.” + +“Oh, Miss Sibson,” came from the corner in an agonised whisper, “please +may I go?” Fourteen standing on a stool with a backboard could not bear +to be seen by the other sex. + +Miss Sibson looked grave. “Are you sincerely sorry for your fault?” she +asked. + +“Yes.” + +“And will you apologise to Miss Smith for your—your gross rudeness?” + +“Ye-es.” + +“Then go and do so,” Miss Sibson replied; “and close the doors after +you.” + +The girl fled. And simultaneously Miss Sibson rose, with a mixture of +dignity and blandness, to receive Arthur Vaughan. The schoolmistress of +that day who had not manner at command had nothing; for deportment +ranked among the essentials. And she was quite at her ease. The same +could not be said of the gentleman. But that his pride still smarted, +but that the outrage of yesterday was fresh, but that he drew a savage +satisfaction from the prospect of the apologies he was here to receive, +he had not come. Even so, he had told himself more than once that he +was a fool to come; a fool to set foot in the house. He was almost sure +that he had done more wisely had he burned the letter in which the +schoolmistress informed him that she had an explanation to offer—and so +had made an end. + +But if in place of meeting him with humble apologies, this confounded +woman were going to bear herself as if no amends were due, he had +indeed made a mistake. + +Yet her manner said almost as much as that. “Pray be seated, sir,” she +said; and she indicated a chair. + +He sat down stiffly, and glowered at her. “I received your note,” he +said. + +She smoothed her ample lap, and looked at him more graciously. “Yes,” +she said, “I was relieved to find that the unfortunate occurrence of +yesterday was open to another explanation.” + +“I have yet,” he said curtly, “to hear the explanation.” Confound the +woman’s impudence! + +“Exactly,” she said slowly. “Exactly. Well, it turns out that the +parcel you left behind you when you”—for an instant a smile broke the +rubicund placidity of her face—“when you retired so hurriedly contained +a pelisse.” + +“Indeed?” he said drily. + +“Yes; and a letter.” + +“Oh?” + +“Yes; a letter from a lady who has for some years taken an interest in +Miss Smith. The pelisse proved to be a gift from her.” + +“Then I fail to see——” + +“Exactly,” Miss Sibson interposed blandly, indeed too blandly. “You +fail to see why you came to be selected as the bearer? So do I. Perhaps +you can explain that.” + +“No,” he answered shortly. “Nor is that my affair. What I fail to see, +Madam, is why Miss Smith did not at once suspect that the present came +from the lady in question.” + +“Because,” Miss Sibson replied, “the lady was not known to be in this +part of England; and because you, sir, maintained that Miss Smith had +left the parcel in the coach.” + +“I maintained what I was told.” + +“But it was not the fact. However, let that pass.” + +“No,” Vaughan retorted, with some warmth. “For it seems to me, Madam, +very extraordinary that in a matter which was capable of so simple an +explanation you should have elected to insult a stranger—a stranger +who——” + +“Who was performing no more than an office of civility, you would say?” + +“Precisely.” + +“Well—yes.” Miss Sibson spoke slowly, and was silent for a moment after +she had spoken. Then, somewhat abruptly, “You are an usher, I think,” +she said, “at Mr. Bengough’s?” + +Vaughan almost jumped in his chair. “I, Madam?” he cried. “Certainly +not!” + +“Not at Mr. Bengough’s?” + +“Certainly not!” he repeated, with indignation. Was the woman mad? An +usher? Good heavens! + +“I know your name,” she said slowly. “But——” + +“I came from London the day before yesterday. I am staying at the White +Lion, and I am late of the 14th Dragoons.” + +She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, indeed,” she said. “Is that so? Well,” +rubbing a little of the powder from her nose with a needlecase, and +looking at him very shrewdly, “I think,” she continued, “that that is +the answer to your question.” + +Vaughan stared. + +“I do not understand you,” he said. + +“Then I must speak more plainly. Were you an usher at Mr. Bengough’s +your civility—civility, I think you called it?—to my assistant had +passed very well, Mr. Vaughan. But the civility of a gentleman, late of +the 14th Dragoons, fresh from London, and staying at the White Lion, to +a young person in Miss Smith’s position is apt, as in this case—eh?—to +lead to misconstruction.” + +“You do me an injustice!” he said, reddening to the roots of his hair. + +“Possibly, possibly,” Miss Sibson said. But on that, without warning, +she gave way to a fit of silent laughter, which caused her portly form +to shake like a jelly. It was a habit with her, attributed by some to +her private view of Mrs. Chapone’s famous letters on the improvement of +the mind; by others, to that knowledge of the tricks and turns of her +sex with which thirty years of schoolkeeping had endowed her. + +No doubt the face of rueful resentment with which Arthur Vaughan +regarded her did not shorten the fit. But at last, “Young gentleman,” +she said, “you do not deceive me! You did not come here to-day merely +to hear an old woman make an apology.” + +He tried to maintain an attitude of dignified surprise. But her jolly +laugh, her shrewd red face were too much for him. His eyes fell. “Upon +my honour,” he said, “I meant nothing.” + +She shook with fresh laughter. “It is just of that I complain, sir,” +she said. + +“You can trust me.” + +“I can trust Miss Smith,” she retorted, shaking her head. “Her I know, +though our acquaintance is of the shortest. Still, I know her from top +to toe. You, young gentleman, I don’t know. Mind,” she continued, with +good-nature, “I don’t say that you meant any harm when you came to-day. +But I’ll wager you thought that you’d see her.” + +Vaughan laughed out frankly. Her humour had conquered him. “Well,” he +said audaciously, “and am I not to see her?” + +Miss Sibson looked at him, and rubbed a little more powder from her +nose. “Umph!” she said doubtfully. “If I knew you I’d know what to say +to that. A pretty girl, eh?” she added with her head on one side. + +He smiled. + +“And a good one! And if you were the usher at Mr. Bengough’s I’d ask no +more, but I’d send for her. But——” + +She stopped. Vaughan said nothing, but a little out of countenance +looked at the floor. + +“Just so, just so,” Miss Sibson said, as quietly as if he had answered +her. “Well, I am afraid I must not send for her.” + +He looked at the carpet. “I have seen so little of her,” he said. + +“And I daresay you are a man of property?” + +“I am independent.” + +“Well, well, there it is.” Miss Sibson smoothed out the lap of her silk +dress. + +“I do not think,” he said, in some embarrassment, “that five minutes’ +talk would hurt her.” + +“Umph!” + +He laughed—an awkward laugh. “Come, Miss Sibson,” he said. “Let us have +the five minutes, and let us both have the chance.” + +She looked out of the window, and rubbed her glasses reflectively. +“Well,” she said at length, as if she had not quite made up her mind, +“I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Vaughan. I did not intend to be +so, but you have met me half-way, and I believe you to be a gentleman. +The truth is, I should not have gone as far with you as I have +unless”—she looked at him suddenly—“I had had a character of you.” + +“Of me?” he cried in astonishment. + +“Yes.” + +“From Miss Smith?” + +Miss Sibson smiled at his simplicity. “Oh, no,” she said; “you are +going to see the character.” And with that the schoolmistress drew from +her workbox a small slip of paper, which she unfolded and gave to him. +“It is from the lady,” she said, “who made use of you yesterday.” + +He took it in much astonishment. On the inner side of the paper, which +was faintly scented, he read a dozen words in a fine handwriting: + +“Mary Smith, from her fairy godmother. The bearer may be trusted.” + +Vaughan stared at the paper in undiminished surprise. “I don’t +understand,” he said. “Who is the lady, and what does she know of me?” + +“I cannot tell you, nor can Miss Smith,” Miss Sibson replied. “Who, +indeed, has seen her only twice or thrice, at long intervals, and has +not heard her name. But Miss Smith’s education—she has never known her +parents—was defrayed, I presume, by this godmother. And once a year +Miss Smith has been in the habit of receiving a gift, of some value to +a young person in her position, accompanied by a few words in that +handwriting.” + +Vaughan stared. “And,” he said, “you draw the inference that—that——” + +“I draw no inference,” Miss Sibson replied drily, “save that I have +authority from—shall I say her godmother—to trust you farther than I +should have trusted you. That is the only inference I draw. But I have +one thing to add,” she continued. “Miss Smith did not enter my +employment in an ordinary way. My late assistant left me abruptly. +While I was at a loss an attorney of character in this city called on +me and said that a client desired to place a young person in safe +hands; that she was a trained teacher, and must live by teaching, but +that care was necessary, since she was very young, and had more than +her share of good looks. He hinted, Mr. Vaughan, at the inference which +you, I believe, have already drawn. And—and that is all.” + +Vaughan looked thoughtfully at the carpet. + +Miss Sibson waited awhile. At last: “The point is,” she said shrewdly, +“do you still wish to have the five minutes?” + +Arthur Vaughan hesitated. He knew that he ought, that it was his duty, +to say “No.” But something in the woman’s humorous eye challenged him, +and recklessly—for the gratification of a moment—he said: “Yes, if you +please, I will see her.” + +“Very good, very good,” Miss Sibson answered slowly. She had not been +blind to the momentary hesitation. “Then I will send her to you to make +her apologies. Only be kind enough to remember that she does not know +that you have seen that slip of paper.” + +He assented, and with a good-natured nod Miss Sibson rose and went +heavily from the room. Not for nothing was she held in Bristol a woman +of sagacity, whose game of whist it was a pleasure to watch; nor +without reason had that attorney of character, of whom we have heard, +chosen her _in custodiam puellæ_. + +Vaughan waited, and to be frank, his heart beat more quickly than +usual. He knew that he was doing a foolish thing, though he had refused +to commit himself; and an unworthy thing, though Miss Sibson, perhaps +for her own reasons, had winked at it. He knew that he had no right to +see the girl if he did not mean her well; and how could he mean her +well when he had no intention of marrying her? For, for a man with his +career in prospect to marry a girl in her position—to say nothing of +the stigma which no doubt lay upon her birth—was a folly of which none +but boys and old men were capable. + +He listened, ill at ease, already repenting. The voices in the next +room, reduced to a faint murmur by the closed doors, ceased. She was +being told. She was being sent to him. He coloured. Yes, he was ashamed +of himself. He rose and went to the window, and wished that he had said +“No”; that he had taken himself off. What was he doing here at his time +of life—the most sane and best balanced time of life—in this girls’ +school? It was unworthy of him. + +The door opened, and he forgot his unworthiness, he forgot all. The +abnormal attraction, allurement, charm, call it what you will, which +had overcome him when she turned her eyes on him on the coach overcame +him again—and tenfold. He thought that it must lie in her eyes, gentle +as a dove’s. And yet he did not know. He had not seen her indoors +before, and her hair gathered in a knot at the back of her head was a +Greek surprise to him; while her blushes, the quivering of her mouth, +her figure slender but full of grace, and high-girdled after the mode +of the day—all, all were so perfect, so enticing, that he knew not +where the magic lay. + +But magic there was. And such magic that though he had prepared +himself, and though the last thing in his thoughts was to insult her, +he forgot himself. As she paused, her hand still resting on the door, +her face downcast and distressed, “Good G—d,” he cried, “how beautiful +you are!” + +And she saw that he meant no insult, that the words burst from him +spontaneously. But not the less for that was their effect on her. She +turned white, her very heart seeming to stop, she appeared to be about +to swoon. While he, forgetting all but her shrinking beauty, devoured +her with his eyes. + +Until he remembered himself. Then he turned from her to the window. +“Forgive me!” he cried. “I did not know what I said. You came on me so +suddenly; you looked so beautiful——” + +He stopped; he could not go on. + +And she was trembling from head to foot; but she made an effort to +escape back to the commonplace. “I came,” she stammered—it was clear +that she hardly knew what she was saying—“Miss Sibson told me to come +to say that I—I was sorry, sir, that I—I misjudged you yesterday.” + +“Yesterday? Yesterday?” he cried, almost angrily. “Bah, it is an age +since yesterday!” + +She could make no answer to that, though she knew well what he meant. +If she answered him it was only by suffering him to gaze at her in an +eloquent silence—a silence in which his eyes cried again and again, +“How beautiful you are!” While her eyes, downcast, under trembling +lashes, her heart beaten down, defenceless, cried only for “Quarter, +quarter!” + +They were yards apart. The table, and on it Miss Sibson’s squat workbox +and a pile of longcloth, was between them. Miss Sibson herself could +have desired nothing more proper. And yet— + +_Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield, +Thy lord at length is forced to yield. +Vain, vain is every outward care, +The foe’s within and triumphs there!_ + + +It was all over. In her ears would ring for ever his words of +worship—the cry of the man to the woman, “How beautiful you are!” She +would thrill with pleasure when she thought of them, and burn with +shame, and never, never, never be the same again! And for him, with +that cry forced from him, love had become present, palpable, real, and +the idea of marriage real also; an idea to be withstood, to be +combated, to be treated as foolish, Byronic, impossible. But an idea +which would not leave him any more than the image of her gentle beauty, +indelibly stamped on his brain, would leave him. He might spend some +days or some weeks in doubt and wretchedness. But from that moment the +odds were against him—he was young, and passion had never had her way +with him—as seriously against him as against the army that with spies +and traitors in its midst moves against an united foe. + +Not a word that was _convenant_ had passed between them, though so much +had passed, when a hasty footstep crossed the forecourt, and stopped at +the door. The knocker fell sharply twice, and recalled them to +realities. + +“I—I must go,” she faltered, wresting herself from the spell of his +eyes. “I have said what I—I hope you understand, and I—it is time I +went.” How her heart was beating! + +“Oh, no, no!” + +“Yes, I must go!” + +Too late! A loud voice in the passage, a heavy step, announced a +visitor. The door flew open, and there entered, pushing the startled +maid aside, the Honourable Bob Flixton, at the height of his glory, +loud, impudent, and unabashed. + +“Run to earth, my lad!” he cried boisterously. “Run to earth! Run——” + +He broke off, gaping, as his eyes fell upon poor Mary, who, in making +way for him, had partly hidden herself behind the door. He whistled +softly, in great amazement, and “Hope I don’t intrude,” he continued. +And he grinned; while Vaughan, looking blackest thunder at him, could +find no words that were adequate. To think that this loud-voiced, +confident fool, the Don Giovanni of the regiment, had stumbled on his +pearl! + +“Well, well, well!” the Honourable Bob resumed, casting down his eyes +as if he were shocked. And again: “I hope I don’t intrude,” he +continued—it was the parrot cry of that year. “I didn’t know. I’ll take +myself off again”—he whistled low—“as fast as I can.” + +But Vaughan felt that to let him go thus, to spread the tale with a +thousand additions and innuendoes, was worst of all. “Wait, if you +please,” he said, with a note of sternness in his tone. “I am coming +with you, Flixton. Good-morning, Miss Smith.” + +“See here, won’t you introduce me?” cried the irrepressible Bob. + +“No!” Vaughan answered curtly, and without staying to reflect. “You +will kindly tell Miss Sibson, Miss Smith, that I am obliged, greatly +obliged to her. Now come, Flixton! I have done my business, and we are +not wanted here.” + +“I come reluctantly,” said Bob, allowing himself to be dragged out, but +not until he had cast a last languishing look at the beauty. And on the +doorstep, “Sly dog, sly dog!” he said. “To think that in Bristol, where +pretty girls are as scarce as mushrooms in March, there should be such +an angel! Damme, an angel! And you the discoverer. It beats all!” + +“Shut up,” Vaughan answered angrily. “You know nothing about it!” And +then, still more sourly, “See here, Flixton, I take it ill of you +following me here. It was too cool, I say.” + +But the Honourable Bob was not quick to quarrel. “I saw you go in, dear +chap,” he cried heartily. “I wanted to tell you that the hour of dinner +was changed. See? Did my own errand, and coming back thought I’d—truth +was, I fancied you’d some little game on hand.” + +“Nothing of the kind!” + +The Honourable Bob stopped. “Honour bright? Honour bright?” he repeated +eagerly. “Mean to say, Vaughan, you’re not on the track of that little +filly?” + +Vaughan scowled. “Not in the way you mean,” he said sternly. “You make +a mistake. She’s a good girl.” + +Flixton winked. “Heard that before, my lad,” he said, “more than once. +From my grandmother. I’ll take my chance of that.” + +Vaughan in his heart would have been glad to fall upon him and pommel +him. But there were objections to that course. On the other hand, his +feelings had cooled in the last few minutes, and he was far from +prepared to announce offhand that he was going to marry the beauty. So +“No, you will not, Flixton,” he said. “Let it go! Do you hear? The fact +is,” he continued, in some embarrassment, “I’m in a sort of fiduciary +relation to the young lady, and—and I am not going to see her played +with. That’s the fact.” + +“Fiduciary relation?” the Honourable Bob retorted, in perplexity. “What +the deuce is that? Never heard of it! D’you mean, man, that you +are—eh?—related to her? Of course, if so——” + +“No, I am not related to her.” + +“Then——” + +“But I’m not going to see her made a fool of, that’s all!” + +An idea struck the Honourable Bob. He stared. “See here,” he said in a +tone of horror, “you ain’t—you ain’t thinking of marrying her?” + +Vaughan’s cheeks burned. “May be, and may be not,” he said curtly. “But +either way, it is my business!” + +“But surely you’re not! Man alive!” + +“It is my business, I say!” + +“Of course, of course, if it is as bad as that,” Flixton answered with +a grin. “But—hope I don’t intrude, Vaughan, but ain’t you making a bit +of a fool of yourself? What’ll old Vermuyden say, eh?” + +“That’s my business too!” Vaughan answered haughtily. + +“Just so, just so; and quite enough for me. All I say is—if you are not +in earnest yourself, don’t play the dog in the manger!” + + + + +XI +DON GIOVANNI FLIXTON + + +In the political world the last week of April and the first week of May +of that year were fraught with surprises. It is probable that they saw +more astonished people than are to be found in England in an ordinary +twelvemonth. The party which had monopolised power for half a century, +and to that end and the advancement of themselves, their influence, +their friends, and their dependants, had spent the public money, +strained the law, and supported the mob, were incredibly, nay, were +bitterly surprised when they saw all these engines turned against them; +when they found dependants falling off and friends growing cold; above +all, when they found that rabble, which they had so often directed, +aiming its yells and brickbats against their windows. + +But it is unlikely that any Tory of them all was more surprised by the +change in the political aspect than Arthur Vaughan—when he came to +think of it—by the position in which he had put himself. Certainly he +had taken no step that was not revocable. He had said nothing positive; +his honour was not engaged. But he had said a good deal. On the spur of +the moment, moved by the strange attraction which the girl had for him, +he had spoken after a fashion which only farther speech could justify. +And then, not content with that, as if fortune were determined to make +sport of his discretion, he had been led by another impulse—call it +generosity, call it jealousy, call it what you will—to say more to Bob +Flixton than he had said to her. + +He had done this who had hitherto held himself a little above the +common run of men. Who had chalked out his career and never doubted +that he had the strength to follow it. Who had not been content to +wait, idle and dissipated, for a dead man’s shoes, but in the pride of +a mind which he believed to be the master of his passions had set his +face towards the high prizes of the senate and the forum. He, who if he +could not be Fox, would be Erskine. Who would be anything, in a word, +except the empty-headed man of pleasure, or the plain dullard satisfied +to sit in a corner with a little. + +He, who had planned such a future, now found himself on the brink—ay, +on the very point—of committing as foolish an act as the most +thoughtless could commit. He was proposing to marry a girl below him in +station, still farther below him in birth, whom he had only known three +days, whom he had only seen three times! And all because she had +beautiful eyes, and looked at him—Heavens, how she had looked at him! + +He went hot as he pictured her with her melting eyes, hanging towards +him a little as the ivy inclines to the oak. And then he turned cold. +And cold, he considered what he was going to do! + +Of course he was not going to marry her. + +No doubt he had said to her more than he had the right to say. But his +honour was not engaged. The girl was not the worse for him; even if +that which he had read in her eyes were true, she would get over it as +quickly as he would. But marry her, give way to a feeling doubtless +evanescent, let himself be swayed by a fancy at which he would laugh a +year later—no! No! He was not so weak. He had not only his career to +think of, but the family honours which would be his one day. What would +old Vermuyden say if he impaled a baton sinister with the family arms, +added a Smith to the family alliances, married the nameless, penniless +teacher in a girls’ school? + +No, of course, he was not going to marry her. He had said what he had +said to the Honourable Bob merely to shield her from a Don Juan. He had +not meant it. He would go for a long fatiguing walk and put the notion +and the girl out of his head, and come back cured of his folly, and +make a merry night of it with the old set. And to-morrow—no, the morrow +was Sunday—on Monday he would return to London and to all the chances +which the changing political situation must open to an ambitious man. +He regretted that he had not taken the Chancellor’s hint and sought for +a seat in the House. + +But the solitary ramble in the valley of the Avon, which was a +hundredfold more beautiful in those days than in these, because less +spoiled by the hand of man, a ramble by the Logwood Mills, with their +clear-running weedy stream, by King’s Weston and Leigh Woods—such a +ramble, tuneful with the songs of birds and laden with the scents of +spring, may not be the surest cure for that passion, which + +_is not to be reasoned down or lost_ + +_In high ambition or a thirst for greatness!_ + + +At any rate he returned uncured, and for the first part of the +Honourable Bob’s dinner was wildly merry. After that, and suddenly, he +fell into a moody silence which his host was not the last to note. + +Fortunately with the removal of the cloth and the first brisk journey +of the decanters came news. A waiter brought it. Hart Davies, the Tory +candidate for Bristol, and for twenty years its popular member, had +withdrawn, seeing his chance hopeless. The retirement was unexpected, +and it caused so much surprise that the party could think of nothing +else. Nine-tenths of those present were Tories, and Flixton proposed +that they should sally forth and vent their feelings by smashing the +windows of the Bush, the Radical headquarters; a feat performed many a +time before with no worse consequences than a broken head or two. But +Colonel Brereton set his foot sharply on the proposal. + +“I’ll put you under arrest if you do,” he said. “I’m senior officer of +the district, and I’ll not have it, Flixton! Do you think that this is +the time, you madmen,” he continued, looking round the table and +speaking with indignation, “to provoke the rabble, and get the throats +of half Bristol cut?” + +“Oh, come, Colonel, it is not as bad as that!” Flixton remonstrated. + +“You don’t know how bad it is,” Brereton answered, his brooding eyes +kindling. And he developed anew his fixed idea that the forces of +disorder, once provoked, were irresistible; that the country was at +their mercy, and that only by humouring them, a course suggested also +by humanity, could the storm be weathered. + +The company consisted, for the most part, of reckless young subalterns +flushed with wine. They listened out of respect to his rank, but they +winked and grinned behind his back; until, half conscious of ridicule, +he grew angry. On ordinary occasions Flixton would have been the worst +offender. But he had the grace to remember that the Colonel was his +guest, and he sought to turn the subject. + +“Come, come!” he cried, hammering the table and pushing the bottle. +“Let the Colonel alone. For Heaven’s sake shelve the cursed Bill! I’m +sick of it! It’s the death of all fun and jollity. I’ll give you a +sentiment: ‘The Fair when they are Kind, and the Kind when they are +Fair.’ Fill up! Fill up, all, and drink it!” + +They echoed the toast in various tones, sober or fuddled. And some +began to grow excited. A glass was shattered and flung noisily into the +fire. A new one was called for, also noisily. + +“Now, Bill,” Flixton continued to his right-hand neighbour, “it’s your +turn! Give us something spicy!” And he hammered the table. “Captain +Codrington’s sentiment.” + +“Let’s have a minute!” pleaded the gentleman assailed. + +“Not a minute,” boisterously. “See, the table’s waiting for you! +Captain Codrington’s sentiment!” + +Men of small genius kept a written list, and committed some lines to +memory before dinner. The Captain was one of these. But the call on him +was sudden, and he sought, with an agonised mind, for one which would +seem in the least degree novel. At last, with a sigh of relief, “_Maids +and Missuses!_” he cried. + +“Ay, ay, Maids and Missuses!” the Honourable Bob echoed, raising his +glass. “And especially,” he whispered, calling his neighbour’s +attention to Vaughan by a shove, “schoolmissuses! Schoolmissuses, my +lad! Here, Vaughan,” he continued aloud, “you must drink this, and no +heeltaps!” + +Vaughan caught his name and awoke from a reverie. “Very good,” he said, +raising his glass. “What is it?” + +“Maids and Missuses!” the Honourable Bob replied, with a wink at his +neighbour. And then, incited by the fumes of the wine he had taken, he +rose to his feet and raised his glass. “Gentlemen,” he said, +“gentlemen!” + +“Silence,” they cried. “Silence! Silence for Bob’s speech.” + +“Gentlemen,” he resumed, a spark of malice in his eyes, “I’ve a piece +of news to give you! It’s news that—that’s been mighty slyly kept by a +gentleman here present. Devilish close he’s kept it, I’ll say that for +him! But he’s a neat hand that can bamboozle Bob Flixton, and I’ve run +him to earth, run him to earth this morning and got it out of him.” + +“Hear! Hear! Bob! Go on, Bob; what is it?” from the company. + +“You are going to hear, my Trojans! And no flam! Gentlemen, charge your +glasses! I’ve the honour to inform you that our old friend and +tiptopper, Arthur Vaughan, otherwise the Counsellor, has got himself +regularly put up, knocked down, and sold to as pretty a piece of the +feminine as you’ll see in a twelvemonth! Prettiest in Bristol, ’pon +honour,” with feeling, “be the other who she may! Regular case of—” and +in irresistibly comic accents, with his head and glass alike tilted, he +drolled, + +“_There first for thee my passion grew_, + +_Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen;_ + +_Thou wast the daughter of my tu_- + +_tor, law professor at the U_- + +_niversity of Göttingen!_ + + +’Niversity of Göttingen! Don’t laugh, gentlemen! It’s so! He’s entered +on the waybill, book through to matrimony, and”—the Honourable Bob was +undoubtedly a little tipsy—“and it only remains for us to give him a +good send-off. So charge your glasses, and——” + +Brereton laid his hand on his arm. He was sober and he did not like the +look on Vaughan’s disgusted face. “One moment, Flixton,” he said; “is +this true, Mr. Vaughan?” + +Vaughan’s brow was as black as thunder. He had never dreamt that, drunk +or sober, Flixton would be guilty of such a breach of confidence. He +hesitated. Then, “No!” he said. + +“It’s not true?” Codrington struck in. “You are not going to be +married, old chap?” + +“No!” + +“But, man,” Flixton hiccoughed, “you told me so—or something like +it—-only this morning.” + +“You either misunderstood me,” Vaughan answered, in a tone so distinct +as to be menacing, “for you have said far more than I said. Or, if you +prefer it, I’ve changed my mind. In either case it is my business! And +I’ll trouble you to leave it alone!” + +“Oh, if you put it—that way, old chap?” + +“I do put it that way!” + +“And any way,” Brereton said, interposing hurriedly, “this is no time +for marrying! I’ve told you boys before, and I tell you again——” + +And he plunged into a fresh argument on the old point. Two or three +joined issue, grinning. And Vaughan, as soon as attention was diverted +from him, slipped away. + +He was horribly disgusted, and sunk very low in his own eyes. He +loathed what he had done. He had not, indeed, been false to the girl, +for he had given her no promise. He had not denied her, for her name +had not been mentioned. And he had not gone back on his resolution, for +he had never formed one seriously. Yet in a degree he had done all +these things. He had played a shabby part by himself and by the girl. +He had been meanly ashamed of her. And though his conduct had followed +the lines which he had marked out for himself, he hoped that he might +never again feel so unhappy, and so poor a thing, as he felt as he +walked the streets and cursed his discretion. + +Discretion! Cowardice was the right name for it. Because the girl, the +most beautiful, pure, and gentle creature on whom his eyes had ever +rested, was called Mary Smith, and taught in a school, he disavowed her +and turned his back on her. + +He did not know that he was suffering what a man, whose mind has so far +governed his heart, must suffer when the latter rebels. In planning his +life he had ignored his heart; now he must pay the penalty. He went to +bed at last, but not to sleep. Instead he lived the scene over and over +again, now wondering what he ought to have done; now brooding on what +Flixton must think of him; now on what she, whose nature, he was sure, +was as perfect as her face, would think of him, if she knew. How she +would despise him! + +The next day was Sunday, and he spent it, in accordance with a previous +promise, with Brereton, at his pleasant home at Newchurch, a mile from +the city. Though the most recent of his Bristol acquaintances, Brereton +was the most congenial; and a dozen times Vaughan was on the point of +confiding his trouble to him. He was deterred by the melancholy cast of +Brereton’s character, which gave promise of no decisive advice. And +early in the evening he took leave of his host and strolled towards the +Downs, balancing _I would_ against _I will not_; now facing the bleak +of a prudent decision, now thrilling with foolish rapture, as he +pondered another event. Lord Eldon had married young and with as little +prudence; it had not impeded his rise, nor Erskine’s. Doubtless Sir +Robert Vermuyden would say that he had disgraced himself; but he cared +little for that. What he had to combat was the more personal pride of +the man who, holding himself a little wiser than his fellows, cannot +bear to do a thing that in the eyes of the foolish may set him below +them! + +Of course he came to no decision; though he wandered on Brandon Hill +until the Float at his feet ceased to mirror the lights, and Bristol +lay dark below him. And Monday found him still hesitating. Thrice he +started to take his place on the coach. And thrice he turned back, +hating himself for his weakness. If he could not overcome a foolish +fancy, how could he hope to scale the heights of the Western Circuit, +or hurl Coleridge and Follett from their pride of place? Or, still +harder task, how would he dare to confront in the House the cold eye of +Croker or of Goulburn? No, he could not hope to do either. He had been +wrong in his estimate of himself. He was a poor creature, unable to +hold his own amongst his fellows, impotent to guide his own life! + +He was still contesting the matter when, a little before noon, he +espied Flixton in the act of threading his way through the busy crowd +of Broad Street. The Honourable Bob was wearing hessians, and a +high-collared green riding-coat, with an orange vest and a soft +many-folded cravat. In fine, he was so smart that suspicion entered +Vaughan’s head; and on its heels—jealousy. + +In a twinkling he was on Flixton’s track. Broad Street, the heart of +Bristol, was thronged, for Hart Davies’s withdrawal was in the air and +an election crowd was abroad. Newsboys with their sheets, tipsy +ward-leaders, and gossiping merchants jostled one another. The beau’s +green coat, however, shone conspicuous, + +_Glorious was his course_, + +_And long the track of light he left behind him!_ + + +and before Vaughan had asked himself if he were justified in following, +pursued and pursuer were over Bristol Bridge, and making, by way of the +Welsh Back—a maze of coal-hoys and dangling cranes—for Queen’s Square. + +Vaughan doubted no longer, weighed the propriety of his course no +longer. For a cool-headed man of the world, who asked nothing better +than to master a silly fancy, he was foolishly perturbed. He made on +with a grim face; but a dray loading at a Newport coal-hulk drew across +his path, and Flixton was pacing under the pleasant elms and amid the +groups that loitered up and down the sunlit Square, before Vaughan came +within hail, and called him by name. + +Flixton turned then, saw who it was, and grinned—nothing abashed. +“Well,” he said, tipping his hat a little to one side, “well, old chap! +Are you let out of school too?” + +Vaughan had already discovered Mary Smith and her little troop under +the trees in the farthest corner. But he tried to smile—and did so, a +little awry. “This is not fair play, Flixton,” he said. + +“That is just what I think it is,” the Honourable Bob answered +cheerfully. “Eh, old chap? Neat trick of yours the other day, but not +neat enough! Thought to bamboozle me and win a clear field! Neat! But +no go, I found you out and now it is my turn. That’s what I call fair +play.” + +“Look here, Flixton,” Vaughan replied—he was fast losing his +composure—“I’m not going to have it. That’s plain.” + +The Honourable Bob stared. “Oh!” he answered. “Let’s understand one +another. Are you going to marry the girl after all?” + +“I’ve told you——” + +“Oh, you’ve told me, yes, and you’ve told me, no. The question is, +which is it?” + +Vaughan controlled himself. He could see Mary out of the corner of his +eye, and knew that she had not yet taken the alarm. But the least +violence might attract her attention. “Whichever it be,” he said +firmly, “is no business of yours.” + +“If you claim the girl——” + +“I do not claim her, Flixton. I have told you that. But——” + +“But you mean to play the dog in the manger?” + +“I mean to see,” Vaughan replied sternly, “that you don’t do her any +harm.” + +Flixton hesitated. Secretly he held Vaughan in respect; and he would +have postponed his visit to Queen’s Square had he foreseen that that +gentleman would detect him. But to retreat now was another matter. The +duel was still in vogue; barely two years before the Prime Minister had +gone out with a brother peer in Battersea Fields; barely twenty years +before one Cabinet Minister had shot another on Wimbledon Common. He +could not, therefore, afford to show the white feather, and though he +hesitated, it was not for long. “You mean to see to that, do you?” he +retorted. + +“I do.” + +“Then come and see,” he returned flippantly. “I’m going to have a chat +with the young lady now. That’s not murder, I suppose?” And he turned +on his heel and strolled across the turf towards the group of which +Mary was the centre. + +Vaughan followed with black looks; and when Mary Smith, informed of +their approach by one of the children, turned a startled face towards +them, he was at Flixton’s shoulder, and pressing before him. + +But the Honourable Bob had the largest share of presence of mind, and +he was the first to speak. “Miss Smith,” he said, raising his hat with +_aplomb_, “I—you remember me, I am sure?” + +Vaughan pushed before him; and before the girl could speak—for jealousy +is a fine spoiler of manners, “This gentleman,” he said, “wishes to +see——” + +“To see——” said Flixton, with a lower bow. + +“Miss Sibson!” Vaughan exclaimed. + +The children stared; gazing up into the men’s faces with the +undisguised curiosity of childhood. Fortunately the Mary Smith who had +to confront these two was no longer the Mary Smith whom Vaughan’s +appearance had stricken with panic three days before. For one thing, +she knew Miss Sibson better, and feared her less. For another, her +fairy godmother—the gleam of whose gifts never failed to leave a hope +of change, a prospect of something other than the plodding, endless +round—had shown a fresh sign. And last, not least, a more potent fairy, +a fairy whose wand had power to turn Miss Sibson’s house into a Palace +Beautiful, and Queen’s Square, with its cawing rooks and ordered elms, +into an enchanted forest, had visited her. + +True, Vaughan had left her abruptly—to cool her burning cheeks and +still her heart as she best might! But he had said what she would never +forget, and though he had left her doubting, he had left her loving. +And so the Mary who found herself addressed by two gallants was much +less abashed than she who on Friday had had to do with one. + +Still she was astonished by their address; and she showed this, +modestly and quietly. “If you wish to see Miss Sibson,” she +said—instinctively she looked at Vaughan’s companion—“I will send for +her.” And she was in the act of turning, with comparative ease, to +despatch one of the children on the errand, when the Honourable Bob +interposed. + +“But we don’t want Miss Sibson—now,” he said. “A man may change his +mind as well as a woman! Eh, old chap?” turning to his friend with +simulated good-humour. “I’m sure you will say so, Miss Smith.” + +She wondered what their odd manner to one another meant. And, to add to +her dignity, she laid her hand on the shoulder of one of her charges +and drew her closer. + +“Moreover, I’m sure,” Flixton continued—for Vaughan after his first +hasty intervention, stood sulkily silent—“I’m sure Mr. Vaughan will +agree with me——” + +“I?” + +“Oh, yes he will, Miss Smith, because he is the most changeable of men +himself! A weathercock, upon my honour!” And he pointed to the tower of +St. Mary, which from the high ground of Redcliffe Parade on the farther +side of the water, looks down on the Square. “Never of the same mind +two days together!” + +Vaughan snubbed him savagely. “Be good enough to leave me out!” he +said. + +“There!” the Honourable Bob answered, laughing, “he wants to stop my +mouth! But I’m not to be stopped. Of all men he’s the least right to +say that I mustn’t change my mind. Why, if you’ll believe me, Miss +Smith, no farther back than Saturday morning he was all for being +married! ’Pon honour! Went away from here talking of nothing else! In +the evening he was just as dead the other way! Nothing was farther from +his thoughts. Shuddered at the very idea! Come, old chap, don’t look +fierce!” And he grinned at Vaughan. “You can’t deny it!” + +Vaughan could have struck him; the trick was so neat and so malicious. +Fortunately a man who had approached the group touched Vaughan’s elbow +at this critical moment, and diverted his wrath. “Express for you, +sir,” he said. “Brought by chaise, been looking for you everywhere, +sir!” + +Vaughan smothered the execration which rose to his lips, snatched the +letter from the man, and waved him aside. Then, swelling with rage, he +turned upon Flixton. But before he could speak the matter was taken out +of his hands. + +“Children,” said Mary Smith in a clear, steady voice, “it is time we +went in. The hour is up, collect your hoops. I think,” she continued, +looking stiffly at the Honourable Bob, “you have addressed me under a +misapprehension, sir, intending to address yourself to Miss Sibson. +Good-morning! Good-morning!” with a slight and significant bow which +included both gentlemen. And taking a child by either hand, she turned +her back on them, and with her little flock clustering about her, and +her pretty head held high, she went slowly across the road to the +school. Her lips were trembling, but the men could not see that. And +her heart was bursting, but only she knew that. + +Without that knowledge Vaughan was furiously angry. It was not only +that the other had got the better of him by a sly trick; but he was +conscious that he had shown himself at his worst—stupid when +tongue-tied, and rude when he spoke. Still, he controlled himself until +Mary was out of earshot, and then he turned upon Flixton. + +“What right—what right,” he snarled, “had you to say what I would do! +And what I would not do? I consider your conduct——” + +“Steady, man!” Flixton, who was much the cooler of the two, said. He +was a little pale. “Think before you speak. You would interfere. What +did you expect? That I was going to play up to you?” + +“I expected at least——” + +“Ah, well, you can tell me another time what you expected. I have an +engagement now and must be going,” the Honourable Bob said. “See you +again!” And with a cool nod he turned on his heel, and assured that, +whatever came of the affair, he had had the best of that bout, he +strode off. + +Vaughan was only too well aware of the same fact; and but that he held +himself in habitual control, he would have followed and struck his +rival. As it was, he stood a moment looking blackly after him. Then, +sobered somewhat, though still bitterly chagrined, he took his way +towards his hotel, carrying in his oblivious hand the letter which had +been given him. Once he halted, half-minded to return to Miss Sibson’s +and to see Mary and explain. He took, indeed, some steps in the +backward direction. But he reflected that if he went he must speak, and +plainly. And, angry as he was, furiously in love as he was, was he +prepared to speak? + +He was not prepared. And while he stood doubting between that eternal +would, and would not, his eyes fell on the letter in his hand. + + + + +XII +A ROTTEN BOROUGH + + +Chippinge, Sir Robert Vermuyden’s borough, was in no worse case than +two-thirds of the small boroughs of that day. Still, of its great men +Cowley might have written: + +_Nothing they but dust can show, +Or bones that hasten to be so._ + + +And of its greatness he might have said the same. The one and the other +belonged to the past. + +The town occupies a low, green hill, dividing two branches of the Avon +which join their waters a furlong below. Built on the ridge and +clinging to the slopes of this eminence the stone-tiled houses look +pleasantly over the gentle undulations of the Wiltshire pastures—no +pastures more green; and at a distance are pleasantly seen from them. +But viewed more closely—at the date of which we write—the picturesque +in the scene became mean or incongruous. Of the Mitred Abbey that +crowned the hill and had once owned these fertile slopes there remained +but the maimed hulk, patched and botched, and long degraded to the uses +of that parish church its neighbour, of which nothing but the steeple +survived. The crown-shaped market cross, once a dream of beauty in +stone, still stood, but battered and defaced; while the Abbot’s +gateway, under which sovereigns had walked, was sunk to a vile lock-up, +the due corrective of the tavern which stood cheek by jowl with it. + +Still, to these relics, grouped as they were upon an open triangular +green, the hub of the town, there clung in spite of all some shadow of +greatness. The stranger whose eye fell on the doorway of the Abbey +Church, with its whorls of sculptured images, gazed and gazed again +with a sense of wondering awe. But let him turn his back on these +buildings, and his eye met, in cramped street and blind alley, a lower +depth. Everywhere were things once fine, sunk to base uses; old stone +mansions converted into tenements; the solid houses of mediæval +burghers into crazy taverns; fretted cloisters into pigsties and +hovels; a Gothic arch propped the sagging flank of a lath-and-plaster +stable. Or if anything of the beauty of a building survived, it was +masked by climbing penthouses; or, like the White Lion, the old inn +which had been the Abbot’s guesthouse, it was altered out of all +likeness to its former self. For the England of ’31, gross and +matter-of-fact, was not awake to the value of those relics of a noble +past which generations of intolerance had hurried to decay. + +Doubtless in this mouldering, dusty shell was snug, warm living. +Georgian comfort had outlived the wig and the laced coat, and though +the influence of the Church was at its lowest ebb, and morals were not +much higher, inns were plenty and flourished, and in the panelled +parlours of the White Lion or the Heart and Hand was much good eating, +followed by deep drinking. The London road no longer passed through the +town; the great fair had fallen into disuse. But the cloth trade, by +which Chippinge had once thriven, had been revived, and the town was +not quite fallen. Still, of all its former glories, it retained but one +intact. It returned two members to Parliament. That which Birmingham +and Sheffield had not, this little borough of eighteen hundred souls +enjoyed. Fallen in all other points, it retained, or rather its High +Steward, Sir Robert Vermuyden, retained the right of returning, by the +votes of its Alderman and twelve capital burgesses, two members to the +Commons’ House. + +And Sir Robert could not by any stretch of fancy bring himself to +believe that the town would willingly part with this privilege. Why +should it strip itself? he argued. It enjoyed the honour vicariously, +indeed. But did he not year by year pay the Alderman and eight of the +capital burgesses thirty pounds apiece for their interest, a sum which +quickly filtered through their pockets and enriched the town, besides +taking several of the voters off the rates? Did he not also at election +times set the taps running and distribute a moderate largesse among the +commonalty, and—and in fact do everything which it behoved a liberal +and enlightened patron to do? Nay, had he not, since his accession, +raised the status of the voters, long and vulgarly known as “The +Cripples,” so that they, who in his father’s time had been, almost +without exception, drunken illiterates, were now to the extent of at +least one half, men of respectable position? + +No, Sir Robert wholly declined to believe that Chippinge had any wish +for a change so adverse to its interests. The most he would admit was +that there might be some slight disaffection in the place, due to that +confounded Bowood, which was for ever sapping and mining and seeking to +rob its neighbours. + +But even he was presently to be convinced that there was a very odd +spirit abroad in this year ’31. The new police and the new steam +railways and this cholera of which people were beginning to talk, were +not the only new things. There were new ideas in the air; and the birds +seemed to carry them. They took possession not only of the troublesome +and discontented—poachers whom Sir Robert had gaoled, or the sons of +men whom his father had pressed—but of the most unlikely people. Backs +that had never been aught but pliant grew stiff. Men who had put up +with the old system for more years than they could remember grew +restive. Others, who had all their lives stood by while their inferiors +ruled the roost, discovered that they had rights. Nay—and this was the +strangest thing of all—some who had thriven by the old management and +could not hope to gain by a change revolted, after the fashion of Dyas +the butcher, and proved the mastery of mind over matter. Not many, +indeed, these; martyrs for ideas are rare. But their action went for +much, and when later the great mass of the voteless began to move, +there were rats in plenty of the kind that desert sinking ships. By +that time he was a bold man who in tavern or workshop spoke for the +rule of the few, to which Sir Robert fondly believed his borough to be +loyal. + +His agent had never shared that belief, fortunately for him; or he had +had a rude awakening on the first Monday in May. It was customary for +the Vermuyden interest to meet the candidates on the Chippenham road, +half an hour before the dinner hour, and to attend them in procession +through the town to the White Lion. Often this was all that the +commonalty saw of an election, and a little horseplay was both expected +and allowed. In old days, when the “Cripples” had belonged to the very +lowest class, their grotesque appearance in the van of the gentlemanly +interest had given rise to many a home-jest. The crowd would follow +them, jeering and laughing, and there would be some pushing, and a +drunken man or two would fall. But all had passed in good humour; the +taps had been running in one interest, the ale was Sir Robert’s, and +the crowd envied while they laughed. + +White, as he stood on the bridge reviewing the first comers, wished he +might have no worse to expect to-day. But he did not hope as much. The +town was crowded, and the streets down to the bridge were so cumbered +with moving groups that it was plain the procession would have to push +its way. For certain, too, many of the people did not belong to +Chippinge. With the townsfolk White knew he could deal. He did not +believe that there was a Chippinge man who, eye to eye with him, would +cast a stone. But here were yokels from Calne and Bowood, who knew not +Sir Robert; with Bristol lambs and men as dangerous, and not a few +Radicals from a distance, rabid with zeal and overflowing with +promises. Made up of such elements the crowd hooted from time to time, +and there was a threat in the sound that filled White with misgivings. + +Nor was this the worst. The cloth factory stood close to the bridge. +The procession must pass it. And the hands employed in it, hostile to a +man, were gathered before the doorway, in their aprons and paper caps, +waiting to give the show a reception. They had much to say already, +their jeers and taunts filling the air; but White had a shrewd +suspicion that they had worse missiles in their pockets. + +Still, he had secured the attendance of a score of sturdy fellows, sons +of Sir Robert’s farmers, and these, with a proportion of the tagrag and +bobtail of the town, gave a fairly solid aspect to his party. Nor was +the jeering all on one side, though that deep and unpleasant groaning +which now and again rolled down the street was wholly Whiggish. + +Alas, it was when the agent came to analyse his men that he had most +need of the smile that deceives. True, the rector was there and the +curate of Eastport, and the clerk and the sexton—the two last-named +were voters. And there were also four or five squires arrayed in +support of the gentlemanly interest, and as many young bucks come to +see the fun. Then there were three other voters: the Alderman, who was +a small grocer, and Annibal the basketmaker—these two were +stalwarts—and Dewell the barber, also staunch, but a timid man. There +was no Dyas, however, Sir Robert’s burliest supporter in old days, and +his absence was marked. Nor any Thrush the pig-killer—the jaws of a +Radical gaol held him. Nor, last and heaviest blow of all—for it had +fallen without warning—was there any Pillinger of the Blue Duck. +Pillinger, his wife said, was ill. What was worse he was in the hands +of a Radical doctor capable, the agent believed, of hocussing him until +the polling was over. The truth about Pillinger—whether he lay ill or +whether he lay shamming, whether he was at the mercy of the apothecary +or under the thumb of his wife—White could not learn. He hoped to learn +it before it was too late. But for the present Pillinger was not here. + +The Alderman, Annibal, Dewell, the clerk, the sexton, and Arthur +Vaughan. White totted them up again and again and made them six. The +Bowood voters he made five—four stalwarts and Dyas the butcher. + +Certainly he might still poll Pillinger. But, on the other hand, Mr. +Vaughan might arrive too late. White had written to his address in +town, and receiving no answer had sent an express to Bristol on the +chance that the young gentleman was still there. Probably he would be +in time. But when things are so very close—and when there were alarm +and defeat in the air—men grow nervous. White smiled as he chatted with +the pompous Rector and the country squires, but he was very anxious. He +thought of old Sir Robert at Stapylton, and he sweated at the notion of +defeat. Cobbett had reached his mind, but Sir Robert had his heart! + +“Boo!” moaned the crowd higher up the street. The sound sank and the +harsh voice of a speaker came fitfully over the heads of the people. + +“Who’s that?” asked old Squire Rowley, one of the country gentlemen. + +“Some spouter from Bristol, sir, I fancy,” the agent replied +contemptuously. And with his eye he whipped in a couple of hobbledehoys +who seemed inclined to stray towards the enemy. + +“I suppose,” the Squire continued, lowering his voice, “you can depend +on your men, White?” + +“Oh, Lord, yes, sir,” White answered; like a good election agent he +took no one into his confidence. “We’ve enough here to do the trick. +Besides, young Mr. Vaughan will be here to-morrow, and the landlord of +the Blue Duck, who is not well enough to walk to-day, will poll. He’d +break his heart, bless you,” White continued, with a brow of brass, “if +he could not vote for Sir Robert!” + +“Seven to five.” + +“Seven to four, sir.” + +“But Dyas, I hear, the d——d rogue, will vote against you?” + +White winked. + +“Bad,” he said cryptically, “but not as bad as that, sir.” + +“Oh! oh!” quoth the other, nodding, “I see.” And then, glancing at the +gang before the cloth works, whose taunts of “Flunkies!” and “Sell your +birthright, will you?” were constant and vicious, “You’ve no fear +there’ll be violence, White?” he asked. + +“Lord, no, sir,” White answered; “you know what election rows are, all +bark and no bite!” + +“Still I hear that at Bath, where I’m told Lord Brecknock stands a poor +chance, they are afraid of a riot.” + +“Ay, ay, sir,” White answered indifferently, “this isn’t Bath.” + +“Precisely,” the Rector struck in, in pompous tones. “I should like to +see anything of that kind here! They would soon,” he continued with an +air, “find that I am not on the commission of the peace for nothing! I +shall make, and I am sure you will make,” he went on, turning to his +brother justice, “very short work of them! I should like to see +anything of that kind tried here!” + +White nodded, but in his heart he thought that his reverence was likely +to have his wish gratified. However, no more was said, for the approach +of the Stapylton carriages, with their postillions, outriders and +favours, was signalled by persons who had been placed to watch for +them, and the party on the bridge, falling into violent commotion, +raised their flags and banners and hastened to form an escort on either +side of the roadway. As the gaily-decked carriages halted on the crest +of the bridge, loud greetings were exchanged. The five voters took up a +position of honour, seats in the carriages were found for three or four +of the more important gentry, and seven or eight others got to horse. +Meanwhile those of the smaller folk, who thought that they had a claim +to the recognition of the candidates, were gratified, and stood back +blushing, or being disappointed stood back glowering; all this amid +confusion and cheering on the bridge and shrill jeers on the part of +the cloth hands. Then the flags were waved aloft, the band of five, of +which the drummer could truly say “_Pars magna fui_,” struck up “See, +the Conquering Hero Comes!” and White stood back for a last look. + +Then, “Shout, lads, shout!” he cried, waving his hat. “Don’t let ’em +have it all their own way!” And with a roar of defiance, not quite so +loud or full as the gentlemanly interest had raised of old, the +procession got under way, and, led by a banner bearing “Our Ancient +Constitution!” in blue letters on a red ground, swayed spasmodically up +the street. The candidates for the suffrages of the electors of +Chippinge had passed the threshold of the borough. “Hurrah! Yah! +Hurrah! Yah! Yah! Yah! Down with the Borough-mongers. Our Ancient +Constitution! Hurrah! Boo! Boo!” + +White had his eye on the clothmen, and under its spell they did not go +beyond hooting and an egg or two, spared from the polling day, and +flung at long range when the Tories had passed. No one was struck, and +the carriages moved onward, more or less triumphantly. Sergeant Wathen, +who was in the first, and whose sharp black eyes moved hither and +thither in search of friends, rose repeatedly to bow. But Mr. Cooke, +who did not forget that he was paying two thousand five hundred pounds +for his seat, and thought that it should be a soft one, scarcely +deigned to move. For as the procession advanced into the town the +clamour of the crowd which lined the narrow High Street and continually +shouted “The Bill! The Bill!” drowned the utmost efforts of Sir +Robert’s friends, and left no doubt of the popular feeling. + +There was some good-humoured pushing and thrusting, the drum beating +and the church bells jangling bravely above the hubbub. And once or +twice the rabble came near to cutting the procession in two. But there +was no real attempt at mischief, and all went well until the foremost +carriage was abreast of the Cross, which stands at the head of the High +Street, where the latter debouches into the space before the Abbey. + +Then some foolish person gave the word to halt before Dyas the +butcher’s. And a voice—it was not White’s—cried, “Three groans for the +Radical Rat! Rat! Rat!” + +The groans were given before the crowd fully understood their meaning +or the motive for the stoppage. The drummer beat out something which he +meant for the Rogues’ March, and an unseen hand raising a large dead +rat, tied to a stick, waved it before the butcher’s first-floor +windows. + +The effect was surprising—to old-fashioned folk. In a twinkling, with a +shout of “Down with the Borough-mongers!” a gang of white-aproned +clothmen rushed the rear of the procession, drove it in upon the main +body, and amid screams and uproar forced the whole line out of the +narrow street into the space before the Abbey. Fortunately the White +Lion, which faced the Abbey, stood only a score of paces to the left of +the Cross, and the carriages were able to reach it; but in disorder, +pressed on by such a fighting, swaying, shouting crowd as Chippinge had +not seen for many a year. + +It was no time to stand on dignity. The candidates tumbled out as best +they could, their chief supporters followed them, and while half a +dozen single combats proceeded at their elbows, they hastened across +the pavement into the house. The Rector alone disdained to flee. Once +on the threshold of the inn, he turned and raised his hat above his +head: + +“Order!” he cried, “Order! Do you hear me!” + +But “Yah! Borough-monger!” the rabble answered, and before he could say +more a young farmer was hurled against him, and a whip, of which a +postillion had just been despoiled, whizzed past his head. He, too, +turned tail at that, with his face a shade paler than usual; and with +his retreat resistance ceased. The carriages were hustled somehow and +anyhow into the yard, and there the greater part of the procession also +took refuge. A few, sad to say, sneaked off and got rid of their +badges, and a few more escaped through a neighbouring alley. No one was +much hurt; a few black eyes were the worst of the mischief, nor could +it be said that any vindictive feeling was shown. But the town was +swept clear, and the victory of the Radicals was complete. Left in +possession of the open space before the Abbey, they paraded for some +time under the windows of the White Lion, waving a captured flag, and +cheering and groaning by turns. + +Meantime in the hall of the inn the grandees were smoothing their +ruffled plumes, in a state of mind in which it was hard to say whether +indignation or astonishment had larger place. Oaths flew thick as hail, +unrebuked by the Church, the most outspoken perhaps being by the +landlord, who met them with a pale face. + +“Good Lord, good Lord, gentlemen!” he said, “what violence! What +violence! What are we coming to next? What’s took the people, +gentlemen? Isn’t Sir Robert here?” + +For to this simple person it seemed impossible that people should +behave badly in that presence. + +“No, he’s not!” Mr. Cooke answered with choler. “I’d like to know why +he’s not! I wish to Heaven”—only he did not say “Heaven”—“that he were +here, and he’d see what sort of thing he has let us into!” + +“Ah, well, ah, well!” returned the more discreet and philosophic +Sergeant, “shouting breaks no bones. We are all here, I hope? And after +all, this shows up the Bill in a pretty strong light, eh, Rector? If it +is to be carried by methods such as these—these—” + +“D——d barefaced intimidation!” Squire Rowley growled. + +“Or if it is to give votes to such persons as these——” + +“D——d Jacobins! Republicans every one!” interposed the Squire. + +“It will soon be plain to all,” the Sergeant concluded, in his House of +Commons manner, “that it is a most revolutionary, dangerous, and—and +unconstitutional measure, gentlemen.” + +“By G—d!” Mr. Cooke cried—he was thinking that if this was the kind of +thing he was to suffer he might as well have fought Taunton or Preston, +or any other open borough, and kept his money in his pocket—“by G—d, I +wish Lord John were stifled in the mud he’s stirred up, and Gaffer Grey +with him!” + +“You can add Bruffam, if you like,” Wathen answered good-humouredly—he +was not paying two thousand five hundred guineas for his seat. “And rid +me of a rival and the country of a pest, Cooke! But come, gentlemen, +now we’re here and no bones broken, shall we sit down? We are all safe, +I trust, Mr. White? And especially—my future constituents?” with a +glance of his shrewd Jewish-looking eyes. + +“Yes, sir, no harm done,” White replied as cheerfully as he could; +which was not overcheerfully, for in all his experience of Chippinge he +had known nothing like this; and he was a trifle scared. “Yes, sir,” he +continued, looking round, “all here, I think! And—and by Jove,” in a +tone of relief, “one more than I expected! Mr. Vaughan! I am glad, sir, +very glad, sir,” he added heartily, “to see you. Very glad!” + +The young man who had alighted from his postchaise a few minutes before +did not, in appearance at least, reciprocate the feeling. He looked +sulky and bored. But he shook the outstretched hand; he could do no +less. Then, saying scarcely a word, he stood back again. He had +hastened to Chippinge on receiving White’s belated express, but rather +because, irritated by the collision with Flixton, he welcomed any +change, than because he was sure what he would do. In the chaise he had +thought more of Mary than of politics, more of the Honourable Bob than +of his cousin. And though, as far as Sir Robert was concerned, he was +resolved to be frank and to play the man, his mind had travelled no +farther. + +Now, thrown suddenly among these people, he was, in a churlish way, +taken somewhat aback. But, in a thoroughly bad temper, he told himself +it did not matter. If they did not like the line he was going to take, +that was their business. He was not responsible to them. In fine, he +was in a savage mood, with half his mind here and the other half +dwelling on the events of the morning. For the moment politics seemed +to him a poor game, and what he did or did not do of little +consequence! + +White and the others were not blind to his manner, and might have +resented it in another. But Sir Robert’s heir was a great man and had a +right to moods if any man had; doubtless he was become a fine gentleman +and thought it a nuisance to vote in his own borough. They were all +politeness to him, therefore, and while his eyes passed haughtily +beyond them, seeking Sir Robert, they presented to him those whom he +did not know. + +“Very kind of you to come, Mr. Vaughan,” said the Sergeant, who, like +many browbeaters, could be a sycophant at need. “Very kind indeed! I +don’t know whether you know Mr. Cooke? He, equally with me, is obliged +to you for your attendance.” + +“Greatly obliged, sir,” Mr. Cooke muttered. “Certainly, certainly.” + +Vaughan bowed coldly. + +“Is not Sir Robert here?” he asked. + +He was still looking beyond those to whom he spoke. + +“No, Mr. Vaughan.” + +And then, “This way to dinner,” White cried loudly. “Come, gentlemen! +Dinner, gentlemen, dinner!” + +And Vaughan, heedless what he did or where he dined, but inclined in a +sardonic way to amuse himself, went in with them. What did it matter? +He was not going to vote for them. But that was his business, and Sir +Robert’s. He was not responsible to them. + +Certainly he was in a very bad temper. + + + + +XIII +THE VERMUYDEN DINNER + + +Vaughan began to think more soberly of his position when he found +himself set down at the table. He had White, who took one end, on his +right; and the Sergeant was opposite him. At the other end the Alderman +presided, supported by Mr. Cooke and the Rector. + +The young man looked down the board, at the vast tureens that smoked on +it, and at the faces, smug or jolly, hungry or expectant, that +surrounded them; and amid the flood of talk which burst forth the +moment his reverence had said a short grace, he began to feel the +situation uncomfortable. True, he had a sort of right to be there, as +the heir, and a Vermuyden. True, too, he owed nothing to anyone there; +nothing to the Sergeant, whom he secretly disliked, nothing to Mr. +Cooke, whom he despised—in his heart he was as exclusive as Sir Robert +himself—nothing to White, who would one day be his paid dependant. He +owed them no explanation. Why then should he expose himself to their +anger and surprise? He would be silent and speak only when the time +came, and he could state his views to Sir Robert with a fair chance of +a fair hearing. + +Still he saw that the position in which he had placed himself was a +false one: and might become ridiculous. And it crossed his mind to +feign illness and to go out and incontinently walk over to Stapylton +and see Sir Robert. Or he might tell White quietly that he did not find +himself able to support his cousin’s nominations: and before the news +got abroad he might withdraw and let them think what they would. But he +was too proud to do the one, and in too sulky a mood to do the other. +And he sat still. + +“Where is Sir Robert?” he asked. + +“He left home on a sudden call, this morning, sir,” White explained; +wondering what made the young squire—who was wont to be affable—so +distant. “On unexpected business.” + +“It must have been important as well as unexpected,” Wathen said, with +a smile, “to take Sir Robert away today, Mr. White.” + +“It was both, sir, as I understood,” White answered, “for Sir Robert +did not make me acquainted with it. He seemed somewhat put out—more put +out than I have often seen him. But he said that whatever happened he +would be back before the nomination.” And then, turning to Vaughan, +“You must have passed him, sir?” he added. + +“Well, now I think of it,” Vaughan answered, his spoon suspended, “I +did. I met a travelling carriage and four with jackets like his. But, I +thought it was empty.” + +“No, sir, that was Sir Robert. He will not be best pleased,” White +continued, turning to the Sergeant, “when he hears what a reception we +had!” + +“Ah, well, ah, well!” the Sergeant replied—pleasantness was his cue +to-day. “Things are worse in Bath I’ll be sworn, Mr. White.” + +“No doubt, sir, no doubt! I think,” White added, forgetting his study +of Cobbett, “the nation has gone mad.” + +After that Vaughan’s other neighbour, Squire Rowley, who met him +annually at Stapylton, claimed his ear. The old fellow, hearty and +good-natured, but a bigoted Tory, who would have given Orator Hunt four +dozen and thought Lord Grey’s proper reward a block on Tower Hill, was +the last person whom Vaughan would have chosen for a confidant; since +only to hear of a Vermuyden turned Whig would have gone near to giving +him a fit. Perforce, nevertheless, Vaughan had to listen to him and +answer him; he could not without rudeness cut him short. But all the +time as they talked, Vaughan’s uneasiness increased. With every minute +his eyes wandered more longingly to the door. Improved in temper by the +fare and by the politeness of his neighbours, he began to see that he +had been foolish to thrust himself among people with whom he did not +agree. Still he was there; and he must see the dinner to an end. After +all a little more or a little less would not add to Sir Robert’s anger. +He could explain that he thought it more delicate to avoid an open +scandal. + +Meanwhile the collision with the crowd had loosened the guests’ tongues +and never had a Vermuyden dinner gone more freely. Even the “Cripples,” +whose wont it was to begin the evening with odious obsequiousness and +close it with a freedom as unpleasant, found speech early, and were +loudest in denunciation of a Bill which threatened to deprive them of +their annuities. By the time huge joints had taken the place of the +tureens, and bowls of potatoes and mounds of asparagus dotted the +table, the noise was incessant. There was claret for those who cared +for it, and strong ale for all. And while some discussed the effect +which a Bill that disfranchised Chippinge would have on their pockets +and interests, others driving their arguments home with blows on the +table recalled, almost with tears, the sacred name of Pitt—the pilot +who weathered the storm; or held up to execration a cabinet of Whigs +dead to every Whig principle, and alive only to the chance of power +which a revolution might afford. + +“But what was to be expected? What was to be expected?” old Rowley +insisted. “We’ve only ourselves to thank! When Peel and the Duke took +up the Catholic Claims they stepped into the Whigs’ shoes—and +devilishly may they pinch them! The Whigs had to find another pair, you +see, sir, and stepped into the Radicals’! And the only people left at a +loss are the honest part of us; who are likely to end not only barefoot +but barebacked! Ay, by G—d, we are!” + +And so on, and so on; even White, who was vastly relieved by Vaughan’s +arrival, which made his majority safe, talked freely, and gave Dyas and +Pillinger of the Blue Duck the rough side of his tongue. While Vaughan, +used to a freer atmosphere, listened to their one-sided arguments, +their trite prophecies, their incredible prejudices—such they seemed to +him—and now turned up his nose, now pitied them, as an effete, a +doomed, a dying race. + +While he thought of this the dinner wore on, the joints vanished, and +huge steaming puddings made their appearance on the board; those who +cared not for plum puddings could have marrow-puddings. Then cheese and +spring onions, and some special old ale, light coloured, heady, and +served in tall, spare glasses, went round. At length the rector, a +trifle flushed, rose to say grace, and Vaughan saw that the cloth was +about to be removed. Bottles of strong port and tawny Madeira were at +hand. Some called already for their favourite punch, or for hot grog. + +“Now,” he thought, “I can escape with a good grace. And I will!” + +But as he made a movement to rise, the Sergeant rose opposite him, +lifted his glass, and fixed him with his eye. And Vaughan felt that he +could not leave at that moment without rudeness. “Gentlemen, on your +feet, if you please,” he cried blandly. “The King! The King, God bless +him! The King, gentlemen, and may he never suffer for the faults of his +servants! May the Grey mare never run away with him. May William the +Good ne’er be ruined by a—bad Bill! Gentlemen, the King, God bless him, +and deliver him from the Whigs!” + +They drank the toast amid a roar of laughter and applause. And once +more as they sat down Vaughan thought that he would escape. Again he +was hindered. This time the interruption came from behind. + +“Hallo, Vaughan!” someone muttered in his ear. “You’re the last person +I expected to see here!” + +He turned and disgust filled him. The speaker, who had just entered, +was the son of a clergyman in the neighbourhood and had gone to the +bar. He was a shifty, flattering fellow, at once a toady and a +backbiter; who had wormed himself into society too good for him, and in +London was Vaughan’s _bête noir_. But had that been all! Alas, he was +also a member of the Academic. He had been present at Vaughan’s triumph +ten days before, and had heard him proclaim himself a Reformer of the +Reformers. + +For a moment Vaughan could find not a word. He could only mutter “Oh!” +in a tone of dismay. He feared that his face betrayed the chagrin he +felt. + +“I thought you were quite the other way?” Mowatt said. And he grinned. +He was a weedy, pale young man, with thin lips and a false smile. + +Vaughan hesitated. “So I am!” he said curtly. + +“But—but I thought——” + +“Order! Order!” cried the Alderman, a trifle uplifted by wine and his +position. “Silence, if you please, gentlemen, for the Senior Candidate! +And charge your glasses!” + +Vaughan turned to the table, a frown on his brow. Wathen was on his +feet, holding his wine glass before his breast with one hand, while the +other rested on the table. His attitude was that of a man confident of +his powers and pleased to exert them. Nevertheless, as he prepared to +speak, he lowered his eyes to the table as if he thought that a little +mock-modesty became him. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “it is my privilege to propose a toast, that at +this time and in this place—this time, gentlemen, when to an extent +unknown within living memory, all is at stake, and this place which has +so much to lose—it is my privilege, I say, to propose a toast that must +go straight to the heart of every man in this room, nay, of every +true-born Englishman, and every lover of his country! It is _Our +Ancient Constitution, our Chartered Rights, our Vested Interests!_ +[Loud and continued applause.] Yes, gentlemen, our ancient +Constitution, the security of every man, woman, and child in this +realm! And coupled with it our Chartered Rights, our Vested Interests, +which, unassailed for generations, are to-day called in question by the +weakness of many, by the madness of some, by the wicked ambition of a +few. [Loud cheering]. Gentlemen, to one Cromwell this town owes the +destruction of your famous Abbey, once the pride of this county! To +another Cromwell it owes the destruction of the walls that in troublous +times secured the hearths of your forefathers! It lies with us—but we +must be instant and diligent—it lies with us, I say, to see that those +civil bulwarks which protect us and ours in the enjoyment of all we +have and all we hope for——” + +“In this world!” the Rector murmured in a deep bass voice. + +“In this world,” the Sergeant continued, accepting the amendment with a +complimentary bow, “are not laid low by a third Cromwell! I care not +whether he mask himself under the name of Grey, or of Russell, or of +Brougham, or of Lansdowne!” + +He paused amid such a roar of applause as shook the room. + +“For think not”—the Sergeant resumed when it died down—“think not, +gentlemen, whatever the easily led vulgar may think, that sacrilegious +hands can be laid on the Ark of the Constitution without injury to many +other interests; without the shock being felt through all the various +members of the State down to the lowest: without endangering all those +multiform rights and privileges for which the Constitution is our +guarantee! Let the advocates of this pernicious, this revolutionary +Bill say what they will, they cannot deny that its effect will be to +deprive you in Chippinge who, for nearly five centuries, have enjoyed +the privilege of returning members to Parliament—of that privilege, +with all”—here he glanced at the rich array of bottles that covered the +board—“the amenities which it brings with it! And for whose benefit? +For that of men no better qualified—nay, by practice and heredity less +qualified—than yourselves. But, gentlemen, mark me, that is not all! +That is but the beginning, and it may be the least part. That loss they +cannot hide from you. That loss they do not attempt to hide from you. +But they do hide from you,” he continued in his deepest and most tragic +tone, “a fact to which the whole course of history is witness—that a +policy of robbery once begun is rarely stayed, if it be stayed, until +the victim is bare! Bare, gentlemen! Gentlemen, the freemen of this +borough have of ancient right, conferred by an ancient sovereign——” + +“God bless him!” from Annibal, now somewhat drunk. “God bless him! +Here’s his health!” + +The Sergeant paused an instant and looked round the table. Then more +slowly, “Ay, God bless him!” he said. “God bless King Canute! But +what—what if those grants of land—-I care not whether you call them +chartered rights or vested interests—which you freemen enjoy of +him—what if they do not enure? You have them,” with a penetrating +glance from face to face, “but for how long, gentlemen, if this Bill +pass? You are too clear-sighted to be blind to the peril! Too shrewd to +think that you can part with one right, as old, as well vested, as +perfectly secured—and keep the others undiminished? Gentlemen, if you +are so blind, take warning! For wherever this anarchical, this +dangerous, this revolutionary Bill——” + +“Hear! Hear! Hear!” from Vaughan’s neighbour, the Squire. + +“Wherever, I say, this Bill finds supporters—and I can well believe +that in Birmingham and Sheffield, where they have all to gain and +nothing to lose, it will find supporters, it should find none in +Chippinge! Where we have all to lose and nothing to gain, and where no +man but a fool or a rogue can in reason support it! Gentlemen, you are +neither fools nor rogues——” + +“No! No! No! No!” + +“No, gentlemen, and therefore, though a few silly fellows may shout for +the Bill in the streets, I am sure that I shall have the whole of this +influential company with me when I give you the toast of ‘Our Ancient +Constitution, Our Chartered Rights, Our Vested Interests!’ May the Bill +that assails them be defeated by the good sense of a sober and united +people! May those who urge it and those who support it—rogues where +they are not fools, and fools where they are not rogues—meet with the +fate they deserve! And may we be there to see! Gentlemen,” he +continued, raising his hand for silence, “in the absence upon pressing +business of our beloved High Steward, the model of an English gentleman +and the pattern of an English landlord, I beg to couple this +toast”—here the Sergeant’s sharp black eyes fixed themselves suddenly +on his opposite neighbour—“with the name of his kinsman, Mr. Arthur +Vaughan!” + +“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” The room shook with the volume of applause, +the tables trembled. And through it all Arthur Vaughan’s heart beat +hard, and he swallowed nervously. He was caught. Whether the Sergeant +knew it or not, he was trapped. From the beginning of the speech he had +had his misgivings. He had listened anxiously; and though he had lost +nothing, though one half of his mind had followed the speaker’s thread, +the other half had scanned the prospect feverishly, weighed the chances +of escape, and grown chill with the fear of what was coming. If he had +only withdrawn in time! If he had only—— + +“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” They were pounding the table with fist and +glass, and looking towards him—two long rows of flushed, excited, tipsy +faces. Some were drinking to him. Others were scanning him curiously. +All were waiting. + +He leant forward. “I don’t wish to speak,” he said, addressing the +Sergeant in a troubled voice. “Call on some one else, if you please.” + +But “Impossible, sir!” White, surprised by his evident nervousness, +answered. He had thought Vaughan anything but a shy person. +“Impossible, sir!” + +“Get up! Get up!” cried the Squire, his neighbour, laying a jocund hand +on him and trying to lift him to his feet. + +But Vaughan resisted; his throat was so dry that he could hardly frame +his words. “I don’t wish to speak,” he muttered. “I don’t agree——” + +“Say what you like, my dear sir!” the Sergeant rejoined blandly, but +with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He had had his doubts of Master +Vaughan ever since he had caught him on his way to the Chancellor: now +he thought that he had him pinned. He did not suppose that the young +man would dare to revolt openly. + +“Yes, sir, you must get up,” said White, who had no suspicion that his +hesitation arose from any cause but shyness. “Anything will do.” + +Vaughan rose—slowly, and with a beating heart. He rose perforce. For a +moment he stood, deafened by his reception. For the smaller men saw in +him one of the old family, the future landlord of two-thirds of them, +the sometime owner of the very roof under which they were gathered. And +he, while they greeted his rising and he stood waiting with an unhappy +face for silence, wondered, even at this last moment, what he would +say. And Heaven knows what he would have said—so hard was it to +disappoint those cheering men, all looking at him with worship in their +eyes—so painful was it to break old ties—if he had not caught behind +him Mowatt’s whisper, “Eat his words! He’ll have to unsay——” + +No more than that, a fragment, but enough; enough to show him that he +had better, far better seem false to these men, to his blood, to the +past, than be false to himself. He straightened his shoulders, and +lifted his head. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, and now his voice though low was steady, “I rise +unwillingly—unwillingly, because I feel too late that I ought not to be +here. That I have no right to be here. [No! No!] No right to be here, +for this reason,” he continued, raising his hand for silence, “for this +reason, that in much of what Sergeant Wathen has said, I cannot go with +him.” + +There, it was out! But no more than a stare of perplexity passed from +the more intelligent faces about him to the duller faces lower down the +table. They did not understand; it was only clear that he could not +mean what he seemed to mean. But he was going on in a silence so +complete that a pin falling to the floor might have been heard! + +“I rise unwillingly, I say again, gentlemen,” he continued, “and I beg +you to remember this, and that I did not come here of set purpose to +flaunt my opinions before you. For I, too”—here he betrayed his secret +agitation—“thus far I do go with Sergeant Wathen,—I, too, am for Our +Ancient Constitution, I give place to no man in love of it. And I, too, +am against revolution, I will stand second to none in abhorrence of +it.” + +“Hear! Hear!” cried the Rector in a tone of unmistakable relief. “Hear, +hear!” + +“Ay, go on,” chimed in the Squire. “Go on, lad, go on! That’s all +right!” And half aside in his neighbour’s ear, “Gad! he frightened me!” +he muttered. + +“But—but to be plain,” Vaughan resumed, pronouncing every word clearly, +“I do not regard the Bill which the Sergeant has mentioned, the Bill +which is in all your minds, as assailing the one, or as being +tantamount to the other! On the contrary, I believe that it restores +the ancient balance of the Constitution, and will avert, as nothing +else will avert, a Revolution!” + +As he paused on that word, the Squire, who was of a free habit, tried +to rise and speak, but choked. The Rector gasped. Only Mr. Cooke found +his voice. He sprang to his feet, purple in the face. “By G—d!” he +roared, “are we going to listen to this?” + +Vaughan sat down, pale but composed. But he found all eyes on him, and +he rose again. + +“It was against my will I said what I have said,” he resumed. “I did +not wish to speak. I do not wish you to listen. I rose only because I +was forced to rise. But being up, I owed it to myself to say enough to +clear myself of—of the appearance of duplicity. That is all.” + +The Sergeant did not speak, but gazed darkly at him, his mind busy with +the effect which this would have on the election. White, too, did not +speak—he sat stricken dumb. The Squire swore, and five or six of the +more intelligent hissed. But again it was Cooke who found words. + +“That all? But that is not all!” he shouted. “That is not all! What are +you, sir?” For still, in common with most of those at the table, he +could not believe that he heard aright. He fancied that this was some +trope, some nice distinction, which he had not followed. “You may be +Sir Robert Vermuyden’s cousin ten times over,” he continued, +vehemently, “but we’ll have it clear what we have to expect. Speak like +a man, sir! Say what you mean!” + +Vaughan had taken his seat, but he rose again, a gleam of anger in his +eyes. “Have I not spoken plainly?” he said. “I thought I had. If you +have still any doubt, sir, I am for the Constitution, but I think that +it has suffered by the wear and tear of time and needs repair. I think +that the shifting of population during the last two centuries, the +decay of one place and the rise of another, call for some change in the +representation! I hold that the spread of education and the creation of +a large and wealthy class unconnected with the land, render that change +more urgent if we would avoid a revolution! I believe that the more we +enlarge the base upon which our institutions rest, the more safely, the +more steadily, and the longer will they last!” + +They knew now, they understood, and the storm broke. The smaller men, +or such of them as were sober, stared. But the greater number burst +into a roar of dissent, of reprobation, of anger, led by the Squire. + +“A Whig, by Heaven!” he cried violently. And he thrust his chair as far +as possible from his neighbour. “A Whig, by Heaven! And here!” While +others cried, “Renegade!” “Radical!” and “What are you doing here?” and +hissed him. But above all, in some degree stilling all, rose Cooke’s +crucial question, “Are you for the Bill? Answer me that!” And he +extended his hand for silence. “Are you for the Bill?” + +“I am,” Vaughan answered. The storm steadied him. + +“You are?” + +“Yes.” + +“Fool or rogue, then! which are you?” shrieked a voice from the lower +end of the table. “Fool or rogue? Which are you?” + +Vaughan turned sharply in the direction of the voice. “That reminds +me,” he said with a vigour which seemed after a few seconds to gain him +a hearing—for the noise died down—“that reminds me, Sergeant Wathen is +against the Bill. But he has addressed himself solely and only to your +prejudices, gentlemen! I am for the Bill—I am for the Bill,” he +repeated, seeing that their attention was wandering, “I——” + +He stopped, silenced and taken aback. For some were on their feet, +others were rising; the faces of nine out of ten were turned from him. +What was it? He turned to see; and he saw. + +A few paces within the door stood Sir Robert himself; his fur collared +travelling cloak hanging loose about him and showing his tall spare +figure at its best. He stooped, but his high-bred face, cynically +smiling, was turned full on the speaker; it was certain that he had +heard much, if not all. And Vaughan had been brave indeed, he had been +a hero, if taken by surprise and at this disadvantage he had not shown +some discomfiture. + +It is easy to smile now! Easy to say that this was but an English +gentleman, bound like others by the law! And Vaughan’s own kinsman! But +few would have smiled then. He, through whose hands passed a quarter of +the patronage of a county, who dammed or turned the stream of +promotion, who had made many there and could unmake them, whose mere +hint could have consigned, a few years back, the troublesome to the +press-gang, who belonged almost as definitely, almost as exclusively, +to a caste, as do white men in the India of to-day; who seldom showed +himself to the vulgar save in his coach and four, or riding with belted +grooms behind him—about such an one in ’31 there was, if no divinity, +at least the ægis of real power, that habit which unquestioned +authority confers, that port of Jove to which men bow! Scan the +pictured faces of the men who steered this country through the long +war—the faces of Liverpool and Castlereagh— + +_Daring pilots in extremity_, + +_Scorning the danger when the waves ran high_; + + +or of those men, heirs to their traditions, who, for nearly twenty +years, confronted the no less formidable forces of discontent and +disaffection—of Peel and Wellington, Croker and Canning, and he is +blind who does not find there the reflection of that firm rule, the +shadow of that power which still survived, though maimed and weakened +in the early thirties. + +Certainly it was not easy to smile at such men then; at their pride or +their prejudices, their selfishness or their eccentricity. For behind +lay solid power. Small blame to Vaughan therefore, if in the face of +the servile attitude, the obsequious rising of the company about him, +he felt his countenance change, if he could not quite hide his dismay. +And though he told himself that his feelings were out of place, that +the man did but stand in the shoes which would one day be his, and was +but now what he would be, _vox faucibus hæsit_—he was dumb. It was Sir +Robert who broke the silence. + +“I fear, Mr. Vaughan,” he said, the gleam in his eyes alone betraying +his passion—for he would as soon have walked the country lanes in his +dressing robe as given way to rage in that company—“I fear you are +saying in haste words which you will repent at leisure! Did I hear +aright that—that you are in favour of the Bill?” + +“I am,” Vaughan replied a little huskily. “I——” + +“Just so, just so!” Sir Robert replied with a certain lightness. And +raising his walking cane he pointed gravely and courteously to the door +a pace or two from him. “That is the door, Mr. Vaughan,” he said. “You +must be here, I am sure, under an error.” + +Vaughan coloured painfully. “Sir Robert,” he said, “I owe you, I +know——” + +“You will owe me very little by to-morrow evening,” Sir Robert +rejoined, interrupting him suavely. “Much less than you now think! But +that is not to the point. Will you—kindly withdraw?” + +“I would like at least to say this! That I came here——” + +“Will you kindly withdraw?” Sir Robert persisted. “That is all.” And he +pointed again, and still more blandly, to the door. “Any explanation +you may please to offer—and I do not deny that one may be in place—you +can give to my agent to-morrow. He, on his part, will have something to +say. For the present—Annibal,” turning with kindly condescension, “be +good enough to open the door for this gentleman. Good-evening, Mr. +Vaughan. You will not, I am sure, compel me to remove with my friends +to another room?” + +And as he continued to point to the door, and would listen to +nothing—and the room was certainly his—Vaughan walked out. And Annibal +closed the door behind him. + + + + +XIV +MISS SIBSON’S MISTAKE + + +It was perhaps fortunate for Miss Hilhouse that she did not hazard any +remarks on that second escapade in the Square. Whether this amendment +in her manners was due to Miss Sibson’s apothegms, or to the general +desire of the school to see the new teacher’s new pelisse—which could +only be gratified by favour—or to a threatening rigidity in Mary +Smith’s bearing must remain a question. But children are keen +observers. Their senses are as sharp as their tongues are cruel. And it +is certain that Miss Smith had not read four lines of the fifth chapter +of The Fairchild Family before a certain sternness in her tone was +noted by those who had not already marked the danger signal in her +eyes. For the gentlest eyes can dart lightnings on occasion. The sheep +will turn in defence of its lamb. Nor ever walked woman who could not +fight for her secret and her pride. + +So Miss Hilhouse bit her tongue and kept silence, the girls behaved +beautifully, and Mary read The Fairchild Family to them in a tone of +monotony that perfectly reflected the future as she saw it. She had +been very foolish, and very weak, but she was not without excuse. He +had saved her life, she could plead that. True, brought up as she had +been at Clapham, shielded from all dealings with the other sex, taught +to regard them as wolves, or at best as a race with which she could +have no safe parley, she should have known better. She should have +known that handsome, courteous, masterful-eyed, as they were—and with a +way with them that made poor girls’ hearts throb at one moment and +stand still at another—she should have known that they meant nothing. +That they were still men, and that she must not trust them, must not +think of them, must not expect to find them more steadfast to a point +than the weather-cock on St. Mary’s at Redcliffe. + +The weather-cock? Ah! + +She had no sooner framed the thought in the middle of the reading than +she was aware of a sensation; and a child, one of the youngest, raised +her hand. “Please—” + +Mary paused. + +“Yes?” she asked. “What is it?” + +“Please, Miss Smith, did the weather-cock speak?” + +Mary reddened violently. + +“Speak? The weather-cock? What do you mean, child?” + +“Please, Miss Smith, you said that the weather-cock told Lucy the +truth, the truth, and all the truth.” + +“Impossible!” Mary stammered. “I—I should have said, the coachman.” And +Mary resumed the story, but with a hot face; a face that blushed more +painfully and more intolerably because she was conscious that every eye +was upon it, and that a score of small minds were groping for the cause +of her confusion. + +She remembered, oh, how well she remembered, that the schoolmistress at +Clapham had told her that she had every good quality except strength of +will. And how thoroughly, how rapidly had she proved the truth of the +exception! Freed from control for only twenty-four hours, left for that +time to her own devices, she had listened to the first voice that +addressed her, believed the first flattering look that fell on her, +taken the most ordinary attentions—attentions at which any girl with +knowledge of the world or strength of will would have smiled—for gold, +real red gold! So that a light look without a spoken word had drawn her +heart from her. How it behoved her to despise herself, loathe herself, +discipline herself! How she ought to guard herself in the future! Above +all, how thankful should she be for the dull but safe routine that +fenced, and henceforth would fence, her life from such dangers! + +True. Yet how dreary to her young eyes seemed that routine stretched +before her! How her courage fainted at the prospect of morning added to +morning, formal walk to formal walk, lesson to lesson, one generation +of pupils to another! For generation would follow generation, one +chubby face would give place to another, and still she would be there, +plodding through the stale task, listening with an aching head to the +strumming on the harpsichord, saying the same things, finding the same +faults, growing slowly into a correcting, scolding, punishing machine. +By and by she would know The Fairchild Family by heart, and she would +sicken at the “Letters on the Improvement of the Mind.” The children +would still be young, but grey hairs would come to her, she would grow +stout and dull; and those slender hands, those dainty fingers still +white and fine, still meet for love, would be seared by a million +needle-pricks and roughened by the wear and tear of ten thousand hours +of plain sewing. + +She was ungrateful, oh, she was ungrateful to think such thoughts! For +in what was her lot worse than the lot of others? Or worse than it had +been a week before when, who more humble-minded or contented, more +cheerful or helpful than Mary Smith? When her only fault had been a +weakness of character which her old schoolmistress hoped would be cured +by time? When, though the shadow of an unknown Miss Sibson loomed +formidable before her, she had faced her fate bravely and hopefully, +supported not a little by the love and good wishes—won by a thousand +kind offices—which went with her into the unknown world. + +What had happened in the meantime? A little thing, oh, a very little +thing. But to think of it under the childrens’ eyes made her face burn +again. She had lost her heart—to a man. To a man! The very word seemed +improper in that company. How much more improper when the man cared +nothing for her, but tossing her a smile for guerdon, had taken her +peace of mind and gone his way, with a laugh. At the best, if he had +ever dreamt seriously of her, ever done more than deem her an innocent, +easily flattered and as lightly to be won, he had changed his mind as +quickly as a weather-cock shifts in April. And he had talked—that hurt +her, that hurt her most! He had talked of her freely, boasted of her +silliness, told his companions what he would do, or what he would not +do; made her common to them! + +She got away for a few minutes at tea-time. But twenty pairs of eyes +followed her from the room and seized on her as she returned. And “Miss +Smith, ain’t you well?” piped a tiny treble. + +She was controlling her voice to answer—that she was quite well, when +Miss Sibson intervened. “Miss Fripp,” she said sombrely, “write ‘Are +you not,’ twenty times on your slate after tea! Miss Hilhouse, if you +stare in that fashion you will be goggle-eyed. Young ladies, elbows, +elbows! Have I not told you a score of times that the art of deportment +consists in the right use of the elbow? Now, Miss Claxton, in what does +the art of deportment consist?” + +“In the right use of the elbow, Ma’am.” + +“And what is the right use of the elbow?” + +“To efface it, Ma’am.” + +“That is better,” Miss Sibson replied, somewhat mollified. “Understood +is half done. Miss Smith,” looking about her with benevolence, “had you +occasion to commend any young lady’s needle this afternoon?” + +Miss Smith looked unhappy: conscious that she had not been as attentive +to her duties as became her. “I had no occasion to find fault, Ma’am,” +she said timidly. + +“Very good. Then every fourth young lady beginning at my right hand may +take a piece of currant cake. I see that Miss Burges is wearing the +silver medal for good conduct. She may take a piece, and give a piece +to a friend. When you have eaten your cake you may go to the schoolroom +and play for half an hour at Blind Man’s Buff. But—elbows! Elbows, +young ladies,” gazing austerely at them over her glasses. “In all your +frolics let deportment be your first consideration.” + +The girls trooped out and Mary Smith rose to go with them. But Miss +Sibson bade her remain. “I wish to speak to you,” she said. + +Poor Mary trembled. For Miss Sibson was still in some measure an +unknown quantity, a perplexing mixture of severity and benevolence, +sound sense and Mrs. Chapone. + +“I wish to speak to you,” Miss Sibson continued when they were alone. +And then after a pause during which she poured herself out a third cup +of tea, “My dear,” she said soberly, “the sooner a false step is +retraced the better. I took a false step yesterday—I blame myself for +it—when I allowed you—in spite of my rule to the contrary—to see a +gentleman. I made that exception partly out of respect to the note +which the parcel contained; the affair was strange and out of the +ordinary. And partly because I liked the gentleman’s face. I thought +him a gentleman; he told me that he had an independence: I had no +reason to think him more than that. But I have heard to-day, my dear—I +thought it right to make some enquiry in view of the possibility of a +second visit—that he is a gentleman of large expectations, who will one +day be very rich and a man of standing in the country. That alters the +position,” Miss Sibson continued gravely. “Had I known it”—she rubbed +her nose thoughtfully with the handle of her teaspoon—“I should not +have permitted the interview.” And then after a few seconds of silence, +“You understand me, I think, my dear?” she asked. + +“Yes,” Mary said in a low voice. She spoke with perfect composure. + +“Just so, just so,” Miss Sibson answered, pleased to see that the girl +was too proud to give way before her—though she was sure that she would +cry by and by. “I am glad to think that there is no harm done. As I +have said, the sooner a false step is retraced, the better; and +therefore if he calls again I shall not permit him to see you.” + +“I do not wish to see him,” Mary said with dignity. + +“Very good. Then that is understood.” + +But strangely enough, the words had barely fallen from Miss Sibson’s +lips when there came a knock at the house door, and the same thought +leapt to the mind of each; and to Mary’s cheek a sudden vivid blush +that, fading as quickly as it came, left her paler than before. Miss +Sibson saw the girl’s distress, and she was about to suggest, in words +equivalent to a command, that she should retire, when the door opened +and the neat maidservant announced—with poorly masked excitement—that a +gentleman wished to see Miss Smith. + +Miss Sibson frowned. + +“Where is he?” she asked, with majesty; as if she already scented the +fray. + +“In the parlour, Ma’am.” + +“Very good. Very good. I will see him.” But not until the maid had +retired did the schoolmistress rise to her feet. “You had better stay +here,” she said, looking at her companion, “until my return. It is of +course your wish that I should dismiss him?” + +Mary shivered. Those dreams of something brighter, something higher, +something fuller than the daily round; of a life in the sunshine, of +eyes that looked into hers—this was their end! But she said “Yes,” +bravely. + +“Good girl,” said Miss Sibson, feeling, good, honest creature, more +than she showed. “I will do so.” And she swam forth. + +Poor Mary! The door was barely shut before her heart whispered that she +had only to cross the hall and she would see him; that, on the other +hand, if she did not cross the hall, she would never, never, never see +him again! She would stay here for all time, bound hand and foot to the +unchanging round of petty duties, a blind slave in the mill, no longer +a woman—though her woman’s heart hungered for love—but a dull, formal, +old maid, growing more stiff and angular with every year! No farther +away than the other side of the hall were love and freedom. And she +dared not, she dared not open the door! + +And then she bethought her, that he was no weathercock, for he had come +again! He had come! And it must be for something. For what? + +She heard the door open on the parlour side of the hall, and she knew +that he was going. And she stood listening, waiting with blanched +cheeks. + +The door opened and Miss Sibson came in, met her look—and started. + +“Oh!” the schoolmistress exclaimed; and for a moment she stood, looking +strangely at the girl, as if she did not know what to say to her. Then, +“We were mistaken,” she said, with a serious face. “It is not the +gentleman you were expecting, my dear. On the contrary, it’s a stranger +who wishes to see you on business.” + +Mary tried to gain command of herself. “I had rather not,” she said +faintly. “I don’t think I can.” + +“I fear—you must,” Miss Sibson rejoined, with unusual gravity. “Still, +there is no hurry. He can wait a few minutes. He can await your +leisure. Do you sit down and compose yourself. You have no reason to be +disturbed. The gentleman”—she continued, with an odd inflection in her +voice—“is old enough to be your father.” + + + + +XV +MR. PYBUS’S OFFER + + +“A note for you, sir.” Vaughan turned moodily to take it. It was the +morning after the Vermuyden dinner, and he had slept ill, he had risen +late, he was still sitting before his breakfast, toying with it rather +than eating it. His first feeling on leaving the dining-room had been +bitter chagrin at the ease with which Sir Robert had dealt with him. +This had given place a little later to amusement; for he had a sense of +humour. And he had laughed, though sorely, at the figure he had cut as +he beat his retreat. Still later, as he lay, excited and wakeful, he +had fallen a prey to doubt; that horrible three o’clock in the morning +doubt, which defies reason, which sees all the _cons_ in the strongest +light and reduces the _pros_ to shadows. However, one thing was +certain. He had crossed the Rubicon. He had divorced himself by public +act from the party to which his forbears—for the Vaughans as well as +the Vermuydens had been Tories—had belonged. He had joined the Whigs; +nay, he had joined the Reformers. But though he had done this +deliberately and from conviction, though his reason approved the step, +and his brain teemed with arguments in its favour, the chance that he +might be wrong haunted him. + +That governing class from which he was separating himself, from which +his policy would snatch power, which in future would dub him traitor, +what had it not done for England? With how firm a hand had it not +guided the country through storm and stress, with what success shielded +it not from foreign foes only, but from disruption and revolution? He +scanned the last hundred and fifty years and saw the country, always +under the steady rule of that class which had the greatest stake in its +prosperity, advancing in strength and riches and comfort, ay, and, +though slowly in these, in knowledge also and the humanities and +decencies. And the question forced itself upon him, would that great +middle class into whose hands the sway now fell, use it better? Would +they produce statesmen more able than Walpole or Chatham, generals +braver than Wolfe or Moore, a higher heart than Nelson’s? Nay, would +the matter end there? Would not power slip into the hands of a wider +and yet a wider circle? Would Orator Hunt’s dream of Manhood Suffrage, +Annual Parliaments and the Ballot become a reality? Would government by +the majority, government by tale of heads, as if three chawbacons must +perforce be wiser than one squire, government by the ill-taught, +untrained mass, with the least to lose and the most to gain—would that +in the long run plunge the country in fatal misfortunes? + +It was just possible that those who deemed the balance of power, +established in 1688, the one perfect mean between despotism and +anarchy—it was just possible that they were right. And that he was a +fool. + +Then to divert his mind he had allowed himself to think of Mary Smith. +And he had tossed and tumbled, ill-satisfied with himself. He was +brave, he told himself, in the wrong place. He had the courage to break +with old associations, to defy opinion, to disregard Sir Robert—where +no more than a point of pride was concerned; for it was absurd to fancy +that the fate of England hung on his voice. But in a matter which went +to the root of his happiness—for he was sure that he loved Mary Smith +and would love no other—he had not the spirit to defy a little gossip, +a few smiles, the contempt of the worldly. He flushed from head to foot +at the thought of a life which, however modest—and modesty was not +incompatible with ambition—was shared by her, and would be pervaded by +her. And yet he dared not purchase that life at so trifling a cost! No, +he was weak where he should be strong, and strong where he should be +weak. And so he had tossed and turned, and now after two or three hours +of feverish sleep, he sat glooming over his tea cup. + +Presently he broke open the note which the waiter had handed to him. He +read it, and “Who brought this?” he asked, with a perplexed face. + +“Don’t know, sir,” Sam replied glibly, beginning to collect the +breakfast dishes. + +“Will you enquire?” + +“Found it on the hall table, sir,” the man answered, in the same tone. +“Fancy,” with a grin, “it’s a runaway knock, sir. Known a man find a +cabbage at the door and a whole year’s wages under it—at election time, +sir! Yes, sir. Find funny things in funny places—election time, sir.” + +Vaughan made no reply, but a few minutes later he took his hat and +descending the stairs, strolled with an easy air into the street. He +paused as if to contemplate the Abbey Church, beautiful even in its +disfigurement. Then, but as if he were careless which way he went, he +turned to the right. + +The main street, with its whitened doorsteps and gleaming knockers, lay +languid in the sunshine; perhaps, enervated by the dissipation of the +previous evening. The candidates who would presently pay formal visits +to the voters were not yet afoot: and though taverns where the tap was +running already gave forth maudlin laughter, no other sign of the +coming event declared itself. A few tradesmen stood at their doors, a +few dogs lay stretched in the sun; and only Vaughan’s common sense told +him that he was watched. + +From the High Street he presently turned into a narrow alley on the +right which descended between garden walls to the lower level of the +town. A man who was lounging in the mouth of the alley muttered “second +door on the left,” as Vaughan passed, and the latter moved on counting +the doors. At the one indicated he paused, and, after making certain +that he was not observed, he knocked. The door opened a little way. + +“For whom are you?” asked someone who kept himself out of sight. + +“Buff and Blue,” Vaughan answered. + +“Right; sir,” the voice rejoined briskly. The door opened wide and +Vaughan passed in. He found himself in a small walled garden smothered +in lilac and laburnum, and shaded by two great chestnut trees already +so fully in leaf as to hide the house to which the garden belonged. + +The person who had admitted him, a very small, very neat gentleman in a +high-collared blue coat and nankeen trousers, with a redundant soft +cravat wound about his thin neck, bowed low. “Happy to see you, Mr. +Vaughan,” he chirped. “I am Mr. Pybus, his lordship’s man of business. +Happy to be the intermediary in so pleasant a matter.” + +“I hope it may turn out so,” Vaughan replied drily. “You wrote me a +very mysterious note.” + +“Can’t be too careful, sir,” the little man, who was said to model +himself upon Lord John Russell, answered with an important frown. +“Can’t be too careful in these matters. You’re watched and I am +watched, sir.” + +“I dare say,” Vaughan replied. + +“And the responsibility is great, very great. May I——” he continued, +pulling out his box, “but I dare say you don’t take snuff?” + +“No.” + +“No? The younger generation! Just so! Many of the young gentry smoke, I +am told. Other days, other manners! Well—we know of course what +happened last night. And I’m bound to say, I honour you, Mr. Vaughan! I +honour you, sir.” + +“You can let that pass,” Vaughan replied coldly. + +“Very good! Very good! Of course,” he continued with importance, “the +news was brought to me at once, and his lordship knew it before he +slept.” + +“Oh!” + +“Yes, indeed. Yes. And he wrote to me this morning—in his dressing +gown, I don’t doubt. He commanded me to tell you——” + +But here Vaughan stopped him—somewhat rudely. “One minute, Mr. Pybus,” +he said, “I don’t wish to know what Lord Lansdowne said or did—because +it will not affect my conduct. I am here because you requested me to +grant you an interview. But if your purpose be merely to convey to me +Lord Lansdowne’s approval—or disapproval,” in a tone a little more +contemptuous than was necessary, “be good enough to understand that +they are equally indifferent to me. I have done what I have done +without regard to my cousin’s—to Sir Robert Vermuyden’s feelings. You +may take it for certain,” he added loftily, “that I shall not be led +beyond my own judgment by any regard for his lordship’s.” + +“But hear me out!” the little man cried, dancing to and fro in his +eagerness; so that, in the shifting lights under the great chestnut +tree, he looked like a pert, bright-coloured bird. “Hear me out, and +you’ll not say that!” + +“I shall say, Mr. Pybus——” + +“I beg you to hear me out!” + +Vaughan shrugged his shoulders. + +“Go on!” he said. “I have said my say, and I suppose you understand +me.” + +“I shall hold it unsaid,” Mr. Pybus rejoined warmly, “until I have +spoken!” And he waved an agitated finger in the air. “Observe, Mr. +Vaughan—his lordship bade me take you entirely into confidence, and I +do so. We’ve only one candidate—Mr. Wrench. Colonel Petty is sure of +his election in Ireland and we’ve no mind to stand a second contest to +fill his seat: in fact we are not going to nominate him. Lord Kerry, my +lord’s eldest son thought of it, but it is not a certainty, and my lord +wishes him to wait a year or two and sit for Calne. I say it’s not a +certainty. But it’s next door to a certainty since you have declared +yourself. And my lord’s view, Mr. Vaughan, is that he who hits the buck +should have the haunch. You take me?” + +“Indeed, I don’t.” + +“Then I’ll be downright, sir. To the point, sir. Will you be our +candidate?” + +“What?” Vaughan cried. He turned very red. “What do you mean?” + +“What I said, sir. Will you be our candidate? For the Bill, the whole +Bill, and nothing but the Bill? If so, we shall not say a word until +to-morrow and then we shall nominate you with Mr. Wrench, and take ’em +by surprise. Eh? Do you see? They’ve got their speeches ready full of +my lord’s interference and my lord’s dictation, and they will point to +Colonel Petty, my lord’s cousin, for proof! And then,” Mr. Pybus +winked, much after the fashion of a mischievous paroquet, “we’ll knock +the stool from under ’em by nominating you! And, mind you, Mr. Vaughan, +we are going to win. We were hopeful before, for we’ve one of their men +in gaol, and another, Pillinger of the Blue Duck, is tied by the leg. +His wife owes a bit of money and thinks more of fifty guineas in her +own pocket than of thirty pounds a year in her husband’s. And she and +the doctor have got him in bed and will see that he’s not well enough +to vote! Ha! Ha! So there it is, Mr. Vaughan! There it is! My lord’s +offer, not mine. I believe he’d word from London what you’d be likely +to do. Only he felt a delicacy about moving—until you declared +yourself.” + +“I see,” Vaughan replied. And indeed he did see more than he liked. + +“Just so, sir. My lord’s a gentleman if ever there was one!” And Mr. +Pybus, pulling down his waistcoat, looked as if he suspected that he +had imbibed much of his lordship’s gentility. + +Vaughan stood, thinking; his eyes gazing into the shimmering depths of +green where the branches of the chestnut tree under which he stood +swept the sun-kissed turf. And as he thought he tried to still the +turmoil in his brain. Here within reach of his hand, to take or leave, +was that which had been his ambition for years! No longer to play at +the game, no longer to make believe while he addressed the Forum or the +Academic that he was addressing the Commons of England; but verily and +really to be one of that august body, and to have all within reach. Had +not the offer of cabinet honours fallen to Lord Palmerston at +twenty-five? And what Lord Palmerston had done at twenty-five, he might +do at thirty-five! And more easily, if he gained a footing before the +crowd of new members whom the Bill would bring in, took the floor. The +thought set his pulse a-gallop. His chance! His chance at last! But if +he let it slip now, it might not be his for long years. It is poor work +waiting for dead men’s shoes. + +And yet he hesitated, with a flushed face. For the thing offered +without price or preface, by a man who had power to push him, by the +man who even now was pushing Mr. Macaulay at Calne, tempted him sorely. +Nor less—nor less because he remembered with bitterness that Sir Robert +had made him no such offer, and now never would! So that if he refused +this offer, he could look for no second from either side! + +And yet he could not forget that Sir Robert was his kinsman, was the +head of his family, the donor of his vote. And in the night watches he +had decided that, his mind delivered, his independence declared, he +would not vote. Neither for Sir Robert—for conscience’s sake; nor +against Sir Robert, for his name’s sake! + +Then how could he not only take an active part against him, but raise +his fortunes on his fall? + +He drew a deep breath. And he put the temptation from him. “I am much +obliged to his lordship,” he said quietly. “But I cannot accept his +offer.” + +“Not accept it?” Mr. Pybus cried. “Mr. Vaughan! You don’t mean it, sir! +You don’t mean it! It’s a safe seat! It’s in your own hands, I tell +you! And after last night! Besides, it is not as if you had not +declared yourself.” + +“I cannot accept it,” Vaughan repeated coldly. “I am obliged to Lord +Lansdowne for his kind thought of me. I beg you to convey my thanks to +him. But I cannot—in the position I occupy—accept the offer.” + +Mr. Pybus stared. Was it possible that the scene at the Vermuyden +dinner had been a ruse? A piece of play-acting to gain his secrets? If +so—he was undone! “But,” he quavered with an unhappy eye, “you are in +favour of the Bill, Mr. Vaughan?” + +“I am. + +“And—and of Reform generally, I understand?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Then—I don’t understand? Why do you refuse?” + +Vaughan raised his head and looked at him with a movement which would +have reminded Isaac White of Sir Robert. “That is my business,” he +said. + +“But you see,” Mr. Pybus remonstrated timidly—he was rather a +crestfallen bird by this time—“I confess I was never more surprised in +my life! Never! You see I’ve told you all our secrets.” + +“I shall keep them.” + +“Yes, but—oh dear! oh dear!” Pybus was thinking of what he had said +about Mrs. Pillinger of the Blue Duck. “I—I don’t know what to say,” he +added. “I am afraid I have been too hasty, very hasty! Very +precipitate! Of course, Mr. Vaughan,” he continued, “the offer would +not have been made if we had not thought you certain to accept it!” + +“Then,” Vaughan replied with dignity, “you can consider that it has not +been made. I shall not name it for certain.” + +“Well! Well!” + +“I can say no more,” Vaughan continued coldly. “Indeed, there is +nothing more to be said, Mr. Pybus?” + +“No,” piteously, “I suppose not. If you really won’t change your mind, +sir?” + +“I shall not do that,” the young man answered. And a minute later with +Mr. Pybus’s faint appeals still sounding in his ears he was on the +other side of the garden door, and striding down the alley, towards the +King’s Wall, whence making a detour he returned to the High Street. + + + + +XVI +LESS THAN A HERO + + +It was the evening of the day on which the meeting between Arthur +Vaughan and Mr. Pybus had taken place, and from the thirty-six windows +in the front of Stapylton lights shone on the dusky glades of the park; +here, twinkling fairy-like over the long slope of sward that shimmered +pale-green as with the ghostly reflection of dead daylight, there, +shining boldly upon the clump of beeches that topped an eminence with +blackness. Vaughan sat beside Isaac White in the carriage which Sir +Robert had sent for him; and looking curiously forth on the demesne +which would be his if he lived, he could scarcely believe his eyes. Was +the old squire so sure of victory that he already illuminated his +windows? Or was the house, long sparely inhabited, and opened only at +rare intervals and to dull and formal parties, full now from attic to +hall? Election or no election, it seemed unlikely. Yet every window, +yes, every window had its light! + +He was too proud to question the agent who, his errand done, and his +message delivered, showed no desire to talk. More than once, indeed, in +the course of their short companionship, Vaughan had caught White +looking at him strangely; with something like pity in his eyes. And +though the young man was far from letting this distress him—probably +White, with his inborn reverence for Sir Robert, despaired of all who +fell under his displeasure—it closed his lips and hardened his heart. +He was no paid servant; but a kinsman and the heir. And he would have +Sir Robert remember this. For his own part, he was not going to forget +who he was; that a Chancellor had stooped to flatter him and a Cabinet +Minister had offered him a seat. He had refused for a point of honour a +bait which few would have refused; and he was not going to be +browbeaten by an old gentleman whom the world had out-paced, and whose +beliefs, whose prejudices, whose views, were of yesterday. Who, in his +profound ignorance of present conditions, would plunge England into +civil war rather than resign a privilege as obsolete as ship-money, and +as illegal as the Dispensing Power. + +While he thought of this the carriage stopped at the door. He alighted +and ascended the steps. + +The hall more than made good the outside promise; it was brilliantly +lighted, and behind Mapp and the servant who received him Vaughan had a +passing glimpse of three or four men in full-dress livery. From the +dining-room on his left issued peals of laughter, and voices, so clear +that, though he had not the smallest reason to expect to hear them +there, he was sure that he caught Bob Flixton’s tones. The discovery +was not pleasing; but Mapp, turning the other way and giving him no +time to think, went before him to the suite of state-rooms—which he had +not seen in use more than thrice within his knowledge of the house. It +must be so then—he thought with a slight shock of surprise. The place +must be full! For the gilt mirrors in both the large and small +drawing-rooms reflected the soft light of many candles, wood fires +burned and crackled on the hearths, the “Morning Chronicle,” the +“Quarterly,” and other signs of life lay about on the round tables, and +an air of cheerful _bienséance_ pervaded all. What did it mean? + +“Sir Robert has finished dinner, sir,” Mapp said—even he seemed to wear +an unusual air of solemnity. “He will be with you, sir, immediately. +Hope you are well, sir?” + +“Quite well, Mapp, thank you.” + +Then he was left alone—to wonder if a second surprise awaited him. He +had had one that day. If a second were in store for him what was its +nature? Could Sir Robert on his side be going to offer him one of the +seats—if he would recant? He hoped not. But he had not time to give +more than a thought to that before he heard footsteps and voices +crossing the hall. The next moment there entered the outer room—at such +a distance from the hearth of the room in which he stood, that he had a +leisurely view of all before they reached him—three persons. The first +was a tall burly man in slovenly evening clothes, and with an ungainly +rolling walk; after him came Sir Robert himself, and after him again, +Isaac White. + +Vaughan advanced a step or two, and Sir Robert passed by the burly man, +who had a pendulous under lip, and a face at once flabby and +melancholy. The baronet held out his hand. “We have not quarrelled yet, +Mr. Vaughan,” he said, with a cordiality which took Vaughan quite by +surprise. “I trust and believe that we are not going to quarrel. I bid +you welcome therefore. This,” he continued with a gesture of courteous +deference, “is Sir Charles Wetherell, whom you know by reputation, and +whom, for a reason which you will understand by and by, I have asked to +be present at our interview.” + +The stout man eyed Vaughan from under bushy eyebrows. “I think we have +met before,” he said in a deep voice. “At Westminster, Mr. Vaughan, on +the 22nd of last month.” He had a habit of blinking as he talked. “I +was beholden to you on that occasion.” + +Vaughan had already recognised him and recalled the incident in Palace +Yard. He bowed with an expression of silent sympathy. But he wondered +all the more. The presence of the late attorney-general, a man of mark +in the political world, whose defeat at Norwich was in that morning’s +paper—what did it mean? Did they think to browbeat him? Or—had Sir +Charles Wetherell also an offer to make to him? In any event it seemed +that he had made himself a personage by his independence. Sought by the +one side, sought by the other! A résumé of the answer he would give +flashed before him. However, they were not come to that yet! + +“Will you sit down,” said Sir Robert. The great man’s voice and +manner—to Vaughan’s surprise—were less autocratic and more friendly +than he had ever known them. Indeed, in comparison of the lion of last +evening he was but a mouse. “In the first place,” he continued, “I am +obliged to you for your compliance with my wishes.” + +Vaughan murmured that he had come at no inconvenience to himself. + +“I hope not,” Sir Robert replied. “In the next place let me say, that +we have to speak to you on a matter of the first importance; a matter +also on which we have the advantage of knowledge which you have not. It +is my desire, therefore, to admit you to a parity with us in that +respect, Mr. Vaughan, before you express yourself on any subject on +which we are likely to differ.” + +Vaughan looked keenly, almost suspiciously at him; and an observer +would have noticed that there was a closer likeness between the two men +than the slender tie of blood warranted. “If it is a question, Sir +Robert,” he said slowly, “of the subject on which we differed last +evening, I would prefer to say at once——” + +“Don’t!” Wetherell, who was seated within a long reach of him, struck +in. “Don’t!” And he laid an elephantine and not over-clean hand on +Vaughan’s knee. “You can spill words as easy as water,” he continued, +“and they are as hard to pick up again. Hear what Vermuyden has to say, +and what I’ve to say—’tisn’t much—and then blow your trumpet—if you’ve +any breath left!” he added _sotto voce_, as he threw himself back. + +Vaughan hesitated a moment. Then, “Very good,” he said, “if you will +hear me afterwards. But——” + +“But and If are two wenches always raising trouble!” Wetherell cried +coarsely. “Do you listen, Mr. Vaughan. Do you listen. Now, Vermuyden, +go on.” + +But Sir Robert did not seem to have words at command. He took a pinch +of snuff from the gold box with which his fingers trifled: and he +opened his mouth to resume; but he hesitated. At length, “What I have +to tell you, Mr. Vaughan,” he said, in a voice more diffident than +usual, “had perhaps been more properly told by my attorney to yours. I +fully admit that,” dusting the snuff from his frill. “And it would have +been so told but for—but for exigencies not immediately connected with +it, which are nevertheless so pressing as to—to induce me to take the +one step immediately possible. Less regular, but immediately possible! +In spite of this, you will believe, I am sure, that I do not wish to +take any advantage of you other than,” he paused with an embarrassed +look at Wetherell, “that which my position gives me. For the rest I”—he +looked again at his snuffbox and hesitated—“I think—I——” + +“You’d better come to the point!” Wetherell growled impatiently, +jerking his ungainly person back in his chair, and lurching forward +again. “To the point, man! Shall I tell him?” + +Sir Robert straightened himself—with a sigh of relief. “If you please,” +he said, “I think you had better. It—it may come better from you, as +you are not interested.” + +Vaughan looked from one to the other, and wondered what on earth they +meant, and what they would be at. His cordial reception followed by +this strange exordium, the preparations, the presence of the three men +seated about him and all, it seemed, ill at ease—these things begot +instinctive misgivings; and an uneasiness, which it was not in the +power of reason to hold futile. What were they meditating? What threat, +what inducement? And what meant this strange illumination of the house, +this air of festivity? It could be nothing to him. And yet—but +Wetherell was speaking. + +“Mr. Vaughan,” he said gruffly—and he swayed himself as was his habit +to and fro in his seat, “my friend here, and your kinsman, has made a +discovery of—of the utmost possible importance to him; and, speaking +candidly, of scarcely less importance to you. I don’t know whether you +read the trash they call novels now-a-days—‘The Disowned’” with a snort +of contempt, “and ‘Tremayne’ and the rest? I hope not, I don’t! But +it’s something devilish like the stuff they put in them that I’ve to +tell you. You’ll believe it or not, as you please. You think yourself +heir to the Stapylton estates? Of course you do. Sir Robert has no more +than a life-interest, and if he has no children, the reversion in fee, +as we lawyers call it, is yours. Just so. But if he has children, son +or daughter, you are ousted, Mr. Vaughan.” + +“Are you going to tell me,” Vaughan said, his face grown suddenly +rigid, “that he has children?” His heart was beating furiously under +his waistcoat, but, taken aback as he was, he maintained outward +composure. + +“That’s it,” Wetherell answered bluntly. + +“Then——” + +“He has a daughter.” + +“It will have to be proved!” Vaughan said slowly and in the tone of a +man who chose his words. And he rose to his feet. He felt, perhaps he +was justified in feeling, that they had taken him at a disadvantage. +That they had treated him unfairly in trapping him hither, one to +three; in order that they might see, perhaps, how he took it! Not—his +thoughts travelled rapidly over the facts known to him—that the thing +could be true! The punishment for last night’s revolt fell too pat, too +_à propos_, he’d not believe it! And besides, it could not be true. For +Lady Vermuyden lived, and there could be no question of a concealed +marriage, or a low-born family. “It will have to be proved!” he +repeated firmly. “And is matter rather for my lawyers than for me.” + +Sir Robert, too, had risen to his feet. But it was Wetherell who spoke. + +“Perhaps so!” he said. “Perhaps so. Indeed I admit it, young sir! It +will have to be proved. But——” + +“It should have been told to them rather than to me!” Vaughan repeated, +with a sparkling eye. And he turned as if he were determined to treat +them as hostile and to have nothing farther to say to them. + +But Wetherell stopped him. “Stay, young man,” he said, “and be ashamed +of yourself! You forget yourself!” And before Vaughan, stung and angry, +could retort upon him, “You forget,” he continued, “that this touches +another as closely as it touches you—and more closely! You are a +gentleman, sir, and Sir Robert’s kinsman. Have you no word then, for +him!” pointing, with a gesture roughly eloquent, to his host. “You +lose, but have you no word for him who gains! You lose, but is it +nothing to him that he finds himself childless no longer, heirless no +longer? That his house is no longer lonely, his hearth no longer empty! +Man alive,” he added, dropping with honest indignation to a low note, +“you lose, but what does he not gain? And have you no word, no generous +thought for him? Bah!” throwing himself back in his seat. “Poor human +nature.” + +“Still it must be proved,” said Vaughan sullenly, though in his heart +he acknowledged the truth of the reproach. + +“Granted! But will you not hear what it is, that is to be proved?” +Wetherell retorted. “If so, sit down, sir, sit down, and hear what we +have to tell you like a man. Will you do that,” in a tone of extreme +exasperation, which did but reflect the slowly hardening expression of +Sir Robert’s face, “or are you quite a fool?” + +Vaughan hesitated, looking with angry eyes on Wetherell. Then he sat +down. “Am I to understand,” he said coldly, “that this is news to Sir +Robert?” + +“It was news to him yesterday.” + +Vaughan bowed and was silent; aware that a more generous demeanour +would better become him, but unable to compass it on the spur of the +moment. He was ignorant—unfortunately—of the spirit in which he had +been summoned: consequently he could not guess that every word he +uttered rang churlishly in the ears of more than one of his listeners. +He was no churl; but he was taken unfairly—as it seemed to him. And to +be called upon in the first moment of chagrin to congratulate Sir +Robert on an event which ruined his own prospects and changed his +life—was too much. Too much! But again Wetherell was speaking. + +“You shall know what we know from the beginning,” he said, in his heavy +melancholy way. “You are aware, I suppose, that Sir Robert married—in +the year ’10, was it not?—Yes, in the year ’10, and that Lady Vermuyden +bore him one child, a daughter, who died in Italy in the year ’15. It +appears now—we are in a position to prove, I think—that that child did +not die in that year, nor in any year; but is now alive, is in this +country and can be perfectly identified.” + +Vaughan coughed. “This is strange news,” he said, “after all these +years; and somewhat sudden, is it not?” + +Sir Robert’s face grew harder, but Wetherell only shrugged his +shoulders. “If you will listen,” he replied, “you will know all that we +know. It is no secret, at any rate in this room it is no secret, that +in the year ’14 Sir Robert fancied that he had grave reason to be +displeased with Lady Vermuyden. It was thought by her friends that a +better agreement might be produced by a temporary separation, and the +child’s health afforded a pretext. Accordingly, Sir Robert suffered +Lady Vermuyden to take it abroad, her suite consisting of a courier, a +maid, and a nurse. The nurse she sent back to England not long +afterwards on the plea that an Italian woman from whom the child might +learn the language would be better. For my part, I believe that she +acted bonâ-fide in this. But in other respects,” puffing out his +cheeks, “her conduct was such as to alarm her husband; and, in terms +perhaps too peremptory, Sir Robert bade her return at once—or cease to +consider his house as her home. Her answer was the announcement of the +child’s death.” + +“And that it did not die,” Vaughan murmured, “as Lady Vermuyden said?” + +“We have this evidence. But first let me say, that Sir Robert on the +receipt of the news set out for Italy overland. The Hundred Days, +however, stopped him; he could not cross France, and he returned +without certifying the child’s death. He had indeed no suspicion, no +reason for suspicion. Well, then, for evidence that it did not die. The +courier is dead, and there remains only the maid. She is alive, she is +here, she is in this house. And it is from her that we have learned the +truth—that the child did not die.” + +He paused a moment, brooding in his fat, melancholy way on the pattern +of the carpet between his feet. Sir Robert, with a face hard and proud, +sat upright, listening to the tale of his misfortunes—and doubtless +suffered torments as he listened. + +“Her story,” Wetherell resumed—possibly he had been arranging his +thoughts—“is this. Lady Vermuyden was living a life of the wildest +gaiety. She had no affection for the child; if the woman is to be +believed, she hated it. To part with it was nothing to her one way or +the other, and on receipt of Sir Robert’s order to return, her ladyship +conceived the idea of punishing him by abducting the child and telling +him it was dead. She set out from Florence with it; on the way she left +it at Orvieto in charge of the Italian nurse, and arriving in Rome she +put about the story of its death. Shortly afterwards she had it carried +to England and bred up in an establishment near London—always with the +aid and connivance of her maid.” + +“The maid’s name?” Vaughan asked. + +“Herapath—Martha Herapath. But to proceed. By and by Lady Vermuyden +returned to England, and settled at Brighton, and the maid left her and +married, but continued to draw a pension from her. Lady Vermuyden +persisted here—in the company of Lady Conyng—but I need name no +names—in the same course of giddiness, if no worse, which she had +pursued abroad; and gave little if any heed to the child. But this +woman Herapath never forgot that the pension she enjoyed was dependent +on her power to prove the truth: and when a short time back the girl, +now well-grown, was withdrawn from her knowledge, she grew restive. She +sought Lady Vermuyden, always a creature of impulse, and when her +ladyship, foolish in this as in all things, refused to meet her views +she—she came to us,” he continued, lifting his head abruptly and +looking at Vaughan, “and told us the story.” + +“It will have to be proved,” Vaughan said stubbornly. + +“No doubt, strictly proved,” Wetherell replied. “In the meantime if you +would like to peruse the facts in greater detail, they are here, as +taken down from the woman’s mouth.” He drew from his capacious +breast-pocket a manuscript consisting of several sheets which he +unfolded and flattened on his knee. He handed it to Vaughan. + +The young man took it, without looking at Sir Robert: and with his +thoughts in a whirl—and underlying them a sick feeling of impending +misfortune—he proceeded to read it, line after line, without taking in +a single word. For all the time his brain was at work measuring the +change. His modest competence would be left to him. He would have +enough to live as he was now living, and to pursue his career; or, in +the alternative, he might settle down as a small squire in his paternal +home in South Wales. But the great inheritance which had loomed large +in the background of his life and had been more to him than he had +admitted, the future dignity which he had undervalued while he thought +it his own, the position more enviable than many a peer’s, and higher +by its traditions than any to which he could attain by his own +exertions, though he reached the Woolsack—these were gone if +Wetherell’s tale was true. Gone in a moment, at a word! And though he +might have lost more, though many a man had lost his all by such a +stroke and smiled, he was no hero, and he could not on the instant +smile. He could not in a moment oust all bitterness. He knew that he +was taking the news unworthily; that he was playing a poor part. But he +could not force himself to play a better—on the instant. When he had +read with unseeing eyes to the bottom of the first page and had turned +it mechanically, he let the papers fall upon his knee. + +“You do not wish me,” he said slowly, “to express an opinion now, I +suppose?” + +“No,” Wetherell answered. “Certainly not. But I have not quite done. I +have not quite done,” he repeated ponderously. “I should tell you that +for opening the matter to you now—we have two reasons, Mr. Vaughan. Two +reasons. First, we think it due to you—as one of the family. And +secondly, Vermuyden desires that from the beginning, his intentions +shall be clear and—be understood.” + +“I thoroughly understand them,” Vaughan answered drily. No one was more +conscious than he that he was behaving ill. + +“That is just what you do not!” Wetherell retorted stolidly. “You spill +words, young man, and by and by you will wish to pick them up again. +You cannot anticipate, at any rate, you have no right to anticipate, +Sir Robert’s intentions, of which he has asked me to be the mouthpiece. +The estate, of course, and the settled funds must go to his daughter. +But there is, it appears, a large sum arising from the economical +management of the property, which is at his disposal. He feels,” +Wetherell continued sombrely, an elbow on each knee and his eyes on the +floor, “that some injustice has been done to you, and he desires to +compensate you for that injustice. He proposes, therefore, to secure to +you the succession to two-thirds of this sum; which amounts—which +amounts, in the whole I believe”—here he looked at White—“to little +short of eighty thousand pounds.” + +Vaughan, who had been more than once on the point of interrupting him, +did so at last. “I could not accept it!” he exclaimed impulsively. And +he rose, with a hot face, from his seat. “I could not accept it.” + +“As a legacy?” Wetherell, who was fond of money, said with a queer +look. “As a legacy, eh? Why not?” While Sir Robert, with compressed +lips, almost repented of his generosity. He had looked for some show of +good-feeling, some word of sympathy, some felicitation from the young +man, who, after all, was his blood relation. But if this was to be his +return, if his advances were to be met with suspicion, his benevolence +with churlishness, then all, all in this young man was of a piece—and +detestable! + +And certainly Vaughan was not showing himself in the best light. He was +conscious that he had taken the news ill; but he could not change his +attitude in a moment. Under no circumstances is it an easy thing to +take a gift with grace: to take one with grace under these +circumstances—and when he had already misbehaved—was beyond him, as it +would have been beyond most men. + +For a moment drawn this way by his temper, that way by his better +feelings, he did not know how to answer Wetherell’s last words. At last +and lamely, “May I ask,” he said, “why Sir Robert makes me this offer +while the matter lies open?” + +“Sir Robert will prove his case,” Wetherell answered gruffly, “if that +is what you mean.” + +“I mean——” + +“He does not ask you to surrender anything.” + +“I am bound to say, then, that the offer is very generous,” Vaughan +replied, melting, and speaking with some warmth. “Most generous. But——” + +“He asks you to surrender nothing,” Wetherell repeated stolidly, his +face between his knees. + +“But I still think it is premature,” Vaughan persisted doggedly. “And +handsome as it is, more than handsome as it is, I think that it would +have come with greater force, were my position first made clear!” + +“Maybe,” Wetherell said, his face still hidden. “I don’t deny that.” + +“As it is,” with a deep breath, “I am taken by surprise. I do not know +what to say. I find it hard to say anything in the first flush of the +matter.” And Vaughan looked from one to the other. “So, for the +present, with Sir Robert’s permission,” he continued, “and without any +slight to his generosity, I will take leave. If he is good enough, to +repeat on some future occasion, this very handsome—this uncalled for +and generous offer, which he has now outlined, I shall know, I hope, +what is due to him, without forgetting what is due also to myself. In +the meantime I have only to thank him and——” + +But the belated congratulation which was on his lips and which might +have altered many things, was not to be uttered. + +“One moment!” Sir Robert struck in. “One moment!” He spoke with a +hardness born of long suppressed irritation. “You have taken your +stand, Mr. Vaughan, strictly on the defensive, I see——” + +“But I think you understand——” + +“Strictly on the defensive,” the baronet repeated, requiring silence by +a gesture. “You must not be surprised therefore, if I—nay, let me +speak!—if I also say a word on a point which touches me.” + +“I wouldn’t!” Wetherell growled in his deep voice; and for an instant +he raised his huge face, and looked stolidly at the wall before him. + +But Sir Robert was not to be bidden. “I think otherwise,” he said. “Mr. +Vaughan, the election to-morrow touches me very nearly—in more ways +than one. The vote you have, you received at my hands and hold only as +my heir. I take it for granted, therefore, that under the present +circumstances, you will use it as I desire.” + +“Oh!” Vaughan said. And drawing himself up to his full height he passed +his eyes slowly from one to the other with a singular smile. “Oh!” he +repeated—and there was a world of meaning in his tone. “Am I to +understand then——” + +“I have made myself quite clear,” Sir Robert cried, his manner +betraying his agitation. + +“Am I to understand,” Vaughan persisted, “that the offer which you made +me a few minutes back, the generous and handsome offer,” he continued +with a faint note of irony in his voice, “was dependent on my conduct +to-morrow? Am I to understand that?” + +“If you please to put it so,” Sir Robert replied, his voice quivering +with the resentment he had long and patiently suppressed. “And if your +own sense of honour does not dictate to you how to act.” + +“But do you put it so?” + +“Do you mean——” + +“I mean,” Vaughan said, “does the offer depend on the use I make of my +vote to-morrow? That is the point, Sir Robert!” + +“No,” Wetherell muttered indistinctly. + +But again Sir Robert would not be bidden. “I will be frank,” he said +haughtily. “And my answer is, yes! yes! For I do not conceive, Mr. +Vaughan, that a gentleman would take so great a benefit, and refuse so +slight a service! A service, too, which, quite apart from this offer, +most men——” + +“Thank you,” Vaughan replied, interrupting him. “That is clear enough.” +And he looked from one to the other with a smile of amusement; the +smile of a man suddenly reinstated in his own opinion—and once more +master of his company. “Now I understand,” he continued. “I see now why +the offer which a few minutes ago seemed so premature, so strangely +premature, was made this evening. To-morrow it had been made too late! +My vote had been cast and I could no longer be—bribed!” + +“Bribed, sir?” cried Sir Robert, red with anger. + +“Yes, bribed, sir. But let me tell you,” Vaughan went on, allowing the +bitterness which he had been feeling to appear, “let me tell you, Sir +Robert, that if not only my future, but my present, if my all, were at +stake—I should resent such an offer as an insult!” + +Sir Robert took a step towards the bell and stopped. + +“An insult!” Vaughan repeated firmly. “As great an insult as I should +inflict upon you, if I were unwise enough to do the errand I was asked +to do a week ago—by a cabinet minister. And offered you, Sir Robert, +here in your own house, a peerage conditional on your support of the +Bill!” + +“A peerage?” Sir Robert’s eyes seemed to be starting from his head. “A +peerage! Conditional on my——” + +“Yes, sir, conditional on your renunciation of those opinions which you +honestly hold as I honestly hold mine!” Vaughan repeated coolly. “I +will make the offer if you wish it.” + +Wetherell rose ponderously. “See here!” he said. “Listen to me, will +you, you two! You, Vermuyden, as well as the young man. You will both +be sorry for what you are saying now! Listen to me! Listen to me, man!” + +But the baronet was already tugging at the bell-rope. He was no longer +red; he was white with anger. And not without reason. This +whipper-snapper, this pettifogging lad, just out of his teens, to talk +to him of peerages, to patronise him, to offer him—to—to—— + +For a moment he stammered and could not speak. At last, “Enough! +Enough, sir; leave my house!” he cried, shaking from head to foot with +passion, and losing for the first time in many years his self-control. +“Leave my house,” he repeated furiously, “and never set foot in it +again! Not a pound, and not a penny will you have of mine! Never! +Never! Never!” + +Vaughan smiled, “Very good, sir,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. +“Your fortune is your own. But——” + +“Begone, sir! Not another word, but go!” + +Vaughan raised his eyebrows, bowed in a ceremonious fashion to +Wetherell, and nodded to White, who stood petrified and gaping. Then he +walked slowly through that room and the next, and with one backward +smile—vanished. + +And this time, as he passed through the hall, narrowly missing Flixton +who was leaving the dining-room, there could be no doubt that the +breach was complete, that the small cordiality which had existed +between the two men was at an end. The Bill, which had played so many +mischievous tricks, severed so many old friends, broken the ties of so +many years, had dealt no one a more spiteful blow than it had dealt +Arthur Vaughan. + + + + +XVII +THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION + + +The great day on which the Borough of Chippinge was to give its vote, +Aye or No, Reform or No Reform, the Rule of the Few or the Rule of the +Many, was come; and in the large room on the first floor of the White +Lion were assembled a score of persons deeply interested in the issue. +Those who had places at the three windows were gazing on what was going +forward in the space below; and it was noticeable that while the two or +three who remained in the background talked and joked, these were +silent; possibly because the uproar without made hearing difficult. The +hour was early, the business of the day was to come, but already the +hub-bub was indescribable. Nor was that all; every minute some missile, +a much enduring cabbage-stalk, or a dead cat in Tory colours, rose to a +level with the windows, hovered, and sank—amid a storm of groans or +cheers. For the most part, indeed, these missiles fell harmless. But +that the places of honour at the windows were not altogether places of +safety was proved by a couple of shattered panes, as well as by the +sickly hue of some among the spectators. + +Nearly all who had attended the Vermuyden dinner were in the room. But, +for certain, things which had worn one aspect across the mahogany, wore +another now. At the table old and young had made light of the shoving +and mauling and drubbing through which they had forced their way to the +good things before them; they had even made a jest of the bit of a rub +they were likely to have on the polling day. Now, the sight of the +noisy crowd which filled the open space, from the head of the High +Street to the wall of the Abbey, and from the Vineyard east of it, +almost to the West Port—made their bones ache. They looked, even the +boldest, at one another. The heart of Dewell, the barber, was in his +boots; the rector stared aghast; and Mowatt, the barrister, Arthur +Vaughan’s ill-found friend, wished for once that he was on the vulgar +side. + +True, the doors of the White Lion were guarded by a sturdy phalanx of +Vermuyden lads; mustered with what difficulty and kept together by what +arguments, White best knew. But what were two or three score, however +faithful, and however strong, against the hundreds and thousands who +swayed and cheered and groaned before the Inn? Who swarmed upon the old +town-cross until they hid every inch of the crumbling stonework; who +clung to every niche and buttress of the Abbey; and from whose mass as +from a sea the solitary church spire rose like some lighthouse cut off +by breakers? Who, here, forgetful of their Wiltshire birth cheered the +Birmingham tub-thumper to the echo, and there, roared stern assent to +the wildest statements of the Political Union? + +True, a dozen banners and thrice as many flags gave something of a +festive air to the scene. But the timid who tried to draw solace from +these retreated appalled by the daring “Death or Freedom!” inscribed on +one banner: or the scarcely less bold “The Sovereign People,” which +bellied above the clothiers. The majority of the placards bore nothing +worse than the watchword of the party: “The Bill, the whole Bill, and +nothing but the Bill!” or “Retrenchment and Reform!” or—in reference to +the King—“God bless the two Bills!” But for all that, Dewell, the +barber—and some more who would not have confessed it—wished the day +well over and no bones broken! A great day for Chippinge, but a day on +which many an old score was like to be paid, many a justice to hear the +commonalty’s opinion of him, many a man who had thriven under the old +rule, to read the writing on the wall! + +Certainly nothing like the spectacle visible from the White Lion +windows had been seen in Chippinge within living memory. The Abbey, +indeed, which had seen the last of the mitred Abbots pass out—shorn of +his strength, and with weeping townsfolk about him in lieu of belted +knights—that pile, stately in its ruin, which had witnessed a +revolution greater even than this which impended, and more tragic, +might have viewed its pair, might have seen its precincts seethe as +they seethed now. But no living man. Nor did those who scanned the +crowd from the White Lion find aught to lessen its terrors. There were, +indeed, plenty of decent, respectable people in the crowd, who, though +they were set on gaining their rights, had no notion of violence. But +wood burns when it is kindled: and here at the corner of the Heart and +Hand, the Whig headquarters, was a spark like to light the fire—Boston, +the bruiser, and a dozen of his fellows; men who were, one and all, the +idols of the yokels who stood about them and stared. Pybus, who had +brought them hither, was not to be seen; he was weaving his spells in +the Heart and Hand. But Mr. Williams, White-Hat Williams, the richest +man in Chippinge, who, voteless, had only lived of late to see this +day—he was here at the head of his clothmen, and as fierce as the +poorest. And half-a-dozen lesser men there were of the same kind; +sallow Blackford, the Methodist, the fugleman of every dissenter within +ten miles; and two or three small lawyers whom the landlords did not +employ, and two or three apothecaries who were in the same case. With +these were one or two famished curates, with Sydney Smith for their +warranty, and his saying about Dame Partington’s Mop and the Atlantic +on their lips; and a sprinkling of spouters from the big towns—men who +had the glories of Orator Hunt and William Cobbett before their eyes. +And everywhere, working in the mass like yeast, moved a score of bitter +malcontents—whom the old system had bruised under foot—poachers whom +Sir Robert had jailed, or the lovers of maids as frail as fair, or +labourers whom the Poor Laws had crushed—a score of malcontents whose +grievances long muttered in pothouses now flared to light and cried for +vengeance. In a word, there were the elements of mischief in the crowd: +and under the surface an ugly spirit. Even the most peaceable were +grim, knowing it was now or never. So that the faces at the White Lion +windows grew longer as their owners gazed and listened. + +“I don’t know what’s come to the people!” the Rector bawled, turning +about to make himself heard by his neighbour. “Eh, what?” + +“I’d like to see Lord Grey hung!” answered Squire Rowley, his face +purple. “And Lord Lansdowne with him! What do you say, sir?” to +Sergeant Wathen. + +“Fortunate a show of hands don’t carry it!” the Sergeant cried, +shrugging his shoulders with an assumption of easiness. + +“Carry it? Of course we’ll carry it!” the Squire replied wrathfully. “I +suppose two and two still make four!” + +Isaac White, who was whispering with a man in a corner of the room, +wished that he was sure of that; or, rather, that three and two made +six. But the Squire was continuing. “Bah!” he cried in disgust. “Give +these people votes? Look at ’em! Look at ’em, sir! Votes indeed! Votes +indeed! Give ’em oakum, I say!” + +He forgot that nine-tenths of those below were as good as the voters at +his elbow, who were presently to return two members for Chippinge. Or +rather, it did not occur to him, good old Tory as he was, and +convinced, + +_’Twas the Jacobins brought every mischief about_, + + +that Dewell’s vote was Dewell’s, or Annibal’s Annibal’s. + +Meanwhile, “I wish we were safe at the hustings!” young Mowatt shouted +in the ear of the man who stood in front of him. + +The man chanced to be Cooke, the other candidate. He turned. “At the +hustings?” he said irascibly. “Do you mean, sir, that we are expected +to fight our way through that rabble?” + +“I am afraid we must,” Mowatt answered. + +“Then it—has been d——d badly arranged!” retorted the outraged Cooke, +who never forgot that as he paid well for his seat it ought to be a +soft one. “Go through this mob, and have our heads broken?” + +The faces of those who could hear him grew longer. “And it wants only +five minutes of ten,” complained a third. “We ought to be going now.” + +“D——n me, but suppose they don’t let us go!” cried Cooke. “Badly +arranged! I should think it is, sir! D——d badly arranged! The hustings +should have been on this side.” + +But hitherto the hustings had been at Chippinge a matter of form, and +it had not occurred to anyone to alter their position—cheek by jowl +with the Whig headquarters, but divided by seventy yards of seething +mob from the White Lion. However, White, on an appeal being made to +him, put a better face on the matter. “It’s all right, gentlemen,” he +said, “it’s all right! If they have the hustings, we have the returning +officer, and they can do nothing without us. I’ve seen Mr. Pybus, and I +have his safe conduct for our party to go to the hustings.” + +But it is hard to satisfy everybody, and at this there was a fresh +outcry. “A safe conduct?” cried the Squire, redder about the gills than +before. “For shame, sir! Are we to be indebted to the other side for a +safe conduct! I never heard of such a thing!” + +“I quite agree with you,” cried the Rector. “Quite! I protest, Mr. +White, against anything of the kind.” + +But White was unmoved. “We’ve got to get our voters there,” he said. +“Sir Robert will be displeased, I know, but——” + +“Never was such a thing heard of!” + +“No, sir, but never was such an election,” White answered with spirit. + +“Where is Sir Robert?” + +“He’ll be here presently,” White replied. “He’ll be here presently. +Anyway, gentlemen,” he continued, “we had better be going down to the +hall. In a body, gentlemen, if you please, and voters in the middle. +And keep together, if you please. A little shouting,” he added +cheerfully, “breaks no bones. We can shout too!” + +The thing was unsatisfactory, and without precedent; nay, humiliating. +But there seemed to be nothing else for it. As White said, this +election was not as other elections; Bath was lost, and Bristol, too, +it was whispered; the country was gone mad. And so, frowning and +ill-content, the magnates trooped out, and led by White began to +descend the stairs. There was much confusion, one asking if the +Alderman was there, another demanding to see Sir Robert, here a man +grumbling about White’s arrangements, there a man silent over the +discovery, made perhaps for the first time, that here was like to be an +end of old Toryism and the loaves and the fishes it had dispensed. + +In the hall where the party was reinforced by a crowd of their smaller +supporters a man plucked White’s sleeve and drew him aside. “She’s out +now!” he whispered. “Pybus has left two with him and they won’t leave +him for me. But if you went and ordered them out there’s a chance +they’d go, and——” + +“The doctor’s not there?” + +“No, and Pillinger’s well enough to come, if you put it strong. He’s +afraid of his wife and they’ve got him body and soul, but——” + +White cast a despairing eye on the confusion about him. “How can I +come?” he muttered. “I must get these to the poll first.” + +“Then you’ll never do it!” the man retorted. “There’ll be no coming and +going, to-day, Mr. White, you take it from me. Now’s the time while +they’re waiting for you in front. You can slip out at the back and +bring him in and take him with you. It’s the only way, so help me! +They’re in that temper we’ll be lucky if we’re all alive to-morrow!” + +The man was right; and White knew it, yet he hesitated. If he had had +an _aide_ fit for the task, the thing might be done. But to go +himself—he on whom everything fell! He reflected. Possibly Arthur +Vaughan might not vote for the enemy after all. But if he did, Sir +Robert would poll only five to six, and be beaten! Unless he polled +Pillinger, when the returning officer’s vote, of which he was sure, +would give him the election. Pillinger’s vote, therefore, was vital; +everything turned upon it. And he determined to go. His absence would +only cause a little delay, and he must risk that. He slipped away. + +He was missed at once, and the discovery redoubled the confusion. One +asked where he was, and another where Sir Robert was; while Cooke in +tones louder and more irritable than was prudent found fresh fault, and +wished to heaven that he had never seen the place. Long accustomed to +one-sided contests of which both parties knew the issue, the Tory +managers were helpless; they were aware that the hour had struck, and +that they were expected, but without White they were uncertain how to +act. Some cried that White had gone on, and that they should follow; +some that Sir Robert was to meet them at the hustings, others that they +might as well be home as waiting there! While the babel without +deafened and distracted them. At last, without order given, they found +themselves moving out. + +Their reception did not clear their brains. Such a roar of execration +as greeted them had never been heard in Chippinge: the hair on Dewell, +the barber’s, head stood up, the Alderman’s checks grew pale, Cooke +dropped his cane, the stoutest flinched. Changed indeed were the times +from those a year or two past when their exit had been greeted by +sycophantic cheers, or, at worst, by a little good-humoured jesting! +Now the whole multitude in the open, not in one part, but in every +part, knew as by instinct of their setting forth, brandished on the +instant a thousand arms at them, deafened them with a thousand voices, +demanded monotonously “The Bill! The Bill!” Nor had the demonstration +stopped there, but for the intervention of a body of a hundred Whig +stalwarts who, posting themselves on the flanks of the derided +procession, conferred on its slow march an ignoble safety. + +No wonder that many a one who found himself thus guarded rubbed his +eyes. The times were changed indeed! No more despotism of Squire and +Parson, no more monopoly of places, no more nominated members, no more +elections that did but mock men who had no share in them, no more +“Cripples,” no more snug jobs! The Tories might agree with Mr. Fudge + +_That this passion for roaring had come in of late +Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the State_, + + +and foretell the ruinous outcome of it. But the thing was, the +many-headed, the many-handed had them in its grip. They must go meekly, +or not at all; with visions of French fish-fags and guillotines before +their eyes, and wondering, most of them—as they tried to show a bold +front, tried to wave their banners and give some answering shout to the +sea that beat upon them—how they would get home again with whole skins! + +Perhaps there was only one of them who never had that thought; though +he, alone of them all, was unaware of the precautions taken for his +safety. That was Sir Robert Vermuyden, the master of all, the patron, +the Borough-monger! Attended by Bob Flixton, who had come with him from +Bristol to see the fun—and whose voice it will be remembered Vaughan +had overheard at Stapylton the evening before—and by two or three other +guests, he had entered the White Lion from the rear; arriving in time +to fall in—somewhat surprised at his supporters’ precipitation—at the +tail of the procession. The moment he was recognised by the crowd he +was greeted with a roar of “Down with the Borough-monger!” that fairly +appalled his companions. But he faced it calmly, imperturbably, +quietly; a little paler, a little prouder, and a little sterner perhaps +than usual, but with a gleam in his eyes that had not been seen in them +for years. For answer to all he smiled with a curling lip: and it is +probable that as much as any hour in his life he enjoyed this hour, +which put him to the test before those over whom he had ruled so long. +His caste might be passing, the days of his power might be numbered, +the waves of democracy might be rising about the system in which he +believed the safety of England to lie; but no man should see him +falter. No veteran of the old noblesse in days which Sir Robert could +remember had gone to his fate more proudly than the English patrician +was prepared to go to his, ay, and though worse than the guillotine +awaited him. + +His contemptuous attitude, his fearless bearing, impressed the crowd, +appreciative at bottom, of courage. And presently, where he turned his +cold, smiling eyes they gaped instead of hissing: and one here and +there under the magic of his look doffed hat or carried hand to +forehead, and henceforth was mute. And so great is the sympathy of all +parts of a mob that this silence spread quickly, mysteriously, at last, +wholly. So that when he, last of his party, stepped on the hustings, +there was for a moment a complete stillness; a stillness of +expectation, while he looked round; such a stillness as startled the +leaders of the opposition. It could not be—it could not be, that after +all, the old lion would prove too much for them! + +White-Hat Williams roared aloud in his rage. “Up hats and shout, lads,” +he yelled, “or by G—d the d——d Tories will do us after all! Are you +afraid of them, you lubbers! Shout, lads, shout!” + + + + +XVIII +THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION (Continued) + + +The beast that was in the crowd answered to the spur. “Ye’ve robbed us +long enough, ye old rascal!” a harsh Midland voice shrieked over the +heads of the throng. “We’ll have our rights now, you blood-sucker!” And +“Boo! Boo!” the lower elements of the mob broke forth. And then in +stern cadence, “The Bill! The Bill! The Bill!” + +“Out of Egypt, and out of the House of Bondage!” shrieked a Methodist +above the hub-bub. + +“Ay, ay!” + +“Slaves no longer!” + +“No! No! No!” + +“Hear that, ye hoary tyrant!” in a woman’s shrill tones. “Who jailed my +man for a hare?” + +A roar of laughter which somewhat cleared the air followed this. Sir +Robert smiled grimly. + +The hustings, a mere wooden platform, raised four feet above the +ground, rested against the Abbey gateway. It was closed at the rear and +at each end; but in front it was guarded only by a stout railing. And +so public was it, and so exposed its dangerous eminence, that the more +timid of the unpopular party were no sooner upon it than they yearned +for the safe obscurity of the common level. Of the three booths into +which the interior was divided, the midmost was reserved for the +returning officer and his staff. + +Bob Flixton, who kept close to Sir Robert’s elbow, looked down on the +sea of jeering faces. “I tell you what it is,” he said. “We’re going to +have a confounded row!” + +Mowatt, at some distance from him, was of the same opinion, but +regarded the outlook differently. “It’s my belief,” he muttered, “that +we shall all be murdered.” + +And “D——n the Bill!” the old Squire ejaculated. “The people are off +their heads! Jack as good as his master, and better too!” + +These four, with the candidates, were in the front row. The Rector, the +Alderman, and one or two of the neighbouring gentry shared the honour; +and faced as well as they could the hooting and yelling, and the +occasional missile. In the front of the other booth were White-Hat +Williams and Blackford, the minister, Mr. Wrench, the candidate, +wreathed in smiles, a pair of Whig Squires from the Bowood side, a +curate of the same colour, Pybus—and Arthur Vaughan! + +A thrill ran through Sir Robert’s supporters when they saw his young +kinsman on the other side; actually on the other side and arrayed +against them. Their hearts, already low, sank a peg lower. Of evil +omens this seemed the worst; sunk is the cause the young desert! And +many were the curious eyes that searched the renegade’s features and +strove to read his thoughts. + +But in vain. His head high, his face firmly composed, Vaughan looked +stonily before him. Nor was it possible to say whether he was really +unmoved, was stolidly indifferent, or merely masked agitation. Sir +Robert on his side never looked at him, nor betrayed any sense of his +presence. But he knew. He knew! And with the first bitter presage of +defeat—for he was not a man to be intimidated by noise—he repeated his +vow: “Not a pound, nor a penny! Never! Never!” This public +renunciation, this wanton defiance—he would never forgive it! +Henceforth, it must be war to the knife between them. No thousands, no +compensation, no compromise! As the young man was sowing, so he should +reap. He who, in its darkest hour not only insulted but abandoned his +family, what punishment was too severe for him? + +Vaughan could make a good guess at the proud autocrat’s feelings: and +he averted his eyes with care. The proceedings here opened, and he +listened laughingly; until midway in the reading of some document which +no one heeded—the crowd jeering and flouting merrily—he caught a new +note in the turmoil. The next moment he was conscious of a swirling +movement among those below him, there was a rush of the throng to his +right, and he looked quickly to see what it meant. + +A man—one of a group of three or four who appeared to be trying to push +their way through the crowd—was being hustled and flung to and fro amid +jeers and taunts. He was striving to gain the hustings, but was still +some way from it; and his chance of reaching it with his clothes on his +back seemed small. Vaughan saw so much; then the man lost his temper, +and struck a blow. It was returned—and then, not till then, Vaughan saw +that the man was Isaac White. He cried “Shame!”—and had passed one leg +over the barriers to go to the rescue, when he saw that another was +before him. Sir Robert’s tall, spare figure was down among the +crowd—which opened instinctively before his sharp command. His eyes, +his masterful air still had power; the press opened instinctively +before his sharp command. He had reached White, had extricated him, and +turned to make good his retreat, when it seemed to strike the more +brutal element in the crowd—mostly strangers to him—that here was the +prime enemy of the cause, on foot amongst them, at their mercy! A rush +was made at his back. He turned undaunted, White and two more at his +side; the rabble recoiled. But when he wheeled again, a second rush was +made, and they were upon him, and hustled him before he could turn. A +man with a long stick struck off his hat, another—a lout with a cockade +of amber and blue, the Whig colours—tried to trip him up. He stumbled, +at the same moment a third man knocked White down. + +“Yah! Down with him!” roared the crowd, “Down with the Borough-monger!” + +But Vaughan, who had anticipated rather than seen the stumble, was over +the rail, and cleaving the crowd, was at his side. He reached him a +little in front of Bob Flixton, who had descended to the rescue from +the other end of the booth. Vaughan hurled back the man who had tripped +Sir Robert and who was still trying to throw him down; and the sight of +the amber and blue which the new champion wore checked the assailants, +and gave White time to rise. + +Vaughan was furious. “Back, you cowards!” he cried fiercely. “Would you +murder an old man? Shame on you! Shame!” + +“Ay, you bullies!” cried Flixton, hitting one on the jaw very +neatly—and completely disposing of that one for the day. “Back with +you!” + +As Vaughan spoke, half-a-dozen of his Tory supporters surrounded the +baronet and bore him back out of danger. Though Sir Robert was +undaunted, he was shaken; and breathing quickly, he let his hand rest +for support on the nearest shoulder. It was Vaughan’s, and the next +instant he saw that it was; and he withdrew the hand as if he had let +it rest on a hot iron. + +“Mr. Flixton,” he said—and the words reached a dozen ears at least, +“your arm, if you please? I would rather be without this gentleman’s +assistance.” + +Vaughan’s face flamed. But neither the words nor the action took him +unawares. He stepped back with dignity, slightly touched his hat, and +so returned to his side of the hustings. + +But he was wounded and very angry. Alone of his party he had +intervened—and this was his reward. When Pybus pushed his way to his +side and stooped to his ear, talking quickly and earnestly, he did not +repel him. + +Episode as it was, the affray startled Sir Robert’s friends: and White +in particular took it very seriously. If violence of this sort was to +rule, if even Sir Robert’s person was not respected, he saw that he +would not be able to bring his voters to the poll. They would run some +risk of losing their lives, and one or two for certain would not dare +to vote. The thing must be stopped, and at once. With this in view he +made his way to the passage at the back of the hustings, which was +common to all three booths, and heated and angry—his lip was cut by the +blow he had received—he called for Pybus. But the press at the back of +the hustings was great, and one of White-Hat Williams’s foremen, who +blocked the gangway, laughed in his face. + +“I want to speak to Pybus,” said White, glaring at the man, who on +ordinary days would have touched his hat to him. + +“Then want’ll be your master,” the other retorted, with a wink. And +when White tried to push by him, the man gave him the shoulder. + +“Let me pass,” White foamed. No thought of Cobbett now, had the agent! +These miserable upstarts, their insolence, their certainty of triumph +fired his blood. “Let me pass!” he repeated. + +“See you d——d first!” the other answered bluntly. “Your game’s up, old +cock! Your master has held the pit long enough, but his time’s come.” + +“If you don’t——” + +“If you put your nose in here, we’ll pitch you over the rail!” the +other declared. + +White almost had a fit. Fortunately White-Hat Williams himself appeared +at this moment: and White appealed to him. + +“Mr. Williams,” he said, “is this your safe conduct?” + +“I gave none,” with a grin. + +“Pybus did.” + +“Ay, for your party! But if you choose to straggle in one by one, we +can’t be answerable for every single voter,” with a wink. “Nor for any +of you getting back again! No, no, White. + +“_Beneath the ways of Ministers, and it’s the truth I tell, You’ve +bought us very cheap, good White, and you’ve sold us very well!_ + +But that’s over! That’s at an end to-day! But—what’s this?” + +This, was Sir Robert stepping forward to propose his candidates: or +rather, it was the roar, mocking and defiant, which greeted his attempt +to do so. It was a roar that made speech impossible. No doubt, among +the crowd which filled the space through which he had driven so often +with his four horses, the great man, the patron, the master of all, +there were some who still respected, and more who feared him; and many +who would not have insulted him. For if he had used his power stiffly, +he had not used it ill. But there were also in the crowd men whose +hearts were hot against the exclusiveness which had long effaced them; +who believed that freedom or slavery hung on the issue of this day; who +saw the prize of a long and bitter effort at stake, and were set on +using every intimidation, ay, and every violence, if victory could not +be had without them. And, were the others many or few, these swept them +away, infected them with recklessness, gave that stern and mocking ring +to the roar which continued and thwarted Sir Robert’s every effort to +make himself heard. + +He stood long facing them, waiting, and never blenching. But after a +while his lip curled and his eyes looked disdain on the mob below him: +such disdain as the old Duke in after days hurled at the London rabble, +when for answer to their fulsome cheers he pointed to the iron shutters +of Apsley House. Sir Robert Vermuyden had done something, and thought +that he had done more, for the men who yelped and snarled and snapped +at him. According to his lights, acting on his maxim, all for the +people and nothing by the people, he had treated them generously, +granted all he thought good for them, planned for them, wrought for +them. He had been master, but no task-master. He had indeed illustrated +the better side of that government of the many by the few, of the unfit +by the fit, with which he honestly believed the safety and the +greatness of his country to be bound up. + +And this was their return! No wonder that, seeing things as he saw +them, he felt a bitter contempt for them. Freedom? Such freedom as was +good for them, such freedom as was permanently possible—they had. And +slavery? Was it slavery to be ruled, wisely and firmly, by a class into +which they might themselves rise, a class which education and habit had +qualified to rule. In his mind’s eye, as he looked down on this +fretting, seething mass, he saw that which they craved granted, and he +saw, too, the outcome; that most cruel of all tyrannies, the tyranny of +the many over the few, of the many who have neither a heart to feel nor +a body to harm! + +Once, twice, thrice one of his supporters thrust himself forward, and +leaning on the rail, appealed with frantic gestures for silence, for a +hearing, for respect. But each in turn retired baffled. Not a word in +that tempest of sound was audible. And no one on the other side +intervened. For they were pitiless. They in the old days had suffered +the same thing: and it was their turn now. Even Vaughan stood with +folded arms and a stern face: feeling the last contempt for the howling +rabble before him, but firmly determined to expose himself to no second +slight. At length Sir Robert saw that it was hopeless, shrugged his +shoulders with quiet scorn, and shouting the names of his candidates in +a clerk’s ear, put on his hat, and stood back. + +The old Squire seconded him in dumb show. + +Then the Sergeant stood forward to state his views. He grasped the rail +with both hands and waited, smiling blandly. But he might have waited +an hour, he might have waited until night. The leaders for the Bill +were determined to make their power felt. They were resolved that not a +word on the Tory side should be heard. The Sergeant waited, and after a +time, still smiling blandly, bowed and stood back. + +It was Mr. Cooke’s turn. He advanced. “Shout, and be hanged to you!” he +cried, apoplectic in the face. An egg flew within a yard of him, and +openly shaking his fist at the crowd he retired amid laughter. + +Then White-Hat Williams, who had looked forward to this as to the +golden moment of his life and had conned his oration until he knew its +thunderous periods by heart, stepped forward to nominate the Whig +candidates. He took off his hat; and as if that had been the signal for +silence, such a stillness fell on all that his voice rang above the +multitude like a trumpet. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, and smiling looked first to the one side and then +to the other. “Gentlemen——” + +Alas, he smiled too soon. The Tories grasped the situation, and, +furious at the reception which had fallen to the lot of their leaders, +determined that if they were not heard, no one should be heard. Before +he could utter another word they broke into rabid bellowings, and what +their shouts lacked in volume they made up in ill-will. In a twinkling +they drowned White-Hat Williams’s voice; and now who so indignant as +the Whigs? In thirty seconds half-a-dozen single combats were +proceeding in front of the Tory booth, blood flowed from as many noses, +and amid a terrific turmoil respectable men and justices of the peace +leant across the barriers and shook their fists and flung frenzied +challenges broadcast. + +All to no purpose. The Tories, though so much the weaker party, though +but one to eight, could not be silenced. After making three or four +attempts to gain a hearing White-Hat Williams saw that he must reserve +his oration: and with a scowl he shouted his names into the ear of the +clerk. + +“Who? Who did he say?” growled the Squire, panting with rage and hoarse +with shouting. His face was crimson, his cravat awry, he had lost his +hat. “Who? Who?” + +“Wrench and—one moment, sir!” + +“Eh? Who do you say?” + +“I couldn’t hear! One moment, sir! Oh, yes! Wrench and Vaughan!” + +“Vaughan?” old Rowley cried with a profane oath. “Impossible!” + +But it was not impossible! Though so great was the surprise, so +striking the effect upon Sir Robert’s supporters that for a few seconds +something like silence supervened. The serpent! The serpent! Here was a +blow indeed—in the back! + +Then as Blackford, the Methodist, rose to second the nomination, the +storm broke out anew and more furiously than before. “What?” foamed the +Squire, “be ruled by a rabble of grinning, yelling monkeys? By gad, +I’ll leave the country first! I—I hope someone will shoot that young +man! I wish I’d never shaken his hand! By G—d, I’m glad my father is in +his grave! He’d never ha’ believed this! Never! Never!” + +And from that time until the poll was declared open—in dumb show—not a +word was audible. + +Then at last the shouting of the rival bands sank to a confused babel +of jeers, abuse, and laughter. Exhausted men mopped their faces, +voiceless men loosened their neck-cloths, the farthest from the +hustings went off to drink, and there was a lull until the sound of a +drum and fife announced a new event, and forth from the Heart and Hand +advanced a procession of five led by the accursed Dyas. + +They were the Whig voters and they marched proudly to the front of the +polling-booth, the mob falling back on either side to give them place. + +Dyas flung his hat into the booth. “Wrench and Vaughan!” he cried in a +voice which could be heard in the White Lion. “And I care not who knows +it!” + +They put to him the bribery oath. “I can take it,” he answered. +“Swallow it yourselves, if you can!” + +“You should know the taste, Jack,” cried a sly friend: and for a moment +the laugh was against him. + +One by one—the process was slow in those days—they voted. “Five for +Wrench and Vaughan.” Wrench rose and bowed to each as he retired. +Arthur Vaughan took no notice. + +Sir Robert’s voters looked at one another uneasily. They had the day +before them, but—and then he saw the look, and, putting White and his +remonstrances on one side, he joined them, bade them follow him, and +descended before them. He would ask no man to do what he would not do +himself. + +But the moment his action was understood, the moment the men were seen +behind him, there was a yell so fierce and a movement so threatening, +that on the lowest step of the hustings he stood bareheaded, raised his +hand for silence and for a wonder was obeyed. In a clear, loud voice: + +“Do you expect to terrify me,” he cried, “either by threats or +violence? Let any man look in my face and see if it change colour? Let +him come and lay his hand on my heart and feel if it beats the quicker. +Keep my voters from the poll and you stultify your own, for there will +be no election. Make way then, and let them pass to their duty!” + +And the crowd made way; and Arthur Vaughan felt a reluctant pang of +admiration. The five were polled; the result so far, five for each of +the candidates. + +There remained to poll only Arthur Vaughan and Pillinger of the Blue +Duck, if he could be brought up by the Tories. If neither of these +voted the Returning Officer would certainly give the casting vote for +Sir Robert’s candidates—if he dared. + +Isaac White believed that he would not dare, and for some time past the +agent had been in covert talk with Pybus at the back of the hustings, +two or three of the friends of each masking the conference. Now he drew +aside his employer who had returned in safety to his place; and he +conferred with him. But for a time it was clear that Sir Robert would +not listen to what he had to say. He looked pale and angry, and +returned but curt answers. But White persisted, holding him by the +sleeve. + +“Mr. Vaughan—bah, what a noise they make—does not wish to vote,” he +explained. “But in the end he will, sir, it is my opinion, and that +will give it to them unless we can bring up Pillinger—which I doubt, +sir. Even if we do, it is a tie——” + +“Well? Well?” Sir Robert struck in, eyeing him sternly. “What more do +we want? The Returning Officer——” + +“He will not dare,” White whispered, “and if he does, sir, it is my +belief he will be murdered. More, if we win they will rush the booth +and destroy the books. They have as good as told me they will stick at +nothing. Believe me, sir,” he continued earnestly, “better than one and +one we can’t look for now. And better one than none!” + +But it was long before Sir Robert would be persuaded. No, defeat or +victory, he would fight to the last! He would be beholden to the other +side for nothing! White, however, was an honest man and less afraid of +his master than usual: and he held to it. And at length the reflection +that the bargain would at least shut out his kinsman prevailed with Sir +Robert, and he consented. + +He was too chivalrous to return on his own side the man whose success +would fill his pockets. He elected for Wathen and never doubted that +the Bowood interest would return their first love, Wrench. But when the +landlord of the Blue Duck was brought up by agreement to vote for a +candidate on either side, Pillinger voted by order for Wathen and +Vaughan. + +“There’s some d——d mistake!” shrieked the Squire, as the words reached +his ears. + +But there was no mistake, and to the silent disgust of the Tories and +amid the frantic cheering of the Whigs, the return was made in favour +of Sergeant John Wathen, and Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, esquire. Loud +and long was the cheering: the air was black with caps. But when the +crowd sought for the two to chair them according to immemorial custom, +only the Sergeant could be found, and he with great prudence declined +the honour. + + + + +XIX +THE FRUITS OF VICTORY + + +Arthur Vaughan could write himself Member of Parliament. The plaudits +of the Academic and the mimic contests of the Debating Club were no +longer for him. Fortune had placed within his grasp the prize of which +he had often dreamt; and henceforth all lay open to him. But, as a +contemporary in a letter written on a like occasion says, he had gone +through innumerable horrors to reach the goal. And the moment the +result was known and certain he slipped away from his place, and from +the oppressive good-wishes of his new and uncongenial friends—the +Williamses and the Blackfords; and shutting himself up in his rooms at +the White Lion, where his entrance was regarded askance, he set himself +to look the future in the face. + +He could not blame himself for the past, for he had done nothing of +which he was ashamed. He had been put by circumstances in a false +position, but he had freed himself frankly and boldly; and every candid +man must acknowledge that he could not have done otherwise than he had. +Yet he was aware that his conduct was open to misconstruction. Some, +even on his own side, would say that he had gone to Chippinge prepared +to support his kinsman; and that then, tempted by the opportunity of +gaining the seat for himself, he had faced about. Few would believe the +truth—that twenty-four hours before the election he had declined to +stand. Still fewer would believe that in withdrawing his “No,” he had +been wholly moved by the offer which Sir Robert had made to him and the +unworthy manner in which he had treated him. + +Yet that was the truth; and so entirely the truth, that but for that +offer he would have resigned the seat even now. For he had no mind to +enter the House under a cloud. He knew that to do so was to endanger +the boat in which his fortunes were embarked. But in face of that offer +he could not withdraw. Sir Robert, Wetherell, White, all would believe +that he had resigned, not on the point of honour, but for a bribe, and +because the bribe, refused at first, grew larger the longer he eyed it. + +So, for good or evil, his mind was made up. And for a few minutes, +while the roar of the mob applauding him rose to his windows, he was +happy. He was a member of the Commons’ House. He stood on that +threshold on which Harley and St. John, Walpole the wise, and the +inspired Cornet, Pitt and Fox, spoiled children of fortune, Castlereagh +the illogical, and Canning + +_Born with an ancient name of little worth, +And disinherited before his birth_, + + +and many another had stood; knowing no more than he knew what fortune +had in womb for them, what of hushed silence would one day mark their +rising, what homage of loyal hearts and thundering feet would hang upon +their words. As their fortunes his might be; to sway to tears or +laughter, to a nation’s weal or woe, the men who ruled; to know his +words were fateful, and yet to speak with no uncertain voice; to give +the thing he did not deign to wear, and make the man whom he must +follow after, ay, + +_To fall as Walpole and to fail as Pitt!_ + + +this, all this might be his, if he were worthy! If the dust of that +arena knew no better man! + +His heart rose on the wave of thought and he felt himself fit for all, +equipped for all. He owned no task too hard, no enterprise too high. +Nor did he fall from the clouds until he remembered the change in his +fortunes, and bethought him that henceforth he must depend upon +himself. The story would be sifted, of course, and its truth or +falsehood be made clear. But whatever use Sir Robert might have deigned +to make of it, Vaughan did not believe that he would have stooped to +invent it. And if it were true, then all the importance which had +attached to himself as the heir to a great property, all the +privileges, all the sanctity of coming wealth, were gone. + +But with them the responsibilities of that position were gone also. The +change might well depress his head and cloud his heart. He had lost +much which he could hardly hope to win for himself. Yet—yet there were +compensations. + +He had passed through much in the last twenty-four hours; and, perhaps +for that reason, he was peculiarly open to emotion. In the thought that +henceforth he might seek a companion where he pleased, in the +remembrance that he had no longer any tastes to consult but his own, +any prejudices to respect save those which he chose to adopt, he found +a comfort at which he clutched eagerly and thankfully. The world which +shook him off—he would no longer be guided by its dictates! The race, +strenuous and to the swift, ay, to the draining of heart and brain, he +would not run it alone, uncheered, unsolaced—merely because while +things were different he had walked by a certain standard of conduct! +If he was now a poor man he was at least free! Free to take the one he +loved into the boat in which his fortunes floated, nor ask too closely +who were her forbears. Free to pursue his ambition hand in hand with +one who would sweeten failure and share success, and who in that life +of scant enjoyment and high emprise to which he must give himself, +would be a guardian angel, saving him from the spells of folly and +pleasure! + +He might please himself now, and he would. Flixton might laugh, the men +of the 14th might laugh. And in Bury Street he might have winced. But +in Mecklenburgh Square, where he and she would set up their modest +tent, he would not care. + +He could not go to Bristol until the morrow, for he had to see Pybus, +but he would write and tell her of his fortunes and ask her to share +them. The step was no sooner conceived than attempted. He sat down and +took pen and paper, and with a glow at his heart, in a state of +generous agitation, he prepared to write. + +But he had never written to her, he had never called her by her name. +And the difficulty of addressing her overwhelmed him. In the end, after +sitting appalled by the bold and shameless look of “Dear Mary,” +“Dearest Mary,” and of addresses warmer than these, he solved the +difficulty, after a tame and proper fashion by writing to Miss Sibson. +And this is what he wrote: + +“Dear Madame, + +“At the interview which I had with you on Saturday last, you were good +enough to intimate that if I were prepared to give an affirmative +answer to a question which you did not put into words, you would permit +me to see Miss Smith. I am now in a position to give the assurance as +to my intentions which you desired, and trust that I may see Miss Smith +on my arrival in Bristol to-morrow. + +“Believe me to remain, Madame, + +“Truly yours, + +“Arthur V. Vaughan.” + +And all his life, he told himself, he would remember the use to which +he had put his first frank! + +That night the toasting and singing, drunkenness and revelry of which +the borough was the scene, kept him long waking. But eleven o’clock on +the following morning saw him alighting from a chaise at Bristol, and +before noon he was in Queen’s Square. + +For the time at least he had put the world behind him. And it was in +pure exultation and the joyous anticipation of what was to come that he +approached the house. He came, a victor from the fight; nor, he +reflected, was it every suitor who had it in his power to lay such +offerings at the feet of his mistress. In the eye of the world, indeed, +he was no longer what he had been; for the matchmaking mother he had +lost his value. But he had still so much to give which Mary had not, he +could still so alter the tenor of her life, he could still so lift her +in the social scale, those hopes which she was to share still flew on +pinions so ambitious—ay, to the very scattering of garters and +red-ribbons—that his heart was full of the joy of giving. He must not +be blamed if he felt as King Cophetua when he stooped to the +beggar-maiden, or as the Lord of Burleigh when he woo’d the farmer’s +daughter. After all, he did but rejoice that she had so little and he +had so much; that he could give and she could grace. + +When he came to the house he paused a moment in wonder that when all +things were altered, his prospects, views, plans, its face rose +unchanged. Then he knocked boldly; the time for hesitation was past. He +asked for Miss Smith—thinking it likely that he would have to wait +until the school rose at noon. The maid, however, received him as if +she expected him, and ushered him at once into a room on the left of +the entrance. He stood, holding his hat, waiting, listening; but not +for long. The door had scarcely closed on the girl before it opened +again, and Mary Smith came in. She met his eyes, and started, blushed a +divine rosy-red and stood wide-eyed and uncertain, with her hand on the +door. + +“Did you not expect me?” he said, taken aback on his side. For this was +not the Mary Smith with whom he travelled on the coach; nor the Mary +Smith with whom he had talked in the Square. This was a Mary Smith, no +less beautiful, but gay and fresh as the morning, in dainty white with +a broad blue sash, with something new, something of a franker bearing +in her air. “Did you not expect me?” he repeated gently, advancing a +step towards her. + +“No,” she murmured, and she stood blushing before him, blushing more +deeply with every second. For his eyes were beginning to talk, and to +tell the old tale. + +“Did not Miss Sibson get my letter?” he asked gently. + +“I think not,” she murmured. + +“Then I have all—to do,” he said nervously. It was—it was certainly a +harder thing to do than he had expected. “Will you not sit down, +please,” he pleaded. “I want you to listen to me.” + +For a moment she looked as if she would flee instead. Then she let him +lead her to a seat. + +He sat down within reach of her. “And you did not know that it was I?” +he said, feeling the difficulty increase with every second. + +“No.” + +“I hope,” he said, hesitating, “that you are glad that it is?” + +“I am glad to see you again—to thank you,” she murmured. But while her +blushes and her downcast eyes seemed propitious to his suit, there was +something—was it, could it be a covert smile hiding at the corners of +her little mouth?—some change in her which oppressed him, and which he +did not understand. One thing he did understand, however: that she was +more beautiful, more desirable, more intoxicating than he had pictured +her. And his apprehensions grew upon him, as he paused tongue-tied, +worshipping her with his eyes. If, after all, she would not? What if +she said, “No”? For what, now he came to measure them beside her, were +those things he brought her, those things he came to offer, that career +which he was going to ask her to share? What were they beside her +adorable beauty and her modesty, the candour of her maiden eyes, the +perfection of her form? He saw their worthlessness; and the bold phrase +with which he had meant to open his suit, the confident, “Mary, I am +come for you,” which he had repeated so often to the rhythm of the +chaise-wheels, that he was sure he would never forget it, died on his +lips. + +At last, “You speak of thanks—it is to gain your thanks I am come,” he +said nervously. “But I don’t ask for words. I want you to think as—as +highly as you can of what I did for you—if you please! I want you to +believe that I saved your life on the coach. I want you to think that I +did it at great risk to myself. I want you,” he continued hurriedly, +“to exaggerate a hundredfold—everything I did for you. And then I want +you to think that you owe all to a miser, who will be content with +nothing short of—of immense interest, of an extortionate return.” + +“I don’t think that I understand,” she answered in a low tone, her +cheeks glowing. But beyond that, he could not tell aught of her +feelings; she kept her eyes lowered so that he could not read them, and +there were, even in the midst of her shyness, an ease and an aloofness +in her bearing, which were new to him and which frightened him. He +remembered how quickly she had on other occasions put him in his place; +how coldly she had asserted herself. Perhaps, she had no feeling for +him. Perhaps, apart from the incident in the coach, she even disliked +him! + +“You do not understand,” he said unsteadily, “what is the return I +want?” + +“No-o,” she faltered. + +He stood up abruptly, and took a pace or two from her. “And I hardly +dare tell you,” he said. “I hardly dare tell you. I came to you, I came +here as brave as a lion. And now, I don’t know why, I am frightened.” + +She—astonishing thing!—leapt the gulf for him. Possibly the greater +distance at which he stood gave her courage. “Are you afraid,” she +murmured, moving her fingers restlessly, and watching them, “that you +may change your mind again?” + +“Change my mind?” he ejaculated, not for the moment understanding her. +So much had happened since his collision with Flixton in the Square. + +“As that gentleman—said you were in the habit of doing.” + +“Ah!” + +“It was not true?” + +“True?” he exclaimed hotly. “True that I—that I——” + +“Changed your mind?” she said with her face averted. “And not—not only +that, sir?” + +“What else?” he asked bitterly. + +“Talked of me—among your friends?” + +“A lie! A miserable lie!” he cried on impulse, finding his tongue +again. “But I will tell you all. He saw you—that first morning, you +remember, and never having seen anyone so lovely, he intended to make +you the object of—of attentions that were unworthy of you. And to +protect you I told him that I was going—to make you my wife.” + +“Is that what you mean to-day?” she asked faintly. + +“Yes.” + +“But you did not mean it then?” she answered—though very gently. “It +was to shield me you said it?” + +He looked at her, astonished at her insight and her boldness. How +different, how very different was this from that to which he had looked +forward! At last, “I think I meant it,” he said gloomily. “God knows I +mean it now! But that evening,” he continued, seeing that she still +waited with averted face for the rest of his explanation, “he +challenged me at dinner before them all, and I,” he added jerkily, “I +was not quite sure what I meant—I had no mind that you should be made +the talk of the—of my friends——” + +“And so—you denied it?” she said gently. + +He hung his head. “Yes,” he said. + +“I think I—I understand,” she answered unsteadily. “What I do not +understand is why you are here to-day. Why you have changed your mind +again. Why you are now willing that I should be—the talk of your +friends, sir.” + +He stood, the picture of abasement. Must he acknowledge his doubts and +his hesitation, allow that he had been ashamed of her, admit that he +had deemed the marriage he now sought, a mésalliance? Must he open to +her eyes those hours of cowardly vacillation during which he had walked +the Clifton Woods weighing _I would_ against _I dare not?_ And do it in +face of that new dignity, that new aloofness which he recognised in her +and which made him doubt if he had an ally in her heart. + +More, if he told her, would she understand? How should she, bred so +differently, understand how heavily the old name with its burden of +responsibilities, how heavily the past with its obligations to duty and +sacrifice, had weighed upon him! And if he told her and she did not +understand, what mercy had he to expect from her? + +Still, for a moment he was on the point of telling her: and of telling +her also why he was now free to please himself, why, rid of the burden +with the inheritance, he could follow his heart. But the tale was long +and roundabout, she knew nothing of the Vermuydens, of their +importance, or his expectations, or what he had lost or what he had +gained. And it seemed simpler to throw himself on her mercy. “Because I +love you!” he said humbly. “I have nothing else to say.” + +“And you are sure that you will not change your mind again?” + +There was that in her voice, though he could not see her face, which +brought him across two squares of the carpet as if she had jerked him +with a string. In a second he was on his knees beside her, and had laid +a feverish hand on hers. “Mary,” he cried, “Mary!” seeking to look up +into her face, “you will! You will! You will let me take you? You will +let me take you from here! I cannot offer you what I once thought I +could, but I have enough, and, you will?” There was a desperate +supplication in his voice; for close to her, so close that his breath +was on her cheek, she seemed, with her half-averted face and her +slender figure, so dainty a thing, so delicate and rare, that he could +hardly believe that she could ever be his, that he could be so lucky as +to possess her, that he could ever take her in his arms. “You will? You +will?” he repeated, empty of all other words. + +She did not speak, she could not speak. But she bowed her head. + +“You will?” + +She turned her eyes on him then; eyes so tender and passionate that +they seemed to draw his heart, his being, his strength out of him. +“Yes,” she whispered shyly. “If I am allowed.” + +“Allowed? Allowed?” he cried. How in a moment was all changed for him! +“I would like to see——” And then breaking off—perhaps it was her fault +for leaning a little towards him—he did that which he had thought a +moment before that he would never dare to do. He put his arm round her +and drew her gently and reverently to him until—for she did not +resist—her head lay on his shoulder. “Mine!” he murmured, “Mine! Mine! +Mary, I can hardly believe it. I can hardly think I am so blest.” + +“And you will not change?” she whispered. + +“Never! Never!” + +They were silent. Was she thinking of the dark night, when she had +walked lonely and despondent to her new and unknown home? Or of many +another hour of solitary depression, spent in dull and dreary +schoolrooms, while others made holiday? Was he thinking of his doubts +and fears, his cowardly hesitation? Or only of his present monstrous +happiness? No matter. At any rate, they had forgotten the existence of +anything outside the room, they had forgotten the world and Miss +Sibson, they were in a Paradise of their own, such as is given to no +man and to no woman more than once, they were a million miles from +Bristol City, when the sound made by the opening door surprised them in +that posture. Vaughan turned fiercely to see who it was, to see who +dared to trespass on their Eden. He looked, only looked, and he sprang +to his feet, amazed. He thought for a moment that he was dreaming, or +that he was mad. + +For on the threshold, gazing at them with a face of indescribable +astonishment, rage and incredulity, was Sir Robert Vermuyden. Sir +Robert Vermuyden, the one last man in the world whom Arthur Vaughan +would have expected to see there! + + + + +XX +A PLOT UNMASKED + + +For a few moments the old man and the young man gazed at one another, +alike in this only that neither found words equal to his feelings. +While Mary, covered with confusion, blushing for the situation in which +she had been found, could not hold up her head. It was Sir Robert who +at last broke the silence in a voice which trembled with passion. + +“You viper!” he said. “You viper! You would sting me—here also.” + +Vaughan stared at him, aghast. The intrusion was outrageous, but +astonishment rather than anger was the young man’s first feeling. “Here +also?” he repeated, as if he thought that he must have heard amiss. +“_I_ sting you? What do you mean? Why have you followed me?” And then +more warmly, “How dare you, sir, spy on me?” And he threw back his head +in wrath. + +The old man, every nerve and vein in his lean, high forehead swollen +and leaping, raised his cane and shook it at him. “Dare? Dare?” he +cried, and then for very rage his voice failed him. + +Vaughan closed his eyes and opened them again. “I am dreaming,” he +said. “I must be dreaming. Are you Sir Robert Vermuyden? Is this house +Miss Sibson’s school? Are we in Bristol? Or is it all—but first, sir,” +recalling abruptly and with indignation the situation in which he had +been surprised, and raising his tone, “how come you here? I have a +right to know that!” + +“How come I here?” + +“Yes! How come you here, sir?” + +“You ask me! You ask me!” Sir Robert repeated, as if he could not +believe his ears. “How I come here! You scoundrel! You scoundrel!” + +Vaughan started under the lash of the word. The insult was gratuitous, +intolerable! No relationship, no family tie could excuse it. No wonder +that the astonishment and irritation which had been his first feelings, +gave way to pure anger. Sir Robert might be this or that. He might +have, or rather, he might have had certain rights. But now all that was +over, the relationship was a thing of the past. And to suppose that he +was still to suffer the old gentleman’s interference, to put up with +his insults, to permit him in the presence of a young girl, his +promised wife, to use such language as he was using, was out of the +question. Vaughan’s face grew dark. + +“Sir Robert,” he said, “you are too old to be called to account. You +may say, therefore, what you please. But not—not if you are a +gentleman—until this young lady has left the room.” + +“This—young—lady!” Sir Robert gasped in an indescribable tone: and with +the cane quivering in his grasp he looked from Vaughan to the girl. + +“Yes,” Vaughan answered sternly. “That young lady! And do not let me +hear you call her anything else, sir, for she has promised to be my +wife.” + +“You lie!” the baronet cried, the words leaping from his lips. + +“Sir Robert!” + +“My daughter—promised to be your wife! My—my——” + +“Your daughter!” + +“Hypocrite!” Sir Robert retorted, flinging the word at him. “You knew +it! You knew it!” + +“Your daughter?” + +“Ay, that she was my daughter!” + +“Your daughter!” + +This time the words fell from Arthur Vaughan in a whisper. And he +stood, turned to stone. His daughter? Sir Robert’s daughter? The +girl—he tried desperately to clear his mind—of whom Wetherell had told +the story, the girl whom her mother had hidden away, while in Italy, +the girl whose reappearance in life had ousted him or was to oust him +from his inheritance? Mary Smith—was that girl! His daughter! + +But no! The blood leapt back to his heart. It was impossible, it was +incredible! The coincidence was too great, too amazing. His reason +revolted against it. And “Impossible!” he cried in a louder, a bolder +tone—though fear underlay its confidence. “You are playing with me! You +must be jesting!” he repeated angrily. + +But the elder man, though his hand still trembled on his cane and his +face was sallow with rage, had regained some control of himself. +Instead of retorting on Vaughan—except by a single glance of withering +contempt—he turned to Mary. “You had better go to your room,” he said, +coldly but not ungently. For how could he blame her, bred amid such +surroundings, for conduct that in other circumstances had irritated him +indeed? For conduct that had been unseemly, unmaidenly, improper. “You +had better go to your room,” he repeated. “This is no fit place for you +and no fit discussion for your ears. I am not—the fault is not with +you, but it will be better if you leave us.” + +She was rising, too completely overwhelmed to dream of refusing, when +Vaughan interposed. “No,” he said with a gleam of defiance in his eyes. +“By your leave, sir, no! This young lady is my affianced wife. If it be +her own wish to retire, be it so. But if not, there is no one who has +the right to bid her go or stay. You”—checking Sir Robert’s wrathful +rejoinder by a gesture—“you may be her father, but before you can +exercise a father’s rights you must make good your case.” + +“Make good my case!” Sir Robert ejaculated. + +“And when you have made it good, it will still be for her to choose +between us,” Vaughan continued with determination. “You, who have never +played a father’s part, who have never guided or guarded, fostered or +cherished her—do not think, sir, that you can in a moment arrogate to +yourself a father’s authority.” + +Sir Robert gasped. But the next moment he took up the glove so boldly +flung down. He pointed to the door, and with less courtesy than the +occasion demanded—but he was sore pressed by his anger, “Leave the +room, girl,” he said. + +“Do as you please, Mary,” Vaughan said. + +“Go!” cried the baronet, stung by the use of her name. “Stay!” said +Vaughan. + +Infinitely distressed, infinitely distracted by this appeal from the +one, from the other, from this side, from that, she turned her swimming +eyes on her lover. “Oh, what,” she cried, “what am I to do?” + +He did not speak, but he looked at her, not doubting what she would do, +nor conceiving it possible that she could prefer to him, her lover, +whose sweet professions were still honey in her ears, whose arm was +still warm from the pressure of her form—that she could prefer to him, +a father who was no more than the shadow of a name. + +But he did not know Mary yet, either in her strength or her weakness. +Nor did he consider that her father was already more than a name to +her. She hung a moment undecided and wretched, drooping as the white +rose that hangs its head in the first shower. Then she turned to the +elder man, and throwing her arms about his neck hung in tears on his +breast. “You will be good to him, sir,” she whispered passionately. +“Oh, forgive him! Forgive him, sir!” + +“My dear——” + +“Oh, forgive him, sir!” + +Sir Robert smoothed her hair with a caressing hand, and with pinched +lips and bright eyes looked at his adversary over her head. “I would +forgive him,” he said, “I could forgive him—all but this! All but this, +my dear! I could forgive him had he not tricked you and deceived you, +cozened you and flattered you—into this! Into the belief that he loves +you, while he loves only your inheritance! Or that part,” he added +bitterly, “of which he has not already robbed you!” + +“Sir Robert,” Vaughan said, “you have stooped very low. But it will not +avail you.” + +“It has availed me so far,” the baronet retorted. With confidence he +was regaining also command of himself. + +Vaughan winced. In proportion as the other recovered his temper, he +lost his. + +“It will avail me still farther,” Sir Robert continued exultantly, +“when my daughter understands, as she shall understand, sir, that when +you came here to-day, when you stole a march on me, as you thought, and +proposed marriage to her behind my back, you knew all that I knew! +Knew, sir, that she was my daughter, knew that she was my heiress, knew +that she ousted you, knew that by a marriage with her, and by that +only, you could regain all that you had lost!” + +“It is a lie!” Vaughan cried, stung beyond endurance. He was pale with +anger. + +“Then refute it!” Sir Robert said, clasping the girl, who had +involuntarily winced at the word, more closely to him. “Refute it, sir! +Refute it!” + +“It is absurd! It—it needs no refutation!” Vaughan cried. + +“Why?” Sir Robert retorted. “I state it. I am prepared to prove it! I +have three witnesses to the fact!” + +“To the fact that I——” + +“That you knew,” Sir Robert replied. “Knew this lady to be my daughter +when you came here this morning—as well as I knew it myself.” + +Vaughan returned his look in speechless indignation. Did the man really +believe in a charge, which at first had seemed to be mere vulgar abuse. +It was not possible! “Sir Robert,” he said, speaking slowly and with +dignity, “I never did you harm by word or deed until a day or two ago. +And then, God knows, perforce and reluctantly. How then can you lower +yourself to—to such a charge as this?” + +“Do you deny then,” the baronet replied with contemptuous force, “do +you dare to deny—to my face, that you knew?” + +Vaughan stared. “You will say presently,” he replied, “that I knew her +to be your daughter when I made her acquaintance on the coach a week +ago. At a time when you knew nothing yourself.” + +“As to that I cannot say one way or the other,” Sir Robert rejoined. “I +do not know how nor where you made her acquaintance. But I do know that +an acquaintance so convenient, so coincident, could hardly be the work +of chance!” + +“Good G—d! Then you will say also that I knew who she was when I called +on her the day after, and again two days after that—while you were +still in ignorance?” + +“I have said,” the baronet answered with cold decision, “that I do not +know how you made, nor why you followed up your acquaintance with her. +But I have, I cannot but have my suspicions.” + +“Suspicions? Suspicions?” Vaughan cried bitterly. “And on suspicion, +the base issue of prejudice and dislike——” + +“No, sir, no!” Sir Robert struck in. “Though it may be that if I knew +who introduced you to her, who opened this house to you, and the rest, +I might find ground for more than suspicion! The schoolmistress might +tell me somewhat, and—you wince, sir! Ay,” he continued in a tone of +triumph. “I see there is something to be learned! But it is not upon +suspicion that I charge you to-day! It is upon the best of grounds. Did +you not before my eyes and in the presence of two other witnesses, +read, no farther back than the day before yesterday, in the +drawing-room of my house, the whole story of my daughter’s movements up +to her departure from London for Bristol! With the name of the school +to which she was consigned? Did you not, sir? Did you not?” + +“Never! Never!” + +“What?” The astonishment in Sir Robert’s voice was so real, so +unfeigned, that it must have carried conviction to any listener. + +Vaughan passed his hand across his brow; and Mary, who had hitherto +kept her face hidden, shivering under the stroke of each harsh word—for +to a tender heart what could be more distressing than this strife +between the two beings she most cherished?—raised her head +imperceptibly. What would he answer? Only she knew how her heart beat; +how sick she was with fear; how she shrank from that which the next +minute might unfold! + +And yet she listened. + +“I—I remember now,” Vaughan said—and the consternation he felt made +itself heard in his voice. “I remember that I looked at a paper——” + +“At a paper!” Sir Robert cried in a tone of withering contempt. “At a +detailed account, sir, of my daughter’s movements down to her arrival +at Bristol! Do you deny that?” he continued grimly. “Do you deny that +you perused that account?” + +Vaughan stood for a moment with his hand pressed to his brow. He +hesitated. “I remember taking a paper in my hands,” he said slowly, his +face flushing, as the probable inference from his words occurred to +him. “But I was thinking so much of the disclosure you had made to me, +and of the change it involved—-to me, that——” + +“That you took no interest in the written details!” Sir Robert cried in +a tone of bitter irony. + +“I did not.” + +“You did not read a word, I suppose?” + +“I did not.” + +Before the baronet could utter the sneer which was on his lips, Mary +interposed. “I—I would like to go,” she murmured. “I feel rather +faint!” + +She detached herself from her father’s arm as she spoke, and with her +face averted from her lover, she moved uncertainly towards the door. +She had no wish to look on him. She shrank from meeting his shamed +eyes. But something, either the feeling that she would never see him +again, and that this was the end of her maiden love, or the desperate +hope that even at this last moment he might explain his admission—and +those facts, “confirmation strong as hell” which she knew, but which +Sir Robert did not know—one or other of these feelings made her falter +on the threshold, made her turn. Their eyes met. + +He stepped forward impulsively. He was white with pain, his face rigid. +For what pain is stronger than the pang of innocence accused? + +“One moment!” he said, in an unsteady voice. “If we part so, Mary, we +part indeed! We part forever! I said awhile ago that you must choose +between us. And you have chosen—it seems,” he continued unsteadily. +“Yet think! Give yourself, give me a chance. Will you not believe my +word?” And he held out his arms to her. “Will you not believe that when +I came to you this morning I thought you penniless? I thought you the +unknown schoolmistress you thought yourself a week ago! Will you not +trust me when I say that I never connected you with the missing +daughter? Never dreamed of a connection? Why should I?” he added, in +growing agitation as the words of his appeal wrought on himself. “Why +should I? Or why do you in a moment think me guilty of the meanest, the +most despicable, the most mercenary of acts?” + +He was going to take her hand, but Sir Robert stepped between them, +grim as fate and as vindictive. “No!” he said. “No! No more! You have +given her pain enough, sir! Take your dismissal and go! She has +chosen—you have said it yourself!” + +He cast one look at Sir Robert, and then, “Mary,” he asked, “am I to +go?” + +She was leaning, almost beside herself, against the door. And oh, how +much of joy and sorrow she had known since she crossed the threshold. A +man’s embrace, and a man’s treachery. The sweetness of love and the +bitterness of—reality! + +“Mary!” Vaughan repeated. + +But the baronet could not endure this. “By G—d, no!” he cried, +infuriated by the other’s persistence, and perhaps a little by fear +that the girl would give way. “You shall not soil her name with your +lips, sir! You shall torture her no longer! You have your dismissal! +Take it and go!” + +“When she tells me with her own lips to go,” Vaughan answered doggedly, +“I will go. Not before!” For never had she seemed more desirable to +him. Never, though contempt of her weakness wrestled with his love, had +he wanted her more. Except that seat in the House which had cost him so +dearly, she was all he had left. And it did not seem possible that she +whom he had held so lately in his arms, she who had confessed her love +for him, with whom he had vowed to share his life and his success, his +lot good or bad—it did not seem possible that she could really believe +this miserable, this incredible, this impossible thing of him! She +could not! Or, if she could, he was indeed mistaken in her. “I shall +go,” he repeated coldly, “and I shall not return.” + +And Mary had not believed it of him, had she known him longer or +better; had she known him as girls commonly know their lovers. But his +wooing had been short, we know: and we know, too, the distrust of men +in which she had been trained. He had taken her by storm, stooping to +her from the height of his position, having on his side her poverty and +loneliness, her inexperience and youth. Now all these things, and her +ignorance of his world weighed against him. Was it to be supposed, +could it be credited that he, who had come to her bearing her mother’s +commendation, knew nothing, though he was her kinsman? That he, who +after plain hesitation and avowed doubt, laid all at her feet as soon +as her father was prepared to acknowledge her—still sought her in +ignorance? That he, who had read her story in black and white, still +knew nothing? + +No, she could not believe it. But it was a bitter thing to know that he +did not love her, that he had not loved her! That he had come to her +for gain! She must speak if it were only to escape, only to save +herself from—from collapse. She yearned for nothing now so much as to +be alone in her room. + +“Good-bye,” she muttered, with averted eyes and pallid lips. “I—I +forgive you. Good-bye.” + +And she opened the door with groping fingers; and still, still looking +away from him lest she should break down, she went out. + +He drew a deep breath as she passed the threshold; and his eyes did not +leave her. But he did not speak. Nor did Sir Robert Vermuyden until his +daughter’s step, light as thistledown that morning, and now uncertain +and lagging, passed out of hearing, and—and at last a door closed on +the floor above. + +Then the elder man looked at the other. “Are you not going?” he said +with stern meaning. “You have robbed me of my borough, sir—I give you +joy of your cleverness. But you shall not rob me of my daughter!” + +“I wonder which you love the better!” Vaughan snarled. And with the +vicious gibe he took his hat and went. + + + + +XXI +A MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS + + +It was September. The House elected in those first days of May was four +months old, and already it had fulfilled the hopes of the country. +Without a division it had decreed the first reading, and by a majority +of one hundred and thirty-six, the second reading of the People’s Bill; +that Bill by which the preceding House slaying, had been slain. New +members were beginning to lose the first gloss of their enthusiasm; the +youngest no longer ogled the M.P. on their letters, nor franked for the +mere joy of franking. But the ministry still rode the flood tide of +favour, Lord Grey was still his country’s pride, and Brougham a hero. +It only remained to frighten the House of Lords, and in particular +those plaguy out-of-date fellows, the Bishops, into passing the Bill; +and the battle would be won, + +_The streets be paved with mutton pies_, + +_Potatoes eat like pine!_ + + +And, in fine, everyone would live happily ever afterwards. + +To old Tories of the stamp of Sir Robert Vermuyden, the outlook was +wholly dark. But it is not often that public care clouds private joy; +and had Eldon been prime minister, with Wetherell for his Chancellor, +the grounds of Stapylton could hardly have worn a more smiling aspect +than they presented on the fine day in early September, which Sir +Robert had chosen for his daughter’s first party. The abrupt addition +of a well-grown girl to a family of one is a delicate process. It is +apt to open the door to scandal. And a little out of discretion, and +more that she, who was now the apple of his eye, might not wear her +wealth with a difference, nor lack anything of the mode, he had not +hastened the occasion. A word had been dropped here and there—with +care; the truth had been told to some, the prepossessions of others had +been consulted. But at length the day was come on which she must stand +by his side and receive the world of Wiltshire. + +And she had so stood for more than an hour of this autumn afternoon; +with such pride on his side as was fitting, and such blushes on hers as +were fitting also. Now, the prime duty of reception over, and his +company dispersed through the gardens, Sir Robert lingered with one or +two of his intimates on the lawn before the house. In the hollow of the +park hard by, stood the ample marquee in which his poorer neighbours +were presently to feed; gossip had it that Sir Robert was already at +work rebuilding his political influence. Near the tent, Hunt the +Slipper and Kiss in the Ring were in progress, and Moneymusk was being +danced to the strains of the Chippinge church band; the shrill voices +of the rustic youth proving that their first shyness was wearing off. +Within the gardens, a famous band from Bath played the new-fashioned +quadrilles turn about with Moore’s Irish Melodies; and a score of the +fair, gorgeous as the dragon-flies which darted above the water, +meandered delicately up and down the sward; or escorted by gentlemen in +tightly strapped white trousers and blue coats—or in Wellington frocks, +the latest mode—appeared and again disappeared among the elms beside +the Garden Pool. In the background, the house, adorned and refurnished, +winked with all its windows at the sunshine, gave forth from all its +doors the sweet scent of flowers, throbbed to the very recesses of the +haunted wing with small talk and light laughter, the tap of sandalled +feet and the flirt of fans. + +Sir Robert thanked his God as he looked upon it all. And five years +younger in face and more like the Duke than ever, he listened, almost +purring, to the praises of his new-found darling. The odds had been +great that with such a breeding, she had been coarse or sly, common or +skittish. And she was none of these things, but fair as a flower, +slender as Psyche, sweet-eyed as a loving woman, dainty and virginal as +the buds of May! And withal gentle and kind and obedient—above all, +obedient. He could not thank God enough, as he read in the eyes of +young men and old women, what they thought of her. And he was thanking +Him, though in outward seeming he was attentive to an old friend’s +prattle, when his eyes fell on a carriage and four which, followed by +two outriders, was sweeping past the marquee and breasting the gentle +ascent to the house. All who were likely to arrive in such state, the +Beauforts, Suffolks, Methuens, were come; the old Duke of Beaufort, +indeed, and his daughter-in-law were gone again. So Sir Robert stared +at the approaching carriage, wondering whom it might contain. + +“They are the Bowood liveries,” said his friend, who had longer sight. +“I thought they had gone to town for the Coronation.” + +Sir Robert too had thought so. Indeed, though he had invited the +Lansdownes upon the principle, which even the heats attending the +Reform Bill did not wholly abrogate, that family friendships were above +party—he had been glad to think that he would not see the spoliators. +The trespass was too recent, the robbery too gross! Ay, and the times +too serious. + +Here they were, however; Lady Lansdowne, her daughter, and a small +gentleman with a merry eye and curling locks. And Sir Robert repressed +a sigh, and advanced four or five paces to meet them. But though he +sighed, no one knew better what became a host; and his greeting was +perfect. One of his bitterest flings at Bowood painted it as the common +haunt of fiddlers and poets, actors and the like. But he received her +ladyship’s escort, who was no other than Mr. Moore of Sloperton, and of +the Irish Melodies, with the courtesy which he would have extended to +an equal; nor when Lady Lansdowne sent her girl to take tea under the +poet’s care did he let any sign of his reprobation appear. Those with +whom he had been talking had withdrawn to leave him at liberty, and he +found himself alone with Lady Lansdowne. + +“We leave for Berkeley Square to-morrow, for the Coronation on the +8th,” she said, playing with her fan in a way which would have betrayed +to her intimates that she was not at ease. “I had many things to do +this morning in view of our departure and I could not start early. You +must accept our apologies, Sir Robert.” + +“It was gracious of your ladyship to come at all,” he said. + +“It was brave,” she replied, with a gleam of laughter in her eyes. “In +fact, though I bear my lord’s warmest felicitations on this happy +event, and wreathe them with mine, Sir Robert——” + +“I thank your ladyship and Lord Lansdowne,” he said formally. + +“I do not think that I should have ventured,” she continued with +another glint of laughter, “did I not bear also an olive branch.” + +He bowed, but waited in silence for her explanation. + +“One of a—a rather delicate nature,” she said. “Am I permitted, Sir +Robert, to—to speak in confidence?” + +He did not understand and he sought refuge in compliments. “Permitted?” +he said, with the gallant bow of an old beau. “All things are permitted +to so much——” + +“Hush!” she said. “But there! I will take you at your word. You know +that the Bill—there is but one Bill now-a-days—is in Committee?” + +He frowned, disliking the subject. “I don’t think,” he said, “that any +good can come of discussing it, Lady Lansdowne.” + +“I think it may,” she replied, with a confidence which she did not +feel, “if you will hear me. It is whispered that there is a question in +Committee of one of the doomed boroughs. One, I am told, Sir Robert, +hangs between schedule A and schedule B; and that borough is Chippinge. +Those who know whisper Lord Lansdowne that ultimately it will be +plucked from the burning, and will be found in schedule B. Consequently +it will retain one member.” + +Sir Robert’s thin face turned a dull red. So the wicked Whigs, who had +drawn the line of disfranchisement at such a point as to spare their +pet preserves, their Calne and Bedford and the like, had not been able +with all their craft to net every fish. One had evaded the mesh, and by +Heavens, it was Chippinge! Chippinge, though shorn of its full glory, +would still return one member. He had not hoped, he had not expected +this. Now + +_Non omnis moriar, multaque pars mei +Vitabit Libitinam!_ + + +he thought with jubilation. And then another thought darted through his +mind and changed his joy to chagrin. A seat had been left to Chippinge. +But why? That Arthur Vaughan, that his renegade cousin, might continue +to fill it, might continue to hold it, under his nose and to his daily, +hourly, his constant mortification. By Heaven, it was too much! They +had said well, who said that an enemy’s gift was to be dreaded. But he +would fight the seat, at the next election and at every election, +rather than suffer that miserable person, miserable on so many +accounts, to fill it at his will. And after all the seat was saved; and +no one could tell the future. The lasting gain might outlive the +temporary vexation. + +So, after frowning a moment, he tried to smooth his brow. “And your +mission, Lady Lansdowne,” he said politely, “is to tell me this?” + +“In part,” she said, with hesitation, for the course, of his feelings +had been visible in his countenance. “But also——” + +“But also—and in the main,” he answered with a smile, “to make a +proposition, perhaps?” + +“Yes.” + +He thought of the most obvious proposition, and he spoke in pursuance +of his thought. “Then forgive me if I speak plainly,” he said. “Whether +the borough lose one member or both, whether it figure in schedule B, +or in schedule A, cannot affect my opposition to the Bill! If you have +it in commission, therefore, to make any proposal, based on a contrary +notion, I cannot listen even to your ladyship.” + +“I have not,” she answered with a smile. “Sir Robert Vermuyden’s +malignancy is too well known. Yet I am the bearer of a proposition. +Suppose the Bill to become law, and I am told that it will surely +become law, can we not avoid future conflict, and—I will not say future +ill-will, for God knows there is none on our side, Sir Robert—but +future friction, by an agreement? Of course it will not be possible to +nominate members in the future as in the past. But for some time to +come whoever is returned for Chippinge must be returned by your +influence, or by my lord’s.” + +He coughed drily. “Possibly,” he said. + +“In view of that,” she continued, flirting her fan, as she watched his +face—his manner was not encouraging, “and for the sake of peace between +families, and a little, perhaps, because I do not wish Kerry to be +beggared by contested elections, can we not now, while the future is on +the lap of the gods——” + +“In Committee,” Sir Robert corrected with a grave bow. + +She laughed pleasantly. “Well,” she allowed, “perhaps it is not quite +the same thing. But no matter! Whoever the Fates in charge, can we +not,” with her head on one side and a charming smile, “make a treaty of +peace?” + +“And what,” Sir Robert asked with urbane sarcasm, “becomes of the +rights of the people in that case, Lady Lansdowne? And of the purity of +elections? And of the new and independent electors whom my lord has +brought into being? Must we not think of these things?” + +She looked for an instant rather foolish. Then she rallied, and with a +slightly heightened colour, “In good time, we must,” she replied. “But +for the present it is plain that they will not be able to walk without +assistance.” + +“What?” it was on the tip of his tongue to answer. “The new and +independent electors? Not walk without assistance? Oh, what a change is +here!” But he forbore. He said instead—but with the faintest shade of +irony, “Without _our_ assistance, I think you mean, Lady Lansdowne?” + +“Yes. And that being so, why should we not agree, my lord and you—to +save Kerry’s pocket shall I say—to bring forward a candidate +alternately?” + +Sir Robert shook his head gravely. He would fight. + +“Allowing to you, Sir Robert, as the owner of the influence hitherto +dominant in the borough, the first return.” + +“The first return—after the Bill passes?” + +“Yes.” + +That was a different thing. That was another thing altogether. A gleam +of satisfaction shone for an instant under the baronet’s bushy +eyebrows. The object he had most at heart was to oust his treacherous +cousin. And here was a method, sure and safe: more safe by far than any +contest under the new Bill? + +“Well I—I cannot say anything at this moment,” he said, at last, trying +to hide his satisfaction. “These heats once over I do not see—your +ladyship will pardon me—why my influence should not still predominate.” + +It was Lady Lansdowne’s turn. “And things be as before?” she answered. +“No, Sir Robert, no. You forget those rights of the people which you +were so kind as to support a moment ago. Things will not be as before. +But—but perhaps I shall hear from you? Of course it is not a matter +that can be settled, as in the old days, by our people.” + +“You shall certainly hear,” he said, with something more than courtesy. +“In the meantime——” + +“I am dying to see your daughter,” she answered. “I am told that she is +very lovely. Where is she?” + +“A few minutes ago she was in the Elm Walk,” Sir Robert answered, a +slight flush betraying his gratification. “I will send for her.” + +But her ladyship would not hear of this; nor would she suffer him to +leave his post to escort her. “Here’s la belle Suffolk coming to take +leave of you,” she said. “And I know my way.” + +“But you will not know her,” Sir Robert answered. + +Lady Lansdowne let her parasol sink over her shoulder. “I think I +shall,” she said with a glance of meaning, “if she is like her mother.” + +And without waiting to see the effect of her words, she moved away. It +was said of old time of Juno, that she walked a Goddess confessed. And +of Lady Lansdowne as she moved slowly across the sunny lawn before the +church, her dainty skirts trailing and her parasol inclined, it might +with equal justice have been said, that she walked a great lady, of +that day when great ladies still were, + +_Nor mill nor mart had mocked the guinea’s stamp_. + + +Whether she smiled on this person or bowed to that, or with a slighter +movement acknowledged the courtesy of those who, without claiming +recognition made respectful way for her, a gracious ease and a quiet +nonchalance were in all her actions. The deeper emotions seemed as far +from her as were Hodge and Joan playing Kiss in the Ring. But her last +words to Sir Robert had reacted on herself, and as she crossed the +rustic bridge, she paused a moment to gaze on the water. The band was +playing the air of “She is far from the Land,” and tears rose to her +eyes as she recalled the past and pictured scene after scene, absurd or +pathetic in the career of the proud beauty who had once queened it +here, whose mad pranks and madder sayings had once filled these +shrubberies with mirth or chagrin, and whose child she was about to +see. + +She sighed, as she resumed her course, unable even now to blame Lady +Sybil as her conduct to her child deserved. But where was the child? +Not on the walk under the elms, which was deserted in favour of the +more lively attractions of the park. Lady Lansdowne looked this way and +that; at length availing herself of the solitude, she paced the walk to +its end. Thence a short path which she well remembered, led to the +kennels; and rather to indulge her sentiment and recall the days when +she was herself young, and had been intimate here, than because she +expected to meet Mary, she took this path. She had not followed it a +dozen steps, and was hesitating whether to go on or return, the strains +of Moore’s melody were scarcely blurred by the intervening laurels, +when a tall dark-robed figure stepped with startling abruptness from +the shrubbery, and stood before her. + +“Louisa,” said the stranger. And she raised her veil. “Don’t you know +me?” + +“Sybil!” + +“Yes, Sybil!” the other answered curtly. And then as if something in +Lady Lansdowne’s tone had wounded her, “Why not?” she continued, +raising her head proudly. “My name came easily enough to your +ladyship’s lips once! And I am not aware that I have done anything to +deprive me of the right to call my friends by their names, be they whom +they may!” + +“No, no! But——” + +“But you meant it, Louisa!” the other retorted with energy. “Or is it +that you find me so changed, so old, so worn, so altered from her you +once knew, that it astonishes you to trace in this face the features of +Sybil Matching!” + +“You are changed,” the other answered kindly. “I fear you have been +ill?” + +“I am ill. I am more, I am dying. Not here, nor to-day, nor +to-morrow——” + +Lady Lansdowne interrupted her. “In that sense,” she said gently, “we +are all dying.” But though she said it, the change in Lady Sybil’s +appearance did indeed shock her; almost as much as her presence in that +place amazed her. + +“I have but three months to live,” Lady Sybil answered feverishly; and +her sunken cheeks and bright eyes, which told of some hidden disease, +confirmed her words. “I am dying in that sense! Do you hear? But I dare +say,” with a flash of her old levity, “it is my presence here that +shocks you? You are thinking what Vermuyden would say if he turned the +corner behind you, and found us together!” And, as Lady Lansdowne, with +a nervous start, looked over her shoulder, with the old recklessness, +“I’d like—I’d like to see his face, my dear, and yours, too, if he +found us. But,” she continued, with an abrupt change to impassioned +earnestness, “it’s not to see you that I came to-day! Don’t think it! +It’s not to see you that I’ve been waiting for two hours past. I want +to see my girl! I am going to see her, do you hear! You must bring her +to me!” + +“Sybil!” + +“Don’t contradict me, Louisa,” she cried peremptorily. “Haven’t I told +you that I am dying? Don’t you hear what I say! Am I to die and not see +my child? Cruel woman! Heartless creature! But you always were! And +cold as an icicle!” + +“No, indeed, I am not! And I think you should see her,” Lady Lansdowne +answered, in no little distress. How could she not be distressed by the +contrast between this woman plainly and almost shabbily dressed—for the +purpose perhaps of evading notice—and with illness stamped on her face, +and the brilliant, harum-scarum Lady Sybil, with whom her thoughts had +been busy a few minutes before? “I think you ought to see her,” she +repeated in a soothing tone. “But you should take the proper steps to +do so. You——” + +“You think—yes, you do!” Lady Vermuyden retorted with fierce +energy—“you think that I have treated her so ill that I have no right +to see her! That I cannot care to see her! But you do not know how I +was tried! How I was suspected, how I was watched! What wrongs I +suffered! And—and I never meant to hide her for good. When I died, she +would have come home. And I had a plan too—but never mind that—to right +her without Vermuyden’s knowledge and in his teeth. I saw her on a +coach one day along with—what is it?” + +“There is someone coming,” Lady Lansdowne said hurriedly. Her ladyship +indeed was in a state of great apprehension. She knew that at any +moment she might be found, perhaps by Sir Robert: and the thought of +the scene which would follow—aware as she was of the exasperation of +his feelings—appalled her. She tried to temporise. “Another time,” she +said. “I think someone is coming now. See me another time and I will do +what I can.” + +“No!” the other broke in, her face flushing with sudden anger. “See +you, Louisa? What do I care for seeing you? It is my girl I wish to +see, that I’m come to see, that I’m going to see! I’m her mother, fetch +her to me! I have a right to see her, and I will see her! I demand her! +If you do not go for her——” + +“Sybil! Sybil!” Lady Lansdowne cried, thoroughly alarmed by her +friend’s violence. “For Heaven’s sake be calm!” + +“Calm?” Lady Vermuyden answered. “Do you cease to dictate to me, and do +as I bid you! Go, and fetch her, or I will go myself and claim her +before all his friends. He has no heart. He never had a heart! It’s +sawdust,” with a hysterical laugh. “But he has pride and I’ll trample +on it! I’ll tread it in the mud—if you don’t fetch her! Are you going, +Miss Gravity? We used to call you Miss Gravity, I remember. You were +always,” with a faint sneer, “a bit of a prude, my dear!” + +Miss Gravity! What long-forgotten trifles, what thoughts of youth the +nickname brought back to Lady Lansdowne’s recollection. What wars of +maidens’ wits, and half-owned jealousies, and light resentments, and +sunny days of pique and pleasure! Her heart, never anything but soft, +under the mask of her great-lady’s manner, waxed sore and pitiful. Yet +how was she to do the other’s bidding? How could she betray Sir +Robert’s confidence? How—— + +Someone was coming—really coming this time. She looked round. + +“I’ll give you five minutes!” Lady Sybil whispered. “Five minutes, +Louisa! Remember!” + +And when Lady Lansdowne turned again to her, she had vanished among the +laurels. + + + + +XXII +WOMEN’S HEARTS + + +Lady Lansdowne walked slowly away in a state of perplexity, from which +the monotonous lilt of the band which was now playing quadrille music +did nothing to free her. Whether Sybil Vermuyden were dying or not, it +was certain that she was ill. Disease had laid its hand beyond +mistaking on that once beautiful face; the levity and wit which had +formerly dazzled beholders now gleamed but fitfully and with such a +ghastly light as the corpse candle gives forth. The change was great +since Lady Lansdowne had seen her in the coach at Chippenham; and it +might well be that if words of forgiveness were to be spoken, no time +was to be lost. Old associations, a mother’s feelings for a mother, +pity, all urged Lady Lansdowne to compliance with her request; nor did +the knowledge that the woman, who had once queened it so brilliantly in +this place, was now lurking on the fringe of the gay crowd, athirst for +a sight of her child, fail to move a heart which all the jealousies of +a Whig coterie had not hardened or embittered. + +Unluckily the owner of that heart felt that she was the last person who +ought to interfere. It behoved her, more than it behoved anyone, to +avoid fresh ground of quarrel with Sir Robert. Courteously as he had +borne himself on her arrival, civilly as he had veiled the surprise +which her presence caused him, she knew that he was sore hurt by his +defeat in the borough. And if those who had thwarted him publicly were +to intervene in his private concerns, if those who had suborned his +kinsman were now to tamper with his daughter, ay, or were to incur a +suspicion of tampering, she knew that his anger would know no bounds. +She felt, indeed, that it would be justified. + +She had to think, too, of her husband, who had sent her with the +olive-branch. He was a politic, long-sighted man; who, content with the +solid advantage he had gained, had no mind to push to extremity a +struggle which must needs take place at his own door. He would be +displeased, seriously displeased, if her mission, in place of closing, +widened the breach. + +And yet—and yet her heart ached for the woman, who had never wholly +lost a place in her affections. And there was this. If Lady Sybil were +thwarted no one was more capable of carrying out her threat and of +taking some violent step, which would make matters a hundred times +worse, alike for Sir Robert and his daughter. + +While she weighed the matter, Lady Lansdowne found herself back at the +rustic bridge. She was in the act of stepping upon it—still deep in +thought—when her eyes encountered those of a young couple who were +waiting at the farther end to give her passage. She looked a second +time; and she stood. Then, smiling, she beckoned to the girl to come to +her. Meanwhile, a side-thought, born of the conjunction of the two +young people, took form in her mind. “I hope that may come to nothing,” +she reflected. + +Possibly it was for this reason, that when the man would have come +also, she made it clear that the smile was not for him. “No, Mr. +Flixton,” she said, the faintest possible distance in her tone. “I do +not want you. I will relieve you of your charge.” + +And when Mary, timid and blushing, had advanced to her, “My dear,” she +said, holding out both her hands, and looking charmingly at her, “I +should have known you anywhere.” And she drew her to her and kissed +her. “I am Lady Lansdowne. I knew your mother, and I hope that you and +my daughter will be friends.” + +The mention of her mother increased Mary’s shyness. “Your ladyship is +very kind,” she murmured. She did not know that her embarrassment was +so far from hurting her, that the appeal in her eyes went straight to +the elder woman’s heart. + +“I mean to be kind at any rate,” Lady Lansdowne answered, smiling on +the lovely face before her. And then, “My dear,” she said, “have they +told you that you are very beautiful? More beautiful, I think, than +your mother was: I hope”—and she did not try to hide the depth of her +feelings—“that you may be more happy.” + +The girl’s colour faded at this second reference to her mother; made, +she could not doubt, with intention. Her father, even while he had +overwhelmed her with benefits, even while he had opened this new life +to her with a hand full of gifts, had taught her—tacitly or by a word +at most—that that name was the key to a Bluebeard’s chamber; that it +must not be used. She knew that her mother lived; she guessed that she +had sinned against her husband; she understood that she had wronged her +child. But she knew no more: and with this, since this at the least she +must know, Sir Robert would have had her content. + +And yet, to speak correctly, she did know more. She knew that the +veiled lady who had intervened at long intervals in her life must have +been her mother. But she felt no impulse of affection towards that +woman—whom she had not seen. Her heart went out instead to a shadowy +mother who walked the silent house at sunset, whose skirts trailed in +the lonely passages, of whose career of wild and reckless gaiety she +had vague hints here and there. It was to this mother, radiant and +young, with the sheen of pearls in her hair, and the haunting smile, +that she yearned. She had learned in some subtle way that the vacant +place over the mantel in the hall which her own portrait by Maclise was +to fill, had been occupied by her mother’s picture. And dreaming of the +past, as what young girl alone in that stately house would not, she had +seen her come and go in the half lights, a beautiful, spoilt child of +fashion. She had traced her up and down the wide polished stairway, +heard the tap of her slender sandal on the shining floors, perceived in +long-closed chambers the fading odours of her favourite scent. And in a +timid, frightened way she had longed to know her and to love her, to +feel her touch on her hair and give her pity in return. + +It is possible that she might have dwelt more intimately on Lady +Sybil’s fate, possible that she might have ventured on some line of her +own in regard to her, if her new life had been free from preoccupation; +if there had not been with her an abiding regret, which clouded the +sunniest prospects. But love, man’s love, woman’s love, is the most +cruel of monopolists: it tramples on the claims of the present, much +more of the absent. And if the novelty of Mary’s new life, the many +marvels to which she must accustom herself, the new pleasures, the new +duties, the strange new feeling of wealth—if, in fine, the necessity of +orientating herself afresh in relation to every person and +everything—was not able to put thoughts of her lover from her mind, the +claims of an unknown mother had an infinitely smaller chance of +asserting themselves. + +But now at that word, twice pronounced by Lady Lansdowne, the girl +stood ashamed and conscience-stricken. “You knew my mother?” she +faltered. + +“Yes, my dear,” the elder woman answered gravely. “I knew her very +well.” + +The gravity of the speaker’s tone presented a new idea to Mary’s mind. +“She is not happy?” she said slowly. + +“No.” + +With that word Lady Lansdowne looked over her shoulder; conscience +makes cowards, and her nervousness communicated itself to Mary. A +possibility, at which the girl had never glanced, presented itself, and +so abruptly that all the colour left her face. “She is not here?” she +said. + +“Yes, she is here. And—don’t be frightened, my dear!” Lady Lansdowne +continued earnestly. “But listen to me! A moment ago I thought of +throwing you in her way without your knowledge. But, since I have seen +you, I have your welfare at heart, as well as hers. And I must, I ought +to tell you, that I do not think your father would wish you to see her. +I think that you should know this; and that you should decide for +yourself—whether you will see her. Indeed, you must decide for +yourself,” she repeated, her eyes fixed anxiously on the girl’s face. +“I cannot take the responsibility.” + +“She is unhappy?” Mary asked, looking most unhappy herself. + +“She is unhappy, and she is ill.” + +“I ought to go to her? You think so? Please—your ladyship, will you +advise me?” + +Lady Lansdowne hesitated. “I cannot,” she said. + +“But—there is no reason,” Mary asked faintly, “why I should not go to +her?” + +“There is no reason. I honestly believe,” Lady Lansdowne repeated +solemnly, “that there is no reason—except your father’s wish. It is for +you to say how far that, which should weigh with you in all other +things, shall weigh with you in this.” + +Suddenly a burning colour dyed Mary’s face. “I will go to her,” she +cried impulsively. She had been weak once, she had been weak! And how +she had suffered for that weakness! But she would be strong now. “Where +is she, if you please?” she continued bravely. “Can I see her at once?” + +“She is in the path leading to the kennels. You know it? No, you need +not take leave of me, child! Go, and,” Lady Lansdowne added with +feeling, “God forgive me if I have done wrong in sending you!” + +“You have not done wrong!” Mary cried, an unwonted spirit in her tone. +And, without taking other leave, she turned and went—though her limbs +trembled under her. She was going to her mother! To her mother! Oh, +strange, oh, impossible thought! + +Yet, engrossing as was that thought, it could not quite oust fear of +her father and of his anger. And the blush soon died; so that the +whiteness of her cheeks when she reached the Kennel Path was a poor set +off for the ribbons that decked her muslin robe. What she expected, +what she wished or feared or hoped she could never remember. What she +saw, that which awaited her, was a woman, ill, and plainly clad, with +only the remains of beauty in her wasted features; but withal cynical +and hard-eyed, and very, very far from the mother of her day-dreams. + +Such as she was the unknown scanned Mary with a kind of scornful +amusement. “Oh,” she said, “so this is what they have made of Miss +Vermuyden? Let me look at you, girl?” And laying her hands on Mary’s +shoulders she looked long into the tearful, agitated face. “Why, you +are like a sheet of paper!” she continued, raising the girl’s chin with +her finger. “I wonder you dared to come with Sir Robert saying no! And, +you little fool,” she continued in a swift spirit of irritation, “as +soon not come at all, as look at me like that! You’ve got my chin and +my nose, and more of me than I thought. But God knows where you got +your hare’s eyes! Are you always frightened?” + +“No, Ma’am, no!” she stammered. + +“No, Ma’am? No, goose!” Lady Sybil retorted, mimicking her. “Why, ten +kings on ten thrones had never made me shake as you are shaking! Nor +twenty Sir Roberts in twenty passions! What is it you are afraid of? +Being found with me?” + +“No!” Mary cried. And, to do her justice, the emotion with which Lady +Sybil found fault was as much a natural agitation, on seeing her +mother, as fear on her own account. + +“Then you are afraid of me?” Lady Sybil rejoined. And again she +twitched the girl’s face to the light. + +Mary was amazed rather than afraid: but she could not say that. And she +kept silence. + +“Or is it dislike of me?” the mother continued—a slight grimace, as of +pain, distorting her face. “You hate me, I suppose? You hate me?” + +“Oh, no, no!” the girl cried in distress. + +“You do, Miss!” And with no little violence she pushed Mary from her. +“You set down all to me, I suppose! I’ve kept you from your own, that’s +it! I am the wicked mother, worse than a step-mother, who robbed you of +your rights! And made a beggar of you and would have kept you a beggar! +I am she who wronged you and robbed you—the unnatural mother! And you +never ask,” she went on with fierce, impulsive energy, “what I +suffered? How I was wronged! What I bore! No, nor what I meant to +do—with you!” + +“Indeed, indeed——” + +“What I meant to do, I say!” Lady Sybil repeated violently. “At my +death—and I am dying, but what is that to you?—all would have been +told, girl! And you would have got your own. Do you believe me?” she +added passionately, advancing a step in a manner almost menacing. “Do +you believe me, girl?” + +“I do, I do!” Mary cried, inexpressibly pained by the other’s +vehemence. + +“I’ll swear it, if you like! But I hoped that he—your father—would die +first and never know! He deserved no better! He deserved nothing of me! +And then you’d have stepped into all! Or better still—do you remember +the day you travelled to Bristol? It’s not so long ago that you need +forget it, Miss Vermuyden! I was in the coach, and I saw you, and I saw +the young man who was with you. I knew him, and I told myself that +there was a God after all, though I’d often doubted it, or you two +would not have been brought together! I saw another way then, but you’d +have parted and known nothing, if,” she continued, laughing recklessly, +“I had not helped Providence, and sent him with a present to your +school! But—why, you’re red enough now, girl! What is it?” + +“He knew?” Mary murmured, with an effort. “You told him who I was, +Ma’am?” + +“He knew no more than a doll!” Lady Sybil answered. “I told him +nothing, or he’d have told again! I know his kind. No, I thought to get +all for you and thwart Vermuyden, too! I thought to marry his heir to +the little schoolmistress—it was an opera touch, my dear, and beyond +all the Tremaynes and Vivian Greys in the world! But there, when all +promised well, that slut of a maid went to my husband, and trumped my +trick!” + +“And Mr.—Mr. Vaughan,” Mary stammered, “had no knowledge—who I was?” + +“Mr.—Mr. Vaughan!” Lady Sybil repeated, mocking her, “had no knowledge? +No! Not a jot, not a tittle! But what?” she went on, in a tone of +derision, “Sits the wind there, Miss Meek? You’re not all milk and +water, bread and butter and backboard, then, but have a spice of your +mother, after all? Mr.—Mr. Vaughan!” again she mimicked her. “Why, if +you were fond of the man, didn’t you say so?” + +Mary, under the fire of those sharp, hard eyes, could not restrain her +tears. But, overcome as she was, she managed in broken words to explain +that her father had forbidden it. + +“Oh, your father, was it?” Lady Sybil rejoined. “He said ‘No,’ and no +it was! And the lord of my heart and the Man of Feeling is dismissed in +disgrace! And now we weep in secret and the worm feeds on our damask +cheek!” she ran on in a tone of raillery, assumed perhaps to hide a +deeper feeling. “I suppose,” she added shrewdly, “Sir Robert would have +you think that Vaughan knew who you were, and was practising on you?” + +“Yes.” + +“And you dismissed him at papa’s command, eh? That was it, was it?” + +Mary could only confess the fact with tears, her distress in as strange +contrast with the gaiety of her dress as with the strains of the +neighbouring band, which told of festivity and pleasure. Perhaps some +thought of this nature forced itself upon Lady Sybil’s light and +evasive mind: for as she looked, the cynical expression of her eyes +gave place to one of feeling and emotion, better fitted to those wasted +features as well as to the relation in which the two stood to one +another. She looked down the path, as if for the first time she feared +an intrusive eye. Then her glance reverted to her daughter’s slender +form and drooping head: and again it changed, it grew soft, it grew +pitiful. The laurels shut all in, the path was empty. The maternal +feeling, long repressed, long denied, long buried under a mountain of +pique and resentment, of fancied wrongs and real neglect, broke forth +irresistibly. In a step she was at the girl’s side, and snatching her +to her bosom in a fierce embrace, was covering her face, her neck, her +hair with hungry kisses. + +The action was so sudden, so unexpected, that crushed and even hurt by +the other’s grasp, and frightened by her vehemence, Mary would have +resisted, would have tried to free herself. Then she understood. And a +rush of pent-up affection, of love and pity, carried away the barriers +of constraint and timidity. She clung to Lady Sybil with tears of joy, +murmuring low broken words, calling her “Mother, Mother,” burying her +face on her shoulder, pressing herself against her. In a moment her +being was stirred to its depths. In all her life no one had caressed +her after this fashion, no one had embraced her with passion, no one +had kissed her with more than the placid affection which gentleness and +goodness earn, and which kind offices kindly performed warrant. Even +Sir Robert, even her father, proud as he was of her, much as he loved +her, had awakened in her respect and gratitude—mingled with fear—rather +than love. + +After a time, warned by approaching voices, Lady Sybil put her from +her; but with a low and exultant laugh. “You are mine, now!” she said, +“Mine! Mine! You will come to me when I want you. And I shall want you +soon! Very soon!” + +Mary laid hold of her again. “Let me come now!” she cried with passion, +forgetting all but the mother she had gained, the clinging arms which +had cherished her, the kisses that had rained on her. “Let me come to +you! You are ill!” + +“No, not now! Not now! I will send for you when I want you,” Lady Sybil +answered. “I will promise to send for you. And you will come,” she +added with the same ring of triumph in her voice. “You will come!” For +it was joy to her, even amid the satisfaction of her mother-love, to +know that she had tricked her husband; it was joy to her to know that +though she had taken all from the child and he had given all, the child +was hers—hers, and could never be taken from her! “You will come! For +you will not have me long. But,” she whispered, as the voices came +nearer, “go now! Go now! And not a word! Not a word, child, as you love +me. I will send for you when—when my time comes.” + +And with a last look, strangely made up of love and pain and triumph, +Lady Sybil moved out of sight among the laurels. And Mary, drying her +tears and composing her countenance as well as she could, turned to +meet the intruders’ eyes. + +Fortunately—for she was far from being herself—the two persons who had +wandered that way, did but pause at the end of the Kennel Path, and, +murmuring small talk, turn again to retrace their steps. She gained a +minute or two, in which to collect her thoughts and smooth her hair; +but more than a minute or two she dared not linger lest her continued +absence should arouse curiosity. As sedately as she could, she emerged +from the shrubbery and made her way—though her breast heaved with a +hundred emotions—towards the rustic bridge on which she saw that Lady +Lansdowne was standing, keeping Sir Robert in talk. + +In talk, indeed, of her. For as she approached he placed the +coping-stone on the edifice of her praises which her ladyship had +craftily led him to build. “The most docile,” he said, “I assure you, +the most docile child you can imagine! A beautiful disposition. She is +docility itself!” + +“I hope she may always remain so,” Lady Lansdowne answered slily. + +“I’ve no doubt she will,” Sir Robert replied with fond assurance, his +eye on the Honourable Bob, who was approaching the bridge from the +lawns. + +Lady Lansdowne followed the look with her eyes and smiled. But she said +nothing. She turned to Mary, who was now near at hand, and reading in +the girl’s looks plain traces of trouble, and agitation, she contented +herself with sending for Lady Louisa, and asking that her carriage +might be called. In this way she cloaked under a little bustle the +girl’s embarrassment as she came up to them and joined them. Five +minutes later Lady Lansdowne was gone. + +* * * * * + +After that, Mary would have had only too much food for thought, had her +mother alone filled her mind; had those kisses which had so stirred her +being, those clinging arms, and that face which bore the deep imprint +of illness, alone burdened her memory. Years afterwards the beat of the +music which played in the gardens that evening, while the party within +sat at dinner, haunted her; bringing back, as such things will, the +scene and her aching heart, the outward glitter and the inward care, +the Honourable Bob’s gallantries and her father’s stately figure as he +rose and drank wine with her; ay, and the hip, hip, hurrah which shook +the glasses when an old Squire, a privileged person, rose, before she +could leave, and toasted her. + +Burdened only with the sacred memories of the afternoon, and the +anxiety, the pity, the love which they engendered, she had been far +from happy, far from free. But in truth, with all her feeling for her +mother, Mary bore about with her a keener and more bitter regret. The +dull pain which had troubled her of late when thoughts of Arthur +Vaughan would beset her was grown to a pang of shame, almost +intolerable. She had told herself a hundred times before this that it +was her weakness, her fear of her father, her mean compliance that had +led her to give him up—rather than any real belief in his baseness. For +she had never, she was sure now, believed in that baseness. But now, +now when her mother, whose word it never struck her to doubt, had +affirmed his innocence, now that she knew, now since a phrase of that +mother’s had brought to her mind every incident of the +never-to-be-forgotten coach-drive, the May morning, the sunshine and +the budding trees, the birth of love—pain gnawed at her heart. She was +sick with misery. + +For, oh, how vile, how thankless, how poor and small a thing he must +think her! He would have given her all, and she had robbed him of all. +And then when she had robbed him and he could give her little she had +turned her back on him, abandoned him, believed evil of him, heard him +insulted, and joined in the outrage! Over that thought, over that +memory, she shed many and many a bitter tear. Romance had come to her +in her lowliness, and a noble lover, stooping to her; and she had +killed the one and denied the other. And now, now there was nothing she +could do, nothing she would dare to do. + +For that she had for a moment believed in his baseness—if she had +indeed believed—was not the worst. In that she had been the sport of +circumstances; appearances had deceived her, and the phase had been +brief. But that she had been weak, that she had been swayed, that she +had given him up at a word, that she had shown herself wholly unworthy +of him—there was the rub. Now, how happy had she been could she have +gone back to Miss Sibson’s, and the dull schoolroom and the old stuff +dress and the children’s prattle—and heard his step as he came across +the forecourt to the door! + + + + +XXIII +IN THE HOUSE + + +In truth Mary’s notion of the opinion which Arthur Vaughan had of her +was above, rather than below, the reality. In her most despondent +moments she scarcely exaggerated the things he thought of her, the +contempt in which he held her, or the resentment which set his blood +boiling when he remembered how she had treated him. He had gone to her +and laid all that was left to him at her feet; and she, who had already +dealt his fortunes so terrible a blow, had paid him for his unselfish +offer, for his sacrifice of much that was dear to him, with suspicion, +with contumely, with mistrust! Instead of clinging to him, to whom she +had that moment plighted her troth, she had deserted him at a word. In +place of trusting the man who had woo’d her in her poverty, she had +believed the first whisper against him. She had shown herself +heartless, faithless, inconstant as the wind—a very woman! And + +_Away, away—your smile’s a curse +Oh, blot me from the race of men, +Kind pitying Heaven! by death or worse_ + +_Before I love such things again!_ + + +he might have murmured with a bitterness of which the author of the +lines had been incapable. But then, Mr. Moore, though his poetry and +his singing brought tears to the eyes of hardened women of fashion, had +never lost at a blow a great estate, a high position, and his love. + +Certainly Vaughan had, if man ever had, grounds for a quarrel with +fate. He had left London heart-whole and happy, the heir to a large +fortune. He returned a fortnight later, a member of the Commons House +indeed, but heart-sick and soured, beggared of his expectations and +tortured by the thought of what might have been—if his love had proved +true as she was fair, and constant as she was sweet. Fond dreams of her +beauty still tormented him. Visions of the modest home in which he +would have found consolation in failure, and smiles in success, rose up +before him and derided him. He hated Sir Robert. He hated, or tried to +hate, the weakest and the most despicable of women. He saw all things +and all men with a jaundiced eye, the sound of his voice and the look +of his face were altered. Men who knew him and who passed him in the +street, or who saw him eating his chop in solitary churlishness, nudged +one another and said that he took his reverses ill; while others, +wounded by his curtness or his ill-humour, added that he did not go the +right way to make the most of what was left. + +For a certainty he was become a man unpleasant to handle. But within, +under the thorns, was a very human soul, wounded, sore, and miserable, +seeking every way for an outlet from its pains, and finding hope of +escape at one point only. Men were right, when they said that he did +not go the way to make the most of his chances. For he laid himself out +to please no one at this time; it was not in him. But he worked late +and early, and with a furious energy to fit himself for a political +career; believing that success in that career was all that was left to +him, and that by the necessary labour he could best put the past behind +him. Love and pleasure, and those sweets of home life of which he had +dreamed, were gone from him. But the stern prizes of ambition, the +crown of those who live laborious days, might still be his—if the +Mirror of Parliament were never out of his hands, and if Mr. Hume +himself were not more constant to his favourite pillar under the +gallery than he to such chance seat as might fall to him on the same +side of the House. + +Alas, he had not taken the oaths an hour—with a sore heart, in a ruck +of undistinguished new Members—before he saw that success was not so +near or so clearly within reach, as hope, with her flattering tale, had +argued. The times were propitious, certainly. The debates were close +and fiery, and were scanned out of doors with an interest unknown +before. The strife between Croker and Macaulay in the Commons, the duel +between Brougham and Lyndhurst in the Lords, were followed in the +country with as much attention as a battle between Belcher and Tom +Cribb; and by the same classes. Everywhere men talked politics, talked +of Reform, and of little else. The clubs, the ’Change, the taverns, +nay, the drawing-rooms and the schools rang with the Bill, the whole +Bill, and nothing but the Bill; with Schedule A, cruel as Herod, and +Schedule B, which spared one of twins. Before the window in the +Haymarket which weekly displayed H.B.’s Political Caricatures, crowds +stood gazing all day long, whatever the weather. + +These things were in his favour. He remembered, too, the stress which +the Chancellor had laid on the advantage of entering the House in +advance of the crowd of new men whom the first Reformed Parliament must +contain. + +Unfortunately it seemed to him that he was one of just such a mob of +new men, as it was. Nearly a fourth of his colleagues were strange to +St. Stephen’s; and the greater part of these, owing to the +circumstances of the election, were Whigs and sat on his side of the +House. To raise his head above the level of a hundred competitors, +numbering not a few men of wit and ability, and to do so within the +short life of the present Parliament—-for he saw no certain prospect of +being returned again—was no mean task. Little wonder that he was as +regular in his attendance as Mr. Speaker, and grew pale of nights over +Woodfall’s Important Debates. + +In the pride of his first return he had dreamed of a reputation to be +gained by his maiden speech; of burning periods that would astonish all +who heard them, of flights of fancy to live forever in the mouths of +men, of a marshalling of facts so masterly, and an exposition of +figures so clear, as to obscure the fame of Single-speech Hamilton, or +of that modern phenomenon, Mr. Sadler. But whatever the effect of the +present chamber on the minds of novices, there was that in the +old,—mean and dingy as was its wainscotted interior, and cumbered by +overhanging galleries—there was a something, were it but the memory +that those walls had echoed the diatribes of Chatham and given back the +voice of Burke, had heard the laugh of Walpole and the snore of North, +which cooled the spirit of a new member; which shook his knees as +effectually as if the panelling of the room had vanished at a touch, +and revealed the glories of the Gothic Chapel which lay behind it. For +behind that panelling and those galleries, the ancient Chapel, with its +sumptuous tracery and statues, its frescoed walls and stained glass, +still existed; no unfit image of the stately principles which lie +behind the dull everyday working of our Constitution. + +To Arthur Vaughan, a student of the history of the House, this effect +of the Chamber upon a new member was a commonplace. But he was a +practised speaker in the mimic arena; and he thought that he might rise +above this feeling in his own case. He fancied that he understood the +_Genius Loci_; its hatred of affectation, and almost of eloquence, its +dislike to be bored, its preference for the easy, the conversational, +and the personal. And when he had waited three weeks—so much he gave to +prudence—his time came. + +He rose in a moderately thin house in the middle of the dinner-hour; +and rose as he thought fully prepared. Indeed he started well. He +brought out two or three sentences with ease and aplomb; and he fancied +the difficulty over, the threshold passed. But then—he knew not why, +nor could he overcome the feeling—the silence, kindly meant, in which +as a new Member, he was received, had a terrifying effect upon him. A +mist rose before his eyes, his voice sounded strange to him—and +distant. He dropped the thread of what he was saying, repeated himself, +lost his nerve. For some seconds, standing there with all faces turned +to him—they seemed numberless seconds to him, though in truth they were +few—he could see nothing but the Speaker’s wig, grown to an immense +white cauliflower, which swelled and swelled and swelled until it +filled the whole House. He stammered, repeated himself again—and was +silent. And then, seeing that he was embarrassed, they cheered him—and +the mist cleared; and he went on—hurriedly and nervously. But he was +aware that he had dropped a link in his argument—which he had not now +the coolness to supply. And when he had murmured a few sentences, more +or less inept and incoherent, he sat down. + +In fact, though he had made no mark, he had also incurred no discredit. +But he felt that the eyes of all were on him, that they were gloating +over his failure, and comparing what he had done with what he had hoped +to do, his achievement with those secret hopes, those cherished +aspirations, he felt all the shame of open and disgraceful defeat. His +face burned; he sat looking before him, not daring for a while to +divert his gaze, or to learn in others’ eyes how great had been his +mishap. + +Unfortunately, when he ventured to change his posture, and to put on +his hat, which he discovered he had been holding in his hand, he +encountered Sergeant Wathen’s eyes; and he read in them a look of +amusement, which wounded his pride more than the open ridicule of a +crowd. That was the finishing stroke. He walked out soon afterwards, +bearing himself as indifferently as he could. But no man ever carried +out of the House a lower heart or a sense of more utter failure. He had +mistaken his talents, he had no aptitude for debate. Success as a +speaker was not within his reach. + +He thought something better of it next day, but not much. Nor could he +put off a sneaking, hang-dog air as he entered the lobby. A number of +members were gathered inside the double doors, where the stairs from +the cloisters came up by a third door; and one or two whom he knew +spoke to him—but not of his attempt. He fancied that he read in their +looks a knowledge that he had failed, that he was no longer a man to be +reckoned with. He imagined that they used a different tone to him. And +at last one of them spoke of it. + +“Well, Vaughan,” he said pleasantly, “you got through yesterday. But if +you’ll take my advice you’ll wait a bit. It’s only one here and there +can make much of it to begin.” + +“I certainly cannot,” Vaughan said, smiling frankly, the better to hide +his mortification. + +“Ah, well, you’re not alone,” the other answered, shrugging his +shoulders. “You’ll pick it up by and by, I dare say.” And he turned to +speak to another member. + +Vaughan turned on his side to the paper for the day winch hung against +each of the four pillars of the lobby; and he pretended to be absorbed +in it. The employment helped him to keep his countenance. But he was +sore wounded. He had held his head so high in imagination, he had given +so loose a rein to his ambition; he had dreamt of making such an +impression on the House as Mr. Macaulay, though new to it, had made in +his speech on the second reading of the former Bill, and had deepened +by his speech at the like stage of the present Bill. Now he was told +that he was no worse than the common run of country members, who twice +in three sessions rose and blundered through half a dozen sentences! He +was consoled with the reflection that only “one here and there” +succeeded! Only one here and there! When to him it was everything to +succeed, and to succeed quickly. When it was all he had left. + +The stream of members, entering the House, was large; for the motion to +commit the Bill was down for that afternoon, and if carried, would +virtually put an end to opposition in the Commons. Out of the corner of +his eye Vaughan scanned them, as they passed, and envied them. Peel, +cold, proud and unapproachable, went by on the arm of Goulburn. Croker, +pale and saturnine, casting frowning glances here and there, went in +alone. The handsome, portly form of Sir James Graham passed, in talk +with the Rupert of Debate. After these a rush of members; and at the +tail of all slouched in the unwieldy, slovenly form of Sir Charles +Wetherell, followed by a couple of his satellites. + +Vaughan, glancing on one side of the paper which he appeared to be +studying, caught Sir Charles’s eye, and reddened. Seated on opposite +sides of the House—and no man on either side was more bitter, virulent, +and pugnacious than the late Attorney-General—the two had not +encountered one another since that evening at Stapylton, when the +existence of Sir Robert’s daughter had been disclosed to Vaughan. They +had not spoken, much less had there been any friendly passage between +them. But now Sir Charles paused, and held out his hand. + +“How do you do, Mr. Vaughan?” he said, in his deep bass voice. “Your +maiden essay yesterday, eh?” + +Vaughan winced. “Yes,” he said stiffly, fancying that he read amusement +in the other’s moist eye. + +To his surprise, “You’ll do,” Sir Charles rejoined, looking at the +floor and speaking in a despondent tone. “The House would rather you +began in that way, than like some d——d peacock on a lady’s terrace. +Take the opportunity of saying three or four sentences some fine day, +and repeat it a week later. And I’ll wager you’ll do.” + +“But little, I am afraid,” Vaughan said. None the less was his heart +full of gratitude to the fat, ungainly man. + +“All, may be,” Wetherell answered. “I shouldn’t wonder. I’ve been told, +by one who heard him, that Canning hesitated in his first speech, very +much as you did. It was on the Sardinian Subsidy. The men who don’t +feel the House never know the House. They dazzle it, Mr. Vaughan, but +they don’t guide it. And that’s what we’ve got to do.” + +He passed on then, with a melancholy nod and averted eyes, but Vaughan +could have blest him for that “we.” “There’s one man at least believes +in me,” he told himself. And when a few hours later, in the midst of a +scene as turbulent as any which the House of Commons had ever +witnessed—nine times without a pause it divided on the motion that +“this House do now adjourn”—he watched the man who had commended him, +riding the storm and directing the whirlwind, now lashing the Whigs to +fury by his sarcasm, and now, carrying the whole House away in a +hurricane of laughter, if he did not approve—and with his views he +could not approve—he learnt, and learnt much. He saw that the fat, +slovenly man, with the heavy face and that hiatus between his breeches +and his waistcoat which had made him famous, was allowed to do things, +and to say things, and to look things, for which a less honest man had +been hurried long ago to the Clock Tower. And this, because the House +believed in him; because it knew that he was fighting for a principle +really dear to him; because it knew that he honestly put faith in those +predictions of woe, which he scattered so freely, and in that ruin of +the Constitution, with which he twitted his opponents. + +A week later Vaughan acted upon his advice. He seized an opportunity +and, catching the Chairman’s eye—the Bill was in Committee—delivered +himself of a dozen sentences, with so much spirit and propriety, that +Sir Robert Peel, speaking an hour later, referred to the “plausible +defence raised by the Honourable Member for Chippinge.” The reference +drew all eyes to Vaughan: and though nothing was said to him and he +took care to bear himself as if he had done no better than before, he +left the House with a lighter step and a comfortable warmth about the +heart. He was more at ease that evening, if not more happy, than he had +been for weeks past. Love, pleasure, and the rest were gone; and faith +in woman. But if he could be sure of gaining a seat in the next +Parliament, the way might be longer than he had hoped, it might be more +toilsome and more dusty: but in the end he would arrive at the Treasury +Bench. + +He little thought, alas, that the effort on which he hugged himself was +to prove a source of misfortunes. But so it was. His maiden speech had +attracted neither notice nor envy. But those few sentences, short and +simple as they were, by drawing an answer from the leader of the +Opposition, had gained both for him. Within five minutes a score of +members had asked “Who is he?” and another score had detailed the +circumstances of his election for Chippinge. He had gone down to vote +for his cousin, in his cousin’s borough, family vote and the rest; so +the story ran. Then, finding on the morning of the polling that if he +threw over his cousin, he might gain the seat for himself, he had +turned his coat in a—well, in a very dubious manner, snatched the seat, +and—here he was! + +In a word, it was the version of the facts which he had once dreaded, +and about which he had afterwards ceased to trouble himself. + +There were, perhaps, half a dozen persons in the House who knew the +facts, and knew that the young man had professed from the first the +opinions which he was now supporting. But there was just so much truth +in the version, garbled as it was, just so much _vraisemblance_ in the +tale that even those who knew the facts, could not wholly contradict +it. The story did not come to Wetherell’s ears; or he, for certain, +would have gainsaid it. But it did come to Wathen’s. Now the Sergeant +was capable of spite, and he had not forgotten the manner after which +Vaughan had flouted him at Chippinge; his defence—if a defence it could +be called—was accompanied by so many nods and shrugs, that persons less +prejudiced than Tories, embittered by defeat, and wounded by +personalities, might have been forgiven, if they went from the Sergeant +with a lower opinion of our friend than before. + +From that day Vaughan, though he knew nothing of it, and though no one +spoke to him of it, was a marked man in the eyes of the opposite party. +They regarded him as a renegade; while his own side were not +overanxious to make his cause their own. The May elections had been +contested with more spirit and less scruple than any elections within +living memory; and many things had been done and many said, of which +honourable men were not proud. Still it was acknowledged that such +things must be done—here and there—and even that the doers must not be +repudiated. But it was felt that the party was not required to grapple +the latter to its breast with hooks of steel. Rumour had it that Lord +Lansdowne felt himself to blame; and that the offender had been +disinherited by his cousin was asserted. The man would be of no great +importance, therefore, in the future; and if he did not make a second +appearance in Parliament, the loss in the end would be small. Not a few +summed up the matter in that way. + +If Vaughan had been intimate with anyone in the House he would have +learned what was afoot; and he might have taken steps to set himself +right. But he had lived little of his life in London, he had but made +his bow to Society; of late, also, he had been too sore to make new +friends. Of course he had acquaintances, every man has acquaintances. +But no one in political circles knew him well enough to think it worth +while to put him on his guard. + +Unluckily, the next occasion which brought him to his feet, was of a +kind to give point to the feeling against him. On a certain Thursday, +Sergeant Wathen moved that the Borough of Chippinge be removed from +Schedule A, to Schedule B—his object being that it might retain one +member; and Vaughan, thinking the opening favourable, rose, intending +to make a few remarks in a strain to which the House, proverbially fond +of a personal explanation, is prone to listen with indulgence. For the +motion itself, he had not much hope that it would be carried: in a +dozen other cases, a similar motion had failed. + +“It can only be,” he began—and this time the sound of his voice did not +perturb him—“from a strict sense of duty, Mr. Bernal, it cannot be +without pain that any Member—and I say this not on my account only, but +on behalf of many Honourable Members of this House——” + +“No! No! Leave us out.” + +The words were uttered so loudly and so rudely that they silenced him; +and he looked in the direction whence they came. At once cries of “No, +no! Divide! No! No!” poured on him from all parts of the House, +accompanied by a dropping fire of catcalls and cockcrows. He lost the +thread of his remarks, and for a moment stood abashed and confounded. +The Chairman did not interfere and for an instant it looked as if the +young speaker would be compelled to sit down. + +But he recovered himself, gaining courage from the very vigour with +which he was attacked; and which seemed out of proportion to his +importance. The moment a lull in the fire of interruption occurred, he +spoke in a louder voice. + +“I say, sir,” he proceeded, looking about him courageously, “that it is +only with pain, only under the _force majeure_ of a love of their +country, that any Member can support the deletion from the Borough Roll +of this House, of that Constituency which has honoured him with its +confidence.” + +“Divide! Divide!” roared many on both sides of the House. For the +Tories were uncertain on which side he was speaking. +“Cock-a-doodle-doo-doo-doo!” + +But this fresh burst of disapproval found him better prepared. Firmly, +though the beads of perspiration stood on his brow, he persisted. “And +if,” he continued, “in the case which appeals so nearly to himself an +Honourable Member sees that the standard which justifies the survival +of a representative can be reached, with what gratification, sir, +whether he sits on this side of the House or on that——” + +“No! No! Leave us out!” in a roar of sound. And “Divide! Divide!” + +“Or on that,” he repeated. + +“Divide! Divide!” + +“Must he not press its claims and support its interests?” he persisted +gallantly. “Ay, sir, welcome in the event of success a decision at once +just, and of so much advantage, I will not say to himself——” + +“It never will be to you!” shrieked a voice from the darker corner +under the opposite gallery. + +The shaft went home. He faltered. A roar of laughter drowned his last +words, and he sat down with a burning face; in some confusion, but in +greater perplexity. Had he transgressed, he wondered ruefully, some +unwritten law of the House! Had he offended in ignorance, and persisted +in his offence? Should he not, though Wathen had spoken, have spoken in +his own case? In a matter so nearly touching himself? + +He spoke to the Member who chanced to sit next him. “What was it?” he +asked humbly. “Did I do something wrong?” + +The man glanced at him coldly. “Oh, no,” he said. And he shrugged his +shoulders. + +“But——” + +“On the contrary, I fancy you’ve to congratulate yourself,” with a +sneer so faint that Vaughan did not perceive it. “I understand that +we’re to do as we like on this—and they know it on the other side. Eh? +Yes, there’s the division. I think,” he added with the same faint +sneer, “you’ll save your seat.” + +“By Jove!” Vaughan exclaimed. “You don’t say so!” + +He could hardly believe it. But so it turned out. And so great was the +boon—the greater as no other borough was transferred in Committee—that +it swept away for the time the memory of what had happened. His eyes +sparkled. The seat saved, it was odd if with the wider electorate +created by the Bill, he was not sure of return! Still more odd, if he +was not sure of beating Wathen—he, who had opened the borough and been +returned by the Whig interest even while it was closed! No longer need +he feel so anxious and despondent when the Dissolution, which must +follow the passage of the Bill, rose to his mind. No longer need he be +in so great a hurry to make his mark, so envious of Mr. Macaulay, so +jealous of Mr. Sadler. + +Certainly as far as his political career was in question the horizon +was clearing. If only other things had been as favourable! If only +there had been someone, were it in a cottage at Hammersmith or in a +dull street off Bloomsbury Square, to whom he might take home this +piece of news; certain that other eyes would sparkle more brightly than +his, and another heart beat quick with joy! + +That could not be. There was an end of that. And his face settled back +into its gloom. Still he was less unhappy. The certainty of a seat in +the next Parliament was a great point gained! A great point to the +good! + + + + +XXIV +A RIGHT AND LEFT + + +If anything was certain in a political world so changed, it was certain +that if the Reform Bill passed the Lords—in the teeth of those plaguy +Bishops of whose opposition so much was heard—a Dissolution would +immediately follow. To not a few of the members this contingency was a +spectre, ever present, seated at bed and board, and able to defy the +rules even of Almack’s and Crockford’s. For how could a gentleman, who +had just given five thousand pounds for his seat, contemplate with +equanimity a notice to quit, so rude and so premature? And worse, a +notice to quit which meant extrusion into a world in which seats at +five thousand for a Parliament would be few and far between; and fair +agreements to pay a thousand a year while the privilege lasted, would +be unknown! + +Many a member asked loudly and querulously, “What will happen to the +country if the Bill pass?” But more asked themselves in their hearts, +and more often and more querulously, “What will happen to me if the +Bill pass? How shall I fare at the hands of these new constituencies, +which, unwelcome as a gipsy’s brats, I am forced to bring into the +world?” + +Hitherto few on his own side of the House, and not many on the Tory +side, had regarded a Dissolution with more misgiving than Arthur +Vaughan. The borough for which he sat lay under doom; and he saw no +opening elsewhere. He had no longer the germs of influence nor great +prospects: nor yet such a fortune as justified him in an appeal to one +of the new and populous boroughs. It was a pleasant thing to go in and +out by the door of the privileged, to take his chop at Bellamy’s, to +lounge in the dignified seclusion of the library, or to air his new +honours in Westminster Hall; pleasant also to have that sensation of +living at the hub of things, to receive whips, to give franks, to feel +that the ladder of ambition was open to him. But he knew that an +experience of the House counted by months did no man good; and the +prospect of losing his plumes and going forth again a common biped, was +the more painful to him because his all was embarked in the venture. He +might, indeed, fall back on the bar; but with half a heart and the +reputation of a man who had tried to fly before he could walk. + +His relief, therefore, when Chippinge, alone of all the Boroughs in +Schedule A, was removed in Committee to Schedule B, may be imagined. +The road before him was once more open, while the exceptional nature of +his luck almost persuaded him that he was reserved for greatness. True, +Sergeant Wathen might pride himself on the same fact; but at the +thought Vaughan smiled. The Sergeant and Sir Robert would find it a +trifle harder, he thought, to deal with the hundred-and-odd voters whom +the Act enfranchised, than with the old Cripples! And very, very +ungrateful would those hundred-and-odd be, if they did not vote for the +man who had made their cause his own! + +A load, indeed, was lifted from his mind, and for some days his relief +could be read in the lightness of his step, and the returning gaiety of +his eyes. He knew nothing of the things which were being whispered +about him. And though he had cause to fancy that he was not _persona +grata_ on his own benches, he thought sufficiently well of himself to +set this down to jealousy. There is a stage in the life of a rising man +when many hands are against him; and those most cruelly which will +presently applaud him most loudly. He flattered himself that he had set +a foot on the ladder: and while he waited for an opportunity to raise +himself another step, he came as near to a kind of feverish happiness +as thoughts of Mary, ever recurring when he was alone, would permit. +For the time the loss of his prospects ceased to trouble him seriously. +He lived less in his rooms, more among men. He was less crabbed, less +moody. And so the weeks wore away in Committee, and a day or two after +the Coronation, the Bill came on for the third reading. + +The House was utterly weary. The leaders on both sides were reserving +their strength for the final debate, and Vaughan had some hope that he +might find an opening to speak with effect. With this in his mind he +was on his way across the Park about three in the afternoon, conning +his peroration, when a hand was clapped on his shoulder, and he turned +to find himself face to face with Flixton. + +So much had happened since they stood together on the hustings at +Chippinge, Vaughan’s fortunes had changed so greatly since they had +parted in anger in Queen’s Square, that he, at any rate, had no thought +of bearing malice. To Flixton’s “Well, my hearty, you’re a neat artist, +ain’t you? Going to the House, I take it?” he gave a cordial answer. + +“Yes,” he said. “That’s it.” + +“Bringing ruination on the country, eh?” Flixton continued. And he +passed his arm through Vaughan’s, and walked on with him. “That’s the +ticket?” + +“Some say so, but I hope not.” + +“Hope’s a cock that won’t fight, my boy!” the Honourable Bob rejoined. +“Fact is, you’re doing your best, only the House of Lords is in the +way, and won’t let you! They’ll pull you up sweetly by and by, see if +they don’t!” + +“And what will the country say to that?” Vaughan rejoined +good-humouredly. + +“Country be d——d! That’s what all your chaps are saying. And I tell you +what! That book-in-breeches man—what do you call him—Macaulay?—ought to +be pulled up! He ought indeed! I read one of his farragoes the other +day and it was full of nothing but ‘Think long, I beg, before you +thwart the public will!’ and ‘The might of an angered people!’ and ‘Let +us beware of rousing!’ and all that rubbish! Meaning, my boy, only he +didn’t dare to say it straight out, that if the Lords did not give way +to you chaps, there’d be a revolution; and the deuce to pay! And I say +he ought to be in the dock. He’s as bad as old Brereton down in +Bristol, predicting fire and flames and all the rest of it.” + +“But you cannot deny, Flixton,” Vaughan answered soberly, “that the +country is excited as we have never known it excited before? And that a +rising is not impossible!” + +“A rising! I wish we could see one! That’s just what we want,” the +Honourable Bob answered, stopping and bringing his companion to a +sudden stand also. “Eh? Who was that old Roman—Poppæa, or some name +like that, who said he wished the people had all one head that he might +cut it off?” suiting the action to the word with his cane. “A rising, +begad? The sooner the better! The old Fourteenth would know how to deal +with it!” + +“I don’t know,” Vaughan answered, “that you would be so confident if +you were once face to face with it!” + +“Oh, come! Don’t talk nonsense!” + +“Well, but——” + +“Oh, I know all that! But I say, old chap,” he continued, changing his +tone, and descending abruptly from the political to the personal +situation, “You’ve played your cards badly, haven’t you? Eh?” + +Vaughan fancied that he referred to Mary; or at best to his quarrel +with Sir Robert. And he froze visibly, “I won’t discuss that,” he said +in a different tone. And he moved on again. + +“But I was there the evening you had the row!” + +“At Stapylton?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well?” stiffly. + +“And, lord, man, why didn’t you sing a bit small? And the old gentleman +would have come round in no time!” + +Vaughan halted, with anger in his face. “I won’t discuss it!” he said +with something of violence in his tone. + +“Very well, very well!” Flixton answered with the superabundant +patience of the man whose withers are not wrung. “But when you did get +your seat—why didn’t you come to terms with someone?” with a wink. “As +it is, what’s the good of being in the House three months, or six +months—and out again?” + +Vaughan wished most heartily that he had not met the Honourable Bob; +who, he remembered, had always possessed, hearty and jovial as he +seemed, a most remarkable knack of rubbing him the wrong way. “How do +you know?” he asked with a touch of contempt—was he, a rising Member of +Parliament to be scolded after this fashion?—“How do you know that I +shall be out?” + +“You’ll be out, if it’s Chippinge you are looking to!” + +“Why, if you please, my friend? Why so sure?” + +Flixton winked with deeper meaning than before. “Ah, that’s telling,” +he said. “Still—why not? If you don’t hear it from me, old chap, you’ll +soon hear it from someone. Why, you ask? Well, because a little bird +whispered to me that Chippinge was—arranged! That Sir Robert and the +Whigs understood one another, and whichever way it went it would not +come your way!” + +Vaughan reddened deeply. “I don’t believe it,” he said bluntly. + +“Did you know that Chippinge was going to be spared?” + +“No.” + +“They didn’t tell you?” + +“No.” + +“Ah!” shrugging his shoulders, with a world of meaning, and preparing +to turn away. “Well, other people did, and there it is. I may be wrong, +I hope I am, old chap. Hope I am! But anyway—I must be going. I turn +here. See you soon, I hope!” + +And with a wave of the hand the Honourable Bob marched off through +Whitehall, his face breaking into a mischievous grin as soon as he was +out of Vaughan’s sight. “Return hit for your snub, Miss Mary!” he +muttered. “If you prick me, at least I can prick him! And do him good, +too! He was always a most confounded prig.” + +Meanwhile, Vaughan, freed from his companion, was striding on past +Downing Street; the old street, long swept away, in which Walpole +lived, and to which the dying Chatham was carried. And unconsciously, +under the spur of his angry thoughts, he quickened his pace. It was +incredible, it was inconceivable that so monstrous an injustice had +been planned, or could be perpetrated. He, who had stepped into the +breach, well-nigh in his own despite, he, who had refused, so +scrupulous had he been, to stand on a first invitation, he, who had +been elected almost against his will, was, for all thanks, to be set +aside, and by his friends! By those whose unsolicited act it had been +to return him and to put him into this position! It was impossible, he +told himself. It was unthinkable! Were this true, were this a fact, the +meanness of political life had reached its apogee! The faithlessness of +the Whigs, their incredible treachery to their dependants, could need +no other exemplar! + +“I’ll not bear it! By Heaven, I’ll not bear it!” he muttered. And as he +spoke, striding along in the hurry of his spirits as if he carried a +broom and swept the whole Whig party before him, he overtook no less a +person than Sergeant Wathen, who had been lunching at the Athenæum. + +The Sergeant heard his voice and turning, saw who it was. He fancied +that Vaughan had addressed him. “I beg your pardon,” he said politely. +“I did not catch what you said, Mr. Vaughan.” + +For a moment Vaughan glowered at him, as if he would sweep him from his +path, along with the Whigs. Then out of the fullness of the heart the +mouth spoke. “Mr. Sergeant,” he said, in a not very friendly tone, “do +you know anything of an agreement disposing of the future +representation of Chippinge?” + +The Sergeant who knew all under the rose, looked shrewdly at his +companion to see, if possible, what he knew. And, to gain time, “I beg +your pardon,” he said. “I don’t think I—quite understand you.” + +“I am told,” Vaughan said haughtily, “that an agreement has been made +to avoid a contest at Chippinge.” + +“Do you mean,” the Sergeant asked blandly, “at the next election, Mr. +Vaughan?” + +“At future elections!” + +The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders. “As a member,” he said primly, “I +take care to know nothing of such agreements. And I would recommend +you, Mr. Vaughan, to adopt that rule. For the rest,” he added, with a +candid smile, “I give you fair warning that I shall contest the seat. +May I ask who was your informant?” + +“Mr. Flixton.” + +“Flixton? Flixton? Ah! The gentleman who is to marry Miss Vermuyden! +Well, I can only repeat that I, at any rate, am no party to such an +agreement.” + +His sly look which seemed to deride his companion’s inexperience, said +as plainly as a look could say, “You find the game of politics less +simple than you thought?” And at another time it would have increased +Vaughan’s ire. But as one pellet drives out another, the Sergeant’s +reference to Miss Vermuyden had in a second driven the prime subject +from his mind. He did not speak for a moment. Then with his face +averted, “Is Mr. Flixton—going to marry Miss Vermuyden?” he asked, in a +muffled tone. “I had not heard of it.” + +“I only heard it yesterday,” the Sergeant answered, not unwilling to +shelve the other topic. “But it is rumoured, and I believe it is true. +Quite a romance, wasn’t it?” he continued airily. “Quite a nine days’ +wonder! But”—he pulled himself up—“I beg your pardon! I was forgetting +how nearly it concerned you. Dear me, dear me! It is a fair wind indeed +that blows no one any harm!” + +Vaughan made no reply. He could not speak for the hard beating of his +heart. Wathen saw that there was something wrong and looked at him +inquisitively. But the Sergeant had not the clue, and could only +suspect that the marriage touched the other, because issue of it would +entirely bar his succession. And no more was said. As they crossed New +Palace Yard, a member drew the Sergeant aside, and Vaughan went up +alone to the lobby. + +But all thought of speaking was flown from his mind; nor did the +thinness of the House when he entered tempt him. There were hardly more +than a hundred present; and these were lolling here and there with +their hats on, half asleep it seemed, in the dull light of a September +afternoon. A dozen others looked sleepily from the galleries, their +arms flattened on the rail, their chins on their arms. There were a +couple of ministers on the Treasury Bench, and Lord John Russell was +moving the third reading. No one seemed to take much interest in the +matter; a stranger entering at the moment would have learned with +amazement that this was the mother of parliaments, the renowned House +of Commons; and with still greater amazement would he have learned that +the small, boyish-looking gentleman in the high-collared coat, and with +lips moulded on Cupid’s bow, who appeared to be making some perfunctory +remarks upon the weather, or the state of the crops, was really +advancing by an important stage the famous Bill, which had convulsed +three kingdoms and was destined to change the political face of the +land. + +Lord John sat down presently, thrusting his head at once into a packet +of papers, which the gloom hardly permitted him to read. A clerk at the +table mumbled something; and a gentleman on the other side of the House +rose and began to speak. He had not uttered many sentences, however, +before the members on the Reform benches awoke, not only to life, but +to fury. Stentorian shouts of “Divide! Divide!” rendered the speaker +inaudible; and after looking towards the door of the House more than +once he sat down, and the House went to a division. In a few minutes it +was known that the Bill had been read a third time, by 113 to 58. + +But the foreign gentleman would have made a great mistake had he gone +away, supposing that Lord John’s few placid words—and not those +spiteful shouts—represented the feelings of the House. In truth the +fiercest passions were at work under the surface. Among the fifty-eight +who shrugged their shoulders and accepted the verdict in gloomy silence +were some primed with the fiercest invective; and others, tongue-tied +men, who nevertheless honestly believed that Lord John Russell was a +republican, and Althorp a fool; who were certain that the Whigs +wittingly or unwittingly were working the destruction of the country, +were dragging her from the pride of place to which a nicely-balanced +Constitution had raised her, and laying her choicest traditions at the +feet of the rabble. Men who believed such things, and saw the deed done +before their eyes, might accept their doom in silence—even as the King +of old went silently to the Banquet Hall hard by—but not with joy or +easy hearts! + +Vaughan, therefore, was not the only one who walked into the lobby that +evening, brooding darkly on his revenge. Yet, even he behaved himself +as men, so bred, so trained do behave themselves. He held his peace. +And no one dreamed, not even Orator Hunt, who sat not far from him +under the shadow of his White Hat, that this well-conducted young +gentleman was revolving thoughts of the Social Order, and of the Party +System, and of most things which the Church Catechism commends, beside +which that terrible Radical’s own opinions were mere Tory prejudices. +The fickleness of women! The treachery of men! Oh, Aetna bury them! Oh, +Ocean overwhelm them! Let all cease together and be no more! But give +me sweet, oh, sweet, oh, sweet Revenge! + + + + +XXV +AT STAPYLTON + + +It was about a week before his encounter with Vaughan in the park—and +on a fine autumn day—that the Honourable Bob, walking with Sir Robert +by the Garden Pool, allowed his eyes to travel over the prospect. The +smooth-shaven lawns, the stately, lichened house, the far-stretching +park, with its beech-knolls and slopes of verdure, he found all fair; +and when to these, when to the picture on which his bodily eyes rested, +that portrait of Mary—Mary, in white muslin and blue ribbons, bowing +her graceful head while Sir Robert read prayers—which he carried in his +memory, he told himself that he was an uncommonly happy fellow. + +Beauty he might have had, wealth he might have had, family too. But to +alight on all in such perfection, to lose his heart where his head +approved the step, was a gift of fortune so rare, that as he strutted +and talked by the side of his host, his face beamed with ineffable +good-humour. + +Nevertheless for a few moments silence had fallen between the two; and +gradually Sir Robert’s face had assumed a grave and melancholy look. He +sighed more than once, and when he spoke, it was to repeat in different +words what he had already said. + +“Certainly, you may speak,” he said, in a tone of some formality. “And +I have little doubt, Mr. Flixton, that your overtures will be received +as they deserve.” + +“Yes? Yes? You think so?” Flixton answered with manifest delight. “You +really think so, Sir Robert, do you?” + +“I think so,” his host replied. “Not only because your suit is in every +way eligible, and one which does us honour.” He bowed courteously as he +uttered the compliment. “But because, Mr. Flixton, for docility—and I +think a husband may congratulate himself on the fact——” + +“To be sure! To be sure!” Flixton cried, not permitting him to finish. +“Yes, Sir Robert, capital! You mean that if I am not a happy man——” + +“It will not be the fault of your wife,” Sir Robert said; remembering +with a faint twinge of conscience that the Honourable Bob’s past had +not been without its histories. + +“No! By gad, Sir Robert, no! You’re quite right! She’s got an ank——” He +stopped abruptly, his mouth open; bethinking himself, when it was +almost too late, that her father was not the person to whom to detail +her personal charms. + +But Sir Robert had not divined the end of the sentence. He was a trifle +deaf. “Yes?” he said. + +“She’s an—an—animated manner, I was going to say,” Flixton answered +with more readiness than fervour. And he blessed himself for his +presence of mind. + +“Animated? Yes, but gentle also,” Sir Robert replied, well-nigh purring +as he did so. “I should say that gentleness, and—and indeed, my dear +fellow, goodness, were the—but perhaps I am saying more than I should.” + +“Not at all!” Flixton answered with heartiness. “Gad, I could listen to +you all day, Sir Robert.” + +He had listened, indeed, during a large part of the last week; and with +so much effect, that those histories to which reference has been made, +had almost faded from the elder man’s mind. Flixton seemed to him a +hearty, manly young fellow, a little boastful and self-assertive +perhaps—but remarkably sound. A soldier, who asked nothing better than +to put down the rabble rout which was troubling the country; a Tory, of +precisely his, Sir Robert’s opinions; the younger son of a peer, and a +West Country peer to boot. In fine, a staunch, open-air patrician, with +good old-fashioned instincts, and none of that intellectual conceit, +none of those cranks, and fads, and follies, which had ruined a man who +also might have been Sir Robert’s son-in-law. + +Well that man, Sir Robert, perhaps because his conscience pricked him +at times by suggesting impossible doubts, was still bitterly angry. So +angry that, had the Baronet been candid, he must have acknowledged that +the Honourable Bob’s main virtue was his unlikeness to Arthur Vaughan; +it was in proportion as he differed from the young fellow who had so +meanly intrigued to gain his daughter’s affections, that Flixton +appeared desirable to the father. Even those histories proved that at +any rate he had blood in him; while his loud good-nature, his +positiveness, as long as it marched with Sir Robert’s positiveness, his +short views, all gained by contrast. “I am glad he is a younger son,” +the Baronet thought. “He shall take the old Vermuyden name!” And he +lifted his handsome old chin a little higher as he pictured the +honours, that even in a changed and worsened England, might cluster +about his house. At the worst, and if the Bill passed, he had a seat +alternately with the Lansdownes; and in a future, which would know +nothing of Lord Lonsdale’s cat-o’-nine-tails, when pocket boroughs +would be rare, and great peers and landowners would be left with scarce +a representative, much might be done with half a seat. + +Suddenly, “Damme, Sir Robert,” Flixton cried, “there is the little +beauty—hem!—there she is, I think. With your permission I think I’ll +join her.” + +“By all means, by all means,” Sir Robert answered indulgently. “You +need not stand on ceremony.” + +Flixton waited for no more. Perhaps he had no mind to be bored, now +that he had gained what he wanted. He hurried after the slim figure +with the white floating skirts and the Leghorn hat, which had descended +the steps of the house, moved lightly across the lawns—and vanished. He +guessed, however, whither she was bound. He knew that she had a liking +for walking in the wilderness behind the house; a beech wood which was +already beginning to put on its autumn glory. And sure enough, +hastening to a point among the smooth grey trunks where three paths +met, he discerned her a hundred paces away, walking slowly from him +with her eyes raised. + +“Squirrels!” Flixton thought. And he made up his mind to bring the +terriers and have a hunt on the following Sunday afternoon. In the +meantime he had another quarry in view, and he made after the +white-gowned figure. + +She heard his tread on the carpet of dry beech leaves, and she turned +and saw him. She had come out on purpose that she might be alone, at +liberty to think at her ease and orientate herself, in relation to her +new environment, and the fresh and astonishing views which were +continually opening before her. Or, perhaps, that was but her pretext: +an easy explanation of silence and solitude, which might suffice for +her father and possibly for Miss Sibson. For, for certain, amid sombre +thoughts of her mother, she thought more often and more sombrely in +these days of another; of happiness which had been forfeited by her own +act; of weakness, and cowardice, and ingratitude; of a man’s head that +stooped to her adorably, and then again of a man’s eyes that burned her +with contempt. + +It is probable, therefore, that she was not overjoyed when she saw Mr. +Flixton. But Sir Robert was so far right in his estimate of her nature +that she hated to give pain. It was there, perhaps, that she was weak. +And so, seeing the Honourable Bob, she smiled pleasantly on him. + +“You have discovered a favourite haunt of mine,” she said. She did not +add that she spent a few minutes of every day there: that the smooth +beech-trunks knew the touch of her burning cheeks, and the rustle of +the falling leaves the whisper of her penitence. Daily she returned by +way of the Kennel Path and there breathed a prayer for her mother, +where a mother’s arms had first enfolded her, and a mother’s kisses won +her love. What she did add was, “I often come here.” + +“I know you do,” the Honourable Bob answered, with a look of +admiration. “I assure you, Miss Mary, I could astonish you with the +things I know about you!” + +“Really!” + +“Oh, yes. Really.” + +There was a significant chuckle in his voice which brought the blood to +her check. But she was determined to ignore its meaning. “You are +observant?” she said. + +“Of those—yes, by Jove, I am—of those, I—admire,” he rejoined. He had +it on his tongue to say “those I love,” but she turned her eyes on him +at the critical moment, and though he was doing a thing he had often +done, and he had impudence enough, his tongue failed him. There are +women so naturally modest that until the one man who awakens the heart +appears, it seems an outrage to speak to them of love. Mary Vermuyden, +perhaps by reason of her bringing up, was one of these; and though +Flixton had had little to do with women of her kind, he recognised the +fact and bowed to it. He came, having her father’s leave to speak to +her; yet he found himself less at his ease, than on many a less +legitimate occasion. “Yes, by Jove,” he repeated. “I observe them, I +can tell you.” + +Mary laughed. “Some are more quick to notice than others,” she said. + +“And to notice some than others!” he rejoined, gallantly. “That is what +I mean. Now that old girl who is with you——” + +“Miss Sibson?” Mary said, setting him right with some stiffness. + +“Yes! Well, she isn’t young! Anyway, you don’t suppose I could say what +she wore yesterday! But what you wore, Miss Mary”—trying to catch her +eye and ogle her—“ah, couldn’t I! But then you don’t wear powder on +your nose, nor need it!” + +“I don’t wear it,” she said, laughing in spite of herself. “But you +don’t know what I may do some day! And for Miss Sibson, it does not +matter, Mr. Flixton, what she wears. She has one of the kindest hearts, +and was one of the kindest friends I had—or could have had—when things +were different with me.” + +“Oh, yes, good old girl,” he rejoined, “but snubby! Bitten my nose off +two or three times, I know. And, come now, not quite an angel, you +know, Miss Mary!” + +“Well,” she replied, smiling, “she is not, perhaps, an angel to look +at. But——” + +“She can’t be! For she is not like you!” he cried. “And you are one, +Miss Mary! You are the angel for me!” looking at her with impassioned +eyes. “I’ll never want another nor ask to see one!” + +His look frightened her; she began to think he meant—something. And she +took a new way with him. “How singular it is,” she said, thoughtfully, +“that people say those things in society! Because they sound so very +silly to one who has not lived in your world!” + +“Silly!” Flixton replied, in a tone of mortification; and for a moment +he felt the check. He was really in love, to a moderate extent; and on +the way to be more deeply in love were he thwarted. Therefore he was, +to a moderate extent, afraid of her. And, “Silly?” he repeated. “Oh, +but I mean it, so help me! I do, indeed! It’s not silly to call you an +angel, for I swear you are as beautiful as one! That’s true, anyway!” + +“How many have you seen?” she asked, ridiculing him. “And what coloured +wings had they?” But her cheek was hot. “Don’t say, if you please,” she +continued, before he could speak, “that you’ve seen me. Because that is +only saying over again what you’ve said, Mr. Flixton. And that is worse +than silly. It is dull.” + +“Miss Mary,” he cried, pathetically, “you don’t understand me! I want +to assure you—I want to make you understand——” + +“Hush!” she said, cutting him short, in an earnest whisper. And, +halting, she extended a hand behind her to stay him. “Please don’t +speak!” she continued. “Do you see them, the beauties? Flying round and +round the tree after one another faster than your eyes can follow them. +One, two, three—three squirrels! I never saw one, do you know, until I +came here,” she went on, in a tone of hushed rapture. “And until now I +never saw them at play. Oh, who could harm them?” + +He stood behind her, biting his lip with vexation; and wholly untouched +by the scene, which, whether her raptures were feigned or not, was +warrant for them. Hitherto he had had to do with women who met him +halfway; who bridled at a compliment, were alive to an _équivoque_, and +knew how to simulate, if they did not feel, a soft confusion under his +gaze. For this reason Mary’s backwardness, her apparent unconsciousness +that they were not friends of the same sex, puzzled him, nay, angered +him. As she stood before him, a hand still extended to check his +advance, the sunshine which filtered through the beech leaves cast a +soft radiance on her figure. She seemed more dainty, more graceful, +more virginal than aught that he had ever conceived. It was in vain +that he told himself, with irritation, that she was but a girl after +all. That, under her aloofness, she was a woman like the others, as +vain, passionate, flighty, as jealous as other women. He knew that he +stood in awe of her. He knew that the words which he had uttered so +lightly many a time—ay, and to those to whom he had no right to address +them—stuck in his throat now. He wanted to say “I love you!” and he had +the right to say it, he was commissioned to say it. Yet he was dumb. +All the boldness which he had exhibited in her presence in Queen’s +Square—where another had stood tongue-tied—was gone. + +He took at last a desperate step. The girl was within arm’s reach of +him; her delicate waist, the creamy white of her slender neck, invited +him. Be she never so innocent, never so maidenly, a kiss, he told +himself, would awaken her. It was his experience, it was a scrap drawn +from his store of worldly wisdom, that a woman kissed was a woman won. + +True, as he thought of it, his heart began to riot, as it had not +rioted from that cause since he had kissed the tobacconist’s daughter +at Exeter, his first essay in gallantry. But only the bold deserve the +fair! And how often had he boasted that, where women were concerned, +lips were made for other things than talking! + +And—in a moment it was done. + +Twice! Then she slipped from his grasp, and stood at bay, with flaming +checks and eyes that—that had certainly not ceased to be virginal. +“You! You!” she cried, barely able to articulate. “Don’t touch me!” + +She had been taken utterly, wholly by surprise; and the shock was +immensely increased by the facts of her bringing up and the restraints +and conditions of school-life. In his grasp, with his breath on her +cheek, all those notions about ravening wolves and the danger which +attached to beauty in low places—notions no longer applicable, had she +taken time to reason—returned upon her in force. The man had kissed +her! + +“How—-how dare you?” she continued, trembling with rage and +indignation. + +“But your father——” + +“How dare you——” + +“Your father sent me,” he pleaded, quite crestfallen. “He gave me +leave——” + +She stared at him, as at a madman. “To insult me?” she cried. + +“No, but—but you won’t understand!” he answered, almost querulously. He +was quite chapfallen. “You don’t listen to me. I want to marry you. I +want you to be my wife. Your father said I might come to you, and—and +ask you. And—and you’ll say ‘Yes,’ won’t you? That’s a good girl!” + +“Never!” she answered. + +He stared at her, turning red. “Oh, nonsense!” he stammered. And he +made as if he would go nearer. “You don’t mean it. My dear girl! Listen +to me! I do love you! I do indeed! And I—I tell you what it is, I never +loved any woman——” + +But she looked at him in such a way that he could not go on. “Do not +say those things!” she said. And her austerity was terrible to him. +“And go, if you please. My father, if he sent you to me——” + +“He did!” + +“Then he did not,” she replied with dignity, “understand my feelings.” + +“But—but you must marry someone,” he complained. “You know—you’re +making a great fuss about nothing!” + +“Nothing!” she cried, her eyes sparkling. “You insult me, Mr. Flixton, +and——” + +“If a man may not kiss the girl he wants to marry——” + +“If she does not want to marry him?” + +“But it’s not as bad as that,” he pleaded. “No, by Jove, it’s not. +You’ll not be so cruel. Come, Miss Mary, listen to me a minute. You +must marry someone, you know. You are young, and I’m sure you have the +right to choose——” + +“I’ve heard enough,” she struck in, interrupting him with something of +Sir Robert’s hauteur. “I understand now what you meant, and I forgive +you. But I can never be anything to you, Mr. Flixton——” + +“You can be everything to me,” he declared. It couldn’t, it really +couldn’t be that she meant to refuse him! Finally and altogether! + +“But you can be nothing to me!” she answered, cruelly—very cruelly for +her, but her cheek was tingling. “Nothing! Nothing! And that being so, +I beg that you will leave me now.” + +He looked at her with a mixture of supplication, resentment, chagrin. + +But she showed no sign of relenting. “You really—you really do mean +it?” he muttered, with a sickly smile. “Come, Miss Mary!” + +“Don’t! Don’t!” she cried, as if his words pained her. And that was +all. “Please go! Or I shall go.” + +The Honourable Bob’s conceit had been so far taken out of him that he +felt that he could make no farther fight. He could see no sign of +relenting, and feeling that, with all his experience, he had played his +cards ill, he turned away sullenly. “Oh, I will go,” he said. And he +longed to add something witty and careless. But he could not add +anything. He, Bob Flixton, the hero of so many _bonnes fortunes_, to be +refused! He had laid his all, and _pour le bon motif_ at the feet of a +girl who but yesterday was a little schoolmistress. And she had refused +him! It was incredible! But, alas, it was also fact. + +Mary, the moment his back was turned, hurried with downcast face +towards the Kennels; to hide her hot cheeks and calm her feelings in +the depths of the shrubbery. Oddly enough, her first thoughts were less +of that which had just happened to her than of that suit which had been +paid to her months before. This man might love her or not; she could +not tell. But Arthur Vaughan had loved her: the fashion of this love +taught her to prize the fashion of that. + +He had loved her. And if he had treated her as Mr. Flixton had treated +her? Would she have held to him, she wondered. She believed that she +would. But the mere thought set her knees trembling, made her cheeks +flame afresh, filled her with rapture. So that, shamefaced, frightened, +glancing this way and that, as one hunted, she longed to be safe in her +room, there to cry at her ease. + +Doubtless it was natural that the incident should turn her thoughts to +that other love-making; and presently to her father’s furious dislike +of that other lover. She could not understand that dislike; for the +Bill and the Borough, Franchise or No Franchise, were nothing to her. +And the grievance, when Sir Robert had essayed to explain it, had been +nothing. To her mind, Trafalgar and Waterloo and the greatness of +England were the work of Nelson and Wellington—at the remotest, +perhaps, of Mr. Pitt and Lord Castlereagh. She could not enter into the +reasoning which attributed these and all other blessings of her country +to a System! To a System which it seemed her lover was pledged to +overthrow. + +She walked until the tumult of her thoughts had somewhat abated; and +then, still yearning for the security of her own chamber, she made for +the house. She saw nothing of Flixton, no one was stirring. Already she +thought herself safe; and it was the very spirit of mischief which +brought her, at the corner of the church, face to face with her father. +Sir Robert’s brow was clouded, and the “My dear, one moment,” with +which he stayed her, was pitched in a more decisive tone than he +commonly used to her. + +“I wish to speak to you, Mary,” he continued. “Will you come with me to +the library?” + +She would fain have postponed the discussion of Mr. Flixton’s proposal, +which she foresaw. But her father, affectionate and gentle as he was, +was still unfamiliar; and she had not the courage to make her petition. +So she accompanied him, with a sinking heart, to the library. And, when +he pointed to a seat, she was glad to sit down. + +He took up his own position on the hearth rug; whence he looked at her +gravely before he spoke. At length: + +“My dear,” he said, “I’m sorry for this! Though I do not blame you. I +think that you do not understand, owing to those drawbacks of your +early life, which have otherwise, thank God, left so slight a mark upon +you, that there are things which at your time of life you must leave +to—to the decision of your elders.” + +She looked at him. And there was not that complete docility in her look +which he expected to find. “I don’t think I understand, sir,” she +murmured. + +“But you can easily understand this, Mary,” he replied. “That young +girls of your age, without experience of life or of—of the darker side +of things, cannot be allowed to judge for themselves on all occasions. +There are sometimes circumstances to be weighed which it is not +possible to detail to them.” + +She closed her eyes for an instant, to collect her thoughts. + +“But—but, sir,” she said, “you cannot wish me to have no will—no +choice—in a matter which affects me so nearly.” + +“No,” he said, speaking seriously and with something approaching +sternness. “But that will and that choice must be guided. They should +be guided. Your feelings are natural—God forbid that I should think +them otherwise! But you must leave the decision to me.” + +She looked at him, aghast. She had heard, but had never believed, that +in the upper classes matches were arranged after this fashion. But to +have no will and no choice in such a thing as marriage! She must be +dreaming. + +“You cannot,” he continued, looking at her firmly but not unkindly, +“have either the knowledge of the past,” with a slight grimace, as of +pain, “or the experience needful to enable you to measure the result of +the step you take. You must, therefore, let your seniors decide for +you.” + +“But I could never—never,” she answered, with a deep blush, “marry a +man without—liking him, sir.” + +“Marry?” Sir Robert repeated. He stared at her. + +She returned the look. “I thought, sir,” she faltered, with a still +deeper blush, “that you were talking of that.” + +“My dear,” he said, gravely, “I am referring to the subject on which I +understood that you requested Miss Sibson to speak to me.” + +“My mother?” she whispered, the colour fading quickly from her face. + +He paused a moment. Then, “You would oblige me,” he said, slowly and +formally, “by calling her Lady Sybil Vermuyden. And not—that.” + +“But she is—my mother,” she persisted. + +He looked at her, his head slightly bowed, his lower lip thrust out. +“Listen,” he said, with decision. “What you propose—to go to her, I +mean—is impossible. Impossible, you understand. There must be an end of +any thought of it!” His tone was cold, but not unkind. “The thing must +not be mentioned again, if you please,” he added. + +She was silent a while. Then, “Why, sir?” she asked. She spoke +tremulously, and with an effort. But he had not expected her to speak +at all. + +Yet he merely continued, as he stood on the hearth rug, to look at her +askance. “That is for me,” he said, “to decide.” + +“But——” + +“But I will tell you,” he said, stiffly. “Because she has already +ruined part of your life!” + +“I forgive her, from my heart!” Mary cried. + +“And ruined, also,” he continued, putting the interruption aside, “a +great part of mine. At your age I do not think fit to tell you—all. It +is enough, that she has robbed me of you, and deceived me. Deceived +me,” he repeated, more bitterly, “through long years when you, my +daughter, might have been my comfort and—” he ended, almost inaudibly, +“my joy.” + +He turned his back on her with the word and began to walk the room, his +chin sunk on his breast, his hands clasped. It was clear to Mary, +watching him with loving, pitying eyes, that his thoughts were with the +unhappy past, with the short fever, the ignoble contentions of his +married life, or with the lonely, soured years which had followed. She +felt that he was laying to his wife’s charge the wreck of his life, and +the slow dry-rot which had sapped hope, and strength, and development. + +Mary waited until his step trod the carpet less hurriedly. Then, as he +paused to turn, she stepped forward. + +“Yet, sir—forgive her!” she cried. And there were warm tears in her +voice. + +He turned and looked at her. Possibly he was astonished at her +persistence. + +“Never!” he said in a tone of finality. “Never! Let that be the end.” + +But Mary had been dreaming of this moment for days. And she had +resolved that, come what might, though he frown, though his tone grow +hard and his eye angry, though he bring to bear on her the stern +command of his eagle visage, she would not be found lacking a second +time. She would not again give way to her besetting weakness, and spend +sleepless nights in futile remorse. Diffidence in the lonely +schoolmistress had been pardonable, had been natural. But now, if she +were indeed sprung from those who had a right to hold their heads above +the crowd, if the doffed hats which greeted her when she went abroad, +in the streets of Chippinge as well as in the lanes and roads,—if these +meant anything—shame on her if she proved craven. + +“It cannot be the end, sir,” she said, in a low voice. “For she +is—still my mother. And she is alone and ill—and she needs me.” + +He had begun to pace the room anew, this time with an impatient, angry +step. But at that he stood and faced her, and she needed all her +courage to support the gloom of his look. “How do you know?” he said. +For Miss Sibson, discharging an ungrateful task, had not entered into +details. “Have you seen her?” + +She felt that she must judge for herself; and though her mother had +said something to the contrary, and hitherto she had obeyed her, she +thought it best to tell all. “Yes, sir,” she said. + +“When?” + +“A fortnight ago?” She trembled under the growing darkness of his look. + +“Here?” + +“In the grounds, sir.” + +“And you never told me!” he cried. “You never told me!” he repeated, +with a strange glance, a glance which strove with terror to discern the +mother’s features in the daughter’s face. “You, too—you, too, have +begun to deceive me!” + +And he threw up his hands in despair. + +“Oh, no! no!” Mary cried, infinitely distressed. + +“But you have!” he rejoined. “You have kept this from me.” + +“Only, believe me, sir,” she cried, eagerly, “until I could find a +fitting time.” + +“And now you want to go to her!” he answered, unheeding. “She has +suborned you! She, who has done the greatest wrong to you, has now done +the last wrong to me!” + +He began again to pace up and down the room. + +“Oh, no! no!” she sobbed. + +“It is so!” he answered, darting an angry glance at her. “It is so! But +I shall not let you go! Do you hear, girl? I shall not let you go! I +have suffered enough,” he continued, with a gesture which called those +walls to witness to the humiliations, the sorrows, the loneliness, from +which he had sought refuge within them. “I will not—suffer again! You +shall not go!” + +She was full of love for him, and of pity. She understood even that +gesture, and the past wretchedness to which it bore witness. And she +yearned to comfort him, and to convince him that nothing that had gone +before, nothing that could happen in the future, would set her against +him. Had he been seated, she would have knelt and kissed his hand, or +cast herself on his breast and his love, and won him to her. But as he +walked she could not approach him, she did not know how to soften him. +Yet her duty was clear. It lay beside her dying mother. Nevertheless, +if he forbade her to go, if he withstood her, how was she to perform +it? + +At length, “But if she be dying, sir,” she murmured. “Will you not then +let me see her?” + +He looked at her from under his heavy eyebrows. “I tell you, I will not +let you go!” he said stubbornly. “She has forfeited her right to you. +When she made you die to me—you died to her! That is my decision. You +hear me? And now—now,” he continued, returning in a measure to +composure, “let there be an end!” + +She stood silenced, but not conquered; knowing him more intimately than +she had known him before; and loving him not less, but more, since pity +and sympathy entered into her love and drove out fear; but assured that +he was wrong. It could not be her duty to forsake: it must be his duty +to forgive. But for the present she saw that in spite of all his +efforts he was cruelly agitated, that she had stirred pangs long lulled +to rest, that he had borne as much as he could bear. And she would not +press him farther for the time. + +Meanwhile he, as he stood fingering his trembling lips, was trying to +bring the cunning of age to bear. He was silently forming his plan. She +had been too much alone, he reflected; that was it. He had forgotten +that she was young, and that change and movement and life and gaiety +were needful for her. This about—that woman—was an obsession, an +unwholesome fancy, which a few days in a new place, and amid lively +scenes, would weaken and perhaps remove. And by and by, when he thought +that he could trust his voice, he spoke. + +“I said, let there be an end! But—you are all I have,” he continued, +with emotion, “and I will say instead, let this be for a time. I must +have time to think. You want—there are many things you want that you +ought to have—frocks, laces, and gew-gaws,” he added, with a sickly +smile, “and I know not what, that you cannot get here, nor I choose for +you. Lady Worcester has offered to take you with her to town—she goes +the day after to-morrow. I was uncertain this morning whether to send +you or not, whether I could spare you or not. Now, I say, go. Go, and +when you return, Mary, we will talk again.” + +“And then,” she said, pleading softly, “you will let me go!” + +“Never!” he cried, lifting his head in a sudden, uncontrollable +recurrence of rage. “But there, there! There! there! I shall have +thought it over—more at leisure. Perhaps! I don’t know! I will tell you +then. I will think it over.” + +She saw with clear eyes that this was an evasion, that he was deceiving +her. But she felt no resentment, only pity. She had no reason to think +that her mother needed her on the instant. And much was gained by the +mere discussion of the subject. At least he promised to consider it: +and though he meant nothing now, perhaps when he was alone he would +think of it, and more pitifully. Yes, she was sure he would. + +“I will go, if you wish it,” she said, submissively. She would show +herself obedient in all things lawful. + +“I do wish it,” he answered. “My daughter must know her way about. Go, +and Lady Worcester will take care of you. And when—when you come back +we will talk. You will have things to prepare, my dear,” he continued, +avoiding her eyes, “a good deal to prepare, I dare say, since this is +sudden, and you had better go now. I think that is all.” + + + + +XXVI +THE SCENE IN THE HALL + + +Arthur Vaughan had been quick to see that he could not step at once +into place and fame; that success in political life could not in these +days be attained at a bound. But had he been less quick, the great +debate which preceded the passage of the Bill through the Commons must +have availed to persuade him. That their last words of warning to the +country, their solemn remonstrances, might have more effect, the +managers of the Opposition had permitted the third reading to be +carried in the manner which has been described. But, that done, they +unmasked all their forces, bent on proving that if in the time to come +the peers threw out the Bill they would do so with a respectable +weight, not only of argument, but of public feeling behind them; and +that, not only in the country, but in the popular House. All that the +bitter invective of Croker, the mingled gibes and predictions of +Wetherell, the close and weighty reasoning of Peel, the precedents of +Sugden could do to warn the timid and arouse the prudent was done. That +ancient Chamber, which was never again to echo the accents of a debate +so great, which stood indeed already doomed, as if it could not long +survive the order of things of which it had been for centuries the +centre, had heard, it may be, speeches more lofty, men more +eloquent—for whom had it not heard?—but never men more in earnest, or +words more keenly barbed by the prejudices of the passing, or the +aspirations of the coming, age. Of the one party were those who could +see naught but glory in the bygone, naught but peril in change, of the +other, those whose strenuous aim it was to make the future redress the +wrongs of the past. The former were like children, viewing the Armada +hangings which tapestried the neighbouring Chamber, and seeing only the +fair front: the latter like the same children, picking with soiled +fingers at the backing, coarse, dusty and cobwebbed, which for two +hundred years had clung to the roughened masonry. + +Vaughan sat through the three nights, brooding darkly on the feats +performed before him. If they who fought in the arena were not giants, +if the House no longer held a match for Canning and Brougham, the +combatants seemed giants to him; for a man’s opinion of himself is +never far from the opinion which others hold of him. And he soon +perceived that a common soldier might as easily step from the ranks and +set the battle in order as he, Arthur Vaughan, rise up, without farther +training, and lead the attack or cover the defence. He sat soured and +gloomy, a mere spectator; dwelling, even while he listened to the +flowery periods of Macaulay, or the trenchant arguments of Peel, on the +wrong done to himself by the disposal of his seat. + +It was so like the Whigs, he told himself. Here on the floor of the +House who so loud as they in defence of the purity of elections, of the +people’s right to be represented, of the unbiassed vote of the +electors? But behind the scenes they were as keenly bent on jobbing a +seat here, or neutralising a seat there, and as careless of the +people’s rights as they had ever been! It was atrocious, it was +shameful! If this were political life, if this were political honesty, +he had had enough of it! + +But alas, though he said it in his anger, there was the rub! He had not +had, and now he was not likely to have, enough of it. The hostility to +himself, of which he had come slowly to be conscious, as a man grows +slowly to perceive a frostiness in the air, had insensibly sapped his +self-confidence and lowered his claims. He no longer dreamt of rising +and outshining the chiefs of his party. But he still believed that he +had it in him to succeed—were time given him. And all through the long +hours of the three nights’ debates his thoughts were as often on his +wrongs as on the momentous struggle which was passing before his eyes, +and for the issue of which the clubs of London were keeping vigil. + +But enthusiasm is infectious. And when the tellers for the last time +walked up to the table, at five o’clock on the morning of the 22nd of +September, with the grey light of daybreak stealing in to shame the +candles and betray the jaded faces—when he and all men knew that for +them the end of the great struggle was come—Vaughan waited breathless +with the rest and strained his ears to catch the result. And when, a +moment later, peal upon peal of fierce cheering shook the old panels in +their frames, and being taken up by waiting crowds without, carried the +news through the dawn to the very skirts of London—the news that Reform +had passed the People’s House, and that only the peers now stood +between the country and its desire—he shared the triumph and shouted +with the rest, shook hands with exultant neighbours, and waved his hat, +perspiring. + +But in his case the feeling of exultation was short-lived; perhaps in +the case of many another, who roared himself hoarse and showed a +gleeful face to the daylight. Certainly it was something to have taken +part in such a scene, the memory of which must survive for generations. +It was something to have voted in such a division. He might talk of it +in days to come to his grandchildren. But for him personally it meant +that all was over; that here, if the Lords passed the Bill, was the +end. A Dissolution must follow, and when the House met again, his place +would know him no more. He would be gone, and no man would feel the +blank. + +Nor were less selfish doubts wanting. As he stood, caught in the press +and awaiting his turn to leave the crowded House, his eyes rested on +the pale, scowling faces which dotted the opposite benches; the faces +of men who, honestly believing that here and now the old Constitution +of England had got its deathblow, could not hide their bitter chagrin, +or their scorn of the foe. Nor could he, at any rate, view those men +without sympathy; without the possibility that they were right weighing +on his spirits; without a faint apprehension that this might indeed be +the beginning of decay, the starting point of that decadence which +every generation since Queen Anne’s had foreseen. For if many on that +side represented no one but themselves, they still represented vast +interests, huge incomes, immense taxation. They were those who, if +England sank, had most to lose. He, in the past, had given up almost +his all that he might stand aloof from them; and that, because he +thought them prejudiced, wrong-headed, unreasonable. But he respected +them. And—what if they were right? + +Meanwhile the persistent cheering of his friends began to jar on his +tired nerves. He seemed to see in this a beginning of disorder, of +license, of revolution, of all those evils which the other party +foretold. And then he had little liking for the statistics of Hume: and +Hume with his arm about his favourite pillar, was high among the +triumphant. Hard by him again was the tall, thin form of Orator Hunt, +for whom the Bill was too moderate; and the taller, thinner form of +Burdett. They, crimson with shouting, were his partners in this; the +bedfellows among whom his opinions had cast him. + +Thinking such thoughts, he was among the last to leave the House, which +he did by way of Westminster Hall. The scene as he descended to the +Hall was so striking that he stood an instant on the steps to view it. +The hither half of the great space was comparatively bare, but the +farther half was occupied by a throng of people held back by a line of +the New Police, who were doing all they could to keep a passage for the +departing Members. As groups of the latter, after chatting awhile at +the upper end, passed, conscious of the greatness of the occasion, down +the lane thus formed, bursts of loud cheering greeted the better-known +Reformers. Some of the more forward of those who waited shook hands +with them, or patted them on the back; while others cried “God bless +you, sir! Long life to you, sir!” On the other hand, an angry moan, or +a spirit of hissing, marked the passage of a known Tory; or a voice was +raised calling to these to bid the Lords beware. A few lamps, which had +burned through the night, contended pallidly with the growing daylight, +and gave to the scene that touch of obscurity, that mingling of light +and shadow—under the dusky, far-receding roof—which is necessary to the +picturesque. + +Vaughan did not suspect that, as he paused, looking down on the Hall, +he was himself watched, and by some sore enough that moment to be glad +to wreak their feelings in any direction. As he set his foot on the +stone pavement a group near at hand raised a cry of “Turncoat! +Turncoat!” and that so loudly that he could not but hear it. An +unmistakable hiss followed; and then, “Who stole a seat?” cried one of +the men. + +“And isn’t going to keep it?” cried another. + +Vaughan turned short at the last words—he had not felt sure that the +first were addressed to him. With a hot face, and every fibre in his +body tingling with defiance, he stepped up to the group. “Did you speak +to me?” he said. + +A man with a bullying air put himself before the others. He was a +ruined Irish Member, who had sat for years for a close borough, and for +whom the Bill meant duns, bailiffs, a sponging-house, in a word, the +loss of all those thing’s which made life tolerable. He was full of +spite and spoiling for a fight with someone, no matter with whom. + +“Who are you?” he replied, confronting our friend with a sneer. “I have +not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir!” + +Vaughan was about to answer him in kind, when he espied in the middle +of the group the pale, keen face and greyish whiskers of Sergeant +Wathen. And, “Perhaps you have not,” he retorted, “but that gentleman +has.” He pointed to Wathen. “And, if what was said a moment ago,” he +continued, “was meant for me, I have the honour to ask for an +explanation.” + +“Explanation?” a Member in the background cried, in a jeering tone. “Is +there need of one?” + +Vaughan was no longer red, he was white with anger. “Who spoke?” he +asked, his voice ringing. + +The Irishman looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Right you are, +Jerry!” he said: “I’ll not give you up!” And then to Vaughan, “I did +not,” he said rudely. “For the rest, sir, the Hall is large enough. And +we have no need of your heroics here!” + +“Your pleasure, however,” Vaughan replied, haughtily, “is not my law. +Some one of you used words a moment ago which seemed to imply——” + +“What, sir?” + +“That I obtained my seat by unfair means! And the truth being perfectly +well known to that gentleman”—again he pointed to the Sergeant in a way +which left Wathen anything but comfortable. “I am sure that he will +tell you that the statement——” + +“Statement?” + +“Statement or imputation, or whatever you please to call it,” Vaughan +answered, sticking to his point in spite of interruptions, “is +absolutely unfounded—and false. And false! And, therefore, must be +retracted.” + +“Must, sir?” + +“Yes, must!” Vaughan replied—he was no coward. “Must, if you call +yourselves gentlemen. But first, Mr. Sergeant,” he continued, fixing +Wathen with his eye, “I will ask you to tell these friends of yours +that I did not turn my coat at Chippinge. And that there was nothing in +my election which in any degree touched my honour.” + +The Sergeant looked flurried. He was of those who love to wound, but do +not love to fight. And at this moment he wished from the crown of his +head to the soles of his feet, that he had held his tongue. But +unluckily, whether the cloud upon Vaughan’s reputation had been his +work or not, he had certainly said more than he liked to remember; and, +worse still, had said some part of it within the last five minutes, in +the hearing of those about him. To retract, therefore, was to dub +himself a liar; and he sought refuge, the perspiration standing on his +brow, in that half-truth which is at once worse than a lie—and safer. + +“I must say, Mr. Vaughan,” he said, “that the—the circumstances in +which you used the vote given to you by your cousin, and—and the way in +which you turned against him after attending a dinner of his +supporters——” + +“Openly, fairly, and after warning, I turned against him,” Vaughan +cried, enraged at the show of justice which the accusation wore. “And +that, sir, in pursuance of opinions which I had publicly professed. +More, I allowed myself to be elected only after I had once refused Lord +Lansdowne’s offer of the seat! And after, only after, Sir Robert +Vermuyden had so treated me that all ties were broken. Sergeant Wathen, +I appeal to you again! Was that not so?” + +“I know nothing of that,” Wathen answered, sullenly. + +“Nothing? You know nothing of that?” Vaughan cried. + +“No,” the Sergeant answered, still more sullenly. “I know nothing of +what passed between you and your cousin. I know only that you were +present, as I have said, at a dinner of his supporters on the eve of +the election, and that on a sudden, at that dinner, you declared +yourself against him—with the result that you were elected by the other +side!” + +For a moment Vaughan stood glowering at him, struck dumb by his denial +and by the unexpected plausibility, nay, the unexpected strength of the +case against him. He was sure that Wathen knew more, he was sure that +if he would he could say more! He was sure that the man was dishonest. +But he did not see how he could prove it, and—— + +The Irish Member laughed. “Well, sir,” he said, derisively, “is the +explanation, now you’ve got it, to your mind?” + +The taunt stung Vaughan. He took a step forward. The next moment would +have seen him commit himself to a foolish action, that could only have +led him to Wimbledon Common or Primrose Hill. But in the nick of time a +voice stayed him. + +“What’s this, eh?” it asked, its tone more lugubrious than usual. And +Sir Charles Wetherell, who had just descended the stairs from the +lobby, turned a dull eye from one disputant to the other. “Can’t you do +enough damage with your tongues?” he rumbled. “Brawl upstairs as much +as you like! That’s the way to the Woolsack! But you mustn’t brawl +here!” And the heavy-visaged man, whose humour had again and again +conciliated a House which his coarse invective had offended, once more +turned from one to the other. “What is it?” he repeated. “Eh?” + +Vaughan hastened to appeal to him. “Sir Charles,” he said, “I will +abide by your decision! Though I do not know, indeed, that I ought to +take any man’s decision on a point which touches my honour!” + +“Oh!” Wetherell said in an inimitable tone. “Court of Honour, is it?” +And he cast a queer look round the circle. “That’s it, is it? Well, I +dare say I’m eligible. I dare swear I know as much about honour as +Brougham about equity! Or the Sergeant there”—Wathen reddened +angrily—“about law! Or Captain McShane here about his beloved country! +Yes,” he continued, amid the unconcealed grins of those of the party +whose weak points had escaped, “you may proceed, I think.” + +“You are a friend, Sir Charles,” Vaughan said, in a voice which +quivered with anxiety, “you are a friend of Sir Robert Vermuyden’s?” + +“Well, I won’t deny him until I know more!” Wetherell answered +quaintly. “What of it?” + +“You know what occurred at Chippinge before the election?” + +“None better. I was there.” + +“And what passed between Sir Robert Vermuyden and me?” Vaughan +continued, eagerly. + +“I think I do,” Wetherell answered. “In the main I do.” + +“Thank you, Sir Charles. Then I appeal to you. You are opposed to me in +politics, but you will do me justice. These gentlemen have thought fit +to brand me here and now as a turncoat; and, worse, as one who was—who +was elected”—he could scarcely speak for passion—“in opposition to Sir +Robert’s, to my relative’s candidates, under circumstances +dishonourable to me!” + +“Indeed? Indeed? That is serious.” + +“And I ask you, sir, is there a word of truth in that charge?” + +Wetherell had his eyes fixed gloomily on the pavement. He appeared to +weigh the matter a moment or two. Then he shook his head. + +“Not a word,” he said, ponderously. + +“You—you bear me out, sir.” + +“Quite, quite,” the other answered slowly, as he took out his snuffbox. +“To tell the truth, gentlemen,” he continued, in the same melancholy +tone, “Mr. Vaughan was fool enough to quarrel with his bread and butter +for the sake of the most worthless, damnable and mistaken convictions +any man ever held! That’s the truth. He showed himself a very perfect +fool, but an honourable and an honest fool—and that’s a rare thing. I +see none here.” + +No one laughed at the gibe, and he turned to Vaughan, who stood, +relieved indeed, but stiff and uncomfortable, uncertain what to do +next. “I’ll take your arm,” he said. “I’ve saved you,” coolly, “from +the ragged regiment on my side. Do you take me safe,” he continued, +with a look towards the lower end of the Hall, “through your ragged +regiment outside, my lad!” + +Vaughan understood only too well the generous motive which underlay the +invitation. But for a moment he hung back. + +“I am your debtor, Sir Charles,” he said, deeply moved, “as long as I +live. But I would like to know before I go,” and he raised his head, +with a look worthy of Sir Robert, “whether these gentlemen are +satisfied. If not——” + +“Oh, perfectly,” the Sergeant cried, hurriedly. “Perfectly!” And he +muttered something about being glad—hear explanation—satisfactory. + +But the Irish Member stepped up and held out his hand. “Faith,” he +said, “there’s no man whose word I’d take before Sir Charles’s! There’s +no hiatus in his honour, whatever may be said of his breeches! That’s +one for you,” he added, addressing Wetherell. “I owed you one, my good +sir!” And then he turned to Vaughan. “There’s my hand, sir! I +apologise,” he said. “You’re a man of honour, and it’s mistaken we +were!” + +“I am obliged to you for your candour,” Vaughan said, gratefully. + +Half a dozen others raised their hats to him, or shook hands with him +frankly. The Sergeant did the same less frankly. But Vaughan saw that +he was cowed. Wetherell was Sir Robert Vermuyden’s friend, and the +Sergeant was Sir Robert’s nominee. So he pushed his triumph no farther. +With a feeling of gratitude too deep for words, he offered his arm to +Sir Charles, and went down the Hall in his company. + +By this time the crowd at the lower end had carried their joy and their +horseplay elsewhere; and no attempt was made—Vaughan only wished an +attempt had been made—to molest Wetherell. They walked across the yard +to Parliament Street, as the first sunshine of the day fell on the +bridge and the river. Flocks of gulls were swinging to and fro in the +clear air above the water, and dumb barges were floating up with the +tide. The hub-bub in that part was past and over; at that moment a +score of coaches were speeding through the suburbs, bearing to +market-town and busy city, ay, and to village greens, where the news +was awaited eagerly, the tidings that the Bill had passed the Lower +House. + +Sir Charles walked a short distance in silence. Then, “I thought some +notion of the kind was abroad,” he said. “It’s as well this happened. +What are you going to do about your seat if the Bill pass, young man?” + +“I am told that it is pre-empted,” Vaughan answered, in a tone between +jest and earnest. + +“It is. But——” + +“Yes, Sir Charles?” + +“You should see your own side about it,” Wetherell answered gruffly. “I +can’t say more than that.” + +“I am obliged to you for that.” + +“You should be!” Wetherell retorted in a peculiar tone. And with an +oath and a strange gesture he disengaged his arm. Halting and wheeling +about, he pointed with a shaking hand to the towers of the Abbey, which +rose against the blue, beatified by the morning sunshine. “If I said +‘batter down those walls, undig the dead, away with every hoary thing +of time, the present and the future are enough, and we, the generation +that burns the mummies, which three thousand years have spared—we are +wiser than all our forbears—’ what would you say? You would call me +mad. Yet what are you doing? Ay, you, you among the rest! The building +that our fathers built, patiently through many hundred years, adding a +little here and strengthening there, the building that Hampden and +Shrewsbury and Walpole, Chatham and his son, and Canning, and many +others tended reverently, repairing here and there, as time required, +you, you, who think you know more than all who have gone before you, +hurry in ruin to the ground! That you may build your own building, +built in a day, to suit the day, and to perish with the day! Oh, mad, +mad, mad! Ay, + + +“_Hostis habet muros; ruit alta a culmine Troja. +Sat patriæ Priamoque datum; si Pergama linquâ. +Defendi possent, etiam, hoc defensa fuissent!_” + + +His voice quavered on the last accent, his chin sank on his breast. He +turned wearily and resumed his course. When Vaughan, who did not +venture to address him again, parted from him in silence at the door of +his house, the fat man’s pendulous lip quivered, and a single tear ran +down his cheek. + + + + +XXVII +WICKED SHIFTS + + +It was with a lighter heart that Vaughan walked on to Bury Street. +There were still, it seemed, faith and honour in the world, and some +men who could be trusted. But if he expected much to come of this, if +he expected to be received with an ovation on his next appearance at +Westminster, he was doomed to disappointment. Wetherell’s defence +convinced those who heard it; and in time, no doubt, passing from mouth +to mouth, would improve the young Member’s relations, not only on the +floor of the House, but in the lobbies and at Bellamy’s. But the +English are not dramatic. They have no love for scenes. And no one of +those whose silence or whose catcalls had wronged him thought fit to +take his hand in cold blood and ask his pardon; nor did any Don Quixote +cast down his glove in Westminster Hall and offer to do battle with his +traducers. The manner of one man became a shade more cordial; another +spoke where he would have nodded. And if Vaughan had risen at this time +to speak on any question which he understood he would have been heard +upon his merits. + +But the change, slow though genial, like the breaking up of an English +frost, came too late to do him much service. With the transfer of the +Bill to the House of Lords public interest deserted the Commons. They +sat, indeed, through the month of September, to the horror of many a +country gentleman, who saw in this the herald of evil days; and they +debated after a fashion. But the attendance was sparse, and the +thoughts and hopes of all men were in another place. Vaughan saw that +for all the reputation he could now make the Dissolution might be come +already. And with this, and the emptiness of his heart, from which he +could no more put the craving for Mary Vermuyden than he could dismiss +her image from the retina of his mind, he was very miserable. The void +left by love, indeed, was rendered worse by the void left unsatisfied +by ambition. Mary’s haunting face was with him at his rising, went with +him to his pillow, her little hand was often on his sleeve, her eyes +often pleaded to his. In his lonely rooms he would pace the floor +feverishly, savagely, pestering himself with what might have been; +kicking the furniture from his path and—and hating her! For the idea of +marriage, once closely presented to man or woman, leaves neither +unchanged, leaves neither as it found them, however quickly it be put +aside. + +Still it was not possible for one who sprang from the governing +classes, and was gifted with political instincts, to witness the +excitement which moved the whole country during those weeks of +September and the early days of October, without feeling his own blood +stirred; without sharing to some extent the exhilaration with which the +adventurous view the approach of adventures. What would the peers do? +All England was asking that question. At Crockford’s, in the little +supper-room, or at the French Hazard table itself, men turned to put it +and to hear the answer. At White’s and Boodle’s, in the hall of the +Athenæum, as they walked before Apsley House, or under the gas-lamps of +Pall Mall, men asked that question again and again. It shared with +Pasta and the slow-coming cholera—which none the less was coming—the +chit-chat of drawing-rooms; and with the next prize fight or with +ridicule of the New Police, the wrangling debates of every tavern and +posthouse. Would the peers throw out the Bill? Would they—would those +doting old Bishops in particular—dare to thwart the People’s will? +Would they dare to withhold the franchise from Birmingham and +Manchester, Leeds and Sheffield? On this husbands took one side, wives +the other, families quarrelled. What Croker thought, what Lord Grey +threatened, what the Duke had let drop, what Brougham had boasted, how +Lady Lyndhurst had sneered, or her husband retorted, what the Queen +wished—scraps such as these were tossed from mouth to mouth, greedily +received, carried far into the country, and eventually, changed beyond +recognition, were repeated in awestruck ears, in county ballrooms and +at Sessions. + +One member of the Privy Council, who had left his party on the Bill, +and whose vote, it was thought, had turned a division, shot himself. +And many another, it was whispered, never recovered wholly from the +strain of those days. + +For far more hung upon the Lords’ decision than the mere fate of the +Bill. If they threw it out, what would the Ministry do? And—more +momentous still, and looming larger in the minds of men—what would the +country do? What would Birmingham and Sheffield, Manchester and Leeds +do? What would they do? + +Lord Grey, strong in the King’s support, would persevere, said some. He +would bring in the Bill again, and create peers in number sufficient to +carry it. And Macaulay’s squib was flung from club to club, from +meeting to meeting, until it reached the streets: + +_What, though new opposed I be_, + +_Twenty peers shall carry me!_ + +_If twenty won’t, thirty will_, + +_For I am his Majesty’s bouncing Bill_. + + +Ay, his Majesty’s Bill, God bless him! His Majesty’s own Bill! Hurrah +for Lord Grey! Hurrah for Brougham! Hurrah for Lord John, and down with +the Bishops! So the word flew from mouth to mouth, so errand boys +yelled it under the windows of London House, in St. James’s Square, and +wherever aproned legs might be supposed to meet under the mahogany. + +But others maintained that Lord Grey would simply resign, and let the +consequences fall on the heads of those who opposed the People’s will. +Those consequences, it was whispered everywhere—and not by the timid +and the rich only—spelled Revolution! Revolution, red and anarchical, +was coming, said many. Was not Scotland ready to rise? Was not the +Political Union of Birmingham threatening to pay no taxes? Were not the +Political Unions everywhere growling and lashing their sides? The +winter was coming, and there would be fires by night and drillings by +day, as there had been during the previous autumn. Through the long +dark nights there would be fear and trembling, and barring of doors, +and waiting for the judgment to come. And then some morning the +crackling sound of musketry would awaken Pall Mall and Mayfair, the mob +would seize the Tower and Newgate, the streets would run blood and the +guillotine would rise in Leicester Square or Finsbury Fields. + +So widely were these fears spread—fostered as they were by both +parties, by the Tories for the purpose of proving whither Reform was +leading the country, by the Whigs to show to what the obstinacy of the +borough-mongers was driving it—that few were proof against them. So +few, that when the Bill was rejected in the early morning of Saturday, +the 8th of October, the Tory peers, from Lord Eldon downwards, though +they had not shrunk from doing their duty, could hardly be made to +believe that they were at liberty to go to their homes unscathed. + +They did so, however. But the first mutterings of the storm soon made +themselves heard. Within twenty-four hours the hearts of many failed +them for fear. The Funds fell at once. The journals appeared in +mourning borders. In many towns the bells were tolled and the shops +were shut. The mob of Nottingham rose and burned the Castle and fired +the house of an unpopular squire. The mob of Derby besieged the gaol +and released the prisoners. At Darlington, Lord Tankerville narrowly +escaped with his life; Lord Londonderry was left for dead; no Bishop +dared to wear his apron in public. Everywhere rose the cry of “No +Taxes!” Finally, the rabble rose in immense numbers, paraded the West +End of London, broke the windows of many peers, assaulted others, and +were only driven from Apsley House by the timely arrival of the Life +Guards. The country, amazed and shaken from end to end, seemed to be +already in the grip of rebellion; so that within the week the very +Tories hastened to beg Lord Grey to retain office. Even the King, it +was supposed, was shaken; and his famous distich—his one contribution +to the poetry of the country, + +_I consider Dissolution +Tantamount to Revolution_, + + +found admirers for its truth, if not for its beauty. + +Such a ferment could not but occupy Vaughan’s mind and divert his +thoughts from his own troubles, even from thoughts of Mary. Every day +there was news: every day, in the opinion of many, the sky grew darker. +But though the rejection of the Bill promised him a second short +session, and many who sat for close boroughs chuckled privately over +the respite, he was ill-content with a hand-to-mouth life. He saw that +the Bill must pass eventually. He did not believe that there would be a +revolution. It was clear that his only chance lay in following +Wetherell’s advice, and laying his case before one of his chiefs. + +Some days after the division he happened on an opportunity. He was +walking down Parliament Street when he came on a scene, much of a piece +of the unrest of the time. A crowd was pouring out of Downing Street, +and in the van of the rabble he espied the tall, ungainly figure of no +less a man than Lord Brougham. Abreast of the Chancellor, but keeping +himself to the wall as if he desired to dissociate himself from the +demonstration, walked another tall figure, also in black, with +shepherd’s plaid trousers. A second glance informed Vaughan that this +was no other than Mr. Cornelius, who had been present at his interview +with Brougham; and accepting the omen, he made up to the Chancellor +just as the latter halted to rid himself of the ragged tail, which had, +perhaps, been more pleasing to his vanity in the smaller streets. + +“My friends,” Brougham cried, checking with his hand the ragamuffins’ +shrill attempt at a cheer, “I am obliged to you for your approval; but +I beg to bid you good-day! Assemblages such as these are——” + +“Disgusting!” Cornelius muttered audibly, wrinkling his nose as he eyed +them over his high collar. + +“Are apt to cause disorder!” the Chancellor continued, smiling. “Rest +assured that your friends, of whom, if I am the highest in office I am +not the least in good-will, will not desert you.” + +“Hurrah! God bless you, my lord! Hurrah!” cried the tatterdemalions in +various tones more or less drunken. And some held out their caps. +“Hurrah! If your lordship would have the kindness to——” + +“Disgusting!” Cornelius repeated, wheeling about. + +Vaughan seized the opportunity to intervene. “May I,” he said, raising +his hat and addressing the Chancellor as he turned, “consult you, my +lord, for two minutes as you walk?” + +Brougham started on finding a gentleman of his appearance at his elbow; +and looked as if he were somewhat ashamed of the guise in which he had +been detected. “Ah!” he said. “Mr.—Mr. Vaughan? To be sure! Oh, yes, +you can speak to me, what can I do for you? It is,” he added, with +affected humility, “my business to serve.” + +Vaughan looked doubtfully at Mr. Cornelius, who raised his hat. “I have +no secrets from Mr. Cornelius,” said the Chancellor pleasantly. And +then with a backward nod and a tinge of colour in his cheek, +“Gratifying, but troublesome,” he continued. “Eh? Very troublesome, +these demonstrations! I often long for the old days when I could walk +out of Westminster Hall, with my bag and my umbrella, and no one the +wiser!” + +“Those days are far back, my lord,” Vaughan said politely. + +“Ah, well! Ah, well! Perhaps so.” They were walking on by this time. “I +can’t say that since the Queen’s trial I’ve known much privacy. +However, it is something that those whom one serves are grateful. +They——” + +“Cry ‘Hosanna’ to-day,” Cornelius said gruffly, with his eyes fixed +steadily before him, “and ‘Crucify him’ tomorrow!” + +“Cynic!” said the Chancellor, with unabated good-humour. “But even you +cannot deny that they are better employed in cheering their friends +than in breaches of the peace? Not that”—cocking his eye at Vaughan +with a whimsical expression of confidence—“a little disorder here and +there, eh, Mr. Vaughan—though to be deplored, and by no one more than +by one in my position—has not its uses? Were there no apprehension of +mob-rule, how many borough-mongers, think you, would vote with us? How +many waverers, like Harrowby and Wharncliffe, would waver? And how, if +we have no little ebullitions here and there, are we to know that the +people are in earnest? That they are not grown lukewarm? That Wetherell +is not right in his statement—of which he’ll hear more than he will +like at Bristol, or I am mistaken—that there is a Tory re-action, an +ebb in the tide which so far has carried us bravely? But of course,” he +added, with a faint smile, “God forbid that we should encourage +violence!” + +“Amen!” said Mr. Cornelius. And sniffed in a very peculiar manner. + +“But to discern that camomile,” the Chancellor continued gaily, “though +bitter to-day makes us better tomorrow, is a different thing from——” + +“Administering a dose!” Vaughan laughed, falling into the great man’s +humour. + +“To be sure. But enough of that. Now I think of it, Mr. Vaughan,” he +continued, looking at his companion, “I have not had the pleasure of +seeing you since—but I need not remind you of the occasion. You’ve had +good cause to remember it! Yes, yes,” he went on with voluble +complacency—he was walking as well as talking very fast—“I seldom speak +without meaning, or interfere without result. I knew well what would +come of it. It was not for nothing, Mr. Vaughan, that I got down our +Borough List and asked you if you had no thought of entering the House. +The spark—and tinder! For there you are in the House!” + +“Yes,” Vaughan replied, astonished at the coolness with which the other +unveiled, and even took credit for, the petty intrigue of six months +back. “But——” + +“But,” Brougham said, taking him up with a quick, laughing glance, “you +are not yet on the Treasury Bench? That’s it?” + +“No, not yet,” Vaughan answered, good-humouredly. + +“Ah, well, time and patience and Bellamy’s chops, Mr. Vaughan, will +carry you far, I am sure.” + +“It is on that subject—the subject of time—I venture to trouble your +lordship.” + +The Chancellor’s lumpish but singularly mobile features underwent a +change. Caught in a complacent, vain humour, he had forgotten a thing +which, with Vaughan’s last words, recurred to him. “Yes?” he said, +“yes, Mr. Vaughan?” But the timbre of that marvellously flexible voice +with which he boasted that he could whisper so as to be heard to the +very door of the House of Commons, was changed. “Yes, what is it, +pray?” + +“It is time I require,” Vaughan answered. “And, in fine, I have done +some service, yeoman service, my lord, and I think that I ought not to +be cast aside by the party in whose interest I was returned, and with +whose objects I am in sympathy.” + +“Cast aside? Tut, tut! What do you mean?” + +“I am told that though the borough for which I sit will continue to +return one member, I shall not have the support of the party in +retaining my seat.” + +“Indeed! Indeed!” Brougham answered, “Is it so? I am sorry to hear +that.” + +“But——” + +“Very sorry, Mr. Vaughan.” + +“But, with submission, my lord, it is something more than sorrow I +seek,” Vaughan answered, too sore to hide his feelings. “You have owned +very candidly that I derived from you the impulse which has carried me +so far. Is it unreasonable if I venture to turn to you, when advised to +see one of the chiefs of my party?” + +“Who,” Brougham asked with a quick look, “gave you that advice, Mr. +Vaughan?” + +“Sir Charles Wetherell.” + +“Um!” the Chancellor replied through pinched lips. And he stood, “they +had crossed Piccadilly and Berkeley Square, and had reached the corner +of Hill Street, where at No. 5, Brougham lived. + +“I repeat, my lord,” Vaughan continued, “is it unreasonable if I apply +to you in these circumstances, rather——” + +“Rather than to one of the whips?” Brougham said drily. + +“Yes.” + +“But I know nothing of the matter, Mr. Vaughan.” + +But Vaughan was in no mood to put up with subterfuges. If the other did +not know, he should know. He had been all-powerful, it seemed, to bring +him in: was he powerless to keep him in? “There is a compact, I am +told,” he said, “under which the seat is to be surrendered—for this +turn, at any rate—to my cousin’s nominee.” + +Brougham shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Mr. Cornelius. “Dear me, +dear me,” he said. “That’s not a thing of which I can approve. Far from +it! Far from it! But you must see, Mr. Vaughan, that I cannot meddle in +my position with arrangements of that kind. Impossible, my dear sir, it +is clearly impossible!” + +Vaughan stared; and with some spirit and more temper, “But the spark, +my lord! I’m sure you won’t forget the spark?” he said. + +For an instant a gleam of fun shone in the other’s eyes. Then he was +funereal again. “Before the Bill, and after the Bill, are two things,” +he said drily. “Before the Bill all is, all was impure. And in an +impure medium—you understand me, I am sure? You are scientific, I +remember. But after the Bill—to ask me, who in my humble measure, Mr. +Vaughan, may call myself its prime cause—to ask me to infringe its +first principles by interposing between the Electors and their rights, +to ask me to use an influence which cannot be held legitimate—no, Mr. +Vaughan, no!” He shook his head solemnly and finally. And then to Mr. +Cornelius, “Yes, I am coming, Mr. Cornelius,” he said. “I know I am +late.” + +“I can wait,” said Mr. Cornelius. + +“But I cannot. Good-day, Mr. Vaughan. Good-day,” he repeated, refusing +to see the young man’s ill-humour. “I am sorry that I cannot help you. +Or, stay!” he continued, halting in the act of turning away. “One +minute. I gather that you are a friend of Sir Charles Wetherell’s?” + +“He has been a friend to me,” Vaughan answered sullenly. + +“Ah, well, he is going to Bristol to hold his sessions—on the 29th, I +think. Go with him. Our fat friend hates me like poison, but I would +not have a hair of his head injured. We have been warned that there +will be trouble, and we are taking steps to protect him. But an +able-bodied young soldier by his side will be no bad thing. And upon my +honour,” he continued, eyeing Vaughan with impudent frankness—impudent +in view of all that had gone before—“upon my honour, I am beginning to +think that we spoiled a good soldier when we—eh!” + +“The spark!” Mr. Cornelius muttered grimly. + +“Good-day, my lord,” said Vaughan with scant ceremony; his blood was +boiling. And he turned and strode away, scarcely smothering an +execration. The two, who did not appear to be in a hurry after all, +remained looking after him. And presently Mr. Cornelius smiled. + +“What amuses you?” Brougham asked, with a certain petulence. For at +bottom, and in cases where no rivalry existed, he was good-natured; and +in his heart he was sorry for the young man. But then, if one began to +think of the pawn’s feelings, the game he was playing would be spoiled. +“What is it?” + +“I was thinking,” Mr. Cornelius answered slowly, “of purity.” He +sniffed. “And the Whigs!” + +Meanwhile Arthur Vaughan was striding down Bruton Street with every +angry passion up in arms. He was too clever to be tricked twice, and he +saw precisely what had happened. Brougham—well, well was he called +Wicked Shifts!—reviewing the Borough List before the General Election, +had let his eyes fall on Sir Robert’s seats at Chippinge; and looking +about, with his customary audacity, for a means of snatching them, had +alighted on him—and used him for a tool! Now, he was of no farther use. +And, as the loss of his expectations rendered it needless to temporise +with him, he was contemptuously tossed aside. + +And this was the game of politics which he had yearned to play! This +was the party whose zeal for the purity of elections and the +improvement of all classes he had shared, and out of loyalty to which +he had sacrificed a fortune! He strode along the crowded pavement of +Parliament Street—it was the fashionable hour of the afternoon and the +political excitement kept London full—his head high, his face flushed. +And unconsciously as he shouldered the people to right and left, he +swore aloud. + +As he uttered the word, regardless in his anger of the scene about him, +his fixed gaze pierced for an instant the medley of gay bonnets and +smiling faces, moving chariots and waiting footmen, which even in those +days filled Parliament Street—and met another pair of eyes. + +The encounter lasted for a second only. Then half a dozen heads and a +parasol intervened. And then—in another second—he was abreast of the +carriage in which Mary Vermuyden sat, her face the prettiest and her +bonnet the daintiest—Lady Worcester had seen to that—of all the faces +and all the bonnets in Parliament Street that day. The landau in which +she sat was stationary at the edge of the pavement; and on the farther +side of her reposed a lady of kind face and ample figure. + +For an instant their eyes met again; and Mary’s colour, which had fled, +returned in a flood of crimson, covering brow and cheeks. She leaned +from the carriage and held out her white-gloved hand. “Mr. Vaughan!” +she said. And he might have read in her face, had he chosen, the +sweetest and frankest appeal. “Mr. Vaughan!” + +But the moment was unlucky. The devil had possession of him. He raised +his hat and passed on, passed on wilfully. He fancied—afterwards, that +is, he fancied—that she had risen to her feet after he had gone by and +called him a third time in a voice at which the convenances of +Parliament Street could only wink. But he went on. He heard, but he +went on. He told himself that all was of a piece. Men and women, all +were alike. He was a fool who trusted any, believed in any, loved any. + + + + +XXVIII +ONCE MORE, TANTIVY! + + +Vaughan had been sore at heart before the meeting in Parliament Street. +After that meeting he was in a mood to take any step which promised to +salve his self-esteem. The Chancellor, Lord Lansdowne, Sir Robert, +and—and Mary, all, he told himself, were against him. But they should +not crush him. He would prove to them that he was no negligible +quantity. Parliament was prorogued; the Long Vacation was far advanced; +the world, detained beyond its time, was hurrying out of town. He, too, +would go out of town; and he would go to Chippinge. There, in defiance +alike of his cousin and the Bowood interest, he would throw himself +upon the people. He would address himself to those whom the Bill +enfranchised, he would appeal to the future electors of Chippinge, he +would ask them whether the will of their great neighbours was to +prevail, and the claims of service and of gratitude were to go for +nothing. Surely at this time of day the answer could not be adverse! + +True, the course he proposed matched ill with the party notions which +still prevailed. It was a complete breach with the family traditions in +which he had been reared. But in his present mood Vaughan liked his +plan the better for this. Henceforth he would be iron, he would be +adamant! And only by a little thing did he betray that under the iron +and under the adamant he carried an aching heart. When he came to book +his place, deliberately, wilfully, he chose to travel by the Bath road +and the White Lion coach, though he could have gone at least as +conveniently by another coach and another route. Thus have men ever, +since they first felt the pangs of love, rejoiced to press the dart +more deeply in the wound. + +A dark October morning was brooding over the West End when he crossed +Piccadilly to take his place outside the White Horse Cellar. Now, as on +that distant day in April, when the car of rosy-fingered love had +awaited him ignorant, the coaches stood one behind the other in a long +line before the low-blind windows of the office. But how different was +all else! To-day the lamps were lighted and flickered on wet pavements, +the streets were windy and desolate, the day had barely broken above +the wet roofs, and on all a steady rain was falling. The watermen went +to and fro with sacks about their shoulders, and the guards, bustling +from the office with their waybills and the late parcels, were short of +temper and curt of tongue. The shivering passengers, cloaked to the +eyes in boxcoats and wrap-rascals, climbed silently and sullenly to the +roof, and there sat shrugging their shoulders to their ears. Vaughan, +who had secured a place beside the driver, cast an eye on all, on the +long dark vista of the street, on the few shivering passers; and he +found the change fitting. Let it rain, let it blow, let the sun rise +niggardly behind a mask of clouds! Let the world wear its true face! He +cared not how discordantly the guard’s horn sounded, nor how the +coachman swore at his cattle, nor how the mud splashed up, as two +minutes after time they jostled and rattled and bumped down the slope +and through the dingy narrows of Knightsbridge. + +Perhaps to please him, the rain fell more heavily as the light +broadened and the coach passed through Kensington turnpike. The +passengers, crouching inside their wraps, looked miserably from under +dripping umbrellas on a wet Hammersmith, and a wetter Brentford. Now +the coach ploughed through deep mud, now it rolled silently over a bed +of chestnut or sycamore leaves which the first frost of autumn had +brought down. Swish, swash, it splashed through a rivulet. It was full +daylight now; it had been daylight an hour. And, at last, joyous sight, +pleasant even to the misanthrope on the box-seat, not far in front, +through a curtain of mist and rain, loomed Maidenhead—and breakfast. + +The up night-coach, retarded twenty minutes by the weather, rattled up +to the door at the same moment. Vaughan foresaw that there would be a +contest for seats at the table, and, without waiting for the ladder, he +swung himself to the ground, and entered the house. Hastily doffing his +streaming overcoats, he made for the coffee-room, where roaring fires +and a plentiful table awaited the travellers. In two minutes he was +served, and isolated by his gloomy thoughts and almost unconscious of +the crowded room and the clatter of plates, he was eating his breakfast +when his next-door neighbour accosted him. + +“Beg your pardon, sir,” he said in a meek voice. “Are you going to +Bristol, sir?” + +Vaughan looked at the speaker, a decent, clean-shaven person in a black +high-collared coat, and a limp white neck-cloth. The man’s face seemed +familiar to him, and instead of answering the question, Vaughan asked +if he knew him. + +“You’ve seen me in the Lobby, sir,” the other answered, fidgeting in +his humility. “I’m Sir Charles Wetherell’s clerk, sir.” + +“Ah! To be sure!” Vaughan replied. “I thought I knew your face. Sir +Charles opens the Assizes to-morrow, I understand?” + +“Yes, sir, if they will let him. Do you think that there is much +danger, sir?” + +“Danger?” Vaughan answered with a smile. “No serious danger.” + +“The Government did not wish him to go, sir,” the other rejoined with +an air of mystery. + +“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Vaughan said. + +“Well, the Corporation didn’t, for certain, sir,” the man persisted in +a low voice. “They wanted him to postpone the Assizes. But he doesn’t +know what fear is, sir. And now the Government’s ordered troops to +Bristol, and I’m afraid that’ll make ’em worse. They’re so set against +him for saying that Bristol was no longer for the Bill. And they’re a +desperate rough lot, sir, down by the Docks!” + +“So I’ve heard,” Vaughan said. “But you may be sure that the +authorities will see that Sir Charles is well guarded!” + +The clerk said nothing to that, although it was clear that he was far +from convinced, or easy. And Vaughan returned to his thoughts. But by +and by it chanced that as he raised his eyes he met those of a girl who +was passing his table on her way from the room; and he remembered with +a sharp pang how Mary had passed his table and looked at him, and +blushed; and how his heart had jumped at the sight. Why, there was the +very waiting-maid who had gone out with her! And there, where the April +sun had shone on her through the window, she had sat! And there, three +places only from his present seat, he had sat himself. Three seats +only—and yet how changed was all! The unmanly tears rose very near to +his eyes as he thought of it. + +He sat so long brooding over this, in that mood in which a man recks +little of time, or of what befalls him, that the guard had to summon +him. And even then, as he donned his coats, with the “boots” fussing +about him, and the coachman grumbling at the delay, his memory was busy +with that morning. There, in the porch, he had stood and heard the +young waterman praise her looks! And there Cooke had stood and +denounced the Reform placard! And there—— + +“Let go!” growled the coachman, losing patience a last. “The +gentleman’s not coming!” + +“I’m coming,” he answered curtly. And crossing the pavement in two +strides, he swung himself up hand over hand, as the stableman released +the horses. The coach started as his foot left the box of the wheel. +And something else started—furiously. + +His heart. For in the place behind the coachman, in the very seat which +Mary Smith had occupied on that far-off April morning, sat Mary +Vermuyden! For an infinitely small fraction of a second, as he turned +himself to drop into his seat, his eyes swept her face. The rain had +ceased to fall, the umbrellas were furled; for that infinitely short +space his eyes rested on her features. Then his back was turned to her. + +Her eyes had been fixed elsewhere, her face had been cold—she had not +seen him. So much, in the confused pounding rush of his thoughts, as he +sat tingling in every inch of his frame, he could remember; but nothing +else except that in lieu of the plain Quaker-like dress which Mary +Smith had worn—oh, dress to be ever remembered!—she was wearing rich +furs, with a great muff and a small hat of sable, and was Mary Smith no +longer. + +Probably she had been there from the start, seated behind him under +cover of the rain and the umbrellas. If so—and he remembered that that +seat had been occupied when he got to his place—she had perceived his +coming, had seen him mount, had been aware of him from the first. She +could see him now, watch every movement, read his self-consciousness in +the stiff pose of his head, perceive the rush of colour which dyed his +ears and neck. + +And he was planted there, he could not escape. And he suffered. Asked +beforehand, he would have said that his uppermost feeling in such +circumstances would be resentment. But, in fact, he could think of +nothing except that meeting in Parliament Street, and the rudeness with +which he had treated her. If he had not refused to speak to her, if he +had not passed her by, rejecting her hand with disdain, he might have +been his own master now; he would have been free to speak, or free to +be silent, as he pleased. And she who had treated him so ill would have +been the one to suffer. But, as it was, he was hot all over. The +intolerable _gêne_ of the situation rested on him and weighed him down. + +Until the coachman called his attention to a passing waggon, and +pointed out a something unusual in its make; which broke the spell and +freed his thoughts. After that he began to feel a little of the wonder +which the coincidence demanded. How came she in the same seat, on the +same coach on which she had travelled before. He could not bring +himself to look round and meet her eyes. But he remembered that a +man-servant, doubtless in attendance on her, shared the hind seat with +the clerk who had spoken to him; and the middle-aged woman who sat with +her was doubtless her maid. Still, he knew Sir Robert well enough to be +sure that he would not countenance her journeying, even with this +attendance, on a public vehicle; and therefore, he argued, she must be +doing it without Sir Robert’s knowledge, and probably in pursuance of +some whim of her own. Could it be that she, too, wished to revive the +bitter-sweet of recollection, the memory of that April day? And, to do +so, had gone out of her way to travel on this cold wet morning on the +same coach, which six months before had brought them together? + +If so, she must love him in spite of all. And in that case, what must +her feelings have been when she saw him take his place? What, when she +knew that she would not taste the bitter-sweet alone, but in his +company? What, when she foresaw that, through the day she would not +pass a single thing of all those well-remembered things, that milestone +which he had pointed out to her, that baiting-house of which she had +asked the name, that stone bridge with the hundred balustrades which +they had crossed in the gloaming—her eyes would not alight on one of +these, without another heart answering to every throb of hers, and +another breast aching as hers ached. + +At that thought a subtle attraction, almost irresistible, drew him to +her, and he could have cried to her, under the pain of separation. For +it was all true. Before his eyes those things were passing. There was +the milestone which he had pointed out to her. And there the ruined +inn. And here were the streets of Reading opening before them, and the +Market Place, and the Bear Inn, where he had saved her from injury, +perhaps from death. + +* * * * * + +They were out of the town, they were clear of the houses, and he had +not looked, he had not been able to look at her. Her weakness, her +inconstancy deserved their punishment: but for all her fortune, to +recover all that he had lost and she had gained, he would not have +looked at her there. Yet, while the coach changed horses in the Square +before the Bear, he had had a glimpse of her—reflected in the window of +a shop; and he had marked with greedy eyes each line of her figure and +seen that she had wound a veil round her face and hat, so that, +whatever her emotions, she might defy curious eyes. And yet, as far as +he was concerned, she had done it in vain. The veil could not hide the +agitation, could not hide the strained rigidity of her pose, or the +convulsive force with which one hand gripped the other in her lap. + +Well, that was over, thank God! For he had as soon seen a woman beaten. +The town was behind them; Newbury was not far in front. And now with +shame he began to savour a weak pleasure in her presence, in her +nearness to him, in the thought that her eyes were on him and her +thoughts full of him, and that if he stretched out his hand he could +touch her; that there was that between them, that there must always be +that between them, which time could not destroy. The coach was loaded, +but for him it carried her only: and for Mary he was sure that he +filled the landscape were it as wide as that which, west of Newbury, +reveals to the admiring traveller the whole wide vale of the Kennet. He +thrilled at the thought; and the coachman asked him if he were cold. +But he was far from cold; he knew that she too trembled, she, too, +thrilled. And a foolish exultation possessed him. He had hungry +thoughts of her nearness, and her beauty; and insane plans of snatching +her to his breast when she left the coach, and covering her with kisses +though a hundred looked on. He might suffer for it, he would deserve to +suffer for it, it would be an intolerable outrage. But he would have +kissed her, he would have held her to his heart. Nothing could undo +that. + +Yet it was only in fancy that he was reckless, for still he did not +dare to look at her. And when they came at last to Marlborough, and +drew up at the door of the Castle Inn, where west-bound travellers +dined, he descended hurriedly and went into the coffee-room to secure a +place in a corner, whence he might see her enter without meeting her +eyes. + +But she did not enter the house, soon or late. And a vain man might +have thought that she was not only bent on doing everything which she +had done on the former journey, but that it was not without intention +that she remained alone on the coach, exposed to his daring—if he chose +to dare. Not a few indeed, of his fellow-passengers, wandered out +before the time, and on the pretence of examining the façade of the +handsome old house, shot sidelong glances at the young lady, who, +wrapped in her furs and veiled to the throat, sat motionless in the +keen October air. But Vaughan was not of these; nor was he vain. When +he found that she did not come in, he decided that she would not meet +him, that she remained on the coach rather than sit in his company; and +forgetting the overture in Parliament Street, he remembered only her +fickleness and weakness. He fell to the depths. She had never loved +him, never, never! + +On that he almost made up his mind to stay there; and to go on by the +next coach. His presence must be hateful to her, a misery, a torment, +he told himself. It was bad enough to force her to remain exposed to +the weather while others dined; it would be monstrous to go on and +continue to make her wretched. + +But, before the time for leaving came, he changed his mind, and he went +out, feeling cowed and looking hard. He could not mount without seeing +her out of the corner of his eye; but the veil masked all, and left him +no wiser. The sun had burst through the clouds, and the sky above the +curving line of the downs was blue. But the October air was still +chilly, and he heard the maid fussing about her, and wrapping her up +more warmly. Well, it mattered little. At Chippenham, the carriage with +its pomp of postillions and outriders—Sir Robert was particular about +such things—would meet her; and he would see her no more. + +His pride weakened at that thought. She could never be anything to him +now; he had no longer the least notion of kissing her. But at +Chippenham, before she passed out of his life, he would speak to her. +Yes, he would speak. He did not know what he would say, but he would +not part from her in anger. He would tell her that, and bid her +good-bye. Later, he would be glad to remember that they had parted in +that way, and that he had forgiven! + +While he thought of it they fell swiftly from the lip of the downs, and +rattling over the narrow bridge and through the stone-built streets of +Calne, were out again on the Bath road. After that, though they took +Black Dog hill at a slow pace, they seemed to be at Chippenham in a +twinkling. Before he could calm his thoughts the coach was rattling +between houses, and the wide straggling street was opening before them, +and the group assembled in front of the Angel to see the coach arrive +was scattering to right and left. + +A glance told him that there was no carriage-and-four in waiting. And +because his heart was jumping so foolishly he was glad to put off the +moment of speaking to her. She would go into the house to wait for the +carriage, and when the coach, with its bustle and its many eyes, had +gone its way, he would be able to speak to her. + +Accordingly, the moment the coach stopped he descended and hastened +into the house. He sent out the “boots” for his valise and betook +himself to the bar-parlour, where he called for something and jested +cheerily with the smiling landlady, who came herself to attend upon +him. He kept his back to the door which Mary must pass to ascend the +stairs, for well he knew the parlour of honour to which she would be +ushered. But though he listened keenly for the rustle of her skirts, a +couple of minutes passed and he heard nothing. + +“You are not going on, sir?” the landlady asked. She knew too much of +the family politics to ask point-blank if he were going to Chippinge. + +“No,” he replied; “no, I”—his attention wandered—“I am not.” + +“I hope we may have the honour of keeping you tonight, sir?” she said. + +“Yes, I”—was that the coach starting?—“I think I shall stay the night.” +And then, “Sir Robert’s carriage is not here?” he asked, setting down +his glass. + +“No, sir. But two gentlemen have just driven in from Sir Robert’s in a +chaise. They are posting to Bath. One’s Colonel Brereton, sir. The +other’s a young gentleman, short and stout. Quite the gentleman, sir, +but that positive, the postboy told me, and talkative, you’d think he +was the Emperor of China! That’s their chaise coming out of the yard +now, sir.” + +A thought, keen as a knife-stab, darted through Vaughan’s mind. In +three strides he was out of the bar-parlour, in three more he was at +the door of the Angel. + +The coach was in the act of starting, the ostlers were falling back, +the guard was swinging himself up; and Mary Vermuyden was where he had +left her, in the place behind the coachman. And in the box-seat, the +very seat which he had vacated, was Bob Flixton, settling himself in +his wraps and turning to talk to her. + +Vaughan let fall a word which we will not chronicle. It was true, then! +They were engaged! Doubtless Flixton had come to meet her, and all was +over. Fan-fa-ra! Fan-fa-ra! The coach was growing small in the +distance. It veered a little, a block of houses hid it, Vaughan saw it +again. Then in the dusk of the October evening the descent to the +bridge swallowed it, and he turned away miserable. + +He walked a little distance from the door that his face might not be +seen. He did not tell himself that, because the view grew misty before +his eyes, he was taking the blow contemptibly; he told himself only +that he was very wretched, and that she was gone. It seemed as if so +much had gone with her; so much of the hope and youth and fortune, and +the homage of men, which had been his when he and she first saw the +streets of Chippenham together and he alighted to talk to Isaac White, +and mounted again to ride on by her side. + +He was standing with his back to the inn thinking of this—and not +bitterly, but in a broken fashion—when he heard his name called, and he +turned and saw Colonel Brereton striding after him. + +“I thought it was you,” Brereton said. But though he had not met +Vaughan for some months, and the two had liked one another, he spoke +with little cordiality, and there was a vague look in his face. “I was +not sure,” he added. + +“You came with Flixton?” Vaughan said, speaking, on his side also, +rather dully. + +“Yes, and meant to go on with him. But there’s no counting on men in +love,” Brereton continued with more irritation than the occasion seemed +to warrant. “He saw his charmer on the coach, and a vacant seat—and I +may find my way to Bath as I can.” + +“They are to be married, I hear?” Vaughan said in the same dull tone +and with his face averted. + +“I don’t know,” Brereton answered sourly. “What I do know is that I’m +not best pleased that he has left me. I heard Sir Charles Wetherell was +sleeping at your cousin’s last evening, and I posted there to see him +about the arrangements for his entry. But I missed him. He’s gone to +Bath for this evening. Well, I took Flixton with me because I didn’t +know Sir Robert and he did, and he’s supposed to be playing +aide-de-camp to me. But a fine aide-de-camp he’s like to prove, if this +is the way he treats me. You know Wetherell opens the Assizes at +Bristol tomorrow?” + +“Yes, I saw his clerk on my way here.” + +“There’ll be trouble, Vaughan!” + +“Really?” + +“Ay, really! And bad trouble! I wish it was over.” He passed his hand +across his brow. + +“I heard something of it in London,” Vaughan answered. + +“Not much, I’ll wager,” Brereton rejoined, with a brusqueness which +betrayed his irritation. “They don’t know much, or they wouldn’t be +sending me eighty sabres to keep order in a city of a hundred thousand +people! Enough, you see, to anger, and not enough to intimidate! It’s +just plain madness. It’s madness. But I’ve made up my mind! I’ve made +up my mind!” he repeated, speaking in a tone which betrayed the +tenseness of his nerves. “Not a man will I show if I can help it! Not a +man! And not a shot will I fire, whatever comes of it! I’ll be no +butcherer of innocent folk.” + +“I hope nothing will come of it,” Vaughan answered, interested in spite +of himself. “You’re in command, sir, of course?” + +“Yes, and I wish to heaven I were not! But there, there!” he continued, +pulling himself up as if he kept a watch on himself and feared that he +had said too much. “Enough of my business. What are you doing here?” + +“Well, I was going to Chippinge.” + +“Come to Bath with me! I shall see Wetherell, and you know him. You may +be of use to me. There’s half the chaise at your service, and I will +tell you about it, as we go.” + +Vaughan at that moment cared little where he went, and after the +briefest hesitation, he consented. A few minutes later they started +together. It happened that as they drove in the last of the twilight +over the long stone bridge, an open car drawn by four horses and +containing a dozen rough-looking men overtook them and raced them for a +hundred yards. + +“There’s another!” Brereton said, rising with an oath and looking after +it. “I was told that two had gone through!” + +“What is it? Who are they?” Vaughan asked, leaning out on his side to +see. + +“Midland Union men, come to stir up the Bristol lambs!” Brereton +answered. “They may spare themselves the trouble,” he continued +bitterly. “The fire will need no poking, I’ll be sworn!” + +And brought back to the subject, he never ceased from that moment to +talk of it. It was plain to anyone who knew him that a nervous +excitability had taken the place of his usual thoughtfulness. Long +before they reached Bath, Vaughan was sure that, whatever his own +troubles, there was one man in the world more unhappy than himself, +more troubled, less at ease; and that that man sat beside him in the +chaise. + +He believed that Brereton exaggerated the peril. But if his fears were +well-based, then he agreed that the soldiers sent were too few. + +“Still a bold front will do much!” he argued. + +“A bold front!” Brereton replied feverishly. “No, but management may! +Management may. They give me eighty swords to control eighty thousand +people! Why, it’s my belief”—and he dropped his voice and laid his hand +on his companion’s arm,—“that the Government wants a riot! Ay, by G—d, +it is! To give the lie to Wetherell and prove that the country, and +Bristol in particular, is firm for the Bill!” + +“Oh, but that’s absurd!” Vaughan answered; though he recalled what +Brougham had said. + +“Absurd or not, nine-tenths of Bristol believe it,” Brereton retorted. +“And I believe it! But I’ll be no butcher. Besides, do you see how I am +placed? If in putting down this riot which is in the Government +interest, and is believed to be fostered by them, I exceed my duty by a +jot, I am a lost man! A lost man! Now do you see?” + +“I can’t think it’s as bad as that,” Vaughan said. + + + + +XXIX +AUTUMN LEAVES + + +Miss Sibson paused to listen, but heard nothing. And disappointed, and +with a sigh, she spread a clean handkerchief over the lap of her gown +and helped herself to part of a round of buttered toast. + +“She’ll not come,” she muttered. “I was a fool to think it! An old fool +to think it!” And she bit viciously into the toast. + +It was long past her usual tea-time, yet she paused a second time to +listen, before she raised her first cup of tea to her lips. A covered +dish which stood on a brass trivet before the bright coal fire gave +forth a savoury smell, and the lamplight which twinkled on sparkling +silver and old Nantgarw, discovered more than the tea-equipage. The red +moreen curtains were drawn before the windows, a tabby cat purred +sleepily on the hearth; in all Bristol was no more cosy or more +cheerful scene. Yet Miss Sibson left the savoury dish untouched, and +ate the toast with less than her customary appetite. + +“I shall set,” she murmured, “‘The Deceitfulness of Riches’ for the +first copy when the children return. And for the second ‘Fine Feathers +Make Fine Birds!’ And”—she continued with determination, though there +was no one to be intimidated—“for the third, ‘There’s No Fool Like an +Old Fool!’” + +She had barely uttered the words when she set down her cup. The roll of +distant wheels had fallen on her ears. She listened for a few seconds, +then she rose in haste and rang the bell. “Martha,” she said when the +maid appeared, “are the two warming-pans in the bed?” + +“To be sure, Ma’am.” + +“And well filled?” Miss Sibson spoke suspiciously. + +“The sheets are as nigh singeing as you’d like, Ma’am,” the maid +answered. “You can smell ’em here! I only hope,” she continued, with a +quaver in her voice, “as we mayn’t smell fire before long!” + +“Smell fiddlesticks!” Miss Sibson retorted. Then “That will do,” she +continued. “I will open the door myself.” + +When she did so the lights of the hackney-coach which had stopped +before the house disclosed first Mary Vermuyden in her furs, standing +on the step; secondly, Mr. Flixton, who had placed himself as near her +as he dared; and thirdly and fourthly, flanking them at a distance of a +pace or two, a tall footman and a maid. + +“Good gracious!” Miss Sibson exclaimed, dismay in her tone. + +“Yes,” Mary answered, almost crying. “They would come! I said I wished +to come alone. Good-night, Mr. Flixton!” + +“Oh, but I—I couldn’t think of leaving you like this!” the Honourable +Bob answered. He had derived a minimum of satisfaction from his ride on +the coach, for Mary had shown herself of the coldest. And if he was to +part from her here he might as well have travelled with Brereton. +Besides, what the deuce was afoot? What was she doing here? + +“And Baxter is as bad,” Mary said plaintively. “As for Thomas——” + +“Beg pardon, Ma’am,” the man said, touching his hat, “but it is as much +as my place is worth.” + +The maid, a woman of mature years, said nothing, but held her ground, +the image of stolid disapproval. She knew Miss Sibson. But Bristol was +strange to her; and the dark windy square, with its flickering lights, +its glimpses of gleaming water and skeleton masts, and its unseen but +creaking windlasses, seemed to her, fresh from Lady Worcester’s, a most +unfitting place for her young lady. + +Miss Sibson cut the knot after her own fashion. “Well, I can’t take you +in,” she said bluffly. “This gentleman,” pointing to Mr. Flixton, “will +find quarters for you at the White Lion or the Bush. And your mistress +will see you to-morrow. Thomas, bring in your young lady’s trunk. +Good-night, sir,” she added, addressing the Honourable Bob. “Miss +Vermuyden will be quite safe with me.” + +“Oh, but I say, Miss Sibson!” he remonstrated. “You can’t mean to take +the moon out of the sky like this, and leave us in the dark? Miss +Vermuyden——” + +“Good-night,” Mary said, not a whit placated by the compliment. And she +slipped past Miss Sibson into the passage. + +“Oh, but it’s not safe, you know!” he cried. “You’re not a hundred +yards from the Mansion House here. And if those beggars make trouble +to-morrow—positively there’s no knowing what will happen!” + +“We can take care of ourselves, sir,” Miss Sibson replied curtly. +“Good-night, sir!” And she shut the door in his face. + +The Honourable Bob glared at it for a time, but it remained closed and +dark. There was nothing to be done save to go. “D——n the woman!” he +cried. And he turned about. + +It was something of a shock to him to find the two servants still at +his elbow, patiently regarding him. “Where are we to go, sir?” the maid +asked, as stolid as before. + +“Go?” cried he, staring. “Go? Eh? What? What do you mean?” + +“Where are we to go, sir, for the night? If you’ll please to show us, +sir. I’m a stranger here.” + +“Oh! This is too much!” the Honourable Bob cried, finding himself on a +sudden a family man. “Go? I don’t care if you go to——” But there he +paused. He put the temptation to tell them to go to blazes from him. +After all, they were Mary’s servants. “Oh, very well! Very well!” he +resumed, fuming. “There, get in! Get in!” indicating the hackney-coach. +“And do you,” he continued, turning to Thomas, “tell him to drive to +the White Lion. Was there ever? That old woman’s a neat artist, if ever +I saw one!” + +And a moment later Flixton trundled off, boxed in with the mature maid, +and vowing to himself that in all his life he had never been so diddled +before. + +Meanwhile, within doors—for farce and tragedy are never far apart—Mary, +with her furs loosened, but not removed, was resisting all Miss +Sibson’s efforts to restrain her. “I must go to her!” she said with +painful persistence. “I must go to her at once, if you please, Miss +Sibson. Where is she?” + +“She is not here,” Miss Sibson said, plump and plain. + +“Not here!” Mary cried, springing from the chair into which Miss Sibson +had compelled her. “Not here!” + +“No. Not in this house.” + +“Then why—why did she tell me to come here?” Mary cried dumbfounded. + +“Her ladyship is next door. No, my dear!” And Miss Sibson interposed +her ample form between Mary and the door. “You cannot go to her until +you have eaten and drunk. She does not expect you, and there is no need +of such haste. She may live a fortnight, three weeks, a month even! And +she must not, my dear, see you with that sad face.” + +Mary gave way at that. She sat down and burst into tears. + +The schoolmistress knew nothing of the encounter in Parliament Street, +nothing of the meeting on the coach. But she was a sagacious woman, and +she discerned something more than the fatigue of the journey, something +more than grief for her mother, in the girl’s depression. She said +nothing, however, contenting herself with patting her guest on the +shoulder and gently removing her wraps and shoes. Then she set a +footstool for her in front of the fire and poured out her tea, and +placed hot sweetbread before her, and toast, and Sally Lunn. And when +Mary, touched by her kindness, flung her arms round her neck and kissed +her, she said only, “That’s better, my dear, drink your tea, and then I +will tell you all I know.” + +“I cannot eat anything.” + +“Oh, yes, you can! After that you are going to see your mother, and +then you will come back and take a good night’s rest. To-morrow you +will do as you like. Her ladyship is with an old servant next door, +through whom she first heard of me.” + +“Why did she not remain in Bath?” Mary asked. + +“I cannot tell you,” Miss Sibson answered. “She has whims. If you ask +me, I should say that she thought Sir Robert would not find her here, +and so could not take you from her.” + +“But the servants?” Mary said in dismay. “They will tell my father. And +indeed——” + +“Indeed what, my dear?” + +“I do not wish to hide from him.” + +“Quite right!” Miss Sibson said. “Quite right, my dear. But I fancy +that that was her ladyship’s reason. Perhaps she thought also that when +she—that afterwards I should be at hand to take care of you. As a +fact,” Miss Sibson continued, rubbing her cheek with the handle of a +teaspoon, a sure sign that she was troubled, “I wish that your mother +had chosen another place. You don’t ask, my dear, where the children +are.” + +Mary looked at her hostess. “Oh, Miss Sibson!” she exclaimed, +conscience-stricken. “You cannot have sent them away for my sake?” + +“No, my dear,” Miss Sibson answered, noting with satisfaction that Mary +was making a meal. “No, their parents have removed them. The Recorder +is coming to-morrow, and he is so unpopular on account of this nasty +Bill—which is setting everyone on horseback whether they can ride or +not—and there is so much talk of trouble when he enters, that all the +foolish people have taken fright and removed their children for the +week. It’s pure nonsense, my dear,” Miss Sibson continued comfortably. +“I’ve seen the windows of the Mansion House broken a score of times at +elections, and not another house in the Square a penny the worse! Just +an old custom. And so it will be to-morrow. But the noise may disturb +her ladyship, and that’s why I wish her elsewhere.” + +Mary did not answer, and the schoolmistress, noting her spiritless +attitude and the dark shadows under her eyes, was confirmed in her +notion that here was something beyond grief for the mother whom the +girl had scarcely known. And Miss Sibson felt a tug at her own +heartstrings. She was well-to-do and well considered in Bristol, and +she was not conscious that her life was monotonous. But the gay scrap +of romance which Mary’s coming had wrought into the dull patchwork of +days, long toned to the note of Mrs. Chapone, was welcome to her. Her +little relaxations, her cosy whist-parties, her hot suppers to follow, +these she had: but here was something brighter and higher. It stirred a +long-forgotten youth, old memories, the ashes of romance. She loved +Mary for it. + +To rouse the girl, she rose from her chair. “Now, my dear,” she said, +“you can go to your room, if you will. And in ten minutes we will step +next door.” + +Mary looked at her with grateful eyes. “I am glad now,” she said, “I am +glad that she came here.” + +“Ah!” the schoolmistress answered, pursing up her lips. And she looked +at the girl uncertainly. “It’s odd,” she said, “I sometimes think that +you are just—Mary Smith.” + +“I am!” the other answered warmly. “Always Mary Smith to you!” And the +old woman took the young one to her arms. + +A quarter of an hour later Mary came down, and she was Mary Smith in +truth. For she had put on the grey Quaker-like dress in which she had +followed her trunk from the coach-office six months before. “I +thought,” she said, “that I could nurse her better in this than in my +new clothes!” But she blushed deeply as she spoke: for if she had this +thought she had others also in her mind. She might not often wear that +dress, but she would never part with it. Arthur Vaughan’s eyes had +worshipped it; his hands had touched it. And in the days to come it +would lie, until she died, in some locked coffer, perfumed with +lavender, and sweet with the dried rose-leaves of her dead romance. And +on one day in the year she would visit it, and bury her face in its +soft faded folds, and dream the old dreams. + +It was but a step to the door of the neighbouring house. But the +distance, though short, steadied the girl’s mind and enabled her to +taste that infinity of the night, that immensity of nature, which, like +a fathomless ocean, islands the littleness of our lighted homes. The +groaning of strained cordage, the creaking of timbers, the far-off +rattle of a boom came off the dark water that lipped the wharves which +still fringe three sides of the Square. Here and there a rare gas-lamp, +lately set up, disclosed the half-bare arms of trees, or some vague +opening leading to the Welsh Back. But for all the two could see, as +they glided from the one door to the other, the busy city about them, +seething with so many passions, pregnant with so much danger, hiding in +its entrails the love, the fear, the secrets of a myriad lives, might +have been in another planet. + +Mary owned the calming influence of the night and the stars, and before +the door opened to Miss Sibson’s knock, the blush had faded from her +cheek. It was with solemn thoughts that she went up the wide oaken +staircase, still handsome, though dusty and fallen from its high +estate. The task before her, the scene on the threshold of which she +trod, brought the purest instincts of her nature into play. But her +guide knocked, someone within the room bade them enter, and Mary +advanced. She saw lights and a bed—a four-poster, heavily curtained. +And half blinded by her tears, she glided towards the bed—or was +gliding, when a querulous voice arrested her midway. + +“So you are come!” it said. And Lady Sybil, who, robed in a silken +dressing-gown, was lying on a small couch in a different part of the +room, tossed a book, not too gently, to the floor. “What stuff! What +stuff!” she ejaculated wearily. “A schoolgirl might write as good! +Well, you are come,” she continued. “There,” as Mary, flung back on +herself, bent timidly and kissed her, “that will do! That will do! I +can’t bear anyone near me! Don’t come too near me! Sit on that chair, +where I can see you!” + +Mary beat back her tears and obeyed with a quivering lip. “I hope you +are better,” she said. + +“Better!” her mother retorted in the same peevish tone. “No, and shall +not be!” Then, with a shrill scream, “Heavens, child, what have you got +on?” she continued. “What have you done to yourself? You look like a +_sœur de Charité!_” + +“I thought that I could nurse you better in this,” Mary faltered. + +“Nurse me!” + +“Yes, I——” + +“Rubbish!” Lady Sybil exclaimed with petulant impatience. “You nurse? +Don’t be silly! Who wants you to nurse me? I want you to amuse me. And +you won’t do that by dressing yourself like a dingy death’s-head moth! +There, for Heaven’s sake,” with a catch in her voice which went to +Mary’s heart, “don’t cry! I’m not strong enough to bear it. Tell me +something! Tell me anything to make me laugh. How did you trick Sir +Robert, child? How did you escape? That will amuse me,” with a +mirthless laugh. “I wish I could see his solemn face when he hears that +you are gone!” + +Mary explained that the summons had found her in London; that her +father was not there, but that still she had had to beat down Lady +Worcester’s resistance before she could have her way and leave. + +“I don’t know her,” Lady Sybil said shortly. + +“She was very kind to me,” Mary answered. + +“I dare say,” in the same tone. + +“But she would not let me go until I gave her my address.” + +Lady Sybil sat up sharply. “And you did that?” she shrieked. “You gave +it her?” + +“I was obliged to give it,” Mary stammered, “or I could not have left +London.” + +“Obliged? Obliged?” Lady Sybil retorted, in the same passionate tone. +“Why, you fool, you might have given her fifty addresses! Any address! +Any address but this! There!” Lady Sybil continued sullenly, as she +sank back and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “You’ve done it +now. You’ve excited me. Give me those drops! There! Are you blind? +Those! Those! And—and sit farther from me! I can’t breathe with you +close to me!” + +After which, when Mary, almost heartbroken, had given her the medicine, +and seated herself in the appointed place, she turned her face to the +wall and lay silent and morose, uttering no sound but an occasional +sigh of pain. + +Meantime, to eyes that could read, the room told her story, and told it +eloquently. The table beside the couch was strewn with rose-bound +Annuals and Keepsakes, and a dozen volumes bearing the labels of more +than one library; books opened only to be cast aside. Costly toys and +embroidered nothings, vinaigrettes and scent-bottles, lay scattered +everywhere; and on other tables, on the mantelpiece, on the floor, a +litter of similar trifles elbowed and jostled the gloomy tokens of +illness. Near the invalid’s hand lay a miniature in a jewelled frame, +while a packet of letters tied with a fragment of gold lace, and a buhl +desk half-closed upon a broken fan told the same tale of ennui, and of +a vanity which survived the charms on which it had rested. The lesson +was not lost on the daughter’s heart. It moved her to purest pity; and +presently, wrung by a sigh more painful than usual, she crept to the +couch, sank on her knees, and pressed her cool lips to the wasted hand +which hung from it. Even then for a time her mother did not move or +take notice. But slowly the weary sighs grew more frequent, grew to +sobs—how much less poignant!—and her weak arm drew Mary’s head to her +bosom. + +And by-and-by the arm tightened its hold and gripped her convulsively, +the sobs grew deeper and shook the worn form at each respiration; and +presently, “Ah, God, what will become of me?” burst from the depths of +the poor quaking heart, too proud hitherto to make its fear known. +“What will become of me?” + +That cry pierced Mary like a knife, but its confession of weakness made +mother and daughter one. Her feeble arms could not avert the approach +of the dark shadow, whose coming terrified though it could not change. +But what human love could do, what patient self-forgetfulness might +teach, she vowed that she would do and teach; and what clinging hands +might compass to delay the end, her hands should compass. When Miss +Sibson’s message, informing her that it was time to return, was brought +to her, she shook her head, smiling, and locked the door. “I shall be +your nurse, after all!” she said. “I shall not leave you.” And before +midnight, with a brave contentment, for which Lady Sybil’s following +eyes were warrant, she had taken possession of the room and all its +contents; she had tidied as much as it was good to tidy, she had knelt +to heat the milk or brush the hearth, she had smoothed the pillow, and +sworn a score of times that nothing, no Sir Robert, no father, no force +should tear her from this her duty, this her joy—until the end. + +No memory of her dull childhood, or of the days of labour and servitude +which she owed to the dying woman, no thought of the joys of wealth and +youth which she had lost through her, rose to mar the sincerity of her +love. Much less did such reflections trouble her on whose flighty mind +they should have rested so heavily. So far indeed was this from being +the case, that when Mary stooped to some office which the mother’s +fastidiousness deemed beneath her, “How can you do that?” Lady Sybil +cried peevishly. “I’ll not have you do it! Do you hear me, girl? Let +some servant see to it! What else are they for!” + +“But I used to do it every day at Clapham,” Mary answered cheerfully. +She had not spoken before, aware of the reproach which her words +conveyed, she could have bitten her tongue. + +But Lady Sybil did not wince. “Then why did you do it?” she retorted, +“Why did you do it? Why were you so foolish as to stoop to such things? +I’m sure you didn’t get your poor spirit from me! And Vermuyden was as +stiff as a poker! But there! I remember the prince saying once that +ladies went out of fashion with hoops, and gentlemen with snuffboxes. +You make me think he was right. Oh, clumsy!” she continued, raising her +voice, “now you are turning the light on my face! Do you wish to see me +hideous?” + +Mary moved it. “Is that better, mother?” she asked. + +Lady Sybil cast a resentful glance at her. “There, there, let it be!” +she said. “You can’t help it. You’re like your father. He could never +do anything right! I suppose I am doomed to have none but helpless +people about me.” + +And so on, and so on. Like many invalids, she was most lively at night, +and she continued to complain through long restless hours, with the +candles burning lower and lower, and the snuffers coming into more +frequent request. Until with the chill before the dawn she fell at last +into a fitful sleep; and Mary, creeping to the close-curtained windows +to cool her weary eyes, peeped out and saw the grey of the morning. +Outside, the Square was beginning to discover its half-bare trees and +long straight rows of houses. Through openings, here and there, the +water glimmered mistily; and on the height facing her, the tall tower +of St. Mary Redcliffe rose above the roofs and pointed skywards. Little +did Mary think what the day would bring forth in that grey deserted +place on which she looked; or in what changed conditions, under what +stress of mind and heart, she would, before the sun set twice, view +that Square. + + + + +XXX +THE MAYOR’S RECEPTION IN QUEEN’S SQUARE + + +The day, of which Mary watched the cloudy opening from her mother’s +window, was drawing to a close; and from a house in the same Square—but +on the north side, whereas Miss Sibson’s was on the west—another pair +of eyes looked out, while a heart, which a few hours before had been as +sore as hers, rose a little at the prospect. Arthur Vaughan, ignorant +of her proximity—to love’s shame be it said—sat in a window on the +first floor of the Mansion House, and, undismayed by the occasional +crash of glass, watched the movements of the swaying, shouting, mocking +crowd; a crowd, numbering some thousands, which occupied the middle +space of the Square, as well as the roadways, clustered upon the +Immortal Memory, overflowed into the side streets, and now joined in +one mighty roar of “Reform! Reform!” now groaned thunderously at the +name of Wetherell. Behind Vaughan in the same room, the drawing-room of +the official residence, some twenty or thirty persons argued and +gesticulated; at one time approaching a window to settle a debated +point, at another scattering with exclamations of anger as a stone fell +or some other missile alighted among them. + +“Boo! Boo!” yelled the mob below. “Throw him out! Reform! Reform!” + +Vaughan looked down on the welter of moving faces. He saw that the +stone-throwers were few, and the daredevils, who at times adventured to +pull up the railings which guarded the forecourt, were fewer. But he +saw also that the mass sympathised with them, egged them on, and +applauded their exploits. And he wondered what would happen when night +fell, and wondered again why the peaceable citizens who wrangled behind +him made light of the position. The glass was flying, here and there an +iron bar had vanished from the railings, night was approaching. For him +it was very well. He had accompanied Brereton to Bristol to see what +would happen, and for his part, if the adventure proved to be of the +first class, so much the better. But the good pursy citizens behind +him, who, when they were not deafening the little Mayor with their +counsels, were making a jest of the turmoil, had wives and daughters, +goods and houses within reach. And in their place he felt that he would +have been far from easy. + +By and by it appeared that some of them shared his feelings. For +presently, in a momentary lull of the babel outside, a voice he knew +rose above those in the room. + +“Nothing? You call it nothing?” Mr. Cooke—for his was the voice—cried. +“Nothing, that his Majesty’s Judge has been hooted and pelted from +Totterdown to the Guildhall? Nothing, that the Recorder of Bristol has +been hunted like a criminal from the Guildhall to this place! You call +it nothing, sir, that his Majesty’s Commission has been flouted for six +hours past by all the riffraff of the Docks? And with half of decent +Bristol looking on and applauding!” + +“Oh, no, no!” the little Mayor remonstrated. “Not applauding, Mr. +Cooke!” + +“Yes, sir, applauding!” Cooke retorted with vigour. + +“And teach Wetherell a lesson!” someone in the background muttered. + +The man spoke low, but Cooke heard the words and wheeled about. “There, +sir, there!” he cried, stuttering in his indignation. “What do you say +to that? Here, in your presence, the King’s Judge is insulted. But I +warn you,” he continued, “I warn you all! You are playing with fire! +You are laughing in your sleeves, but you’ll cry in your shirts! You, +Mr. Mayor, I call upon you to do your duty! I call upon you to summon +the military and give the order to clear the streets before worse comes +of it.” + +“I don’t—I really don’t—think that it is necessary,” the Mayor answered +pacifically. “I have seen as bad as this at half a dozen elections, Mr. +Cooke.” + +The Town-clerk, a tall, thin man, who still wore his gown though he had +laid aside his wig, struck in. “Quite true, Mr. Mayor!” he said. “The +fact is, the crowd thinks itself hardly used on these occasions if it +is not allowed to break the windows and do a little mischief on the +lower floor.” + +“By G—d, I’d teach it a lesson then!” Cooke retorted. “It seems to me +it is time someone did!” + +Two or three expressed the same opinion, though they did so with less +decision. But the main part smiled at Cooke’s heat as at a foolish +display of temper. “I’ve seen as much half a dozen times,” said one, +shrugging his shoulders. “And no harm done!” + +“I’ve seen worse!” another answered. “And after all,” the speaker added +with a wink, “it is good for the glaziers.” + +Fortunately, Cooke did not hear this last. But Vaughan heard it, and he +judged that the rioters had their backers within as well as without; +and that within, as without, the notion prevailed that the Government +would not be best pleased if the movement were too roughly checked. An +old proverb about the wisdom of dealing with the beginnings of mischief +occurred to him. But he supposed that the authorities knew their +business and Bristol, and, more correctly than he, could gauge the mob +and the danger, of both of which they made so light. + +Still he wondered. And he wondered more three minutes later. Two +servants brought in lights. Unfortunately the effect of these was to +reveal the interior of the room to the mob, and the change was the +signal for a fusillade of stones so much more serious and violent than +anything which had gone before that a quick _sauve qui peut_ took +place. Vaughan was dislodged with the others—he could do no good by +remaining; and in two minutes the room was empty, and the mob were +celebrating their victory with peals of titanic laughter, accompanied +by fierce cries of “Throw him out! Throw out the d——d Recorder! +Reform!” + +Meanwhile the company, with one broken head and one or two pale faces, +had taken refuge on the landing behind the drawing-room, the stairs +ascending to which were guarded by a reserve of constables. Vaughan saw +that the Mayor and his satellites were beginning to look at one +another, and leaning, quietly observant, against the wall, he noticed +that more than one was shaken. Still the little Mayor retained his +good-humour. “Oh, dear, dear!” he said indulgently. “This is too bad! +Really too bad!” + +“We’d better go upstairs,” Sergeant Ludlow, the Town-clerk, suggested. +“We can see what passes as well from that floor as from this, and with +less risk!” + +“No, but really this is growing serious,” a third said timidly. “It’s +too bad, this.” + +He had scarcely spoken, and the Mayor was still standing undecided, as +if he did not quite like the idea of retreat, when two persons, one +with his head bandaged, came quickly up the stairs. “Where’s the +Mayor?” cried the first. And then, “Mr. Mayor, they are pushing us too +hard,” said the second, an officer of special constables. “We must have +help, or they will pull the house about our ears.” + +“Oh, nonsense!” + +“But it’s not nonsense, sir,” the man answered angrily. + +“But——” + +“You must read the Riot Act, sir,” the other, who was the +Under-Sheriff, chimed in. “And the sooner the better, Mr. Mayor,” he +added with decision. “We’ve half a dozen men badly hurt. In my opinion +you should send for the military.” + +The group on the landing looked aghast at one another. What, danger? +Really—danger? Half a dozen men badly hurt? Then one made an effort to +carry it off. “Send for the military?” he gasped. “Oh, but that is +absurd! That would only make matters worse!” + +The others did not speak, and the Mayor in particular looked upset. +Perhaps for the first time he appreciated the responsibility which lay +on his shoulders. Meanwhile Vaughan saw all; and Cooke also, and the +latter laughed maliciously. “Perhaps you will listen now,” he said with +an ill-natured chuckle. “You would not listen to me!” + +“Dear, dear,” the Mayor quavered. “Is it really as serious as that, Mr. +Hare?” He turned to the Town-clerk. “What do you advise?” he asked. + +“I think with Mr. Hare that you had better read the Riot Act, sir.” + +“Very well, I’ll come down! I’ll come down at once,” the Mayor assented +with spirit. “Only,” he continued, looking round him, “I beg that some +gentleman known to be on the side of Reform, will come with me. Who has +the Riot Act?” + +“Mr. Burges. Where is he?” + +“I am here, sir,” replied the gentleman named. “I am quite ready, Mr. +Mayor. If you will say a few words to the crowd; I am sure they will +listen. Let us go down!” + +* * * * * + +Twenty minutes later the same group, but with disordered clothes and +sickly faces—and as to Mr. Burges, with a broken head—were gathered +again on the landing. In those twenty minutes, despite the magic of the +Riot Act, the violence of the mob had grown rather than diminished. +They were beginning to talk of burning the Mansion House, they were +calling for straw, they were demanding lights. Darkness had fallen, +too, and there could be no question now that the position was serious. +The Mayor, who, below stairs, had shown no lack of courage, turned to +the Town-clerk. “Ought I to call out the military?” he asked. + +“I think that we should take Sir Charles Wetherell’s opinion,” the +tall, thin man answered, deftly shifting the burden from his own +shoulders. + +“The sooner Sir Charles is gone the better, I should say!” Cooke said +bluntly. “If we don’t want to have his blood on our heads.” + +“I am with Mr. Cooke there,” the Under-Sheriff struck in. He was +responsible for the Judge’s safety, and he spoke strongly. “Sir Charles +should be got away,” he continued. “That’s the first thing to be done. +He cannot hold the Assizes, and I say frankly that I will not be +responsible if he stays.” + +“Jonah!” someone muttered with a sneering laugh. + +The Mayor turned about. “That’s very improper!” he said. + +“It’s very improper to send a Judge who is a politician!” the voice +answered. + +“And against the Bill!” a second jeered. + +“For shame! For shame!” the Mayor cried. + +“And I fancy, sir,” the Under-Sheriff struck in with heat, “that the +gentlemen who have just spoken—I think I can guess their names—will be +sorry before morning! They will find that it is easier to kindle a fire +than to put it out! But—silence, gentlemen! Silence! Here is Sir +Charles!” + +Wetherell had that moment opened the door of his private room, of which +the window looked to the back. His face betrayed his surprise on +finding twenty or thirty persons huddled in disorder at the head of the +stairs. The two lights which had survived the flight from the +drawing-room flared in the draught of the shattered windows, and the +wavering illumination gave a sinister cast to the scene. The dull +rattle of stones on the floor of the rooms exposed to the Square—varied +at times by a roar of voices or a rush of feet in the hall +below—suggested that the danger was near at hand, and that the +assailants might at any moment break into the building. + +Nevertheless Sir Charles showed no signs of fear. After letting his +eyes travel over the group, “How long is this going on, Mr. +Under-Sheriff?” he asked, plunging his hands deep in his breeches +pockets. + +“Well, Sir Charles——” + +“They seem,” with a touch of sternness, “to be carrying the jest rather +too far.” + +“Mr. Cooke,” the Mayor said, “wishes me to call out the military.” + +Wetherell shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “The occasion is not so +serious as to justify that. You cannot say that life is in danger?” + +The Under-Sheriff put himself forward. “I can say, sir,” he answered +firmly, “that yours is in danger. And in serious danger!” + +Wetherell planted his feet further apart, and thrust his hands lower +into his pockets. “Oh, no, no,” he said. + +“It is yes, yes, sir,” the Under-Sheriff replied bluntly. “Unless you +leave the house I cannot be responsible! I cannot, indeed, Sir +Charles.” + +“But——” + +“Listen, sir! If you don’t wish a very terrible catastrophe to happen, +you must go! By G—d you must!” the Under-Sheriff repeated, forgetting +his manners. + +The noise below had swollen suddenly. Cries, blows, and shrieks rose up +the staircase, and announced that at any moment the party above might +have to defend their lives. At the prospect suddenly presented, respect +for dignities took flight; panic seized the majority. Constables, +thrusting aldermen and magistrates aside, raced up the stairs, and +bundled down again laden with beds with which to block the windows: +while the picked men who had hitherto guarded the foot of the staircase +left their posts in charge of two or three of the wounded, who groaned +dismally. Apparently the mob had broken into part of the ground floor, +and were with difficulty held at bay. + +One of the party struck his hand on the balusters—it was Mr. Cooke. “By +Heavens!” he said, “this is what comes of your d——d Reform! Your d——d +Reform! We shall all be murdered, every man of us! Murdered!” + +“For God’s sake, Mr. Mayor,” cried a quavering voice, “send for the +military.” + +“Ay, ay! the soldiers. Send for the soldiers, sir!” echoed two or +three. + +“Certainly I will,” said the Mayor, who was cooler than most. “Who will +go?” + +A man volunteered. On which Vaughan, who had so far remained silent, +stepped forward. “Sir Charles,” he said, “you must retire. Your duties +are at an end, and your presence hampers the defence. Permit me to +escort you. I am unknown here, and can pass through the streets.” + +Wetherell, as brave, stout and as solid a man as any in England, +hesitated. But he saw that it would soon be everyone for himself; and +in that event he was doomed. The din was waxing louder and more +menacing; the group on the stairs was melting away. In terror on their +own account, the officials were beginning to forget his presence. +Several had already disappeared, seeking to save themselves, this way +and that. Others were going. Every moment the confusion increased, and +the panic. He gave way. “You think I ought to go, Vaughan?” he asked in +a low voice. + +“I do, sir,” Vaughan answered. And, entering the Recorder’s room, he +brought out Sir Charles’s hat and cloak and hastily thrust them on him, +scarcely anyone else attending to them. As he did this his eye alighted +on a constable’s staff which lay on the floor where its owner had +dropped it. Thinking that, as he was without arms, he might as well +possess himself of it, Vaughan left Wetherell’s side and went to pick +it up. At that moment a roar of sound, as sudden as the explosion of a +gun, burst up the staircase. Two or three cried in a frenzied way that +the mob were coming; some fled this way, some that, a few to windows at +the back, more to the upper story, while a handful obeyed Vaughan’s +call to stand and hold the head of the stairs. For a brief space all +was disorder and—save in his neighbourhood—panic. Then a voice below +shouted that the soldiers were come, and a general “Thank God! Not a +moment too soon!” was heard on all sides. Vaughan made sure that it was +true, and then he turned to rejoin Sir Charles. + +But Wetherell had vanished, and no one could say in which direction. +Vaughan hurried upstairs and along the passages in anxious search; but +in vain. One told him that Sir Charles had left by a window at the +back; another, that he had been seen going upstairs with the +Under-Sheriff. He could learn nothing certain; and he was asking +himself what he should do next, when the sound of cheering reached his +ear. + +“What is that?” he asked a man who met him as he descended the stairs +from the second floor. + +“They are cheering the soldiers,” the man replied. + +“I am glad to hear it!” Vaughan exclaimed. + +“I’d say so too,” the other rejoined glumly, “if I was certain on which +side the soldiers were! But you’re wanted, sir, in the drawing-room. +The Mayor asked me to find you.” + +“Very good,” Vaughan said, and without delay he followed the messenger +to the room he had named. Here, with the relics of the fray about them, +he found the Mayor and four or five officials who looked woefully +shaken and flustered. With them were Brereton and the Honourable Bob, +both in uniform. The stone-throwing had ceased, for the front of the +house was now guarded by a double line of troopers in red cloaks. +Lights, too, had been brought, and in the main the danger seemed to be +over. But about this council there was none of that lightheartedness, +none of that easy contempt which had characterised the one held in the +same room an hour or two before. The lesson had been learnt in a +measure. + +The Mayor looked at Vaughan as he entered. “Is this the gentleman?” he +asked. + +“Yes, that is the gentleman who got us together at the head of the +stairs,” a person, a stranger to Vaughan, answered. “If he,” the man +continued, “were put in charge of the constables, who are at present at +sixes and sevens, we might manage something.” + +A voice in the background mentioned that it was Mr. Vaughan, the Member +for Chippinge. “I shall be glad to do anything I can,” Vaughan said. + +“In support of the military,” the tall, thin Town-clerk interposed, in +a decided tone. “That must be understood. Eh, Mr. Burges?” + +“Certainly,” the City Solicitor answered. And they both looked at +Colonel Brereton, who, somewhat to Vaughan’s surprise, had not +acknowledged his presence. + +“Of course, of course,” said the Mayor pacifically. “That is +understood. I am quite sure that Colonel Brereton will use his utmost +force to clear the streets and quiet the city.” + +“I shall do what I think right,” Brereton replied, standing up +straight, with his hand on his sword-hilt, and looking, among the +disordered citizens, like a Spanish hidalgo among a troop of peasants. +“I shall do what is right,” he repeated stubbornly; and Vaughan, +knowing the man well, perceived that, quiet as he seemed, he was +labouring under strong excitement. “I shall walk my horses about. The +crowd are perfectly good-humoured, and only need to be kept moving.” + +The Town-clerk exchanged a glance with a neighbour. “But do you think, +sir,” he said, “that that will be sufficient? You are aware, I suppose, +that great damage has been done already, and that had your troop not +arrived when it did many lives might have been sacrificed?” + +“That is all I shall do,” Brereton answered. “Unless,” with a faint +ring of contempt in his tone, “the Mayor gives me an express and +written order to attack the people.” + +The Mayor’s face was a picture. “I?” he gasped. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“But I—I could not take that responsibility on myself,” the Mayor +cried. “I couldn’t, I really couldn’t!” he repeated, taken aback by the +burden it was proposed to put on him. “I can’t judge, Colonel +Brereton—I am not a military man—whether it is necessary or not.” + +“I should consider it unwise,” Brereton replied formally. + +“Very good! Then—then you must use your discretion.” + +“Just so. That’s what I supposed,” Brereton replied, not masking his +contempt for the vacillation of those about him. “In that case I shall +pursue the line of action I have indicated. I shall walk my horses up +and down. The crowd are perfectly good-humoured. What is it, pray?” + +He turned, frowning. A man had entered the room and was whispering in +the Town-clerk’s ear. The latter straightened himself with a heated +face. “You call them good-humoured, sir?” he said. “I hear that two of +your men, Colonel Brereton, have just been brought in severely wounded. +I do not know whether you call that good-humour?” + +Brereton looked a little discomposed. “They must have brought it on +themselves,” he said, “by some rashness. Your constables have no +discretion.” + +“I think you should at least clear the Square and the neighbouring +streets,” the Town-clerk persisted. + +“I have indicated what I shall do,” Brereton replied, with a gloomy +look. “And I am prepared to be responsible for the safety of the city. +If you wish me to act beyond my judgment, the civil power must give me +an express and written order.” + +Still the Mayor and those about him looked uneasy, though they did not +dare to do what Brereton suggested. The howls of the rabble still rang +in their ears, and before their eyes they had the black, gaping +casements, through which an ominous murmur entered. They had waited +long before calling in the Military, they had hesitated long; for +Peterloo had erased Waterloo from the memory of an ungrateful +generation, and men, secure abroad and straining after Reform at home, +held a red-coat in small favour, if not in suspicion. But having called +the red-coats in, they looked for something more than this, for some +vindication of the law and the civil power, some stroke which would +cast terror into the hearts of misdoers. The Town-clerk, in particular, +had his doubts, and when no one else spoke he put them into words. + +“May I ask,” he said formally, “if you have any orders, Colonel +Brereton, from the Secretary of State or the Horse Guards, which +prevent you from obeying the directions of the magistrates?” + +Brereton looked at him sternly. + +“No,” he said, “I am prepared to obey your orders, stated in the manner +I have laid down. Then the responsibility will not lie with me.” + +But the Mayor stepped back. “I couldn’t take it on myself, sir. I—God +knows what the consequences might be!” He looked round piteously. “We +don’t want another Manchester massacre.” + +“I fancy,” Brereton answered grimly, “that if we have another +Manchester business, it will go ill with those who sign the order! +Times are changed since ’19, gentlemen—and governments! And I think we +understand that. You leave it to me, then, gentlemen?” + +No one spoke. + +“Very good,” he continued. “If your constables will do their duty with +discretion—and you could not have a better man to command them than Mr. +Vaughan, but he ought to be going about it now—I will answer for the +peace of the city.” + +“But—but we shall see you again, Colonel Brereton,” the Mayor cried in +some agitation. + +“See me, sir?” Brereton answered contemptuously. + +“Oh, yes, you can see me, if you wish to! But——” He shrugged his +shoulders, and turned away without finishing the sentence. + +Vaughan, when he heard that, knew that, cool as Brereton seemed, he was +not himself. A moody stubbornness had taken the place of last night’s +excitement; but that was all. And as the party trooped downstairs—he +had requested the Mayor to say a few words, placing the constables +under his control—he swallowed his private feelings and approached +Flixton. + +“Flixton,” he whispered, throwing what friendliness he could into his +voice. “Do you think Brereton’s right?” + +Flixton turned an ill-humoured face towards him, and dragged at his +sword-belt. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said irritably. “It’s his business, +and I suppose he can judge. There’s a deuce of a crowd, I know, and if +we go charging into it we shall be swallowed up in a twinkling!” + +“But it has been whispered to me,” Vaughan replied, “that he told the +people on his way here that he’s for Reform. Isn’t it unwise to let +them think that the soldiers may side with them?” + +“Fine talking,” Flixton answered with a sneer. “And God knows if we had +five hundred men, or three hundred, I’d agree. But what can sixty or +eighty men do galloping over slippery pavements in the dark? And if we +fire and kill a dozen, the Government will hang us to clear themselves! +And these d——d nigger-drivers and sugar-boilers behind us would be the +first to swear against us!” + +Vaughan had his own opinion. But they had to part then. Flixton, in his +blue uniform—there were two troops present, one of the 3rd Dragoon +Guards in red, and one of the 14th Dragoons in blue—went out by +Brereton’s side with his spurs ringing on the stone pavement and his +sword clanking. He was not acting with his troop, but as the Colonel’s +aide-de-camp. Meanwhile Vaughan, who could not see the old blue uniform +without a pang, went with the Mayor to marshal the constables. + +Of these no more than eighty remained, and with little stomach for the +task before them. This task, indeed, notwithstanding the check which +the arrival of the troopers had given the mob, was far from easy. The +ground-floor of the Mansion House looked like a place taken by storm +and sacked. The railings which guarded the forecourt were gone, and +even the wall on which they stood had been demolished to furnish +missiles. The doorways and windows, where they were not clumsily +barricaded, were apertures inviting entrance. In one room lay a pile of +straw ready for lighting. In another lay half a dozen wounded men. +Everywhere the cold wind, blowing off the water of the Welsh Back, +entered a dozen openings and extinguished the flares as quickly as they +could be lighted, casting now one room and now another into black +shadow. + +But if the men had little heart for further exertions, Vaughan’s +manhood rose the higher to meet the call. Bringing his soldier’s +training into play, in a few minutes he had his force divided into four +companies, each under a leader. Two he held in reserve, bidding them +get what rest they could; with the other two he manned the forecourt, +and guarded the flank which lay open to the Welsh Back. And as long as +the troopers rode up and down within a stone’s-throw all was well. But +when the soldiers passed to the other side of the Square a rush was +made on the house—mainly by a gang of the low Irish of the +neighbourhood—and many a stout blow was struck before the rabble, who +thirsted for the strong ale and wine in the cellars, could be dislodged +from the forecourt and driven to a distance. The danger to life was not +great, though the tale of wounded grew steadily; nor could the post of +Chief Constable be held to confer much honour on one who so short a +time before had dreamt of Cabinets and portfolios, and of a Senate +hanging on his words. But the joy of conflict was something to a stout +heart, and the sense of success. Something, too, it was to feel that +where he stood his men stood also; and that where he was not, the +Irish, with their brickbats and iron bars, made a way. There was a big +lout, believed by some to be a Brummagem man and a tool of the +Political Union, who more than once led on the assailants; and when +Vaughan found that this man shunned him and chose the side where he was +not, that too was a joy. + +“After all, this is what I am good for,” he told himself as he stood to +take breath after a _mêlée_ which was at once the most serious and the +last. “I was a fool to leave the regiment,” he continued, staunching a +trickle of blood which ran from a cut on his cheek bone. “For, after +all, better a good blow than a bad speech! Better, perhaps, a good blow +than all the speeches, good and bad!” And in the heat of the moment he +swung his staff. Then—then he thought of Mary and of Flixton, and his +heart sank, and his joy was at an end. + +“Don’t think they’ll try us again, sir,” said an old pensioner, who had +constituted himself his orderly, and who had known the neigh of the +war-horse in the Peninsula. “If we had had you at the beginning we’d +have had no need of the old Blues, nor the Third either!” + +“Oh, that’s rubbish!” Vaughan replied. But he owned the flattery, and +his heart warmed to the pensioner, whose prediction proved to be +correct. The crowd melted slowly but certainly after that. By eleven +o’clock there were but a couple of hundred in the Square. By twelve, +even these were gone. A half-dozen troopers, and as many +tatterdemalions, slinking about the dark corners, were all that +remained of the combatants; and the Mayor, with many words, presented +Vaughan with the thanks of the city for his services. + +“It is gratifying, Mr. Vaughan,” he added, “to find that Colonel +Brereton was right.” + +“Yes,” Vaughan agreed. And he took his leave, carrying off his staff +for a memento. + +He was very weary, and it was not the shortest way to the White Lion, +yet his feet carried him across the dark Square and past the Immortal +Memory to the front of Miss Sibson’s house. It showed no lights to the +Square, but in a first-floor window of the next house he marked a faint +radiance as of a shaded taper, and the outline of a head—doubtless the +head of someone looking out to make sure that the disorder was at an +end. He saw, but love was at fault. No inner voice told him that the +head was Mary’s! No thrill revealed to him that at that very moment, +with her brow pressed to the cold pane, she was thinking of him! None! +With a sigh, and a farther fall from the lightheartedness of an hour +before, he went his way. + +Broad Street was quiet, but half a dozen persons were gathered outside +the White Lion. They were listening: and one of them told him, as he +passed in, that the Blues, in beating back a party from the Council +House, a short time before, had shot one of the rioters. In the hall he +found several groups debating some point with heat, but they fell +silent when they saw him, one nudging another; and he fancied that they +paid especial attention to him. As he moved towards the office, a man +detached himself from them and approached him with a formal air. + +“Mr. Vaughan, I think?” he said. + +“Yes.” + +“Mr. Arthur Vaughan?” the man, who was a complete stranger to Vaughan, +repeated. “Member of Parliament for Chippinge, I believe?” + +“Yes.” + +“Reform Member?” + +Vaughan eyed him narrowly. “If you are one of my constituents,” he said +drily, “I will answer that question.” + +“I am not one,” the man rejoined, with a little less confidence. “But +it’s my business, nevertheless, to warn you, Mr. Vaughan, in your own +interests, that the part you have been taking here will not commend you +to them! You have been handling the people very roughly, I am told. +Very roughly! Now, I am Mr. Here——” + +“You may be Mr. Here or Mr. There,” Vaughan said, cutting him short—but +very quietly. “But if you say another word to me, I will throw you +through that door for your impudence! That is all. Now—have you any +more to say?” + +The man tried to carry it off. For there was sniggering behind him. But +Vaughan’s blood was up, the agitator read it in the young man’s eye, +and being a man of words, not deeds, he fell back. Vaughan went up to +bed. + + + + +XXXI +SUNDAY IN BRISTOL + + +It was far from Vaughan’s humour to play the bully, and before he had +even reached his bedroom, which looked to the back, he repented of his +vehemence. Between that and the natural turmoil of his feelings he lay +long waking; and twice, in a stillness which proclaimed that all was +well, he heard the Bristol clocks tell the hour. After all, then, +Brereton had been right! For himself, had the command been his, he +would have adopted more strenuous measures. He would have tried to put +fear into the mob before the riot reached its height. And had he done +so, how dire might have been the consequences! How many homes might at +this moment be mourning his action, how many innocent persons be +suffering pain and misery! + +Whereas Brereton, the strong, quiet man, resisting importunity, +shunning haste, keeping his head where others wavered, had carried the +city through its trouble, with scarce the loss of a single life. Truly +he was one whom + +_Non civium ardor prava jubentium_, + +_Non vultus instantis tyranni_ + +_Mente quatit solida!_ + + +Vaughan thought of him with a new respect, and of himself with a new +humility. He was forced to acknowledge that even in that field of +action which he had quitted, and to which he was now inclined to +return, he was not likely to pick up a marshal’s bâton. + +He slept at length, and long and heavily, awaking towards ten o’clock +with aching limbs and a cheek so sore that it brought all that had +passed to instant recollection. He found his hot water at his door, and +he dressed slowly and despondently, feeling the reaction and thinking +of Mary, and of that sunny morning, six months back, when he had looked +into Broad Street from a window of this very house, and dreamed of a +modest bonnet and a sweet blushing face. An hour after that, he +remembered, he had happened on the Honourable—oh, d—— Flixton! All his +troubles had started from that unlucky meeting with him. + +He found his breakfast laid in the next room, the coffee and bacon in a +Japan cat by the fire. He ate and drank in an atmosphere of gloomy +retrospect. If he had never met Flixton! If he had not gone to that +unlucky dinner at Chippinge! If he had spoken to her in Parliament +Street! If—if—if! The bells of half a dozen churches were ringing, +drumming his regrets into him; and he stood awhile irresolute, looking +through the window. The inn-yard, which was all the prospect the window +commanded, was empty; an old liver-and-white pointer, scratching itself +in a corner, was the only living thing in it. But while he looked, +wondering if the dog had been a good dog in its time, two men came +running into the yard with every sign of haste and pressure. One, in a +yellow jacket, flung himself against a stable door and vanished within, +leaving the door open. The other pounced on a chaise, one of half a +dozen ranged under a shed, and by main force dragged it into the open. + +The men’s actions impressed Vaughan with a vague uneasiness. He +listened. Was it fancy, or did he catch the sound of a distant shot? +And—there seemed to be an odd murmur in the air. He seized his hat, put +on his caped coat—for a cold drizzle was falling—and went downstairs. + +The hall was empty, but through the open doorway he could see a knot of +people, standing outside, looking up the street. He made for the +threshold, and asked the rearmost of the starers what it was. + +“Eh, what is it?” the man answered volubly. “Oh, they’re gone! It’s +true enough! And such a crowd as was never seen, I’m told—stoning them, +and shouting ‘Bloody Blues!’ after them. They’re gone right away to +Keynsham, and glad to be there with whole bones!” + +“But what is it?” Vaughan asked impatiently. “What has happened, my +man? Who’re gone?” + +The man turned for the first time, and saw who it was. “You have not +heard, sir?” he exclaimed. + +“Not a word.” + +“Not that the people have risen? And most part pulled down the Mansion +House? Ay, first thing this morning, sir! They say old Pinney, the +Mayor, got out at the back just in time or he’d have been murdered! +He’s had to send the military away—anyways, the Blues who killed the +lad last night on the Pithay.” + +“Impossible!” Vaughan exclaimed, turning red with anger. “You cannot +have heard aright.” + +“It’s as true as true!” the man replied, rubbing his hands in +excitement. “As for me,” he continued, “I was always for Reform! And +this will teach the Lords a lesson! They’ll know our mind now, and that +Wetherell’s a liar, begging your pardon, sir. And the old Corporation’s +not much better. A set of Tories mostly! If the Welsh Back drinks their +cellars dry it won’t hurt me, nor Bristol.” + +Vaughan was too sharply surprised to rebuke the man. Could the story be +true! And if it were, what was Brereton doing? He could not have been +so foolish as to halve his force in obedience to the people he was sent +to check! But the murmur in the air was a fact, and past the end of the +street men were running in anything but a Sunday fashion. + +He went back to his room and pocketed his staff. Then he descended +again and was on his way out, when a person belonging to the house +stopped him. + +“Mr. Vaughan,” she said earnestly, “don’t go, sir. You are known after +last night and will come to harm. You will indeed, sir. And you can do +no good. My father says that nothing can be done until to-morrow.” + +“I will take care of myself,” he replied, lightly. But his eyes thanked +her. He pushed his way through the gazers at the door, and set off +towards Queen’s Square. + +At every door men and women were standing looking out. In the distance +he could hear cheering, which waxed louder and more insistent as, +prudently avoiding the narrower lanes, he passed down Clare Street to +Broad Quay, from which there was an entrance to the northwest corner of +the Square. Alongside the quay, which was fringed with warehouses and +sheds, and from which the huge city crane towered up, lay a line of +brigs and schooners; the masts of the more distant of these tapering to +vanishing points in the mist which lay upon the water. At the moment, +however, Vaughan had no eye for them. He saw them, but his thoughts +were with the rioters, and in a twinkling he was within the Square, and +seeing what was to be seen. + +He judged that there were not more than fifteen hundred persons +present. Of the whole about one-half belonged to the lowest class. +These were gathered about the Mansion House, some drinking before it, +others bearing up liquor from the cellars, while others again were +tearing out the woodwork of the casements, or wantonly flinging the +last remnants of furniture from the windows. The second moiety of the +crowd, less reckless or of higher position, looked on as at a show; or +now and again, at the bidding of some active rioter, raised a cheer for +Reform, “The King and Reform! Reform!” + +There was nothing dreadful, nothing awe-inspiring in the sight. Yet it +was such a sight, for an English city on a Sunday morning, that +Vaughan’s gorge rose at it. A hundred resolute men might have put the +mob to flight. And meantime, on every point of vantage, on Redcliffe +Parade, eastward of the Square, on College Green, and Brandon Hill, to +the westward of it, thousands stood looking in silence on the scene, +and by their supineness encouraging the work of destruction. + +He thought for a moment of pushing to the front and trying what a few +reasonable words would effect. But as he advanced, his eye caught a +gleam of colour, and in the corner of the Square, most remote from the +disorder, he discovered a handful of dragoons, seated motionless in +their saddles, watching the proceedings. + +The folly of this struck him dumb. And he hurried, at a white heat, +across the Square to remonstrate. He was about to speak to the sergeant +in charge, when Flixton, with a civilian cloak masking his uniform, +rode up to the men at a foot-pace. Vaughan turned to him instead. + +“Good Heavens, man!” he cried, too hot to mince his words or remember +at the moment what there was between him and Flixton, “What’s Brereton +doing? What has happened! It is not true that he has sent the +Fourteenth away?” + +Flixton looked down at him sulkily. “He’s sent ’em to Keynsham,” he +said, shortly. “If he hadn’t, the crowd would have been out of hand!” + +“But what do you call them now?” Vaughan retorted, with angry sarcasm. +“They are destroying a public building in broad daylight! Aren’t they +sufficiently out of hand?” + +Flixton shrugged his shoulders, but did not answer. He was flushed and +has manner was surly. + +“And your squad here, looking on and doing nothing? They’re worse than +useless!” Vaughan continued. “They encourage the beggars! They’d be +better in their quarters than here! Better at Keynsham,” he added +bitterly. + +“So I’ve told him,” Flixton answered, taking the last words literally. +“He sent me to see how things are looking. And a d——d pleasant way this +is of spending a wet Sunday!” On which, without more, having seen, +apparently, what he came to see, he turned his horse to go out of the +Square by the Broad Quay. + +Vaughan walked a few paces beside the horse. “But, Flixton, press him,” +he said urgently; “press him, man, to act! To do something!” + +“That’s all very fine,” the Honourable Bob answered churlishly, “but +Brereton’s in command. And you don’t catch me interfering. I am not +going to take the responsibility off his shoulders.” + +“But think what may happen to-night!” Vaughan urged. Already he saw +that the throng was growing denser and its movements less random. +Somewhere in the heart of it a man was speaking. “Think what may happen +after dark, if they are as bad as this in daylight?” + +Flixton looked askance at him. “Ten to one, only what happened last +night,” he answered. “You all croaked then; but Brereton was right.” + +Vaughan saw that he argued to no purpose. For Flixton, forward and +positive in small things and on the surface, was discovered by the +emergency; all that now remained of his usual self-assertion was a +sense of injury. Vaughan inquired, instead, where he would find +Brereton, and as by this time the crowd had clearly outgrown the +control of a single man, he contented himself with walking round the +Square, and learning, by mingling with the fringe, what manner of +spirit moved it. + +That spirit, though he heard some ugly threats against Wetherell and +the Bishops and the Lords, was rather a reckless and mischievous than a +bloodthirsty one. To obtain drink, to destroy this or that gaol, and by +and by to destroy all gaols seemed to the crowd the first principles of +Reform. + +Presently a cry of “To the Bridewell! Come on! To the Bridewell!” was +raised, and led by a dozen hobbledehoys, armed with iron bars plucked +from the railings, a body of some hundreds trooped off, helter-skelter, +in the direction of the prison of that name. + +Vaughan saw that someone must be induced to act; and to him the +following hours of that wet, dismal Sunday were a waking nightmare. He +hurried hither and thither, from Guildhall to Council House, from +Brereton’s lodgings to the dragoons’ quarters, striving to effect +something and always failing; seeking some cohesion, some decision, +some action, and finding none. Always there had just been a meeting, or +was going to be a meeting, or would be a meeting by and by. The civil +power would not act without the military; and the military did not +think itself strong enough to act, but would act if the civil power +would do something which the civil power had made up its mind not to +do. And meantime the supineness of the mass of the citizens was +marvellous. He seemed to be moving endlessly between lines of men who +lounged at their doors, and joked, or waited for the crowd to pass that +way. Nothing, it seemed to him, would rouse these men to a sense of the +position. It would be a lesson to Wetherell, they said. It would be a +lesson to the Peers. It would be a lesson to the Tories. The Bridewell +was sacked and fired, the great gaol across the New Cut was firing, the +Gloucester gaol in the north of the city was threatened. And still it +did not occur to these householders, as they looked down the wet, misty +streets, that presently it would be a lesson to them. + +But at half-past three, with the dusk on that rainy day scarce an hour +off, there was a meeting at the Guildhall. Still no cohesion, no +action. On the other hand, much recrimination, many opinions. One was +for casting all firearms into the float. Another for arming all, fit or +unfit. One was for fetching the Fourteenth back, another for sending +the Third to join them at Keynsham. One was for appeasing the people by +parading a dummy figure of their own Recorder through the city and +burning it on College Green. Another for relying on the Political +Union. In vain Vaughan warned them that the mob would presently attack +private property; in vain he offered, in a few spirited words, to lead +the Special Constables to the rescue of the gaol. The meeting, small to +begin and always divided, dwindled fast. The handful who were ready to +follow him made the support of the military a condition. Everybody +said, “To-morrow!” To-morrow the _posse comitatus_ might be called out; +to-morrow the yeomanry, summoned by the man in the yellow jacket, would +be here! To-morrow the soldiers might act. And in fine—To-morrow! + +There was over the door of the Council House of those days a statue of +Justice, lacking the sword and the bandage. Vaughan, passing out in +disgust from the meeting, pointed to it. “There is Bristol, gentlemen,” +he said bitterly. “Your authorities have dropped the sword, and until +they regain it we are helpless. I have done my best.” And, shrugging +his shoulders, he started for Brereton’s lodgings to try a last appeal. + +He might well think it necessary. For a night which Bristol was long to +remember was closing down upon the city. Though it was Sunday, the +churches were empty; in few was a second service held. The streets, on +the contrary, were full, in spite of the cold; full of noise and +turmoil and disorder; of bands of men hastening up and down with +reckless cries and flaring lights, at the bidding of leaders as +unwitting. In Queen’s Square the rioters were drinking themselves drunk +as at a fair, while amid the falling rain, through which the last +stormy gleams of daylight strove to pass, amid the thickening dusk, +those who all day long had jested at their doors began to turn doubtful +looks on one another. From three points the smoke of fired prisons rose +to the clouds and floated in a dense pall over the city; and men +whispered that a hundred, two hundred, five hundred criminals had been +set free. On Clifton Downs, on Brandon Hill, on College Green, on +Redcliffe the thousand gazers of the morning were doubled and +redoubled. But they no longer wore the cynical faces of the morning. On +the contrary there were some who, following with their eyes the network +of waterways laden with inflammable shipping, which pierced the city in +every direction—who, tracing these and the cutthroat alleys and lanes +about them, predicted that the morning would find Bristol a heap of +ruins. And not a few, taking fright at the last moment, precipitately +removed their families to Clifton, and locked up their houses. + +Vaughan, as he walked through the dusk, had those waterways, those +lanes, those alleys, the congested heart of the old city, in his mind. +He doubted, even he, if the hour for action was not past. Nor was he +surprised when Brereton met his appeal with a flat _non possumus_. He +was more struck with the change which twenty-four hours had wrought in +the man. He looked worn and haggard. The shadows under his eyes were +deeper, the eyes shone with a more feverish light. His dress, too, was +careless and disordered, and while he was not still for a moment, he +repeated what he said over and over again as if to persuade himself of +its truth. + +Naturally Vaughan laid stress on the damage already done. “But, I tell +you,” Brereton replied angrily, “we are well clear for that! It’s not a +tithe of the harm which would have befallen if I had given way! I tell +you, we’re well clear for that. No, I’ve done, thank God, I’ve done the +only thing it was possible to do. A little too much, and if I’d +succeeded I’d have been hung—for they’re all against me, they’re all +against me, above and below! And if I’d failed, a thousand lives would +have paid the bill! And do you ever consider, man,” he continued, +striking the table, “what a massacre in this crowded place would be! +Think of the shipyards, the dockyards, the quays! The water pits and +the sunk alleys! How could I clear them with ninety swords? How could I +clear them? Eh, with ninety swords? I tell you they never meant me to +clear them.” + +“But why not clear the wider streets, sir?” Vaughan persisted, “and +keep a grip on those?” + +“No! I say, no!” + +“Yet even now, if you were to move your full force to Queen’s Square, +sir, you might clear it. And driven from their headquarters, and taught +that they are not going to have it all their own way, the more prudent +would fall off and go home.” + +“I know,” Brereton answered. “I know the argument. I know it. But who’s +to thank for the whole trouble? Your Blues, who went beyond their +orders last night. The Fourteenth, sir! The Fourteenth! But I’ll have +no more of it. Flixton is of my opinion, too.” + +“Flixton is an ass!” Vaughan cried incautiously. + +“And you think me one too!” Brereton retorted, with so strange a look +that for the first time Vaughan was sure that his mind was tottering. +“Well, think what you like! Think what you like! But I’ll trouble you +not to take that tone here.” + + + + +XXXII +THE AFFRAY AT THE PALACE + + +A little before the hour at which Vaughan interviewed Brereton, Sir +Robert Vermuyden, the arrival of whose travelling carriage at the White +Lion about the middle of the afternoon had caused some excitement, +walked back to the inn. He was followed by Thomas, the servant who had +attended Mary to Bristol, and by another servant. As he passed through +the streets the signs of the times were not lost upon him; far from it. +But the pride of caste was strong upon him, and he hid his anxiety. + +On the threshold of the inn he turned to the servants. “Are you sure,” +he asked for the fourth time, “that that was the house at which you +left her?” + +“Certain sure, Sir Robert,” Thomas answered earnestly. + +“And sure—but, ah!” the baronet broke off abruptly, his tone one of +relief. “Here’s Mr. Cooke! Go now, but be within call. Mr. Cooke,”—he +stepped, as he spoke, in front of that gentleman, who was about to +enter the house—“well met!” + +Cooke was hot with haste and ire, but at the unexpected sight of Sir +Robert he stood still. “God bless my soul!” he cried. “You here, sir?” + +“Yes. And you know Bristol well. You can help me.” + +“I wish I could help myself!” Cooke cried, forgetting himself in his +excitement. + +“My daughter is in Bristol.” + +“Indeed?” the angry merchant replied. “Then she could not be in a worse +place. That is all I can say.” + +“I am inclined to agree with you.” + +“This is your Reform!” + +Sir Robert stared. “Not my Reform, Mr. Cooke,” he said in a tone of +displeasure. + +“I beg your pardon, Sir Robert,” Cooke rejoined, speaking more coolly. +“I beg your pardon. But what I have suffered to-day is beyond telling. +By G—d, it’s my opinion that there’s only one man worthy of the name in +Bristol! And that’s your cousin, Vaughan!” + +Sir Robert struck his stick on the pavement. “Mr. Vaughan?” he +exclaimed. “He is here, then? I feared so!” + +“Here? You feared? I tell you he’s the only man to be called a man, who +is here! If it had not been for him and the way he handled the +constables last night we should have been burnt out then instead of +to-night! I don’t know that the gain’s much, but for what it’s worth we +have him to thank!” + +Sir Robert frowned. “I am surprised. He behaved well? Indeed!” he said. + +“D——d well! D——d well! If there had been half a dozen like him, we’d be +out of the wood!” + +“Where is he staying?” Sir Robert asked after a moment’s hesitation. +“I’ve lost my daughter in the confusion, and I think it possible that +he may know where she is.” + +“He is staying here at the Lion,” Cooke answered. “But he’s been up and +down all day trying to put heart into poltroons.” And he ran over the +chief events of the last few hours. + +He punctuated the story with oaths and bitter complaints, and perhaps +it was for this reason that Sir Robert, after he had heard the main +facts, broke away. He went through the hall to the bar where the +landlord, who knew him well, came forward and greeted him respectfully. +But to Sir Robert’s inquiry as to Mr. Vaughan’s whereabouts he shook +his head. + +“I wish he was in the house, Sir Robert,” he said in a low voice. “For +he’s a marked man in Bristol since last night. I was in the Square +myself, and it was wonderful what spirit he put into his men. But the +scum and the riffraff who are uppermost to-day say he handled them +cruelly, and my daughter tried to persuade him from going out to-day. +But he would go, sir.” + +Sir Robert reflected with a gloomy face. “Where are Mr. Flixton’s +quarters?” he asked at last. He might possibly learn something from +him. + +The man told him, and Sir Robert summoned his servants and went out. It +was dark by this time, but a faint glare shone overhead and there was a +murmur in the air, as if, in the gloom beneath, the heart of the city +was palpitating, in dread of it knew not what. Sir Robert had not far +to go. He had barely passed into College Green when he met Flixton +under a lamp. And so it happened that two minutes later, Vaughan, on +his way from Brereton’s lodgings in Unity Street, came plump upon the +two. He might have gone by in ignorance, but as he passed the taller +man looked up, and Vaughan with a shock of surprise recognised Sir +Robert Vermuyden. + +Flixton caught sight of Vaughan at the same moment, and “Here’s your +man, Sir Robert,” he cried with a little malice in his tone. “Here, +Vaughan,” he continued, “Here’s Sir Robert Vermuyden! He’s looking for +you. He wants to know——” + +Sir Robert stopped him. “I will speak for myself, Mr. Flixton, if you +please,” he said with the dignity which seldom deserted him. “Mr. +Vaughan,” he continued, with a piercing glance, “where is my daughter?” + +Vaughan returned his look, frowning. Since the parting in Miss Sibson’s +parlour, the remembrance of which still set his blood in a flame, Sir +Robert and he had not met. Now, in the wet gloom of College Green, +under a rare gaslamp, with turmoil about them, and the murmur of fresh +trouble drawing near through the streets, Sir Robert asked him for his +daughter! He could have laughed. As it was, “I know nothing, sir, of +your daughter,” he replied, in a tone between contempt and anger. + +“But,” Sir Robert retorted, “you travelled with her, from London!” + +“How do you know that I did?” + +“The servants, sir, have told me that you did.” + +“Then they must also have told you,” Vaughan rejoined keenly, “that I +did not take the liberty of speaking to Miss Vermuyden. And that I left +the coach at Chippenham. That being so, I can only refer you,” he +continued with a sneer, raising his hat and preparing to move on, “to +Mr. Flixton, who went with her the rest of the way to Bristol.” + +He turned away. But he had not taken two paces before Sir Robert +touched his shoulder, and with that habit of command which few +questioned. “Wait, sir,” he said, “Wait, if you please. You do not +escape me so easily. You will attend to me one moment, if you please. +Mr. Flixton accompanied Miss Vermuyden, as did her man and maid, to +Miss Sibson’s house. She gave that address to Lady Worcester, in whose +care she was; and I sought her there this afternoon. But she is not +there.” Sir Robert continued, striving to read Vaughan’s face. “The +house is empty. So is the house on either side. I can make no one +hear.” + +“And you come to me for news of her?” Vaughan asked in the tone he had +used throughout. He was very sore. + +“I do.” + +“You do not think that I am the last person of whom you should ask +tidings of your daughter?” + +“She came here,” Sir Robert answered sternly, “to see Lady Sybil.” + +Vaughan stared. The answer seemed to be irrelevant. Then he understood. +“Oh,” he said, “I see. You are still under the impression that your +wife and I are in a conspiracy to delude you? Your daughter also? You +think that she is in the plot? And that she gave the schoolmistress’s +address to deceive you?” + +“No!” Sir Robert cried. But, after all, that was what he did think. Had +he not told himself, more than once, that she was her mother’s +daughter? Had he not told himself that it could not have been by chance +that Vaughan and she met a second time on the coach? He knew that she +had left London and gone to her mother in defiance of him. He knew +that. And though she had entwined herself about his heart, though she +had seemed to him all gentleness, goodness, truth—she was still her +mother’s daughter! Nevertheless, he said “No!”—and said it angrily. + +“Then I do not know what you mean!” Vaughan retorted. + +“I believe that you can tell me something, if you will.” + +Vaughan looked at him. “I have nothing to tell you,” he said. + +“You mean, sir, that you will tell me nothing!” + +“That, if you like.” + +For nearly half a century the old man had found few to oppose him; and +now by good luck he had not time to reply. A man running out of the +darkness in the direction of Unity Street—the open space was full of +moving groups, of alarms and confusion—caught sight of Vaughan’s face, +checked himself and addressed him. + +“Mr. Vaughan!” he said. “They are coming! They are making for the +Palace! The Bishop must be got away, if he’s not gone! I am fetching +the Colonel! The Mayor is following with all he can get together. If +you will give warning at the Palace, there will be time for his +lordship to escape.” + +“Right!” Vaughan cried, glad to leave his company. And he started +without the loss of a moment. Even so, he had not gone twenty paces +down the Green before the head of the mob entered it from St. +Augustine’s, and passed, with hoarse shouts, along the south side, +towards the ancient Archway which led to the Lower Green. It was a +question whether he or they reached the Archway first; but he won the +race by a score of yards. + +The view from the Lower Green, which embraced the burning gaol, as well +as all Queen’s Square and the Floating Basin that islanded it, had +drawn together a number of gazers. These impeded Vaughan’s progress, +but he got through them at last, and as the mob burst into the Lower +Green he entered the paved passage leading to the Precincts, hurried +along it, turned the dark elbow near the inner end, and halted before +the high gates which shut off the Cloisters. The Palace door was in the +innermost or southeast corner of the Cloisters. + +It was very dark at the end of the passage; and fortunately! For the +gates were fast closed, and before he could, groping, find the knocker, +the rabble had entered the passage behind him and cut off his retreat. +The high wall which rose on either side made escape impossible. Nor was +this all. As he awoke to the trap in which he had placed himself, a +voice at his elbow muttered, “My God, we shall be murdered!” And he +learned that Sir Robert had followed him. + +He had no time to remonstrate, nor thought of remonstrance. “Stand flat +against the wall!” he muttered, his fingers closing upon the staff in +his pocket. “It is our only chance!” + +He had basely spoken before the leaders of the mob swept round the +elbow. They had one light, a flare borne above them, which shone on +their tarpaulins and white smocks, and on the huge ship-hammers they +carried. There was a single moment of great peril, and instinctively +Vaughan stepped before the older man. He could not have made a happier +movement, for it seemed—to the crowd who caught a glimpse of the two +and took them for some of their own party—as if he advanced against the +gates along with their leaders. + +The peril indeed, or the worst of it, was over the moment they fell +into the ranks. “Hammers to the front!” was the cry. And Sir Robert and +Vaughan were thrust back into the second line, that those who wielded +the hammers might have room. Vaughan tipped his hat over his face, and +the villains who pressed upon the two and jostled them, and whose cries +of “Burn him out! Burn the old devil out!” were dictated by greed +rather than by hate, were too full of the work in hand to regard their +neighbours closely. In three or four minutes—long minutes they seemed +to the two inclosed in that unsavoury company—the bars gave way, the +gates were thrown open, and Vaughan and Sir Robert, hardly keeping +their feet in the rush, were borne into the Cloisters. + +The rabble, with cries of triumph, raced across the dark court to the +Palace door and began to use their hammers on that. Vaughan hoped that +the Bishop had had warning—as a fact he had escaped some hours earlier. +At any rate he and his companion could do no more, and under cover of +the darkness they retreated to the porch of a smaller house which +opened on the Cloisters. Here they were safe for the time; and, his +heart opened and his tongue loosed by the danger through which they had +passed, he turned to his companion and remonstrated with him. + +“Sir Robert,” he said, “this is no place for a man of your years.” + +“England will soon be no place for any man of my years,” the Baronet +answered bitterly. “I would your leaders, sir, were here to see their +work! I would Lord Grey were here to see how well his friends carry out +his hints!” + +“I doubt if he would be more pleased than you or I!” Vaughan answered. +“In the meantime——” + +“The soldiers! Have a care!” The alarm came from the gate by which they +had entered, and Vaughan broke off, with an exclamation of joy. “We +have them now!” he said. “And red-handed! Brereton has only to close +the passage, and he must take them all!” + +But the rioters took that view also, and the alarm. And they streamed +out panic-stricken. When the soldiers rode in, Brereton at their head, +not more than twenty or thirty remained in the Precincts. And on that +followed the most remarkable of all the scenes that disgraced Bristol +that night; the scene which beyond others convinced many of the +complicity of the troops, if not of the Government, in the outrage. + +Not a man could leave the Palace except with the troops’ good-will. Yet +they let the rascals pass. In vain a handful of constables—who had +arrived on the heels of the military—exerted themselves to seize the +worst offenders, and such as passed with plunder in their hands. The +soldiers discouraged the attempt, and even beat back the constables. +“Let them go! Let them go!” was the cry. And the nimbleness of the +scamps in effecting their escape was greeted with laughter and +applause. + +Vaughan and the companion whom fate had so strangely joined saw it with +indignation. But Vaughan had made up his mind that he would not +approach Brereton again; and he controlled himself, until a blackguard +bolting from the Palace with his arms full of spoil was seized, close +to him, by an elderly man, who seemed to be one of the Bishop’s +servants. The two wrestled fiercely, the servant calling for help, the +soldiers looking on and laughing. A moment and the two fell to the +ground, the servant undermost. He uttered a cry of pain. + +That was too much for Vaughan. He sprang forward, dragged the ruffian +from his prey, and with his other hand he drew his staff. He was about +to strike his prisoner—for the man continued to struggle +desperately—when a voice above them shouted “Put that up! Put that up!” +And a trooper urged his horse almost on the top of them, at the same +time threatening him with his naked sword. + +Vaughan lost his temper at that. “You blackguard!” he cried. “Stand +back. The man is my prisoner!” + +For answer the soldier struck at him. Fortunately the blade was turned +by his hat and only the flat alighted on his head. But the man, drunk +or reckless, repeated the blow, and this time would certainly have cut +him down if Sir Robert, with a quickness beyond his years, had not +turned aside the stroke with his walking-cane. At the same time “Are +you mad?” he shouted peremptorily. “Where is your Colonel?” + +The tone, rather than the words, sobered the trooper. He swore sulkily, +reined in his horse, and moved back to his fellows. Sir Robert turned +to Vaughan, who, dazed by the blow, was leaning against the porch of +the house. “I hope you are not wounded?” he said. + +“It’s thanks to you, sir, he’s not killed!” the man whom Vaughan had +rescued, replied; and he hung about him solicitously. “He’d have cut +him to the chin! Ay, to the chin he would!” with quavering gusto. + +Vaughan was regaining his coolness. He tried to smile. “I hardly +saw—what happened,” he said. “I am only sure I am not hurt. Just—a rap +on the head!” + +“I am glad that it is no worse,” Sir Robert said gravely. “Very glad!” +Now it was over he had to bite his lower lip to repress its trembling. + +“You feel better, sir, now?” the servant asked, addressing Vaughan. + +“Yes, yes,” Vaughan said. But after that he was silent, thinking. And +Sir Robert was silent, too. The soldiers were withdrawing; the +constables, outraged and indignant, were following them, declaring +aloud that they were betrayed. And for certain the walls of the +Cathedral had looked down on few stranger scenes, even in those +troubled days when the crosslets of the Berkeleys first shone from +their casements. + +Vaughan thought of the thing which had happened; and what was he to +say? The position was turned upside down. The obligation was on the +wrong person; the boot was on the wrong foot. If he, the young, the +strong, and the injured, had saved Sir Robert, that had been well +enough. But this? It required some magnanimity to take it gracefully, +to bear it with dignity. + +“I owe you sincere thanks,” he said at last, but awkwardly and with +constraint. + +“The blackguard!” Sir Robert cried. + +“You saved me, sir, from a very serious injury.” + +“It was as much threat as blow!” Sir Robert rejoined. + +“I don’t think so,” Vaughan answered. And then he was silent, finding +it hard to say more. But after a pause, “I can only make you one +return,” he said with an effort. “Perhaps you will believe me when I +say, that upon my honour I do not know where your daughter is. I have +neither spoken to her nor communicated with her since I saw her in +Queen’s Square in May. And I know nothing of Lady Sybil.” + +“I am obliged to you,” Sir Robert said. + +“If you believe me,” Vaughan said. “Not otherwise!” + +“I do believe you, Mr. Vaughan.” And Sir Robert said it as if he meant +it. + +“Then that is something gained,” Vaughan answered, “besides the +soundness of my head.” Try as he might he felt the position irksome, +and was glad to seek refuge in flippancy. + +Sir Robert removed his hat, and stood in perplexity. “But where can she +be then?” he asked. “If you know nothing of her.” + +Vaughan paused before he answered. Then “I think I should look for her +in Queen’s Square,” he suggested. “In that neighbourhood neither life +nor property will be safe until Bristol comes to its senses. She should +be removed, therefore, if she be there.” + +“I will take your advice and try the house again,” Sir Robert answered. +“I think you are right, and I am much obliged to you.” + +He put his hat on his head, but removed it to salute his cousin. “Thank +you,” he repeated, “I am much obliged to you.” And he departed slowly +across the court. + +Halfway to the entrance, he paused, and fingered his chin. He went on +again—again he paused. He took a step or two, turned, hesitated. At +last he came slowly back. + +“Perhaps you will go with me?” he asked. + +“You are very good,” Vaughan answered, his voice shaking a little. Was +it possible that Sir Robert meant more than he said? It did seem +possible. + +But after all they did not go out that way. For, as they approached the +broken gates, shouts of “Reform!” and “Down with the Lords!” warned +them that the rioters were returning. And the Bishop’s servant, +approaching them anew, insisted on taking them through the Palace, and +by way of the garden and a low wall conducted them into Trinity Street. +Here they were close to the Drawbridge which crossed the water to the +foot of Clare Street; and they passed over it, one of them walking with +a lighter heart, notwithstanding Mary’s possible danger, than he had +borne for weeks. Soon they were in Queen’s Square, and, avoiding as far +as possible the notice of the mob, were knocking doggedly at Miss +Sibson’s door. But by that time the Palace, high above them on College +Green, had burst into flames, and, a mark for all the countryside, had +flung the red banner of Reform to the night. + + + + +XXXIII +FIRE + + +Sir Robert and his companion might have knocked longer and more loudly, +and still to no purpose. For the schoolmistress, prepared to witness a +certain amount of disorder on the Saturday, had been taken aback by the +sight which met her eyes when she rose on Sunday morning. And long +before noon she had sent her servants to their friends, locked up her +house, and gone next door, to dispel by her cheerful face and her +comfortable common sense the fears which she knew would prevail there. +The sick lady was not in a state to withstand alarm; Mary was a young +girl and timid; and neither the landlady nor Lady Sybil’s maid were +persons of strong mind. Miss Sibson felt that here was an excellent +occasion for the display of that sturdy indifference with which firm +nerves and a long experience of Bristol elections had endowed her. + +“La, my dear,” was her first remark, “it’s all noise and nonsense! They +look fierce, but there’s not a man of them all, that if I took him +soundly by the ear and said, ‘John Thomas Gaisford, I know you well and +your wife! You live in the Pithay, and if you don’t go straight home +this minute I’ll tell her of your goings on!’—there’s not one of them, +my dear,” with a jolly laugh, “wouldn’t sneak off with his tail between +his legs! Hurt us, my lady? I’d like to see them doing it. Still, it +will be no harm if we lock the door downstairs, and answer no knocks. +We shall be cosy upstairs, and see all that’s to be seen besides!” + +These were Miss Sibson’s opinions, a little after noon on the Sunday. +Nor, when the day began to draw in, without abating the turmoil, did +she recant them aloud. But when the servant of the house, who found +amusement in listening at the locked door to the talk of those who +passed, came open-eyed to announce that the people had fired the +Bridewell, and were attacking the gaol, Miss Sibson did rub her nose +reflectively. And privately she began to wonder whether the prophecies +of evil, which both parties had sown broadcast, were to be fulfilled. + +“It’s that nasty Brougham!” she said. “Alderman Daniel told me that he +was stirring up the devil; and we’re going to get the dust. But la, +bless your ladyship,” she continued comfortably, “I know the Bristol +lads, and they’ll not hurt us. Just a gaol or two, for the sake of the +frolic. My dear, your mother’ll have her tea, and will feel the better +for it. And we’ll draw the curtains and light the lamps and take no +heed. Maybe there’ll be bones broken, but they’ll not be ours!” + +Lady Sybil, with her face turned away, muttered something about Paris. + +“Well, your ladyship knows Paris and I don’t,” the schoolmistress +replied respectfully. “I can fancy anything there. But you may depend +upon it, my lady, England is different. I know old Alderman Daniel +calls Lord John Russell ‘Lord John Robespierre,’ and says he’s worse +than a Jacobin. But I’ll never believe he’d cut the King’s head off! +Never! And don’t you believe it, either, my lady. No, English are +English! There’s none like them, and never will be. All the same,” she +concluded, “I shall set ‘Honour the King!’ for a copy when the young +ladies come back.” + +Her views might not have convinced by themselves. But taken with tea +and buttered toast, a good fire and a singing kettle, they availed. +Lady Sybil was a shade easier that afternoon; and, naturally of a high +courage, found a certain alleviation in the exciting doings under her +windows. She was gracious to Miss Sibson, whose outpourings she +received with languid amusement; and when Mary was not looking, she +followed her daughter’s movements with mournful eyes. Uncertain as the +wind, she was this evening in her best mood; as patient as she could be +fractious, and as gentle as she was sometimes violent. She scouted the +notion of danger with all Miss Sibson’s decision; and after tea she +insisted that the lights should be shaded, and her couch be wheeled to +the window, in order that, propped high with pillows, she might amuse +herself with the hurly-burly in the Square below. + +“To be sure,” Miss Sibson commented, “it will do no good to anyone, +this; and many a poor chap will suffer for it by and by. That’s the +worst of these Broughams and Besoms, my lady. It’s the low down that +swallow the dust. It’s very fine to cry ‘King and Reform!’ and drink +the Corporation wine! But it will be ‘Between our sovereign lord the +King and the prisoner at the bar!’ one of these days! And their throats +will be dry enough then!” + +“Poor misguided people!” Mary murmured. + +“They’ve all learned the Church Catechism,” the schoolmistress replied +shrewdly. “Or they should have; it’s lucky for them—ay, you may shout, +my lads—that there’s many a slip between the neck and the rope—Lord ha’ +mercy!” + +The last words fitted the context well enough; but they fell so +abruptly from her lips that Mary, who was bending over her mother, +looked up in alarm. “What is it?” she asked. + +“Only,” Miss Sibson answered with composure, “what I ought to have said +long ago—that nothing can be worse for her ladyship than the cold air +that comes in at the cracks of this window!” + +“It’s not that,” Lady Sybil replied, smiling. “They have set fire to +the Mansion House, Mary. You can see the flames in the room on the +farther side of the door.” + +Mary uttered an exclamation of horror, and they all looked out. The +Mansion House was the most distant house on the north, or left-hand, +side of the Square, viewed from the window at which they stood; the +house next Miss Sibson’s being about the middle of the west side. +Nearer them, on the same side as the Mansion House, stood another +public building—the Custom House. And nearer again, being the most +northerly house on their own side of the Square, stood a third—the +Excise Office. + +They had thus a fair, though a side view, of the front of the Mansion +House, and were able to watch, with what calmness they might, the +flames shoot from one window after another; until, presently, meeting +in a waving veil of fire, they hid—save when the wind blew them +aside—all the upper part of the house from their eyes. + +A great fire in the night, the savage, uncontrollable revolt of man’s +tamed servant—is at all times a terrible sight. Nor on this occasion +was it only the horror of the flames, roaring and crackling and pouring +forth a million of sparks, which chained their eyes. For as these rose, +they shed an intense light, not only on the heights of Redcliffe, +visible above the east side of the Square, and on the stately tower +which rose from them, but on the multitude below; on the hurrying forms +that, monkey-like, played before the flames and seemed to feed them, +and on a still stranger sight, the expanse of up-turned faces that, in +the rear of the active rioters, extended to the farthest limit of the +Square. + +For it was the quiescence, it was the inertness of the gazing crowd +which most appalled the spectators at the window. To see that great +house burn and to see no man stretch forth a hand to quench it, this +terrified. “Oh, but it is frightful! It is horrible!” Mary exclaimed. + +“I should like to knock their heads together!” Miss Sibson cried +sternly. “What are the soldiers doing? What is anyone doing?” + +“They have hounded on the dogs,” Lady Sybil said slowly—she alone +seemed to view the sight with a dispassionate eye, “and they are biting +instead of barking! That is all.” + +“Dogs?” Miss Sibson echoed. + +“Ay, the dogs of Reform!” Lady Sybil replied cynically. “Brougham’s +dogs! Grey’s dogs! Russell’s dogs! I could wish Sir Robert were here, +it would so please him to see his words fulfilled!” And then, as in +surprise at the thing she had uttered, “I wonder when I wished to +please him before?” she muttered. + +“Oh, but it is frightful!” Mary repeated, unable to remove her eyes +from the flames. + +It was frightful; even while they were all sane people in the room, +and, whatever their fears, restrained them. What then was it a moment +later, when the woman of the house burst in upon them, with a maid in +wild hysterics clinging to her, and another on the threshold screaming +“Fire! Fire!” + +“It’s all on fire at the back!” the woman panted. “It’s on fire, it’s +all on fire, my lady, at the back!” + +“It’s all—what?” Miss Sibson rejoined, in a tone which had been known +to quell the pertest of seventeen-year-old rebels. “It is what, woman? +On fire at the back? And if it is, is that a ground for forgetting your +manners? Where is your deportment? Fire, indeed! Are you aware whose +room this is? For shame! And you, silly,” she continued, addressing +herself to the maid, “be silent, and go outside, as becomes you.” + +But the maid, though she retreated to the door, continued to scream, +and the woman of the house to wring her hands. “You had better go and +see what it is,” Lady Sybil said, turning to the schoolmistress. For, +strange to say, she who a few hours before had groaned if a coal fell +on the hearth, and complained if her book slid from the couch, was now +quite calm. + +“They are afraid of their own shadows,” Miss Sibson cried +contemptuously. “It is the reflection they have seen.” + +But she went. And as it was but a step to a window overlooking the +rear, Mary went with her. + +They looked. And for a moment something like panic seized them. The +back of the house was not immediately upon the quay, but through an +opening in the warehouses which fringed the latter it commanded a view +of the water and the masts, and of the sloping ground which rose to +College Green. And high above, dyeing the Floating Basin crimson, the +Palace showed in a glow of fire; fire which seemed to be on the point +of attacking the Cathedral, of which every pinnacle and buttress, with +every chimney of the old houses clustered about it, stood out in the +hot glare. It was clear that the building had been burning some time, +for the roar of the flames could be heard, and almost the hiss of the +water as innumerable sparks floated down to it. + +Horror-struck, Mary grasped her companion’s arm. And “Good Heavens!” +Miss Sibson muttered. “The whole city will be burned!” + +“And we are between the two fires,” Mary faltered. An involuntary +shudder might be pardoned her. + +“Ay, but far enough from them,” the schoolmistress answered, recovering +herself. “On this side, the water makes us safe.” + +“And on the other?” + +“La, my dear,” Miss Sibson replied confidently. “The folks are not +going to burn their own houses. They are angry with the Corporation. +They hold them all one with Wetherell. And for the Bishop, they’ve so +abused him the last six months that he’s hardly dared to show his wig +on the streets, and it’s no wonder the poor ignorants think him fair +game. But we’re just ordinary folk, and they’ll no more harm us than +fly. But we must go back to your mother.” + +They went back, and wisely Miss Sibson made no mystery of the truth; +repeating, however, those arguments against giving way to alarm which +she had used to Mary. + +“The poor dear gentleman has lost his house,” she concluded piously. +“But we should be thankful he has another.” + +Lady Sybil took the news with calmness; her eyes indeed seemed +brighter, as if she enjoyed the excitement. But the frightened woman at +the door refused to be comforted, and underlying the courage of the two +who stood by Lady Sybil’s couch was a secret uneasiness, which every +cheer of the crowd below the windows, every “huzza” which rose from the +revellers, every wild rush from one part of the Square to another +tended to strengthen. In her heart Miss Sibson owned that in all her +experience she had known nothing like this; no disorder so flagrant, so +unbridled, so daring. She could carry her mind back to the days when +the cheek of England had paled at the Massacres of September in Paris. +The deeds of ’98 in Ireland, she had read morning by morning in the +journals. The Three Days of July, with their street fighting, were +fresh in all men’s minds—it was impossible to ignore their bearing on +the present conflagration. And if here was not the dawn of Revolution, +if here were not signs of the crash of things, appearances deceived +her. But even so, she was not to be dismayed. She believed that even in +revolutions a comfortable courage, sound sense, and a good appetite +went far. And “I’d like to hear John Thomas Gaisford talk to me of +guillotines!” she thought. “I’d make his ears burn!” + +Meanwhile, Mary was thinking that, whatever the emergency, her mother +was too ill to be moved. Miss Sibson might be right, the danger might +be remote. But it was barely midnight; and long hours of suspense must +be lived through before morning came. Meanwhile there were only women +in the house, and, bravely as the girl controlled herself, a cry more +reckless than usual, an outburst of cheering more savage, a rush below +the windows, drove the blood to her heart. And presently, while she +gazed with shrinking eyes on the crowd, now blood-red in the glow of +the burning timbers, now lost for a moment in darkness, a groan broke +from it, and she saw pale flames appear at the windows of the house +next the Mansion House. They shot up rapidly, licking the front of the +buildings. + +Miss Sibson saw them at the same moment, and “The villains!” she +exclaimed. “God grant it be an accident!” + +Mary’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. + +Lady Sybil laughed her shrill laugh. “The curs are biting bravely!” she +said. “What will Bristol say to this?” + +“Show them that they have gone too far!” Miss Sibson answered stoutly. +“The soldiers will act now, and put them in their places, as they did +in Wiltshire in the winter! And high time too!” + +But though they watched in tense anxiety for the first sign of action +on the part of the troops, for the first movement of the authorities, +they gazed in vain. The miscreants, who fed the flames and spread them, +were few; and in the Square were thousands who had property to lose, +and friends and interests in jeopardy. If a tithe only of those who +looked on, quiescent and despairing, had raised their hands, they could +have beaten the rabble from the place. But no man moved. The fear of +coming trouble, which had been long in the air, paralysed even the +courageous, while the ignorant and the timid believed that they saw a +revolution in progress, and that henceforth the mob would rule—and woe +betide the man who set himself against it! As it had been in Paris, so +it would be here. And so the flames spread, before the eyes of the +terrified women at the window, before the eyes of the inert multitude, +from the house first attacked to its neighbour, and from that to the +next and the next. Until the noise of the conflagration, the crash of +sinking walls, the crackling of beams were as the roar of falling +waters, and the Square in that hideous red light, which every moment +deepened, resembled an inferno, in which the devils of hell played +awful pranks, and wherein, most terrible sight of all, thousands who in +ordinary times held the salvation of property to be the first of +duties, stood with scared eyes, passive and cowed. + +It was such a scene—and they were only women, and alone in the house—as +the mind cannot imagine and the eye views but once in a generation, nor +ever forgets. In quiet Clifton, and on St. Michael’s Hill, children +were snatched from their midnight slumbers and borne into the open, +that they might see the city stretched below them in a pit of flame, +with the overarching fog at once confining and reflecting the glare. +Dundry Tower, five miles from the scene, shone a red portent visible +for leagues; and in Chepstow and South Monmouth, beyond the wide +estuary of the Severn, the light was such that men could see to read. +From all the distant Mendips, and from the Forest of Dean, miners and +charcoal-burners gazed southward with scared faces, and told one +another that the revolution was begun; while Lansdowne Chase sent +riders galloping up the London Road with the news that all the West was +up. Long before dawn on the Monday horsemen and yellow chaises were +carrying the news through the night to Gloucester, to Southampton, to +Salisbury, to Exeter, to every place where scanty companies of foot +lay, or yeomanry had their headquarters. And where these passed, +alarming the sleeping inns and posthouses, panic sprang up upon their +heels, and the travellers on the down nightcoaches marvelled at the +tales which met them with the daylight. + +If the sight viewed from a distance was so terrible as to appal a whole +countryside, if, on those who gazed at it from vantage spots of safety, +and did not guess at the dreadful details, it left an impression of +terror never to be effaced, what was it to the three women who, in the +Square itself, watched the onward march of the flames towards them, +were blinded by the glare, choked by the smoke, deafened by the roar? +Whom distance saved from no feature of the scene played under their +windows: who could shun neither the savage cries of the drunken rabble, +dancing before the doomed houses, nor the sight, scarce less amazing, +of the insensibility which watched the march of the flames and +stretched forth not a finger to stay them! Who, chained by Lady Sybil’s +weakness to the place where they stood, saw house after house go up in +flames, until all the side of the Square adjoining their own was a wall +of fire; and who then were left to guess the progress, swift or slow, +which the element was making towards them! For whom the copper-hued fog +above them must have seemed, indeed, the roof of a furnace, from which +escape grew moment by moment less likely? + + + + +XXXIV +HOURS OF DARKNESS + + +Long before this the women of the house had fled, taking Lady Sybil’s +maid with them. And dreadful as was the situation of those who +remained, appalling as were the fears of two of them, they were able to +control themselves; the better because they knew that they had no aid +but their own to look to, and that their companion was helpless. +Fortunately Lady Sybil, who had watched the earlier phases of the riot +with the detachment which is one of the marks of extreme weakness, had +at a certain point turned faint, and demanded to be removed from the +window. She was ignorant, therefore, of the approach of the flames and +of the imminence of the peril. She had even, in spite of the uproar, +dozed off, after a few minutes of trying irritation, into an uneasy +sleep. + +Mary and Miss Sibson were thus left free. But for what? Compelled to +watch in suspense the progress of the flames, driven at times to fancy +that they could feel the heat of the fire, assailed more than once by +gusts of fear, as one or the other imagined that they were already cut +off, they could not have held their ground but for their unselfishness; +but for their possession of those qualities of love and heroism which +raise women to the height of occasion, and nerve them to a pitch of +endurance of which men are rarely capable. In the schoolmistress, with +her powdered nose and her portly figure, and her dull past of samplers +and backboards and Mrs. Chapone, there dwelt as sturdy a spirit as in +any of the rough Bristol shipmasters from whom she sprang. She might be +fond of a sweetbread, and a glass of port might not come amiss to her. +But the heart in her was stout and large, and she had as soon dreamed +of forsaking her forlorn companions as those bluff sailormen would have +dreamed of striking their flag to a codfish Don, or to a shipload of +mutinous slaves. + +And Mary? Perchance the gentlest and the mildest are also the bravest, +when the stress is real. Or perhaps those who have never known a +mother’s love cling to the veriest shred and tatter of it, if it fall +in their way. Or perhaps—but why explain that which all history has +proved a hundred times over—-that love casts out fear. Mary quailed, +deafened by the thunder of the fire, with the walls of the room turning +blood-red round her, and the smoke beginning to drift before the +window. But she stood; and only once, assailed by every form of fear, +did her courage fail her, or sink below the stronger nerve of the elder +woman. + +That was when Miss Sibson, after watching that latest and most pregnant +sign, the eddying of smoke past the window, spoke out. “I’m going next +door,” she cried in Mary’s ear. “There are papers I must save; they are +all I have for my old age. The rest may go, but I can’t see them burn +when five minutes may save them.” + +But Mary clung to her desperately. “Oh!” she cried, “don’t leave me!” + +Miss Sibson patted her shoulder. “I shall come back,” she said. “I +shall come back, my dear, never fear. And then we must move your +mother—into the Square if no better can be. Do you come down and let me +in when I knock three times.” + +Lady Sybil was still dozing, with a woollen wrap about her head to +deaden the noise; and giving way to the cooler brain Mary went down +with the schoolmistress. In the hall the roar of the fire was less, for +the only window was shuttered. But the raucous voices of the mob, +moving to and fro outside, were more clearly heard. + +Miss Sibson, however, remained undaunted. “Put up the chain the moment +I am outside,” she said. + +“But are you not afraid?” Mary cried, holding her back. + +“Of those scamps?” Miss Sibson replied truculently. “They had better +not touch me!” And she turned the key and slipped out. Nor did she +leave the step until Mary had put up the chain and re-locked the door. + +Mary waited—oh, many, many minutes it seemed—in the gloom of the hall, +pierced here and there by a lurid ray; with half her mind on her mother +upstairs, and the other half on the ribald laughter, the drunken oaths +and threats and curses which penetrated from the Square. It was plain +that Miss Sibson had not gone too soon, for twice or thrice the door +was struck with some heavy instrument, and harsh voices called on the +inmates to open if they did not wish to be burned. Uncertain how the +fire advanced, Mary heard them with a sick heart. But she held her +ground, until, oh, joy! she heard voices raised in altercation, and +among them the schoolmistress’s. A hand knocked thrice, she turned the +key and let down the chain. The door opened upon her, and on the steps, +with her hand on a man’s shoulder, appeared Miss Sibson. Behind her and +her captive, between them and that background of flame and confusion, +stood a group of four or five men—dock labourers, in tarpaulins and +frocks, who laughed tipsily. + +“This lad will help to carry your mother out,” Miss Sibson said with +the utmost coolness. “Come, my lad, and no nonsense! You don’t want to +burn a sick lady in her bed!” + +“No, I don’t, Missis,” the man grumbled sheepishly. “But I’m none here +for that! I’m none here for that, and——” + +“You’ll do it, all the same,” the schoolmistress replied. “And I want +one more. Here, you,” she continued, addressing a grinning hobbledehoy +in a sealskin cap. “I know your face, and you’ll want someone to speak +for you at the Assizes. Come in, you two, and the rest must wait until +the lady’s carried out!” + +And thereon, with that strange mixture of humanity and unreasoning fury +of which the night left many examples, the men complied. The two whom +she had chosen entered, the others suffered her to shut the door in +their faces. Only, “You’ll be quick!” one bawled after her. “She’s +afire next door!” + +That was the warning that went with them upstairs, and it nerved them +for the task before them. Over that task it were well to draw a veil. +The poor sick woman, roused anew and abruptly to a sense of her +surroundings, to the flickering lights, the smell of smoke, the strange +faces, to all the horrors of that scene rarely equalled in our modern +England, shrieked aloud. The courage, which had before upheld her, +deserted her. She refused to be moved, refused to believe that they +were there to save her; she failed even to recognise her daughter, she +resisted their efforts, and whatever Mary could say or do, she added to +the peril of the moment all the misery which frantic terror and +unavailing shrieks could add. They did not know, while they reasoned +with her, and tried to lift her, and strove to cloak her against the +outer air, the minute at which the house might be entered; nor even +that it was not already entered, already in some part on fire. The +girl, though her hands were steady, though she never wavered, though +she persisted, was white as paper. And even Miss Sibson was almost +unnerved, when at last nature came to their aid, and with a frantic +protest, a last attempt to thrust them from her, the poor woman +swooned; and the men who had looked on, as unhappy as those engaged, +lifted the couch and bore her down the stairs. Odd are the windings of +chance and fate. These men, in whom every good instinct was awakened by +the sight before them, might, had the schoolmistress’s eye alighted on +others, have plundered on with their fellows; and with the more +luckless of those fellows have stood on the scaffold a month later! + +Still, time had been lost. And perforce the men descended slowly, so +that as they reached the hall the door gave way, and admitted a dozen +rascals, who tumbled over one another in their greed. The moment was +critical, the inrush of horrid sounds and sights appalling. But Mary +rose to the occasion. With a courage which from this time remained with +her to the end, she put herself forward. + +“Will you let us pass out?” she said. “My mother is ill. You do not +wish to harm her?” + +Now Lady Sybil had made Mary put off the Quaker-like costume in which +she had wished to nurse her, and she had had no time to cover the light +muslin dress she wore. The men saw before them a beautiful creature, +white-robed, bareheaded, barenecked—even the schoolmistress had not +snatched up so much as a cloak—a Una with sweet shining eyes, before +whom they fell aside abashed. + +“Lord love you, Miss!” one cried heartily. “Take her out! And God bless +you!” while the others grinned fatuously. + +So down the steps and into the turmoil of the seething Square, walled +on two sides by fire, and full of a drunken, frenzied rabble—for all +decent onlookers had fled, awake at last to the result of their +quiescence—the strange procession moved, the girl going first. Tipsy +groups, singing and dancing delirious jigs to the music of falling +walls, pillagers hurrying in ruthless haste from house to house, or +quarrelling over their spoils, householders striving to save a remnant +of their goods from dwellings past saving—all made way for it. Men who +swayed on their feet, brandishing their arms and shouting obscene +songs, being touched on the shoulder by others, stared, and gave place +with mouths agape. Even boys, whom the madness of that night made worse +than men, and unsexed women, shrank at sight of it, and were +silent—nay, followed with a strange homage the slender white figure, +the shining eyes, the pure sweet face. + +In the worst horrors of the French Revolution it is said that the +devotion of a daughter stayed the hands which were raised to slay her +father. Even so, on this night in Bristol, amid surroundings less +bloody, but almost as appalling, the wildest and the most furious made +way for the daughter and the mother. + +Led by instinct rather than by calculation, Mary did not pause, or look +aside, but moved onward, until she reached the middle of the Square; +until some sixty or seventy yards divided her charge from the nearest +of the burning houses. The heat was less scorching here, the crowd less +compact. A fixed seat afforded shelter on one side, and by it she +signed to the bearers to set the couch down. The statue stood not far +away on the other side, and secured them against the ugly rushes which +were caused from time to time by the fall of a roof or a rain of +sparks. + +Mary gazed round her in stupor. And no wonder. The whole of the north +side of the great Square, and a half of the west side—thirty lofty +houses in all—were in flames, or were sinking in red-hot ruin. The long +wall of fire, the canopy of glowing smoke, the ceaseless roar of the +element, the random movements of the forms which, pigmy-like, played +between her and the conflagration, the doom which threatened the whole +city, held her awestruck, spellbound, fascinated. + +But even the feelings which she experienced, confronted by that sight, +were exceeded by the emotions of one who had seen her advance, and, at +first with horror, then as he recognised her, with incredulity, had +watched the white figure which threaded its way through this rout of +satyrs, this orgy of recklessness. She had not succeeded in wresting +her eyes from the spectacle before a trembling hand fell on her arm, +and the last voice she expected to hear called her by name. + +“Mary!” Sir Robert cried. “Mary! My God! What are you doing here?” For, +taken up with staring at her, he had seen neither who accompanied her +nor what they bore. + +A sob of relief and joy broke from her, as she recognised him and flung +herself into his arms and clung to him. + +“Oh!” she cried. “Oh!” She could say no more at that moment. But the +joy of it! To have at last a man to turn to, a man to lean upon, a man +to look to! + +And still he could not grasp the position. “My God!” he repeated in +wonder. “What, child, what are you doing here?” + +But before she could answer him, his eyes sank to the level of the +couch, which the figures about it shaded from the scorching light. And +he started—and stepped back. In a lower voice and a quavering tone he +called upon his Maker. He was beginning to understand. + +“We had to bring her out,” she sobbed. “We had to bring her out. The +house is on fire. See!” She pointed to the house beside Miss Sibson’s, +from the upper windows of which smoke was beginning to curl and eddy. +Men were pouring from the door below, carrying their booty and jostling +others who sought to enter. + +“You have been here all day?” he asked, passing his hand over his brow. + +“Yes.” + +“All day? All day?” he repeated. + +“Yes.” + +He covered his eyes with his hand, while Mary, recalled by a touch from +Miss Sibson, knelt beside her mother, to feel her pulse, to rub her +hands, to make sure that life still lingered in the inanimate frame. He +had not asked, he did not ask who it was over whom his daughter hung +with so tender a solicitude. He did not even look at the cloaked +figure. But the sidelong glance which at once sought and shunned, the +quivering of his mouth, which his shaking fingers did not avail to +hide, the agitation which unnerved a frame, erect but feeble, all +betrayed his knowledge. And what must have been his thoughts, how +poignant his reflections as he considered that there, there, enveloped +in those shapeless wraps, there lay the bride whom he had wedded with +hopes so high a score of years before! The mother of his child, the +wife whom he had last seen in the pride of her beauty, the woman from +whom he had been parted for sixteen years, and who through all those +sixteen years had never been absent from his thoughts for an hour, nor +ever been aught in them but an abiding, clinging, embittering +memory—she lay there! + +What wonder, if the scene about them rolled away and he saw her again +in the stately gardens at Stapylton, walking, smiling, talking, +flirting, the gayest of the gay, the lightest of the butterflies, the +admired of all? Or if his heart bled at the remembrance—at that +remembrance and many another? Or again, what wonder if his mind went +back to long hours of brooding in his sombre library, hours given up to +the rehearsal of grave remonstrances, vain reproofs, bitter complaints, +all destined to meet with defiance? And if his head sank lower, his +hands trembled more senilely, his breast heaved at this picture of the +irrevocable past? + +Of all the strange things wrought in Bristol that night, of all the +strangely begotten brood of riot and fire, and Reform, none were +stranger than this meeting, if meeting that could be called where one +was ignorant of the other’s presence, and he would not look upon her +face. For he would not, perhaps he dared not. He stood with bent head, +pondering and absorbed, until an uprush of sparks, more fiery than +usual, and the movement of the crowd to avoid them, awoke him from his +thoughts. Then his eyes fell on Mary’s uncovered head and neck, and he +took the cloak from his own shoulders and put it on her, with a touch +as if he blessed her. She was kneeling beside the couch at the moment, +her head bent to her mother’s, her hair mingling with her mother’s, but +he contrived to close his eyes and would not see his wife’s face. + +After that he moved to the farther side of the couch, where some +sneaking hobbledehoys showed a disposition to break in upon them. And +old as he was, and shaken and weary, he stood sentry there, a gaunt +stooping figure, for long hours, until the prayed-for day began to +break above Redcliffe and to discover the grim relics of the night’s +work. + + + + +XXXV +THE MORNING OF MONDAY + + +It has been said that midnight of that Sunday saw the alarm speeding +along every road by which the forces of order could hope to be +recruited; nevertheless in Bristol itself nothing was done to stay the +work of havoc. A change had indeed come over the feeling in the city; +for to acquiescence had succeeded the most lively alarm, and to +approval, rage and boundless indignation. But the handful of officials +who all day long had striven, honestly if not very capably, to restore +order, were exhausted; and the public without cohesion or leaders were +in no state to make head against the rioters. So great, indeed, was the +confusion that a troop of Gloucestershire Yeomanry which rode in soon +after dark received neither orders nor billets; and being poorly led, +withdrew within the hour. This, with the tumult at Bath, where the +quarters of the Yeomanry were beset by a mob of Reformers, who would +not let them go to the rescue, completed the isolation of the city. + +One man only, indeed, in the midst of that welter, had it in his power +to intervene with effect. And he could not be found. From Queen’s +Square to Leigh’s Bazaar, where the Third Dragoons stood inactive by +their horses; from Leigh’s to the Recruiting Office on College Green, +where a couple of non-commissioned officers stood inactive; from the +Recruiting Office to his lodgings in Unity Street, men, panting and +protesting, in terror for their property, hurried in vain nightmare +pursuit of that man. For to such men it seemed impossible that in face +of the damage already done, of thirty houses in flames, of a mob which +had broken all bounds, of a city disturbed to its entrails, he could +still refuse to act. + +But to go to Unity Street was one thing, and to gain speech with +Brereton was another. He had gone to bed. He was asleep. He was not +well. He was worn out and was resting. The seekers, with the roar of +the fire in their ears and ruin staring them in the face, heard these +incredible things, and went away, swearing profanely. Nor did anyone, +it would seem, gain speech with him, until the small hours were well +advanced. Then Arthur Vaughan, unable to abide by the vow he had taken +not to importune him, arrived, he, too, furious, at the door, and found +a knot of gentlemen clamouring for admission. + +Vaughan had parted from Sir Robert Vermuyden some hours earlier, +believing that, bad as things were, he might make head against the +rioters, if he could rally his constables. But he had found no one +willing to act without the soldiery; and he was here in the last +resort, determined to compel Colonel Brereton to move, if it were by +main force. For Vaughan had the law-keeping instincts of an Englishman +and his blood boiled at the sights he had seen in the streets, at the +wanton destruction of property, at the jeopardy of life, at the women +made homeless, at the men made paupers. Nor was it quite out of his +thoughts that if anything could harm the cause of Reform it was these +deeds done in its name, these outrages fulfilling to the letter the +worst which its enemies had predicted of it! + +He spoke a few words to the persons who, angry and nonplussed, were +wrangling at the door, then he pushed his way in, deaf to the +remonstrances of the woman of the house. He did not believe, he could +not believe the excuse given—that Brereton was in bed. Nero, fiddling +while Rome burned, seemed nought beside that! And his surprise was +great when, opening the sitting-room door, he saw before him only the +Honourable Bob; who, standing on the hearth-rug, met his indignant look +with one of forced and sickly amusement. + +“Good Heavens!” Vaughan cried, staring at him. “What are you doing +here? Where’s the Chief?” + +Flixton shrugged his shoulders. “There,” he said irritably, “it’s no +use blaming me! Man alive, if he won’t, he won’t! And it’s his +business, not mine!” + +“Then I’d make it mine!” Vaughan retorted. “Where is he?” + +Flixton flicked his thumb in the direction of an inner door. “He’s +there,” he said. “He’s there safe enough! For the rest, it is easy to +find fault! Very easy for you, my lad! You’re no longer in the +service.” + +“There are a good many will leave the service for this!” Vaughan +replied; and he saw on the instant that the shot told. Flixton’s face +fell, he opened his mouth to reply. But disdaining to listen to +excuses, of which the speaker’s manner betrayed the shallowness, +Vaughan opened the bedroom door and passed in. + +To his boundless astonishment Brereton was really in bed, with a light +beside him. Asleep he probably was not, for he rose at once to a +sitting posture and, with wild and dishevelled hair, confronted the +intruder with a mingling of wrath and discomfiture in his looks. His +sword and an undress cap, blue with a silver band, lay beside the +candle on the table, and Vaughan saw that though in his shirt-sleeves +he was not otherwise undressed. + +“Mr. Vaughan!” he cried. “What, if you please, does this mean?” + +“That is what I am here to ask you!” Vaughan answered, his face flushed +with indignation. He was too angry to pick his words. “Are you, can you +be aware, sir, what is done while you sleep?” + +“Sleep?” Brereton rejoined, with a sombre gleam in his eyes. “Sleep, +man? God knows it is the last thing I do!” He clapped his hand to his +brow and for a moment remained silent, holding it there. Then, “Sleep +has been a stranger to me these three nights!” he said. + +“Then what do you do here?” Vaughan answered, in astonishment. And +looked round the room as if he might find his answer there. + +“Ah!” Brereton rejoined, with a look half suspicious, half cunning. +“That is another matter. But never mind! Never mind! I know what I am +doing.” + +“Know——” + +“Yes, well!” the soldier replied, bringing his feet to the floor, but +continuing to keep his seat on the bed. “Very well, sir, I assure you.” + +Vaughan looked aghast at him. “But, Colonel Brereton,” he rejoined, “do +you consider that you are the only person in this city able to act? +That without you nothing can be done and nothing can be ventured?” + +“That,” Brereton returned, with the same shrewd look, “is just what I +do consider! Without me they cannot act! They cannot venture. And I—go +to bed!” + +He chuckled at it, as at a jest; and Vaughan, checked by the oddity of +his manner, and with a growing suspicion in his mind, knew not what to +think. For answer, at last, “I fear that you will not be able to go to +bed, Colonel Brereton,” he said gravely, “when the moment comes to face +the consequences.” + +“The consequences?” + +“You cannot think that a city such as this can be destroyed, and no one +be called to account?” + +“But the civil power——” + +“Is impotent!” Vaughan answered, with returning indignation, “in the +face of the disorder now prevailing! I warn you! A little more delay, a +little more license, let the people’s passions be fanned by farther +impunity, and nothing, nothing, I warn you, Colonel Brereton,” he +continued with emphasis, “can save the major part of the city from +destruction!” + +Brereton rose to his feet, a certain wildness in his aspect. “Good +God!” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean it! Do you really mean it, Vaughan? +But—but what can I do?” He sank down on the bed again, and stared at +his companion. “Eh? What can I do? Nothing!” + +“Everything!” + +He sprang to his feet. “Everything! You say everything?” he cried, and +his tone rose shrill and excited. “But you don’t know!” he continued, +lowering his voice as quickly as he had raised it and laying his hand +on Vaughan’s sleeve—“you don’t know! You don’t know! But I know! Man, I +was set in command here on purpose. If I acted they counted on putting +the blame on me. And if I didn’t act—they would still put the blame on +me.” + +His cunning look shocked Vaughan. + +“But even so, sir,” he answered, “you can do your duty.” + +“My duty?” Brereton repeated, raising his voice again. “And do you +think it is my duty to precipitate a useless struggle? To begin a civil +war? To throw away the lives of my own men and cut down innocent folk? +To fill the streets with blood and slaughter? And the end the same?” + +“Ay, sir, I do,” Vaughan answered sternly. “If by so doing a worse +calamity may be averted! And, for your men’s lives, are they not +soldiers? For your own life, are you not a soldier? And will you shun a +soldier’s duty?” + +Brereton clapped his hand to his brow, and, holding it there, paced the +room in his shirt and breeches. + +“My God! My God!” he cried, as he went. “I do not know what to do! But +if—if it be as bad as you say——” + +“It is as bad, and worse!” + +“I might try once more,” looking at Vaughan with a troubled, undecided +eye, “what showing my men might do? What do you think?” + +Vaughan thought that if he were once on the spot, if he saw with his +own eyes the lawlessness of the mob, he might act. And he assented. +“Shall I pass on the order, sir,” he added, “while you dress?” + +“Yes, I think you may. Yes, certainly. Tell the officer commanding to +march his men to the Square and I’ll meet him there.” + +Vaughan waited for no more. He suspected that the burden of +responsibility had proved too heavy for Brereton’s mind. He suspected +that the Colonel had brooded upon his position between a Whig +Government and a Whig mob until the notion that he was sent there to be +a scapegoat had become a fixed idea; and with it the determination that +he would not be forced into strong measures, had become also a fixed +idea. + +Such a man, if he was to be blamed, was to be pitied also. And Vaughan, +even in the heat of his indignation, did pity him. But he entertained +no such feeling for the Honourable Bob, and in delivering the order to +him he wasted no words. After Flixton had left the room, however, he +remembered that he had noted a shade of indecision in the aide’s +manner. And warned by it, he followed him. “I will come with you to +Leigh’s,” he said. + +“Better come all the way,” Flixton replied, with covert insolence. +“We’ve half a dozen spare horses.” + +The next moment he was sorry he had spoken. For, “Done with you!” +Vaughan cried. “There’s nothing I’d like better!” + +Flixton grunted. He had overreached himself, but he could not withdraw +the offer. + +Vaughan was by his side, and plainly meant to accompany him. + +Let no man think that the past is done with, though he sever it as he +will. The life from which he has cut himself off in disgust has none +the less cast the tendrils of custom about his heart, which shoot and +bud when he least expects it. Vaughan stood in the doorway of the +stable while the men bridled. He viewed the long line of tossing heads, +and the smoky lanthorns fixed to the stall-posts; he sniffed the old +familiar smell of “Stables.” And he felt his heart leap to the past. +Ay, even as it leapt a few minutes later, when he rode down College +Green, now in darkness, now in glare, and heard beside him the familiar +clank of spur and scabbard, the rattle of the bridle-chains, and the +tramp of the shod hoofs. On the men’s left, as they descended the slope +at a walk, the tall houses stood up in bright light; below them on the +right the Float gleamed darkly; above them, the mist glowed red. Wild +hurrahing and an indescribable babel of shouts, mingled with the +rushing roar of the flames, rose from the Square. When the troop rode +into it with the first dawn, they saw that two whole sides—with the +exception of a pair of houses—were burnt or burning. In addition a +monster warehouse was on fire in the rear, a menace to every building +to windward of it. + +The Colonel, with Flixton attending him, fell in on the flank, as the +troop entered the Square. But apparently—since he gave no orders—he did +not share the tingling indignation which Vaughan experienced as he +viewed the scene. A few persons were still engaged in removing their +goods from houses on the south side; but save for these, the decent and +respectable had long since fled the place, and left it a prey to all +that was most vile and dangerous in the population of a rough seaport. +The rabble, left to themselves, and constantly recruited as the news +flew abroad, had cast off the fear of reprisals, and believed that at +last the city was their own. Vaughan saw that if the dragoons were to +act with effect they must act at once. Nor was he alone in this +opinion. The troop had not ridden far into the open before he was +shocked, as well as astonished, by the appearance of Sir Robert +Vermuyden, who stumbled across the Square towards them. He was +bareheaded—for in an encounter with a prowler who had approached too +near he had lost his hat; he was without his cloak, though the morning +was cold. His face, too, unshorn and haggard, added to the tragedy of +his appearance; yet in a sense he was himself, and he tried to steady +his voice, as, unaware of Vaughan’s presence, he accosted the nearest +trooper. + +“Who is in command, my man?” he said. + +Flixton, who had also recognised him, thrust his horse forward. “Good +Heavens, Sir Robert!” he cried. “What are you doing here? And in this +state?” + +“Never mind me,” the Baronet replied. “Are you in command?” + +Colonel Brereton had halted his men. He came forward. “No, Sir Robert,” +he said. “I am. And very sorry to see you in this plight.” + +“Take no heed of me, sir,” Sir Robert replied sternly. Through how many +hours, hours long as days, had he not watched for the soldiers’ coming! +“Take no heed of me, sir,” he repeated. “Unless you have orders to +abandon the loyal people of Bristol to their fate—act! Act, sir! If you +have eyes, you can see that the mob are beginning to fire the south +side on which the shipping abuts. Let that take fire and you cannot +save Bristol!” + +Brereton looked in the direction indicated, but he did not answer. +Flixton did. “We understand all that,” he said, somewhat cavalierly. +“We see all that, Sir Robert, believe me. But the Colonel has to think +of many things; of more than the immediate moment. We are the only +force in Bristol, and——” + +“Apparently Bristol is no better for you!” Sir Robert replied with +tremulous passion. + +So far Vaughan, a horse’s length behind Brereton and his aide, heard +what passed; but with half his mind. For his eyes, roving in the +direction whence Sir Robert had come, had discerned, amid a medley of +goods and persons huddled about the statue, in the middle of the +Square, a single figure, slender, erect, in black and white, which +appeared to be gazing towards him. At first he resisted as incredible +the notion which besieged him—at sight of that figure. But the longer +he looked the more sure he became that it was, it was Mary! Mary, +gazing towards him out of that welter of miserable and shivering +figures, as if she looked to him for help! + +Perhaps he should have asked Sir Robert’s leave, to go to her. Perhaps +Colonel Brereton’s to quit the troop, which he had volunteered to +accompany. But he gave no thought to either. He slipped from his +saddle, flung the reins to the nearest man, and, crossing the roadway +in three strides, he made towards her through the skulking groups who +warily watched the dragoons, or hailed them tipsily, and in the name of +Reform invited them to drink. + +And Mary, who had risen in alarm to her feet, and was gazing after her +father, her only hope, her one protection through the night, saw +Vaughan coming, tall and stern, through the prowling night-birds about +her, as if she had seen an angel! She said not a word, when he came +near and she was sure. Nor did he say more than “Mary!” But he threw +into that word so much of love, of joy, of relief, of forgiveness—and +of the appeal for forgiveness—that it brought her to his arms, it left +her clinging to his breast. All his coldness in Parliament Street, his +cruelty on the coach, her father’s opposition, all were forgotten by +her, as if they had not been! + +And for him, she might have been the weakest of the weak, and fickle +and changeable as the weather, she might have been all that she was +not—though he had yet to learn that and how she had carried herself +that night—but he knew that in spite of all he loved her. She had the +old charm for him! She was still the one woman in the world for him! +And she was in peril. But for that there is no knowing how long he +might have held her. That thought, however, presently overcame all +others, made him insensible even to the sweetness of that embrace, ay, +even put words in his mouth. + +“How come you here?” he cried. “How come you here, Mary?” + +She freed herself and pointed to her mother. “I am with her,” she said. +“We had to bring her here. It was all we could do.” + +He lowered his eyes and saw what she was guarding; and he understood +something of the tragedy of that night. From the couch came a low +continuous moaning which made the hair rise on his head. He looked at +Mary. + +“She is insensible,” she said quietly. “She does not know anything.” + +“We must remove her!” he said. + +She looked at him, and from him to that part of the Square where the +rioters wrought still at their fiendish work. And she shuddered. “Where +can we take her?” she answered. “They are beginning to burn that side +also.” + +“Then we must remove them!” he answered sternly. + +“That’s sense!” a hearty voice cried at his elbow. “And the first I’ve +heard this night!” On which he became aware of Miss Sibson, or rather +of a stout body swathed in queer wrappings, who spoke in the +schoolmistress’s tones, and though pale with fatigue continued to show +a brave face to the mischief about her. “That’s talking!” she +continued. “Do that, and you’ll do a man’s work!” + +“Will you have courage if I leave you?” he asked. And when Mary, +bravely but with inward terror, answered “Yes,” he told her in brief +sentences—with his eyes on the movements in the Square—what to do, if +the rabble made a rush in that direction, and what to do, if the troops +charged too near them, and how, by lying down, to avoid danger if the +crowd resorted to firearms, since untrained men fired high. Then he +touched Miss Sibson on the arm. “You’ll not leave her?” he said. + +“God bless the man, no!” the schoolmistress replied. “Though, for the +matter of that, she’s as well able to take care of me as I of her!” + +Which was not quite true. Or why in after-days did Miss Sibson, at many +a cosy whist-party and over many a glass of hot negus, tell of a +particular box on the ear with which she routed a young rascal, more +forward than civil? Ay, and dilate with boasting on the way his teeth +had rattled, and the gibes with which his fellows had seen him driven +from the field? + +But, if not quite true, it satisfied Vaughan. He went from them in a +cold heat, and finding Sir Robert, still at words and almost at blows +with the officers, was going to strike in, when another did so. +Daylight was slowly overcoming the glare of the fire and dispelling the +shadows which had lain the deeper and more confusing for that glare. It +laid the grey of reality upon the scene, showing all things in their +true colours, the ruins more ghastly, the pale licking flames more +devilish. The fire, which had swept two sides of the Square, leaving +only charred skeletons of houses, with vacant sockets gaping to the +sky, was now attacking the third side, of which the two most westerly +houses were in flames. It was this, and the knowledge of its meaning, +that, before Vaughan could interpose, flung at Colonel Brereton a man +white with passion, and stuttering under the pressure of feelings too +violent for utterance. + +“Do you see? Do you see?” he cried brandishing his fist in Brereton’s +face—it was Cooke. “You traitor! If the fire catches the fourth house +on that side, it’ll get the shipping! The shipping, d’you hear, you +Radical? Then the Lord knows what’ll escape? But, thank God, you’ll +hang! You’ll—if it gets to the fourth house, I tell you, it’ll catch +the rigging by the Great Crane! Are you going to move?” + +Vaughan did not wait for Brereton’s answer. “We must charge, Colonel +Brereton!” he cried, in a voice which burst the bonds of discipline, +and showed that he was determined that others should burst them also. +“Colonel Brereton,” he repeated, setting his horse in motion, “we must +charge without a moment’s delay!” + +“Wait!” Brereton answered hoarsely. “Wait! Let me——” + +“We must charge!” Vaughan replied, his face pale, his mind made up. And +turning in his saddle he waved his hand to the men. “Forward!” he +cried, raising his voice to its utmost. “Trot! Charge, men, and charge +home!” + +He spurred his horse to the front, and the whole troop, some thirty +strong, set in motion by the magic of his voice, followed him. Even +Brereton, after a moment’s hesitation, fell in a length behind him. The +horses broke into a trot, then into a canter. As they bore down along +the south side upon the southwest corner, a roar of rage and alarm rose +from the rioters collected there; and scores and hundreds fled, +screaming, and sought safety to right and left. + +Vaughan had time to turn to Brereton, and cry, “I beg your pardon, sir; +I could not help it!” The next moment he and the leading troopers were +upon the fleeing, dodging, ducking crowd; were upon them and among +them. Half a dozen swords gleamed high and fell, the horses did the +rest. The rabble, taken by surprise, made no resistance. In a trice the +dragoons were through the mob, and the roadway showed clear behind +them. Save where here and there a man rose slowly and limped away, +leaving a track of blood at his heels. + +“Steady! Steady!” Vaughan cried. “Halt! Halt! Right about!” and then, +“Charge!” + +He led the men back over the same ground, chasing from it such as had +dared to return, or to gather upon the skirts of the troop. Then he led +his men along the east side, clearing that also and driving the rioters +in a panic into the side streets. Resistance worthy of the name there +was none, until, having led the troop back across the open Square and +cleared that of the skulkers, he came back again to the southwest +corner. There the rabble, rallying from their surprise, had taken up a +position in the forecourts of the houses, where they were protected by +the railings. They met the soldiers with a volley of stones, and half a +dozen pistol-shots. A horse fell, two or three of the men were hit; for +an instant there was confusion. Then Vaughan spurred his horse into one +of the forecourts, and, followed by half a dozen troopers, cleared it, +and the next and the next; on which, volunteers who sprang up, as by +magic, at the first act of authority, entered the houses, killed one +rioter, flung out the rest, and extinguished the flames. Still the more +determined of the rascals, seeing the small number against them, clung +to the place and the forecourts; and, driven from one court, retreated +to another, and still protected by the railings, kept the troopers at +bay with missiles. + +Vaughan, panting with his exertions, took in the position, and looked +round for Brereton. + +“We must send for the Fourteenth, sir!” he said. “We are not enough to +do more than hold them in check.” + +“There is nothing else for it now,” Brereton replied, with a gloomy +face and in such a tone that the very men shrank from looking at him; +understanding, the very dullest of them, what his feelings must be, and +how great his shame, who, thus superseded, saw another successful in +that which it had been his duty to attempt. + +And what were Vaughan’s feelings? He dared not allow himself the luxury +of a glance towards the middle of the Square. Much less—but for a +different reason—had he the heart to meet Brereton’s eyes. “I’m not in +uniform, sir,” he said. “I can pass through the crowd. If you think +fit, and will give me the order, I’ll fetch them, sir?” + +Brereton nodded without a word, and Vaughan wheeled his horse to start. +As he pushed it clear of the troop he passed Flixton. + +“That was capital!” the Honourable Bob cried heartily. “Capital! We’ll +handle ’em easily now, till you come back!” + +Vaughan did not answer, nor did he look at Flixton; his look would have +conveyed too much. Instead, he put his horse into a trot along the east +side of the Square, and, regardless of a dropping fire of stones, made +for the opening beside the ruins of the Mansion House. At the last +moment, he looked back, to see Mary if it were possible. But he had +waited too long, he could distinguish only confused forms about the +base of the statue; and he must look to himself. His road to Keynsham +lay through the lowest and most dangerous part of the city. + +But though the streets were full of rough men, navigators and seamen, +whose faces were set towards the Square, and who eyed him suspiciously +as he rode by them, none made any attempt to stop him. And when he had +crossed Bristol Bridge and had gained the more open outskirts towards +Totterdown, where he could urge his horse to a gallop, the pale faces +of men and women at door and window announced that it was not only the +upper or the middle class which had taken fright, and longed for help +and order. Through Brislington and up Durley Hill he pounded; and it +must be confessed that his heart was light. Whatever came of it, though +they court-martialled him, were that possible, though they tried him, +he had done something, he had done right, and he had succeeded. +Whatever the consequences, whatever the results to himself, he had +dared; and his daring, it might be, had saved a city! Of the charge, +indeed, he thought nothing, though she had seen it. It was nothing, for +the danger had been of the slightest, the defence contemptible. But in +setting discipline at defiance, in superseding the officer commanding +the troops, in taking the whole responsibility on his own shoulders—a +responsibility which few would have dreamed of taking—there he had +dared, there he had played the man, there he had risen to the occasion! +If he had been a failure in the House, here, by good fortune, he had +not been a failure. And she would know it. Oh, happy thought! And happy +man, riding out of Bristol with the murk and smoke and fog at his back, +and the sunshine on his face! + +For the sun was above the horizon as, with full heart, he rode down the +hill into Keynsham, and heard the bugle sound “Boots and saddles!” and +poured into sympathetic ears—-and to an accompaniment of strong +words—the tale of the night’s doings. + +* * * * * + +An hour later he rode in with the Fourteenth and heard the Blues +welcomed with thanksgiving, in the very streets which had stoned them +from the city twenty-four hours before. By that time the officer in +command of the main body of the Fourteenth at Gloucester had posted +over, followed by another troop, and, seeing the state of things, had +taken his own line and assumed, though junior to Colonel Brereton, the +command of the forces. + +After that the thing became a military evolution. One hour, two hours +at most, and twenty charges along the quays and through the streets +sufficed—at the cost of a dozen lives—to convince the most obstinate of +the rabble of several things. _Imprimis_, that the reign of terror was +not come. On the contrary, that law and order, and also Red Judges, +survived. That Reform did not spell fire and pillage, and that at these +things even a Reforming Government could not wink. In a word, by noon +of that day, Monday, and many and many an hour before the ruins had +ceased to smoke, the bubble which might have been easily burst before +was pricked. Order reigned in Bristol, patrols were everywhere, two +thousand zealous constables guarded the streets. And though troops +still continued to hasten by every road to the scene, though all +England trembled with alarm, and distant Woolwich sent its guns, and +Greenwich horsed them, and the Yeomanry of six counties mustered on +Clifton Down, or were quartered on the public buildings, the thing was +nought by that time. Arthur Vaughan had pricked it in the early morning +light when he cried “Charge!” in Queen’s Square. + + + + +XXXVI +FORGIVENESS + + +The first wave of thankfulness for crowning blessings or vital escapes +has a softening quality against which the hearts of few are wholly +proof. Old things, old hopes, old ties, old memories return on that +gentle flood tide to eyes and mind. The barriers raised by time, the +furrows of ancient wrong are levelled with the plain, and the generous +breast cries “_Non nobis!_ Not to us only be the benefit!” + +Lady Lansdowne, with something of this kind in her thoughts and pity in +her heart, sat eying Miss Sibson in a silence which disclosed nothing, +and which the schoolmistress found irksome. Miss Sibson could beard Sir +Robert at need; but of the great of her own sex—and she knew Lady +Lansdowne for a very great lady, indeed—her sturdy nature went a little +in awe. Had her ladyship encroached indeed, Miss Sibson would have +known how to put her in her place. But a Lady Lansdowne perfectly +polite and wholly silent imposed on her. She rubbed her nose and was +glad when the visitor spoke. + +“Sir Robert has not seen her, then?” + +Miss Sibson smoothed out the lap of her dress. “No, my lady, not since +she was brought into the house. Indeed, I can’t say that he saw her +before, for he never looked at her.” + +“Do you think that I could see her?” + +The schoolmistress hesitated. “Well, my lady,” she said, “I am afraid +that she will hardly live through the day.” + +“Then he must see her,” Lady Lansdowne replied quickly. And Miss Sibson +observed with surprise that there were tears in the great lady’s eyes. +“He must see her. Is she conscious?” + +“She’s so-so,” Miss Sibson answered more at her ease. After all, the +great lady was human, it seemed. “She wanders, and thinks that she is +in France, my lady; believes there’s a revolution, and that they are +come to take her to prison. Her mind harps continually on things of +that kind. And not much wonder either! But, then again she’s herself. +So that you don’t know from one minute to another whether she’s +sensible or not.” + +“Poor thing!” Lady Lansdowne murmured. “Poor woman!” Her lips moved +without sound. Presently, “Her daughter is with her?” she asked. + +“She has scarcely left her for a minute since she was carried in,” Miss +Sibson answered warmly. And to her eyes, too, there rose something like +a tear. “Only with difficulty have I made her take the most necessary +rest. But if your ladyship pleases, I will ask whether she will see +you.” + +“Do so, if you please.” + +Miss Sibson retired for this purpose, and Lady Lansdowne, left to +herself, rose and looked from the window. As soon as it had been +possible to move her, the dying woman had been carried into the nearest +house which had escaped the flames, and Lady Lansdowne, gazing out, +looked on the scene of conflict, saw lines of ruins, still asmoke in +parts, and discerned between the scorched limbs of trees, from which +the last foliage had fallen, the blackened skeletons of houses. A +gaping crowd was moving round the Square, under the eyes of special +constables, who, distinguished by white bands on their arms, guarded +the various entrances. Hundreds, doubtless, who would fain have robbed +were there to stare; but for the most part the guilty shunned the +scene, and the gazers consisted mainly of sightseers from the country, +or from Bath, or of knots of merchants and traders and the like who +argued, some that this was what came of Reform, others that not Reform +but the refusal of Reform was to blame for it. + +Presently she saw Sir Robert’s stately figure threading its way through +the crowd. He walked erect, but with effort; yet though her heart +swelled with pity, it was not with pity for him. He would have his +daughter and in a few days, in a few weeks, in a few months at most, +the clouds would pass and leave him to enjoy the clear evening of his +days. + +But for her whom he had taken to his house twenty years before in the +bloom of her beauty, the envied, petted, spoiled child of fortune, who +had sinned so lightly and paid so dearly, and who now lay distraught at +the close of all, what evening remained? What gleam of light? What +comfort at the last? + +In her behalf, the heart which Whig pride, and family prejudice, and +the cares of riches had failed to harden, swelled to bursting. “He must +forgive her!” she ejaculated. “He shall forgive her!” And gliding to +the door she stayed Mary, who was in the act of entering. + +“I must see your father,” she said. “He is mounting the stairs now. Go +to your mother, my dear, and when I ring, do you come!” + +What Mary read in her face, of feminine pity and generous purpose, need +not be told. Whatever it was, the girl seized the woman’s hand, kissed +it with wet eyes, and fled. And when Sir Robert, ushered upstairs by +Miss Sibson, entered the room and looked round for his daughter, he +found in her stead the wife of his enemy. + +On the instant he remembered the errand on which she had sought him six +months before, and he was quick to construe her presence by its light, +and to feel resentment. The wrong of years, the daily, hourly wrong, +committed not against him only but against the innocent and the +helpless, this woman would have him forgive at a word; merely because +the doer, who had had no ruth, no pity, no scruples, hung on the verge +of that step which all, just and unjust, must take! And some, he knew, +standing where he stood, would forgive; would forgive with their lips, +using words which meant nought to the sayer, though they soothed the +hearers. But he was no hypocrite; he would not forgive. Forgive? Great +Heaven, that any should think that the wrongs of a lifetime could be +forgiven in an hour! At a word! Beside a bed! As soon might the +grinding wear of years be erased from the heart, the wrinkles of care +from the brow, the snows of age from the head! As easily might a word +give back to the old the spring and flame and vigour of their youth! + +Something of what he thought impressed itself on his face. Lady +Lansdowne marked the sullen drop of his eyebrows, and the firm set of +the lower face; but she did not flinch. “I came upon your name,” she +said, “in the report of the dreadful doings here—in the ‘Mercury,’ this +morning. I hope, Sir Robert, I shall be pardoned for intruding.” + +He murmured something, as much no as yes, and with a manner as frigid +as his breeding permitted. And standing—she had reseated herself—he +continued to look at her, his lips drawn down. + +“I grieve,” she continued, “to find the truth more sad than the +report.” + +“I do not know that you can help us,” he said. + +“No?” + +“No.” + +“Because,” she rejoined, looking at him softly, “you will not let me +help you. Sir Robert——” + +“Lady Lansdowne!” He broke in abruptly, using her name with emphasis, +using it with intention. “Once before you came to me. Doubtless you +remember. Now, let me say at once, that if your errand to-day be the +same, and I think it likely that it is the same——” + +“It is not the same,” she replied with emotion which she did not try to +hide. “It is not the same! For then there was time. And now there is no +time. Let a day, it may be an hour, pass, and at the cost of all you +possess you will not be able to buy that which you can still have for +nothing!” + +“And what is that?” he asked, frowning. + +“An easy heart.” He had not looked for that answer, and he started. +“Sir Robert,” she continued, rising from her seat, and speaking with +even deeper feeling, “forgive her! Forgive her, I implore you. The +wrong is past, is done, is over! Your daughter is restored——” + +“But not by her!” he cried, taking her up quickly. “Not by her act!” he +repeated sternly, “or with her will! And what has she done that I +should forgive? I, whose life she blighted, whose pride she stabbed, +whose hopes she crushed? Whom she left solitary, wifeless, childless +through the years of my strength, the years that she cannot, that no +one can give back to me? Through the long summer days that were a +weariness, and the dark winter days that were a torpor? Yet—yet I could +forgive her, Lady Lansdowne, I could forgive her, I do forgive her +that!” + +“Sir Robert!” + +“That, all that!” he continued, with a gesture and in a tone of +bitterness which harmonised but ill with the words he uttered. “All +that she ever did amiss to me I forgive her. But—but the child’s wrong, +never! Had she relented indeed, at the last, had she of her own motion, +of her own free will given me back my daughter, had she repented and +undone the wrong, then—but no matter! she did not! She did not one,” he +repeated with agitation, “she did not any of these things. And I ask, +what has she done that I should forgive her?” + +She did not answer him at once, and when she did it was in a tone so +low as to be barely audible. + +“I cannot answer that,” she said. “But is it the only question? Is +there not another question, Sir Robert—not what she has done, or left +undone, but what you—forgive me and bear with me—have left undone, or +done amiss? Are you—you clear of all spot or trespass, innocent of all +blame or erring? When she came to you a young girl, a young bride—and, +oh, I remember her, the sunshine was not brighter, she was a child of +air rather than of earth, so fair and heedless, so capricious, and yet +so innocent!—did you in the first days never lose patience? Never fail +to make allowance? Never preach when wisdom would have smiled, never +look grave when she longed for lightness, never scold when it had been +better to laugh? Did you never forget that she was a score of years +younger than you, and a hundred years more frivolous? Or”—Lady +Lansdowne’s tone was a mere whisper now—“if you are clear of all +offence against her, are you clear of all offence against any, of all +trespass? Have you no need to be forgiven, no need, no——” + +Her voice died away into silence. She left the appeal unfinished. + +Sir Robert paced the room. And other scenes than those on which he had +taught himself to brood, other days than those later days of wasted +summers and solitary winters, of dulness and decay, rose to his memory. +Sombre moods by which it had pleased him—at what a cost!—to make his +displeasure known. Sarcastic words, warrant for the facile retort that +followed, curt judgments and ill-timed reproofs; and always the sense +of outraged dignity to freeze the manner and embitter the tone. + +So much, so much which he had forgotten came back to him as he walked +the room with averted face! While Lady Lansdowne waited with her hand +on the bell. Minutes were passing, minutes; who knew how precious they +might be? And with them was passing his opportunity. + +He spoke at last. “I will see her,” he said huskily. + +And on that Lady Lansdowne performed a last act of kindness. She said +nothing, bestowed no thanks. But when Mary entered—pale, yet with that +composure which love teaches the least experienced—she was gone. Nor as +she drove in all the pomp of her liveries and outriders through Bath, +through Corsham, through Chippenham, did those who ran out to watch my +lady’s four greys go by, see her face as the face of an angel. But Lady +Louisa, flying down the steps to meet her—four at a time and +hoidenishly—was taken to her arms, unscolded; and knew by instinct that +this was the time to pet and be petted, to confess and be forgiven, and +to learn in the stillness of her mother’s room those thrilling lessons +of life, which her governess had not imparted, nor Mrs. Fairchild +approved. + +_But more than wisdom sees, love knows. +What eye has scanned the perfume of the rose? +Has any grasped the low grey mist which stands +Ghost-like at eve above the sheeted lands?_ + + +Meanwhile Sir Robert paused on the threshold of the room—_her_ room, +which he had first entered two-and-twenty years before. And as the then +and the now, the contrast between the past and the present, forced +themselves upon him, what could he do but pause and bow his head? In +the room a voice, her voice, yet unlike her voice, high, weak, never +ceasing, was talking as from a great distance, from another world; +talking, talking, never ceasing. It filled the room. Yet it did not +come from a world so distant as he at first fancied, hearing it; a +world that was quite aloof. For when, after he had listened for a time +in the shadow by the door, his daughter led him forward, Lady Sybil’s +eyes took note of their approach, though she recognised neither of +them. Her mind was still busy amid the scenes of the riot; twisting and +weaving them, it seemed, into a piece with old impressions of the +French Terror, made on her mind in childhood by talk heard at her +nurse’s knee. + +“They are coming! They are coming now,” she muttered, her bright eyes +fixed on his. “But they shall not take her. They shall not take her,” +she repeated. “Hide behind me, Mary. Hide, child! Don’t tremble! They +shan’t take you. One neck’s enough and mine is growing thin. It used +not to be thin. But that’s right. Hide, and they’ll not see you, and +when I am gone you’ll escape. Hush! Here they are!” And then in a +louder tone, “I am ready,” she said, “I am quite ready.” + +Mary leant over her. + +“Mother!” she cried, unable to bear the scene in silence. “Mother! +Don’t you know me?” + +“Hush!” the dying woman answered, a look of terror crossing her face. +“Hush, child! Don’t speak! I’m ready, gentlemen; I will go with you. I +am not afraid. My neck is small, and it will be but a squeeze.” And she +tried to raise herself in the bed. + +Mary laid gentle hands on her, and restrained her. “Mother,” she said. +“Mother! Don’t you know me? I am Mary.” + +But Lady Sybil, heedless of her, looked beyond her, with fear and +suspicion in her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I know you. I know you. I know +you. But who is—that? Who is that?” + +“My father. It is my father. Don’t you know him?” + +But still, “Who is it? Who is it?” Lady Sybil continued to ask. “Who is +it?” + +Mary burst into tears. + +“What does he want? What does he want? What does he want?” the dying +woman asked in endless, unreasoning repetition. + +Sir Robert had entered the room in the full belief that with the best +of wills it would be hard, it would be well-nigh impossible to forgive; +to forgive his wife with more than the lips. But when he heard her, +weak and helpless as she was, thinking of another; when he understood +that she who had done so great a wrong to the child was willing to give +up her own life for the child; when he felt the sudden drag at his +heart-strings of many an old and sacred recollection, shared only by +her, and which that voice, that face, that form brought back, he fell +on his knees by the bed. + +She shrank from him, terrified. “What does he want?” she repeated. + +“Sybil,” he said, in a husky voice, “I want your forgiveness, Sybil, +wife! Do you hear me? Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me, late as +it is?” + +Strange to say, his voice pierced the confusion which filled the sick +brain. She looked at him steadily and long; and she sighed, but she did +not answer. + +“Sybil,” he repeated in a quavering voice. “Do you not know me? Don’t +you remember me? I am your husband.” + +“Yes, I know,” she muttered. + +“This is your daughter.” + +She smiled. + +“Our daughter,” he repeated. “Our daughter!” + +“Mary?” she murmured. “Mary?” + +“Yes, Mary.” + +She smiled faintly on him. Mary’s head was touching his, but she did +not answer. She remained looking at them. They could not tell whether +she understood, or was slipping away again. He took her hand and +pressed it gently. “Do you hear me?” he said. “If I was harsh to you in +the old days, if I made mistakes, if I wronged you, I want you—wife, +say that you forgive me.” + +“I—forgive you,” she murmured. A faint gleam of mischief, of laughter, +of the old Lady Sybil, shone for an instant in her eyes, as if she knew +that she had the upper hand. “I forgive you—everything,” she murmured. +Yes, for certain now, she was slipping away. + +Mary took her other hand. But she did not speak again. And before the +watch on the table beside her had ticked many times she had slipped +away for good, with that gleam of triumph in her eyes—forgiving. + + + + +XXXVII +IN THE MOURNING COACH + + +It is a platitude that the flood is followed by the ebb. In the heat of +action, and while its warmth cheered his spirits, Arthur Vaughan felt +that he had done something. True, what he had done brought him no +nearer to making his political dream a reality. Not for him the +promise, + +_It shall be thine in danger’s hour +To guide the helm of Britain’s power +And midst thy country’s laurelled crown +To twine a garland all thy own_. + + +Yet he had done something. He had played the man when some others had +not played the man. + +But now that the crisis was over, and he had made his last round, now +that he had inspected for the last time the patrols over whom he was +set, seen order restored on the Welsh Back, and panic driven from +Queen’s Square, he owned the reaction. There is a fatigue which one +night’s rest fails to banish; and low in mind and tired in body, he +felt, when he rose late on Tuesday afternoon, that he had done nothing +worth doing; nothing that altered his position in essentials. + +For a time, indeed, he had fancied that things were changed. Sir Robert +had requested his assistance, and allowed him to share his search; and +though it was possible that the merest stranger, cast by fortune into +the same adventure, had been as welcome, it was also possible that the +Baronet viewed him with a more benevolent eye. And Mary—Mary, too, had +flown to his arms as to a haven; but in such a position, amid +surroundings so hideous, was that wonderful? Was it not certain that +she would have behaved in the same way to the merest acquaintance if he +brought her aid and protection? + +The answer might be yes or no! What was certain was that it could not +avail him. For between him and her there stood more than her father’s +aversion, more than the doubt of her affection, more than the unlucky +borough, of which he had despoiled Sir Robert. There were her +possessions, there was the suspicion which Sir Robert had founded on +them—on Mary’s gain and his loss—there was the independence, which he +must surrender, and which pride and principle alike forbade him to +relinquish. + +In the confusion of the night Vaughan had almost forgotten and quite +forgiven. Now he saw that the thing, though forgotten, though forgiven, +was there. He could not owe all to a man who had so misconstrued him, +and who might misconstrue him again. He could not be dependent on one +whose views, thoughts, prejudices, were opposed to his own. No, the +night and its doing must stand apart. He and she had met, they had +parted. He had one memory more, and nothing was changed. + +In this mood the fact that the White Lion regarded him as a hero +brought him no comfort. Neither the worshipping eyes of the young lady +who had tried to dissuade him from going forth on the Sunday, nor the +respectful homage which dogged his movements, uplifted him. He had +small appetite for his solitary dinner, and was languidly reading the +“Bristol Mercury,” when a name was brought up to him, and a letter. + +“Gentleman will wait your pleasure, sir,” the man said. + +He broke open the letter, and felt the blood rise to his face as his +eyes fell on the signature. The few lines were from his cousin, and ran +as follows: + +“Dear Sir,—I feel it my duty to inform you, as a connection of the +family, that Lady Sybil Vermuyden died at five minutes past three +o’clock this afternoon. Her death, which I am led to believe could in +no event have been long delayed, was doubtless hastened by the +miserable occurrences of the last few days. + +“I have directed Isaac White to convey this intimation to your hands, +and to inform you from time to time of the arrangements made for her +ladyship’s funeral, which will take place at Stapylton. I have the +honour to be, sir, + +“Your obedient servant, + +“Robert Vermuyden.” + +Vaughan laid the letter down with a groan. As he did so he became aware +that Isaac White was in the room. “Halloa, White,” he said. “Is that +you?” + +White looked at him with unconcealed respect. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Sir +Robert bade me wait on you in person without delay. If I may venture,” +he continued, “to compliment you on my own account, sir—a very great +honour to the family, Mr. Vaughan—in all the west country, I may say——” + +Vaughan stopped him, and said something of Lady Sybil’s death; adding +that he had never seen her but once. + +“Twice, begging your pardon,” White answered, smiling. “Do you remember +I met you at Chippenham before the election, Mr. Vaughan? Well, sir, +she came up to the coach, and as good as touched your sleeve, poor +lady, while I was talking to you. Of course, she knew that her daughter +was on the coach.” + +“I learned afterwards that Lady Sybil travelled by it that day,” +Vaughan replied. Then with a frown he took up the letter. “Of course,” +he continued, “I have no intention of attending the funeral.” + +“But I think his honour wishes much——” + +“There is no possible reason,” Vaughan said doggedly. + +“Pardon me, sir,” White answered anxiously. “You are not aware, I am +sure, how highly Sir Robert appreciates your gallant conduct yesterday. +No one in Bristol can view it in a stronger light. It is a happy thing +he witnessed it. He thinks, indeed, that but for you her ladyship would +have died in the crowd. Moreover——” + +“That’s enough, White,” Vaughan said coldly. “It is not so much what +Sir Robert thinks now, too, as what he thought formerly.” + +“But indeed, sir, his honour’s opinion of that matter, too——” + +“That’s enough, White,” the young gentleman repeated, rising from his +seat. He was telling himself that he was not a dog to be kicked away +and called to heel again. He would forgive, but he would not return. “I +don’t wish to discuss the matter,” he added with an air of finality. + +And White did not venture to say more. + +He did wisely. For Vaughan, left to himself, had not reflected two +minutes before he felt that he had played the churl. To make amends, he +called at the house to inquire after the ladies at an hour next morning +when they could not be stirring. Having performed that duty, and having +learned that no inquiry into the riots would be opened for some +days—and also that a proposal to give him a piece of gold plate was +under debate at the Commercial Rooms, he fled, pride and love at odds +in his breast. + +It is possible that in Sir Robert’s heart, also, there was a battle +going on. On the eve of the funeral he sat alone in the library at +Stapylton, that room in which he had passed so many unhappy hours, and +with which the later part of his life seemed bound up. Doubtless, as he +sat, he gave solemn thought to the past and the future. The room was no +longer dusty, the furniture was no longer shabby; there were fresh +flowers on his table; and by his great leather chair, a smaller chair, +filled within the last few minutes, had its place. Yet he could not +forget what he had suffered there; how he had brooded there. And +perhaps he thanked God, amid his more solemn thoughts, that he was not +glad that she who had plagued him would plague him no more. All that +her friend had urged in her behalf, all that was brightest and best in +his memories of her, this generous whim, that quixotic act rose, it may +be supposed, before him. And the picture of her fair young beauty, of +her laughing face in the bridal veil or under the Leghorn, of her first +words to him, of her first acts in her new home! And but that the tears +of age flow hardly, it is possible that he would have wept. + +Presently—perhaps he was not sorry for it—a knock came at the door and +Isaac White entered. He came to take the last instructions for the +morrow. A few words settled what remained to be settled, and then, +after a little hesitation, “I promised to name it to you, sir,” White +said. “I don’t know what you’ll say to it. Dyas wishes to walk with the +others.” + +Sir Robert winced. “Dyas?” he muttered. + +“He says he’s anxious to show his respect for the family, in every way +consistent with his opinions.” + +“Opinions?” Sir Robert echoed. “Opinions? Good Lord! A butcher’s +opinions! Who knows but some day he’ll have a butcher to represent him? +Or a baker or a candlestick-maker! If ever they have the ballot, +that’ll come with it, White.” + +White waited, but as the other said no more, “You won’t forbid him, +sir?” he said, a note of appeal in his voice. + +“Oh, let him come,” Sir Robert answered wearily. “I suppose,” he +continued, striving to speak in the same tone, “you’ve heard nothing +from his—Member?” + +“From—oh, from Mr. Vaughan, sir? No, sir. But Mr. Flixton is coming.” + +Sir Robert muttered something under his breath, and it was not +flattering to the Honourable Bob. Then he turned his chair and held his +hands over the blaze. “That will do, White,” he said. “That will do.” +And he did not look round until the agent had left the room. + +But White was certain that even on this day of sad memories, with the +ordeal of the morrow before him, Arthur Vaughan’s attitude troubled his +patron. And when, twenty-four hours later, the agent’s eyes travelling +round the vast assemblage which regard for the family had gathered +about the grave, fell upon Arthur Vaughan, and he knew that he had +repented and come, he was glad. + +The young Member held himself a little apart from the small group of +family mourners; a little apart also from the larger company whom +respect or social ties had brought thither. Among these last, who were +mostly Tories, many were surprised to see Lord Lansdowne and his son. +But more, aware of the breach between Mr. Vaughan and his cousin, and +of the former’s peculiar position in the borough, were surprised to see +him. And these, while their thoughts should have been elsewhere, stole +furtive glances at the sombre figure; and when Vaughan left, still +alone and without speaking to any, followed his departure with +interest. In those days of mutes and crape-coloured staves, mourning +cloaks and trailing palls, it was not the custom for women to bury +their dead. And Vaughan, when he had made up his mind to come, knew +that he ran no risk of seeing Mary. + +That he might escape with greater case, he had left his post-chaise at +a side-gate of the park. The moment the ceremony was over, he made his +way to it, now traversing beds of fallen chestnut and sycamore leaves, +now striding across the sodden turf. The solemn words which he had +heard, emphasised as they were by the scene, the grey autumn day, the +lonely park, and the dark groups threading their way across it, could +not hold his thoughts from Mary. She would be glad that he had come. +Perhaps it was for that reason that he had come. + +He had passed through the gate of the park and his foot was on the step +of the chaise, when he heard White’s voice, calling after him. He +turned and saw the agent hurrying desperately after him. White’s +mourning suit was tight and new and ill made for haste; and he was hot +and breathless. For a moment, “Mr. Vaughan! Mr. Vaughan!” was all he +could say. + +Vaughan turned a reluctant, almost a stern face to him. Not that he +disliked the agent, but he thought that he had got clear. + +“What is it?” he asked, without removing his foot from the step. + +White looked behind him. “Sir Robert, sir,” he said, “has something to +say to you. The carriage is following. If you’ll be good enough,” he +continued, mopping his face, “to wait a moment!” + +“Sir Robert cannot wish to see me at such a time,” Vaughan answered, +between wonder and impatience. “He will write, doubtless.” + +“The carriage should be in sight,” was White’s answer. As he spoke it +came into view; rounding the curve of a small coppice of beech trees, +it rolled rapidly down a declivity, and ascended towards them as +rapidly. + +A moment and it would be here. Vaughan looked uncertainly at his +post-boy. He wished to catch the York House coach at Chippenham, and he +had little time to spare. + +It was not the loss of time, however, that he really had in his mind. +But he could guess, he fancied, what Sir Robert wished to say; and he +did not deny that the old man was generous in saying it at such a +moment, if that were his intention. But his own mind was made up; he +could only repeat what he had said to White. It was not a question of +what Sir Robert had thought, or now thought, but of what _he_ thought. +And the upshot of all his thoughts was that he would not be dependent +upon any man. He had differed from Sir Robert once, and the elder had +treated the younger man with injustice, and contumely; that might occur +again. Indeed, taking into account the difference in their political +views in an age when politics counted for much, it was sure to occur +again. But his mind was made up that it should not occur to him. +Unhappy as the resolution made him, he would be free. He would be his +own man. He would remember nothing except that that night had changed +nothing. + +It was with a set face, therefore, that he watched the carriage draw +near. Apparently it was a carriage which had conveyed guests to the +funeral, for the blinds were drawn. + +“It will save time, if it takes you a mile on your way,” White said, +with some nervousness. “I will tell your chaise to follow.” And he +opened the door. + +Vaughan raised his hat, and stepped in. It was only when the door was +closing behind him and the carriage starting anew at a word from White, +that he saw that it contained, not Sir Robert Vermuyden, but a lady. + +“Mary!” he cried. The name broke from him in his astonishment. + +She looked at him with self-possession, and a gentle, unsmiling +gravity. She indicated the front seat, and “Will you sit there?” she +said. “I can talk to you better, Mr. Vaughan, if you sit there.” + +He obeyed her, marvelling. The blind on the side on which she sat was +raised a few inches, and in the subdued light her graceful head showed +like some fair flower rising from the depth of her mourning. For she +wore no covering on her head, and he might have guessed, had he had any +command of his thoughts, that she had sprung as she was into the +nearest carriage. Amazement, however, put him beyond thinking. + +Her eyes met his seriously. “Mr. Vaughan,” she said, “my presence must +seem extraordinary to you. But I am come to ask you a question. Why did +you tell me six months ago that you loved me if you did not?” + +He was as deeply agitated as she was quiet on the surface. “I told you +nothing but the truth,” he said. + +“No,” she said. + +“But yes! A hundred times, yes!” he cried. + +“Then you are altered? That is it?” + +“Never!” he cried. “Never!” + +“And yet—things are changed? My father wrote to you, did he not, three +days ago? And said as much as you could look to him to say?” + +“He said——” + +“He withdrew what he had uttered in an unfortunate moment. He withdrew +that which, I think, he had never believed in his heart. He said as +much as you could expect him to say?” she repeated, her colour mounting +a little, her eyes challenging him with courageous firmness. + +“He said,” Vaughan answered in a low voice, “what I think it became him +to say.” + +“You understood that his feelings were changed towards you?” + +“To some extent.” + +She drew a deep breath and sat back. “Then it is for you to speak,” she +said. + +But before, agitated as he was, he could speak, she leant forward +again. “No,” she said, “I had forgotten. I had forgotten.” And the +slight quivering of her lips, a something piteous in her eyes, reminded +him once more, once again—and the likeness tugged at his heart—of the +Mary Smith who had paused on the threshold of the inn at Maidenhead, +alarmed and abashed by the bustle of the coffee-room. “I had forgotten! +It is not my father you cannot forgive—it is I, who am unworthy of your +forgiveness? You cannot make allowance,” she continued, stopping him by +a gesture, as he opened his mouth to speak, “for the weakness of one +who had always been dependent, who had lived all her life under the +dominion of others, who had been taught by experience that, if she +would eat, she must first obey. You can make no allowance, Mr. Vaughan, +for such an one placed between a father, whom it was her duty to +honour, and a lover to whom she had indeed given her heart, she knew +not why—but whom she barely knew, with whose life she had no real +acquaintance, whose honesty she must take on trust, because she loved +him? You cannot forgive her because, taught all her life to bend, she +could not, she did not stand upright under the first trial of her +faith?” + +“No!” he cried violently. “No! No! It is not that!” + +“No?” she said. “You do forgive her then? You have forgiven her? The +more as to-day she is not weak. The earth is not level over my mother’s +grave, some may say hard things of me—but I have come to you to-day.” + +“God bless you!” he cried. + +She drew a deep breath and sat back. “Then,” she said, with a sigh as +of relief, “it is for you to speak.” + +There was a gravity in her tone, and so complete an absence of all +self-consciousness, all littleness, that he owned that he had never +known her as she was, had never measured her true worth, had never +loved her as she deserved to be loved. Yet—perhaps because it was all +that was left to him—he clung desperately to the resolution he had +formed, to the position which pride and prudence alike had bidden him +to take up. + +“What am I to say?” he asked hoarsely. + +“Why, if you love me, if you forgive me,” she answered softly, “do you +leave me?” + +“Can you not understand?” + +“In part, I can. But not altogether. Will you explain? I—I think,” she +continued with a movement of her flower-like head, that for gentle +dignity he had never seen excelled, “I have a right to an explanation.” + +“You know of what Sir Robert accused me?” + +“Yes.” + +“Am I to justify him? You know what was the difference which came +between us, which first divided us? And what I thought right then, I +still think right. Am I to abandon it? You know what I bore. Am I to +live on the bounty of one who once thought so ill of me, and may think +as ill again? Of one who, differing from me, punished me so cruelly? Am +I to sink into dependence, to sacrifice my judgment, to surrender my +political liberty into the hands of one who——” + +“Of my father!” she said gravely. + +He could not, so reminded, say what he had been going to say, but he +assented by a movement of the head. And after an interval of silence, +“I cannot,” he cried passionately, “I cannot, even to secure my +happiness, run that risk!” + +She looked from the window of the carriage, and in a voice which shook +a little, “No,” she said, “I suppose not.” + +He was silent and he suffered. He dared not meet her eyes. Why had she +sought this interview? Why had she chosen to torment him? Ah, if she +knew, if she only knew what pain she was inflicting upon him! + +But apparently she did not know. For by and by she spoke again. “No,” +she said. “I suppose not. Yet have you thought”—and now there was a +more decided tremor in her voice—“that that which you surrender is not +all there is at stake? Your independence is precious to you, and you +have a right, Mr. Vaughan, to purchase it even at the cost of your +happiness. But have you a right to purchase it at the cost of +another’s? At the cost of mine? Have you thought of my happiness?” she +continued, “or only of yours—and of yourself? To save your +independence—shall I say, to save your pride?—you are willing to set +your love aside. But have you asked me whether I am willing to pay my +half of the price? My heavier half? Whether I am willing to set my +happiness aside? Have you thought of—me at all?” + +If he had not, then, when he saw how she looked at him, with what eyes, +with what love, as she laid her hand on his arm, he had been more than +man if he had resisted her long! But he still fought with himself, and +with her; staring with hard, flushed face straight before him, telling +himself that by all that was left to him he must hold. + +“I think, I think,” she said gently, yet with dignity, “you have not +thought of me.” + +“But your father—Sir Robert——” + +“He is an ogre, of course,” she cried in a tone suddenly changed. “But +you should have thought of that before, sir,” she continued, tears and +laughter in her voice. “Before you travelled with me on the coach! +Before you saved my life! Before you—looked at me! For you can never +take it back. You can never give me myself again. I think that you must +take me!” + +And then he did not resist her any longer. And the carriage was stayed; +and orders were given. And, empty and hugely overpaid, the yellow +post-chaise ambled on to Chippenham; and bearing two inside, and a +valise on the roof, the mourning coach drove slowly and solemnly back +to Stapylton. As it wound its way over the green undulations of the +park, the rabbits that ran, and then stopped, cocking their scuts, to +look at it, saw nothing strange in it. Nor the fallow-deer of the true +Savernake breed, who, before they fled through the dying bracken, eyed +it with poised heads. Nay, the heron which watched its approach from +the edge of the Garden Pool, and did not even deign to drop a second +leg, saw nothing strange in it. Yet it bore for all that the strangest +of all earthly passengers, and the strongest, and the bravest, and the +fairest—and withal, thank God, the most familiar. For it carried Love. +And love the same yet different, love gaunt and grey-haired, yet kind +and warm of heart, met it at the door and gave it welcome. + + + + +XXXVIII +THREADS AND PATCHES + + +Though England had not known for fifty years an outbreak so formidable +or so destructive as that of which the news was laid on men’s +breakfast-tables on the Tuesday morning, it had less effect on the +political situation than might have been expected. It sent, indeed, a +thrill of horror through the nation. And had it occurred at an earlier +stage of the Reform struggle, before the middle class had fully +committed itself to a trial of strength with the aristocracy, it must +have detached many more of the timid and conservative of the Reformers. +But it came too late. The die was cast; men’s minds were made up on the +one side and the other. Each saw events coloured to his wish. And +though Wetherell and Croker, and the devoted band who still fought +manfully round those chieftains, called heaven and earth to witness the +first-fruits of the tree of Reform, the majority of the nation +preferred to see in these troubles the alternative to the Bill—the +abyss into which the whole country would be hurled if that heaven-sent +measure were not passed. + +On one thing, however, all were agreed. The outrage was too great to be +overlooked. The law must be vindicated, the lawbreakers must be +punished. To this end the Government, anxious to clear themselves of +the suspicion of collusion, appointed a special Commission, and sent it +to Bristol to try the rioters; and four poor wretches were hanged, a +dozen were transported, and many received minor sentences. Having thus, +a little late in the day, taught the ignorant that Reform did not spell +Revolution after the French pattern, the Cabinet turned their minds to +the measure again. And in December they brought in the Third Reform +Bill, with the fortunes and passage of which this story is not at pains +to deal. + +But of necessity the misguided creatures who kindled the fires in +Queen’s Square on that fatal Sunday, and swore that they would not +leave a gaol standing in England, were not the only men who suffered. +Sad as their plight was, there was one whose plight—if pain be measured +by the capacity to feel—was sadder. While they were being tried in one +part of Bristol, there was proceeding in another part an inquiry +charged with deeper tragedy. Not those only who had done the deed, but +those who had suffered them to do it, must answer for it. And the +fingers of all pointed to one man. The magistrates might escape—the +Mayor indeed had done his duty creditably, if to little purpose; for +war was not their trade, and the thing at its crisis had become an +affair of war. But Colonel Brereton could not shield himself behind +that plea: so many had behaved poorly that the need to bring one to +book was the greater. + +He was tried by court-martial, and among the witnesses was Arthur +Vaughan. By reason of his position, as well as of the creditable part +he had played, the Member for Chippinge was heard by the Court with +more than common attention; and he moved all who listened to him by his +painful anxiety to set the accused’s conduct in the best light; to show +that what was possible by daylight on the Monday morning might not have +been possible on the Sunday night, and that the choice from first to +last was between two risks. No question of Colonel Brereton’s +courage—for he had served abroad with credit, nay, with honour—entered +into the inquiry; and it was proved that a soldier’s duty in such a +case was not well defined. But afterwards Vaughan much regretted that +he had not laid before the Court the opinion he had formed at the +time—that during the crisis of the riots Brereton, obsessed by one +idea, was not responsible for his actions. For, sad to say, on the +fifth day of the inquiry, sinking under a weight of mental agony which +a man of his reserved and melancholy temper was unable to support, the +unfortunate officer put an end to his life. Few have paid so dearly for +an error of judgment and the lack of that coarser fibre which has +enabled many an inferior man to do his duty. The page darkens with his +fate, too tragical for such a theme as this. And if by chance these +words reach the eye of any of his descendants, theirs be the homage due +to the memory of a signal misfortune and an honourable but hapless man. + +Of another and greater personage whose life touched Arthur Vaughan’s +once and twice, and of whom, with all his faults, it was never said by +his worst enemy that he feared responsibility or shunned the post of +danger, a brief word must suffice. If Lord Brougham did not live to see +that complete downfall of the great Whig houses which he had predicted, +he lived to see their power ruinously curtailed. He lived to see their +influence totter under the blow which the Repeal of the Corn Laws dealt +the landed interest, he lived to see the Reform Bill of 1867, he lived +almost to see the _coup de grâce_ given to their leadership by the +Ballot Act. And in another point his prophecy came true. As it had been +with Burke and Sheridan and Tierney, it was with him. His faults were +great, as his merits were transcendent; and presently in the time of +his need his highborn associates remembered only the former. They took +advantage of them to push him from power; and he spent nearly forty +years, the remnant of his long life, in the cold shade of Opposition. +The most brilliant, the most versatile, and the most remarkable figure +of the early days of the century, whose trumpet voice once roused +England as it has never been roused from that day to this, and whose +services to education and progress are acknowledged but slightly even +now, paid for the phenomenal splendour of his youth by long years spent +in a changed and changing world, jostled by a generation forgetful or +heedless of his fame. To us he is but the name of a carriage; +remembered otherwise, if at all, for his part in Queen Caroline’s +trial. While Wetherell, that stout fighter, Tory of the Tories, witty, +slovenly, honest man, whose fame was once in all mouths, whose +caricature was once in all portfolios, and whose breeches made the +fortune of many a charade, is but the shadow of a name. + +* * * * * + +The year had waned and waxed, and it was June again. At Stapylton the +oaks were coming to their full green; the bracken was lifting its +million heads above the sod, and by the edge of the Garden Pool the +water voles sat on the leaves of the lilies and clean their fur. Arthur +Vaughan—strolling up and down with his father-in-law, not without an +occasional glance at Mary, recumbent on a seat on the lawn—looked +grave. + +“I fancy,” he said presently, “that we shall learn the fate of the Bill +to-day.” + +“Very like, very like,” Sir Robert answered, in an offhand fashion, as +if the subject were not to his taste. And he turned about and by the +aid of his stick expounded his plan for enlarging the flower garden. + +But Vaughan returned to the subject. “If not to-day, to-morrow,” he +said. “And that being so, I’ve wanted for some time, sir, to ask you +what you wish me to do.” + +“To do?” + +“As to the seat at Chippinge.” + +Sir Robert’s face expressed his annoyance. “I told you—I told you long +ago,” he replied, “that I should never interfere with your political +movements.” + +“And you have kept your word, sir. But as Lord Lansdowne cedes the seat +to you for this time, I assume——” + +“I don’t know why you assume anything!” Sir Robert retorted irritably. + +“I assume only that you will wish me to seek another seat.” + +“I certainly don’t wish you to lead an idle life,” Sir Robert answered. +“When the younger men of our class do that, when they cease to take an +interest in political life, on the one side or the other, our power +will, indeed, be ended. Nothing is more certain than that. But for +Chippinge, I don’t choose that a stranger should hold a seat close to +my own door. You might have known that! For the party, I have taken +steps to furnish Mr. Cooke, a man whose opinions I thoroughly approve, +with a seat elsewhere; and I have therefore done my duty in that +direction. For the rest, the mischief is done. I suppose,” he continued +in his driest tones, “you won’t want to bring in another Reform Bill +immediately?” + +“No, sir,” Vaughan answered gratefully. “Nor do I think that we are so +far apart as you assume. The truth is, Sir Robert, that we all fear one +of two things, and according as we fear the one or the other we are +dubbed Whigs or Tories.” + +“What are your two things?” + +“Despotism, or anarchy,” Vaughan replied modestly. + +Sir Robert sniffed. “You don’t refine enough,” he said, pleased with +his triumph. “We all fear despotism; you, the despotism of the one: I, +a worse, a more cruel, a more hopeless despotism, the despotism of the +many! That’s the real difference between us.” + +Vaughan looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “But—what +is that, sir?” He raised his hand. The deep note of a distant gun +rolled up the valley from the town. + +“The Lords have passed the Bill,” Sir Robert replied. “They are +celebrating the news in Chippinge. Well, I am not sorry that my day is +done. I give you the command. See only, my boy,” he continued, with a +loving glance at Mary, who had risen, and, joined by Miss Sibson, was +coming to the end of the bridge to meet them, “see only that you hand +it on to others—I do not say as I give it to you, but as little +impaired as may be.” + +And again, as Mary called to them to know what it was, the sound of the +gun rolled up the valley—the knell of the system, good or bad, under +which England had been ruled so long. The battle of which Brougham had +fired the first shot in the Castle Yard at York was past and won. + +_Boom!_ + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIPPINGE BOROUGH *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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Weyman</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Chippinge Borough</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Stanley J. Weyman</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 13, 2012 [eBook #38871]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 13, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Bowen</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIPPINGE BOROUGH ***</div> + +<h1>Chippinge Borough</h1> + +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h2>STANLEY J. WEYMAN</h2> + +<h5>Author of “<span class="sc">The Long Night</span>,” <span +class="sc">Etc</span>.</h5> + +<h3>NEW YORK<br/> +McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.<br/> +MCMVI</h3> + +<p class="center"> +<b><i>Copyright</i>, 1906, <i>by</i><br/> +McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.</b> +</p> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller"> +<b>Copyright, 1905, 1905, by Stanley J. Weyman.</b> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. <span class="sc">The Dissolution.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. <span class="sc">The Spirit of the Storm.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. <span class="sc">Two Letters.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. <span class="sc">Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy!</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. <span class="sc">Rosy-fingered Dawn.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. <span class="sc">The Patron of Chippinge.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. <span class="sc">The Winds of Autumn.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. <span class="sc">A Sad Misadventure.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. <span class="sc">The Bill for Giving Everybody Everything.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. <span class="sc">The Queen's Square Academy for Young Ladies.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. <span class="sc">Don Giovanni Flixton.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. <span class="sc">A Rotten Borough.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. <span class="sc">The Vermuyden Dinner.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. <span class="sc">Miss Sibson's Mistake.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. <span class="sc">Mr. Pybus's Offer.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. <span class="sc">Less than a Hero.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. <span class="sc">The Chippinge Election.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. <span class="sc">The Chippinge Election (<i>Continued</i>).</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. <span class="sc">The Fruits of Victory.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. <span class="sc">A Plot Unmasked.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. <span class="sc">A Meeting of Old Friends.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. <span class="sc">Women's Hearts.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. <span class="sc">In the House.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. <span class="sc">A Right and Left.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. <span class="sc">At Stapylton.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. <span class="sc">The Scene in the Hall.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. <span class="sc">Wicked Shifts.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. <span class="sc">Once More, Tantivy!</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. <span class="sc">Autumn Leaves.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. <span class="sc">The Mayor's Reception in Queen's Square.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. <span class="sc">Sunday in Bristol.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII. <span class="sc">The Affray at the Palace.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII. <span class="sc">Fire.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV. <span class="sc">Hours of Darkness.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV. <span class="sc">The Morning of Monday.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI. <span class="sc">Forgiveness.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">CHAPTER XXXVII. <span class="sc">In the Mourning Coach.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">CHAPTER XXXVIII. <span class="sc">Threads and Patches.</span></a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHIPPINGE BOROUGH</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>I<br/> +THE DISSOLUTION</h2> + +<p> +Boom! +</p> + +<p> +It was April 22, 1831, and a young man was walking down Whitehall in the +direction of Parliament Street. He wore shepherd’s plaid trousers and the +swallow-tail coat of the day, with a figured muslin cravat wound about his +wide-spread collar. He halted opposite the Privy Gardens, and, with his face +turned skywards, listened until the sound of the Tower guns smote again on the +ear and dispelled his doubts. To the experienced, his outward man, neat and +modestly prosperous, denoted a young barrister of promise or a Treasury clerk. +His figure was good, he was above the middle height, and he carried himself +with an easy independence. He seemed to be one who both held a fair opinion of +himself and knew how to impress that opinion on his fellows; yet was not +incapable of deference where deference was plainly due. He was neither ugly nor +handsome, neither slovenly nor a <i>petit-maître</i>; indeed, it was doubtful +if he had ever seen the inside of Almack’s. But his features were strong +and intellectual, and the keen grey eyes which looked so boldly on the world +could express both humour and good humour. In a word, this young man was one +upon whom women, even great ladies, were likely to look with pleasure, and one +woman—but he had not yet met her—with tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +Boom! +</p> + +<p> +He was only one among a dozen, who within the space of a few yards had been +brought to a stand by the sound; who knew what the salute meant, and in their +various ways were moved by it. The rumour which had flown through the town in +the morning that the King was about to dissolve his six-months-old Parliament +was true, then! so true that already in the clubs, from Boodle’s to +Brooks’s, men were sending off despatches, while the long arms of the +semaphore were carrying the news to the Continent. Persons began to run by +Vaughan—the young man’s name was Arthur Vaughan; and behind him the +street was filling with a multitude hastening to see the sight, or so much of +it as the vulgar might see. Some ran towards Westminster without disguise. +Some, of a higher station, walked as fast as dignity and their strapped +trousers permitted; while others again, who thought themselves wiser than their +neighbours, made quickly for Downing Street and the different openings which +led into St. James’s Park, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the +procession before the crowd about the Houses engulfed it. +</p> + +<p> +Nine out of ten, as they ran or walked—nay, it might be said more truly, +ninety-nine out of a hundred—evinced a joy quite out of the common, and +such as no political event of these days produces. One cried, “Hip! Hip! +Hip!”; one flung up his cap; one swore gaily. Strangers told one another +that it was a good thing, bravely done! And while the whole of that part of the +town seemed to be moving towards the Houses, the guns boomed on, proclaiming to +all the world that the unexpected had happened; that the Parliament which had +passed the People’s Bill by one—a miserable one in the largest +House which had ever voted—and having done that, had shelved it by some +shift, some subterfuge, was meeting the fate which it deserved. +</p> + +<p> +No man, be it noted, called the measure the Reform Bill, or anything but the +Bill, or, affectionately, the People’s Bill. But they called it that +repeatedly, and in their enthusiasm, exulted in the fall of its enemies as in a +personal gain. And though here and there amid the general turmoil a man of +mature age stood aside and scowled on the crowd as it swept vociferating by +him, such men were but as straws in a backwater of the stream—powerless +to arrest the current, and liable at any moment to be swept within its +influence. +</p> + +<p> +That generation had seen many a coach start laurel-clad from St. Martin’s +and listened many a time to the salvoes that told of victories in France or +Flanders. But it was no exaggeration to say that even Waterloo had not flung +abroad more general joy, nor sown the dingy streets with brighter faces, than +this civil gain. For now—now, surely—the People’s Bill would +pass, and the people be truly represented in Parliament! Now, for certain, the +Bill’s ill-wishers would get a fall! And if every man—about which +some doubts were whispered even in the public-houses—did not get a vote +which he could sell for a handful of gold, as his betters had sold their votes +time out of mind, at least there would be beef and beer for all! Or, if not +that, something indefinite, but vastly pleasant. Few, indeed, knew precisely +what they wished and what they were going to gain, but +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Hurrah for Mr. Brougham!</i><br/> +<i>Hurrah for Gaffer Grey!</i><br/> +<i>Hurrah for Lord John!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +Hurrah, in a word, for the Ministry, hurrah for the Whigs! And above all, three +cheers for the King, who had stood by Lord Grey and dissolved this niggling, +hypocritical Parliament of landowners. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the young man who has been described resumed his course; but slowly, +and without betraying by any marked sign that he shared the general feeling. +Still, he walked with his head a little higher than before; he seemed to sniff +the battle; and there was a light in his eyes as if he saw a wider arena before +him. “It is true, then,” he muttered. “And for to-day I shall +have my errand for my pains. He will have other fish to fry, and will not see +me. But what of that! Another day will do as well.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment a ragamuffin in an old jockey-cap attached himself to him, and, +running beside him, urged him to hasten. +</p> + +<p> +“Run, your honour,” he croaked in gin-laden accents, “and +you’ll ’ave a good place! And I’ll drink your honour’s +health, and Billy the King’s! Sure he’s the father of his country, +and seven besides. Come on, your honour, or they’ll be jostling +you!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan glanced down and shook his head. He waved the man away. +</p> + +<p> +But the lout looked only to his market, and was not easily repulsed. +“He’s there, I tell you,” he persisted. “And for +threepence I’ll get you to see him. Come on, your honour! It’s many +a Westminster election I’ve seen, and beer running, from Mr. Fox, that +was the gentleman had always a word for the poor man, till now, when maybe +it’s your honour’s going to stand! Anyway, it’s, Down with +the mongers!” +</p> + +<p> +A man who was clinging to the wall at the corner of Downing Street waved his +broken hat round his head. “Ay, down with the borough-mongers!” he +cried. “Down with Peel! Down with the Dook! Down with ’em all! Down +with everybody!” +</p> + +<p> +“And long live the Bill!” cried a man of more respectable +appearance as he hurried by. “And long live the King, God bless +him!” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll know what it is to balk the people now,” chimed in a +fourth. “Let ’em go back and get elected if they can. Ay, let +’em!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, let ’em! Mr. Brougham’ll see to that!” shouted the +other. “Hurrah for Mr. Brougham!” +</p> + +<p> +The cry was taken up by the crowd, and three cheers were given for the +Chancellor, who was so well known to the mob by the style under which he had +been triumphantly elected for Yorkshire that his peerage was ignored. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, however, heard but the echo of these cheers. Like most young men of +his time, he leant to the popular side. But he had no taste for the populace in +the mass; and the sight of the crowd, which was fast occupying the whole of the +space before Palace Yard and even surging back into Parliament Street, +determined him to turn aside. He shook off his attendant and, crossing into +Whitehall Place, walked up and down, immersed in his reflections. +</p> + +<p> +He was honestly ambitious, and his thoughts turned naturally on the influence +which this Bill—which must create a new England, and for many a new +world—was likely to have on his own fortunes. The owner of a small estate +in South Wales, come early to his inheritance, he had sickened of the idle life +of an officer in peacetime; and after three years of service, believing himself +fit for something higher, he had sold his commission and turned his mind to +intellectual pursuits. He hoped that he had a bent that way; and the glory of +the immortal three, who thirty years before had founded the “Edinburgh +Review,” and, by so doing, made this day possible, attracted him. Why +should not he, as well as another, be the man who, in the Commons, the cockpit +of the nation, stood spurred to meet all comers—in an uproar which could +almost be heard where he walked? Or the man who, in the lists of Themis, upheld +the right of the widow and the poor man’s cause, and to whom judges +listened with reluctant admiration? Or best of all, highest of all, might he +not vie with that abnormal and remarkable man who wore at once the three +crowns, and whether as Edinburgh Reviewer, as knight of the shire for York, or +as Chancellor of England, played his part with equal ease? To be brief, it was +prizes such as these, distant but luminous, that held his eyes, incited him to +effort, made him live laborious days. He believed that he had ability, and +though he came late to the strife, he brought his experience. If men living +from hand to mouth and distracted by household cares could achieve so much, why +should not he who had his independence and his place in the world? Had not +Erskine been such another? He, too, had sickened of barrack life. And Brougham +and the two Scotts, Eldon and Stowell. To say nothing of this young Macaulay, +whose name was beginning to run through every mouth; and of a dozen others who +had risen to fame from a lower and less advantageous station. +</p> + +<p> +The goal was distant, but it was glorious. Nor had the eighteen months which he +had given to the study of the law, to attendance at the Academic and at a less +ambitious debating society, and to the output of some scientific feelers, +shaken his faith in himself. He had not yet thought of a seat at St. +Stephen’s; for no nomination had fallen to him, nor, save from one +quarter, was likely to fall. And his income, some six hundred a year, though it +was ample for a bachelor, would not stretch to the price of a seat at five +thousand for the Parliament, or fifteen hundred for the Session—the +quotations which had ruled of late. A seat some time, however, he must have; it +was a necessary stepping-stone to the heights he would gain. And the subject in +his mind as he paced Whitehall Place was the abolition of the close boroughs +and the effect which the transfer of electoral power to the middle-class would +have on his chances. +</p> + +<p> +A small thing—no more than a quantity of straw laid thickly before one of +the houses—brought his thoughts down to the present. By a natural impulse +he raised his eyes to the house; by a coincidence, less natural, a hand, even +as he looked, showed itself behind one of the panes of a window on the first +floor, and drew down the blind. Vaughan stood after that, fascinated, and +watched the lowering of blind after blind. And the solemn contrast between his +busy thoughts and that which had even then happened in the house—between +that which lay behind the darkened windows and the bright April sunshine about +him, the twittering of the sparrows in the green, and the tumult of distant +cheering—went home to him. +</p> + +<p> +He thought of the lines, so old and so applicable: +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium</i><br/> +<i>Versatur urna, serius, ocius</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Sors exitura, et nos in æternum</i> +</p> + +<p class="t4"><i>Exilium impositura cymbæ</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +He was still rolling the words on his tongue with that love of the classical +rhythm which was a mark of his day—and returns no more than the taste for +the prize-ring which was coeval with it—when the door of the house opened +and a man came clumsily and heavily out, closed the door behind him, and, with +his head bent low and the ungainly movements of an automaton, made off down the +street. +</p> + +<p> +The man was very stout as well as tall, his dress slovenly and disordered. His +hat was pulled awry over his eyes, and his hands were plunged deep in his +breeches pockets. Vaughan saw so much. Then the door opened again, and a face, +unmistakably that of a butler, looked out. +</p> + +<p> +The servant’s eyes met his, and though the man neither spoke nor +beckoned, his eyes spoke for him. Vaughan crossed the way to him. “What +is it?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The man was blubbering. “Oh, Lord; oh, Lord!” he said. “My +lady’s gone not five minutes, and he’ll not be let nor hindered! +He’s to the House, and if the crowd set upon him he’ll be murdered. +For God’s sake, follow him, sir! He’s Sir Charles Wetherell, and a +better master never walked, let them say what they like. If there’s +anybody with him, maybe they’ll not touch him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will follow him,” Vaughan answered. And he hastened after the +stout man, who had by this time reached the corner of the street. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was surprised that he had not recognised Wetherell. For in every +bookseller’s window caricatures of the “Last of the +Boroughbridges,” as the wits called him, after the pocket borough for +which he sat, were plentiful as blackberries. Not only was he the highest of +Tories, but he was a martyr in their cause; for, Attorney-General in the last +Government, he had been dismissed for resisting the Catholic Claims. Since then +he had proved himself, of all the opponents of the Bill, the most violent, the +most witty, and, with the exception of Croker perhaps, the most rancorous. At +this date he passed for the best hated man in England; and representative to +the public mind of all that was old-fashioned and illiberal and exclusive. +Vaughan knew, therefore, that the servant’s fears were not unfounded, and +with a heart full of pity—for he remembered the darkened house—he +made after him. +</p> + +<p> +By this time Sir Charles was some way ahead and already involved in the crowd. +Fortunately the throng was densest opposite Old Palace Yard, whence the King +was in the act of departing; and the space before the Hall and before St. +Stephen’s Court—the buildings about which abutted on the +river—though occupied by a loosely moving multitude, and presenting a +scene of the utmost animation, was not impassable. Sir Charles was in the heart +of the crowd before he was recognised; and then his stolid unconsciousness and +the general good-humour, born of victory, served him well. He was too familiar +a figure to pass altogether unknown; and here and there a man hissed him. One +group turned and hooted after him. But he was within a dozen yards of the +entrance of St. Stephen’s Court, with Vaughan on his heels, before any +violence was offered. There a man whom he happened to jostle recognised him +and, bawling abuse, pushed him rudely; and the act might well have been the +beginning of worse things. But Vaughan touched the man on the shoulder and +looked him in the face. “I shall know you,” he said quietly. +“Have a care!” And the fellow, intimidated by his words and his six +feet of height, shrank into himself and stood back. +</p> + +<p> +Wetherell had barely noticed the rudeness. But he noted the intervention by a +backward glance. “Much obliged,” he grunted. “Know you, too, +again, young gentleman.” And he went heavily on and passed out of the +crowd into the court, followed by a few scattered hisses. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the officers of the House who guarded the entrance a group of excited +talkers were gathered. They were chiefly members who had just left the House +and had been brought to a stand by the sight of the crowd. On seeing Wetherell, +surprise altered their looks. “Good G—d!” cried one, stepping +forward. “You’ve come down, Wetherell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” the stricken man answered without lifting his eyes or giving +the least sign of animation. “Is it too late?” +</p> + +<p> +“By an hour. There’s nothing to be done. Grey and Bruffam have got +the King body and soul. He was so determined to dissolve, he swore that +he’d come down in a hackney-coach rather than not come. So they +say!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I hope,” a second struck in, in a tone of solicitude, +“that as you are here, Lady Wetherell has rallied.” +</p> + +<p> +“She died a quarter of an hour ago,” he muttered. “I could do +no more. I came here. But as I am too late, I’ll go back.” +</p> + +<p> +Yet he stood awhile, as if he had no longer anything to draw him one way more +than another; with his double chin and pendulous cheeks resting on his breast +and his leaden eyes sunk to the level of the pavement. And the others stood +round him with shocked faces, from which his words and manner had driven the +flush of the combat. Presently two members, arguing loudly, came up, and were +silenced by a glance and a muttered word. The ungainly attitude, the +ill-fitting clothes, did but accentuate the tragedy of the central figure. They +knew—none better—how fiercely, how keenly, how doggedly he had +struggled against death, against the Bill. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, had they thought of it, the vulgar caricatures that had hurt her, the +abuse that had passed him by to lodge in her bosom, would hurt her no more! +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Vaughan, as soon as he had seen Sir Charles within the entrance +reserved for members, had betaken himself to the main door of the Hall, a few +paces to the westward. He had no hope that he would now be able to perform the +errand on which he had set forth; for the Chancellor, for certain, would have +other fish to fry and other people to see. But he thought that he would leave a +card with the usher, so that Lord Brougham might know that he had not failed to +come, and might make a fresh appointment if he still wished to see him. +</p> + +<p> +Of the vast congeries of buildings which then encased St. Stephen’s +Chapel and its beautiful but degraded cloisters, little more than the Hall is +left to us. The Hall we have, and in the main in the condition in which the men +of that generation viewed it; as Canning viewed it, when with death in his face +he paced its length on Peel’s arm, and suspecting, perhaps, that they two +would meet no more, proved to all men the good-will he bore his rival. Those +among us whose memories go back a quarter of a century, and who can recall its +aspect in term-time, with three score barristers parading its length, and +thrice as many suitors and attorneys darting over its pavement—all under +the lofty roof which has no rival in Europe—will be able to picture it as +Vaughan saw it when he entered. To the bustle attending the courts of law was +added on this occasion the supreme excitement of the day. In every corner, on +the steps of every court, eager groups wrangled and debated; while above the +hubbub of argument and the trampling of feet, the voices of ushers rose +monotonously, calling a witness or enjoining order. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan paused beside the cake-stall at the door and surveyed the scene. As he +stood, one of two men who were pacing near saw him, and with a whispered word +left his companion and came towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Vaughan,” he said, extending his hand with bland courtesy, +“I hope you are well. Can I do anything for you? We are dissolved, but a +frank is a frank for all that—to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I thank you,” Vaughan answered. “The truth is, I had an +appointment with the Chancellor for this afternoon. But I suppose he will not +see me now.” +</p> + +<p> +The other’s eyebrows met, with the result that his face looked less +bland. He was a small man, with keen dark eyes and bushy grey whiskers, and an +air of hawk-like energy which sixty years had not tamed. He wore the laced coat +of a sergeant at law, powdered on the shoulders, as if he had but lately and +hurriedly cast off his wig. “Good G—d!” he said. “With +the Chancellor!” And then, pulling himself up, “But I congratulate +you. A student at the Bar, as I believe you are, Mr. Vaughan, who has +appointments with the Chancellor, has fortune indeed within his grasp.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan laughed. “I fear not,” he said. “There are +appointments and appointments, Sergeant Wathen. Mine is not of a professional +nature.” +</p> + +<p> +Still the sergeant’s face, do what he would, looked grim. He had his +reasons for disliking what he heard. “Indeed!” he said drily. +“Indeed! But I must not detain you. Your time,” with a faint note +of sarcasm, “is valuable.” And with a civil salutation the two +parted. +</p> + +<p> +Wathen went back to his companion. “Talk of the Old One!” he said. +“Do you know who that is?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” the other answered. They had been discussing the coming +election. “Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“One of my constituents.” +</p> + +<p> +His friend laughed. “Oh, come,” he said. “I thought you had +but one, sergeant—old Vermuyden.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only one,” Wathen answered, his eyes travelling from group to +group, “who counts; or rather, who did count. But thirteen who poll. And +that’s one of them.” He glanced frowning in the direction which +Vaughan had taken. “And what do you think his business is here, confound +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“An appointment with old Wicked Shifts.” +</p> + +<p> +“With the Chancellor? Pheugh!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” the sergeant answered morosely, “you may whistle. +There’s some black business on foot, you may depend upon it. And ten to +one it’s about my seat. He’s a broom,” he continued, tugging +at the whiskers which the late King had stamped with the imprimatur of fashion, +“that will make a clean sweep of us if we don’t take care. Whatever +he does, there’s something behind it. Some bedchamber plot, or some +intrigue to get A. out and put B. in. If it was a charwoman’s place he +wanted, he’d not ask for it and get it. That wouldn’t please him. +But he’d tunnel and tunnel and tunnel—and so he’d get +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” the other replied, with secret amusement—for he had +no seat, and the woes of our friends, especially our better-placed friends, +have their comic side—“I thought that you had a safe thing, Wathen? +That old Vermuyden’s nomination at Chippinge was as good as an order on +the Bank of England?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was,” Wathen answered drily. “But with the country wild +for the Bill, there’s no saying what may happen anywhere. Safe!” he +continued, with a snarl. “Was there ever a safer seat than Westbury? Or a +man who had a place in better order than old Lopes, who owned it, and died last +month; taken from the evil to come, Jekyll said, for he never could have +existed in a world without rotten boroughs! It’s not far from Chippinge, +so I know—know it well. And I tell you his system was +beautiful—beautiful! Yet when Peel was there—after he had rattled +on the Catholic Claims and been thrown out at Oxford, Lopes made way for him, +you remember?—he would not have got in, no, by G—d, he +wouldn’t have got in if there had been a man against him. And the state +in which the country was then, though there was a bit of a Protestant cry, too, +wasn’t to compare with what it will be now. That man”—he +shook his fist stealthily in the direction of the Chancellor’s +Court—“has lighted a fire in England that will never be put out +till it has consumed King, Lords, and Commons—ay, every stick and stone +of the old Constitution. You take my word for it. And to think—to +think,” he added still more savagely, “that it is the Whigs have +done this. The Whigs! who own more than half the land in the country; who are +prouder and stiffer than old George the Third himself; who wouldn’t let +you nor me into their Cabinet to save our lives. By the Lord,” he +concluded with gusto, “they’ll soon learn the difference!” +</p> + +<p> +“In the meantime—there’ll be dead cats and bad eggs flying, +you think?” +</p> + +<p> +Wathen groaned. “If that were the end of it,” he said, +“I’d not mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, with it all, you are pretty safe, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“With that fellow closeted with the Chancellor? No, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the young spark!” the other asked carelessly. “He +looked a decentish kind of fellow. A little of the prig, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s that!” Wathen answered. “A d——d prig. +What’s more, a cousin of old Vermuyden’s. And what’s worse, +his heir. That’s why they put him in the corporation and made him one of +the thirteen. Thought the vote safe in the family, you see? And cheaper?” +He winked. “But there’s no love lost between him and old Sir +Robert. A bed for a night once a year, and one day in the season among the +turnips, and glad to see your back, my lad! That’s about the position. +Now I wonder if Brougham is going to try—but Lord! there’s no +guessing what is in that man’s head! He’s fuller of mischief than +an egg of meat!” +</p> + +<p> +The other was about to answer when one of the courts, in which a case of some +difficulty had caused a late sitting, discharged its noisy, wrangling, +perspiring crowd. The two stepped aside to avoid the evasion, and did not +resume their talk. Wathen’s friend made his way out by the main door near +which they had been standing; while the sergeant, with looks which mirrored the +gloom that a hundred Tory faces wore on that day, betook himself to the +robing-room. There he happened upon another unfortunate. They fell to talking, +and their talk ran naturally upon the Chancellor, upon old Grey’s folly +in letting himself be led by the nose by such a rogue; finally, upon the +mistakes of their own party. They differed on the last topic, and in that +natural and customary state we may leave them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>II<br/> +THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM</h2> + +<p> +The Court of Chancery, the preserve for nearly a quarter of a century of Eldon +and Delay, was the farthest from the entrance on the right-hand side of the +Hall—a situation which enabled the Chancellor to pass easily to that +other seat of his labours, the Woolsack. Two steps raised the Tribunals of the +Common Law above the level of the Hall. But as if to indicate that this court +was not the seat of anything so common as law, but was the shrine of that more +august conception, Patronage, and the altar to which countless divines of the +Church of England looked with unwinking devotion, a flight of six or eight +steps led up to the door. +</p> + +<p> +The privacy thus secured had been much to the taste of Lord Eldon. Doubt and +delay flourish best in a close and dusty atmosphere; and if ever there was a +man to whom that which was was right, it was “Old Bags.” Nor had +Lord Lyndhurst, his immediate successor, quarrelled with an arrangement which +left him at liberty to devote his time to society and his beautiful wife. But +the man who now sat in the marble chair was of another kind from either of +these. His worst enemy could not lay dulness to his charge; nor could he who +lectured the Whitbreads on brewing, who explained their art to opticians, who +vied with Talleyrand in the knowledge of French literature, who wrote eighty +articles for the first twenty numbers of the “Edinburgh Review,” be +called a sluggard. Confident of his powers, Brougham loved to display them; and +the wider the arena the better he was pleased. His first sitting had been +graced by the presence of three royal dukes, a whole Cabinet, and a score of +peers in full dress. Having begun thus auspiciously, he was not the man to +vegetate in the gloom of a dry-as-dust court, or to be content with an audience +of suitors, whom equity, blessed word, had long stripped of their votes. +</p> + +<p> +Again and again during the last six months, by brilliant declamations or by +astounding statement, he had filled his court to the last inch. The lions in +the Tower, the tombs in the Abbey, the New Police—all were deserted; and +countryfolk flocked to Westminster, not to hear the judgments of the highest +legal authority in the land, but to see with their own eyes the fugleman of +reform—the great orator, whose voice, raised at the Yorkshire election, +had found an echo that still thundered in the ears and the hearts of England. +</p> + +<p> +“I am for Reform!” he had said in the castle yard of York; and the +people of England had answered: “So are we; and we will have it, +or——” +</p> + +<p> +The lacuna they had filled, not with words, but with facts stronger than +words—with the flames of Kentish farmhouses and Wiltshire factories; with +political unions counting their numbers by scores of thousands; with midnight +drillings and vague and sullen murmurings; above all, with the mysterious +terror of some great change which was to come—a terror that shook the +most thoughtless and affected even the Duke, as men called the Duke of +Wellington in that day. For was not every crown on the Continent toppling? +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan did not suppose that, in view of the startling event of the day, he +would be admitted. But the usher, who occupied a high stool outside the great +man’s door, no sooner read his card than he slid to the ground. “I +think his lordship will see you, sir,” he murmured blandly; and he +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +He was back on the instant, and, beckoning to Vaughan to follow him, he +proceeded some paces along a murky corridor, which the venerable form of Eldon +seemed still to haunt. Opening a door, he stood aside. +</p> + +<p> +The room which Vaughan saw before him was stately and spacious, and furnished +with quiet richness. A deep silence, intensified by the fact that the room had +no windows, but was lighted from above, reigned in it—and a smell of +law-calf. Here and there on a bookcase or a pedestal stood a marble bust of +Bacon, of Selden, of Blackstone. And for a moment Vaughan fancied that these +were its only occupants. On advancing further, however, he discovered two +persons, who were writing busily at separate side-tables; and one of them +looked up and spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Your pardon, Mr. Vaughan!” he said. “One moment, if you +please!” +</p> + +<p> +He was almost as good as his word, for less than a minute later he threw down +the pen, and rose—a gaunt figure in a black frockcoat, and with a black +stock about his scraggy neck—and came to meet his visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear that I have come at an untimely moment, my lord,” Vaughan +said, a little awed in spite of himself by what he knew of the man. +</p> + +<p> +But the other’s frank address put him at once at his ease. +“Politics pass, Mr. Vaughan,” the Chancellor answered lightly, +“but science remains.” He did not explain, as he pointed to a seat, +that he loved, above all things, to produce startling effects; to dazzle by the +ease with which he flung off one part and assumed another. +</p> + +<p> +Henry Brougham—so, for some time after his elevation to the peerage, he +persisted in signing himself—was at this time at the zenith of his life, +as of his fame. Tall, but lean and ungainly, with a long neck and sloping +shoulders, he had one of the strangest faces which genius has ever worn. His +clownish features, his high cheek-bones, and queer bulbous nose are familiar to +us; for, something exaggerated by the caricaturist, they form week by week the +trailing mask which mars the cover of “Punch.” Yet was the face, +with all its ugliness, singularly mobile; and the eyes, the windows of that +restless and insatiable soul, shone, sparkled, laughed, wept, with incredible +brilliance. That which he did not know, that which his mind could not +perform—save sit still and be discreet—no man had ever discovered. +And it was the knowledge of this, the sense of the strange and almost uncanny +versatility of the man, which for a moment overpowered Vaughan. +</p> + +<p> +The Chancellor seated himself opposite his visitor, and placed a hand on each +of his wide-spread knees. He smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” he said, “I envy you.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan coloured shyly. “Your lordship has little cause,” he +answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Great cause,” was the reply, “great cause! For as you are I +was—and,” he chuckled, as he rocked himself to and fro, “I +have not found life very empty or very unpleasant. But it was not to tell you +this that I asked you to wait on me, Mr. Vaughan, as you may suppose. Light! It +is a singular thing that you at the outset of your career—even as I +thirty years ago at the same point of mine—should take up such a +parergon, and alight upon the same discovery.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think I understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“In your article on the possibility of the permanence of +reflection—to which I referred in my letter, I think?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my lord, you did.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have restated a fact which I maintained for the first time more than +thirty years ago! In my paper on colours, read before the Royal Society +in—I think it was ’96.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stared. His colour rose slowly. “Indeed?” he said, in a +tone from which he vainly strove to banish incredulity. +</p> + +<p> +“You have perhaps read the paper?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chancellor chuckled. “And found nothing of the kind in it?” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan coloured still more deeply. He felt that the position was unpleasant. +“Frankly, my lord, if you ask me, no.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you think yourself,” with a grin, “the first +discoverer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did.” +</p> + +<p> +Brougham sprang like a boy to his feet, and whisked his long, lank body to a +distant bookshelf. Thence he took down a much-rubbed manuscript book. As he +returned he opened this at a place already marked, and, laying it on the table, +beckoned to the young man to approach. “Read that,” he said +waggishly, “and confess, young sir, that there were chiefs before +Agamemnon.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stooped over the book, and having read looked up in perplexity. +“But this passage,” he said, “was not in the paper read +before the Royal Society in ’96?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the paper read? No. Nor yet in the paper printed? There, too, you are +right. And why? Because a sapient dunder-head who was in authority requested me +to omit this passage. He did not believe that light passing through a small +hole in the window-shutter of a darkened room impresses a view of external +objects on white paper; nor that, as I suggested, the view might be made +permanent if cast instead on ivory rubbed with nitrate of silver!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was dumbfounded, and perhaps a little chagrined. “It is most +singular!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wonder now that I could not refrain from sending for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not, indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chancellor patted him kindly on the shoulder, and by a gesture made him +resume his seat. “No, I could not refrain,” he continued; +“the coincidence was too remarkable. If you come to sit where I sit, the +chance will be still more singular.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan coloured with pleasure. “Alas!” he said, smiling, +“one swallow, my lord, does not made a summer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my friend,” with a benevolent look. “But I know more of +you than you think. You were in the service, I hear, and left it. <i>Cedant +arma togæ</i>, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I, too, after a fashion. Thirty years ago I served a gun with +Professor Playfair in the Volunteer Artillery of Edinburgh. God knows,” +he continued complacently, “if I had gone on with it, where I should have +landed! Where the Duke is, perhaps! More surprising things have +happened.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan did not know whether to take this, which was gravely and even +sentimentally spoken, for jest or earnest. He did not speak. And Brougham, +seated in his favourite posture, with a hand on either knee, his lean body +upright, and the skirts of his black coat falling to the floor on either side +of him, resumed. “I hear, too, that you have done well at the +Academic,” he said, “and on the right side, Mr. Vaughan. Light? Ay, +always light, my friend, always light! Let that be our motto. For +myself,” he continued earnestly, “I have taken it in hand that this +poor country shall never lack light again; and by God’s help and Johnny +Russell’s Bill I’ll bring it about! And not the phosphorescent +light of rotten boroughs and corrupt corporations, Mr. Vaughan. No, nor the +blaze of burning stacks, kindled by wretched, starving, ignorant—ay, +above all, Mr. Vaughan, ignorant men! But the light of education, the light of +a free Press, the light of good government and honest representation; so that, +whatever they lack, henceforth they shall have voices and means and ways to +make their wants known. You agree with me? But I know you do, for I hear how +well you have spoken on that side. Mr. Cornelius,” turning and addressing +the gentleman who still continued to write at his table, “who was it told +us of Mr. Vaughan’s speech at the Academic?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Mr. Cornelius answered gruffly. +</p> + +<p> +“No?” the Chancellor said, not a whit put out. “He never +knows anything!” And then, throwing one knee over the other, he regarded +Vaughan with closer attention. “Mr. Vaughan,” he said, “have +you ever thought of entering Parliament?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan’s heart bounded, and his face betrayed his emotions. Good +heavens, was the Chancellor about to offer him a Government seat? He scarcely +knew what to expect or what to say. The prospect, suddenly opened, blinded him. +He muttered that he had not as yet thought of it. +</p> + +<p> +“You have no connection,” Brougham continued, “who could help +you to a seat? For if so, now is the time. Presently there will be a Reformed +Parliament and a crowd of new men, and the road will be blocked by the throng +of aspirants. You are not too young. Palmerston was not so old when Perceval +offered him a seat in the Cabinet.” +</p> + +<p> +The words, the tone, the assumption that such things were for him—that he +had but to hold out his hand and they would fall into it—dropped like +balm into the young man’s soul. Yet he was not sure that the other was +serious, and he made a tremendous effort to hide the emotion he felt. “I +am afraid,” he said, with a forced smile, “that I, my lord, am not +Lord Palmerston.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” Brougham answered with a faint sneer. “But not much the +worse for that, perhaps. So that if you have any connection who commands a +seat, now is the time.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan shook his head. “I have none,” he said, “except my +cousin, Sir Robert Vermuyden.” +</p> + +<p> +“Vermuyden of Chippinge?” the Chancellor exclaimed, in a voice of +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“The same, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good G—d!” Brougham cried. It was not a mealy-mouthed age. +And he leant back and stared at the young man. “You don’t mean to +say that he is your cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chancellor laughed grimly. “Oh, dear, dear!” he said. “I +am afraid that he won’t help us much. I remember him in the +House—an old high and dry Tory. I am afraid that, with your opinions, +you’ve not much to expect of him. Still—Mr. Cornelius,” to +the gentleman at the table, “oblige me with Oldfield’s ‘House +of Commons,’ the Wiltshire volume, and the private Borough List. Thank +you. Let me see—ah, here it is!” +</p> + +<p> +He proceeded to read in a low tone, skipping from heading to heading: +“Chippinge, in the county of Wilts, has returned two members since the +twenty-third of Edward III. Right of election in the Alderman and the twelve +capital burgesses, who hold their places for life. Number of voters, thirteen. +Patron, Sir Robert Vermuyden, Bart., of Stapylton House. +</p> + +<p> +“Umph, as I thought,” he continued, laying down the book. +“Now what does the list say?” And, taking it in turn from his knee, +he read: +</p> + +<p> +“In Schedule A for total disfranchisement, the population under 2000. +Present members, Sergeant Wathen and Mr. Cooke, on nomination of Sir Robert +Vermuyden; the former to oblige Lord Eldon, the latter by purchase. Both +opponents of Bill; nothing to be hoped from them. The Bowood interest divides +the corporation in the proportion of four to nine, but has not succeeded in +returning a member since the election of 1741—on petition. The heir to +the Vermuyden interest is——” He broke off sharply, but +continued to study the page. Presently he looked over it. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you the Mr. Vaughan who inherits?” he asked gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“The greater part of the estates—yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Brougham laid down the book and rubbed his chin. “Under those +circumstances,” he said, after musing a while, “don’t you +think that your cousin could be persuaded to return you as an independent +member?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan shook his head with decision. +</p> + +<p> +“The matter is important,” the Chancellor continued slowly, and as +if he weighed his words. “I cannot precisely make a promise, Mr. Vaughan; +but if your cousin could see the question of the Bill in another light, I have +little doubt that any object in reason could be secured for him. If, for +instance, it should be necessary in passing the Bill through the Upper House to +create new—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, looking at Vaughan, who laughed outright. “Sir Robert would +not cross the park to save my life, my lord,” he said. “And I am +sure he would rather hang outside the White Lion in Chippinge marketplace than +resign his opinions or his borough!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll lose the latter, whether or no,” Brougham answered, +with a touch of irritation. “Was there not some trouble about his wife? I +think I remember something.” +</p> + +<p> +“They were separated many years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is alive, is she not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Brougham saw, perhaps, that the subject was not palatable, and he abandoned it. +With an abrupt change of manner he flung the books from him with the +recklessness of a boy, and raised his sombre figure to its height. “Well, +well,” he said, “I hoped for better things; but I fear, as Tommy +Moore sings— +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0" style="text-indent:-6pt">“<i>He’s pledged himself, +though sore bereft</i> +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Of ways and means of ruling ill</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>To make the most of what are left</i> +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>And stick to all that’s rotten still!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +And by the Lord, I don’t say that I don’t respect him. I respect +every man who votes honestly as he thinks.” And grandly, with appropriate +gestures, he spouted: +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0" style="text-indent:-6pt">“<i>Who spurns the expedient for +the right</i> +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Scorns money’s all-attractive charms,</i> +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>And through mean crowds that clogged his flight</i> +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Has nobly cleared his conquering arms</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +That’s the Attorney-General’s. He turns old Horace well, +doesn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan coloured. Young and candid, he could not bear the thought of taking +credit where he did not deserve it. “I fear,” he said awkwardly, +“that would bear rather hardly on me if we had a contest at Chippinge, my +lord. Fortunately it is unlikely.” +</p> + +<p> +“How would it bear hardly on you?” Brougham asked, with interest. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a vote.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are one of the twelve burgesses?” in a tone of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, by favour of Sir Robert.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chancellor, smiling gaily, shook his head. “No,” he said, +“no; I do not believe you. You do yourself an injustice. Leave that sort +of thing to older men, to Lyndhurst, if you will, d——d Jacobin as +he is, preening himself in Tory feathers, and determined whoever’s in +he’ll not be out; or to Peel. Leave it! And believe me you’ll not +repent it. I,” he continued loftily, “have seen fifty years of +life, Mr. Vaughan, and lived every year of them and every day of them, and I +tell you that the thing is too dearly bought at that price.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan felt himself rebuked; but he made a fight. “And yet,” he +said, “are there no circumstances, my lord, in which such a vote may be +justified?” +</p> + +<p> +“A vote against your conscience—to oblige someone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“A Jesuit might justify it. There is nothing which a Jesuit could not +justify, I suppose. But though no man was stronger for the Catholic Claims than +I was, I do not hold a Jesuit to be a man of honour. And that is where the +difference lies. There! But,” he continued, with an abrupt change from +the lofty to the confidential, “let me tell you a fact, Mr. Vaughan. In +’29—was it in April or May of ’29, Mr. Cornelius?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know to what you refer,” Mr. Cornelius grunted. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure you don’t,” the Chancellor replied, without any +loss of good-humour; “but in April or May of ’29, Mr. Vaughan, the +Duke offered me the Rolls, which is £7000 a year clear for life, and compatible +with a seat in the Commons. It would have suited me better in every way than +the Seals and the House of Lords. It was the prize, to be frank with you, at +which I was aiming; and as at that time the Duke was making his +right-about-face on the Catholic question, and was being supported by our side, +I might have accepted it with an appearance of honour and consistency. But I +did not accept it. I did not, though my refusal injured myself, and did no one +any good. But there, I am chattering.” He broke off, with a smile, and +held out his hand. “However, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0" style="text-indent:-6pt">“<i>Est et fideli tuta +silentio<br/> +Merces!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +You won’t forget that, I am certain. And you may be sure I shall remember +you. I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Vaughan. Decide on the +direction, politics or the law, in which you mean to push, and some day let me +know. In the meantime follow the light! Light, more light! Don’t let them +lure you back into old Giant Despair’s cave, or choke you with all the +dead bones and rottenness and foulness they keep there, and that, by +God’s help, I’ll sweep out of the world before it’s a year +older!” +</p> + +<p> +And still talking, he saw Vaughan, who was murmuring his acknowledgments, to +the door. +</p> + +<p> +When that had closed on the young man Brougham came back, and, throwing wide +his arms, yawned prodigiously. “Now,” he said, “if Lansdowne +doesn’t effect something in that borough, I am mistaken.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” Cornelius muttered curtly, “do you trouble about the +borough? Why don’t you leave those things to the managers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? Why, first because the Duke did that last year, and you see the +result—he’s out and we’re in. Secondly, Corny, because I am +like the elephant’s trunk, that can tear down a tree or pick up a +pin.” +</p> + +<p> +“But in picking up a pin,” the other grunted, “it picks up a +deal of something else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dirt!” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Pharisee!” the Chancellor cried. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cornelius threw down his pen, and, turning in his seat, opened fire on his +companion. “Dirt!” he reiterated sternly. “And for what? What +will be the end of it when you have done all for them, clean and dirty? +They’ll not keep you. They use you now, but you’re a new man. What, +you—<i>you</i> think to deal on equal terms with the Devonshires and the +Hollands, the Lansdownes and the Russells! Who used Burke, and when they had +squeezed him tossed him aside? Who used Tierney till they wore him and his +fortune out? Who would have used Canning, but he did not trust them, and so +they worried him—though they were all dumb dogs before him—to his +death. Ay, and presently, when you have served their turn, they will cast you +aside.” +</p> + +<p> +“They will not dare!” Brougham cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw! You are Samson, but you are shorn of your strength. They have +been too clever for you. While you were in the Commons they did not dare. Harry +Brougham was their master. So they lured you, poor fool, into the trap, into +the Lords, where you may spout, and spout, and spout, and it will have as much +effect as the beating of a bird’s wings against the bars of its +cage!” +</p> + +<p> +“They will not dare!” Brougham reiterated. +</p> + +<p> +“You will see. They will throw you aside.” +</p> + +<p> +Brougham walked up and down the room, his eyes glittering, his quaint, +misshapen features working passionately. +</p> + +<p> +“They will throw you aside,” Mr. Cornelius repeated, watching him +keenly. “You are a man of the people. You are in earnest. You are +honestly in favour of retrenchment, of education, of reform. But to these +Whigs—save and except to Althorp, who is that <i>lusus naturæ</i>, an +honest man, and to Johnny Russell, who is a fanatic—these are but +catchwords, stalking-horses, the means by which, after the dull old fashion of +their fathers and their grandfathers and their great-grandfathers, they think +to creep into power. Reform, if reform means the representation of the people +by the people, the rule of the people by the people, or by any but the old +landed families—why, the very thought would make them sick!” +</p> + +<p> +Brougham stopped in his pacing to and fro. “You are right,” he said +sombrely. +</p> + +<p> +“You acknowledge it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have known it—here!” And, drawing himself to his full +height, he clapped his hand to his breast. “I have known it here for +months. Ay, and though I have sworn to myself that they would not dare to treat +me as they treated Burke, and Sheridan, and Tierney, and as they would have +treated Canning, I knew it was a lie, my lad; I knew they would. My +mother—ay, my old mother, sitting by the chimneyside, out of the world +there, knew it, and warned me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why did you go into the Lords?” Cornelius asked. “Why +be lured into the gilded cage, where you are helpless?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, mark you,” Brougham replied sternly, “if I had not, +they had not brought in this Bill. And we had waited, and the people had +waited, another twenty years, maybe!” +</p> + +<p> +“And so you went into the prison-house shorn of your strength?” +</p> + +<p> +Brougham looked at him with a gleam of ferocity in his brilliant eyes. +“Ay,” he said, “I did. And by that act,” he continued, +stretching his long arms to their farthest extent, “mark you, mark you, +never forget it, I avenged all—not only all I may suffer at their hands, +but all that every slave who ever ground in their mill has suffered, the +slights, the grudged meticulous office, the one finger lent to shake—all, +all! I went into the prison-house, but when I did so I laid my hands upon the +pillars. And their house falls, falls. I hear it—I hear it falling even +now about their ears. They may throw me aside. But the house is falling, and +the great Whig families—pouf!—they are not in the heaven above, or +in the earth beneath, or in the water that is under the earth. You call Reform +their stalking-horse? Ay, but it is into their own Troy that they have dragged +it; and the clatter of strife which you hear is the death-knell of their power. +They have let in the waves of the sea, and dream fondly that they can say where +they shall stop and what they shall not touch. They may as well speak to the +tide when it flows; they may as well command the North Sea in its rage; they +may as well bid Hume be silent, or Wetherell be sane. You say I am spent, +Cornelius; and so I am, it may be. I know not. But this I know. Never again +will the families say ‘Go!’ and he goeth, and ‘Do!’ and +he doeth, as in the old world that is passing—passing even at this +minute, passing with the Bill. No,” he continued, flinging out his arms +with passion; “for when they thought to fool me, and to shut me dumb +among dumb things behind the gilded wires, I knew—I knew that I was +dragging down their house upon their heads.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cornelius stared at him. “By G—d!” he said, “I +believe you are right. I believe that you are a cleverer man than I thought you +were.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>III<br/> +TWO LETTERS</h2> + +<p> +The Hall was empty when Vaughan came forth; and as the young man strode down +its echoing length there was nothing save his own footsteps on the pavement to +distract his mind from the scene in which he had taken part. He was excited and +a little uplifted, as was natural. The promises made, if they were to be +counted as promises, were of the vague and indefinite character which it is as +easy to evade as to fulfil. But the Chancellor had spoken to him as to an equal +and treated him as one who had but to choose a career to succeed in it, and to +win the highest prizes which it could bestow. This was flattering; nor was it +to a young man who had little experience of the world, less flattering to be +deemed the owner of a stake in the country, and a person through whom offers of +the most confidential and important character might be properly made. +</p> + +<p> +He walked to his rooms in Bury Street with a pleasant warmth at his heart. And +at the Academic that evening, where owing to the events of the day there was a +fuller house than had ever been known, and a fiercer debate, he championed the +Government and upheld the dissolution in a speech which not only excelled his +previous efforts, but was a surprise to those who knew him best. Afterwards he +recognised that his peroration had been only a paraphrase of Brougham’s +impassioned “Light! More Light!” and that the whole owed more than +he cared to remember to the same source. But, after all, why not? It was not to +be expected that he could at once rise to the heights of the greatest of living +orators. And it was much that he had made a hit; that as he left the room he +was followed by all eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did a qualm worthy of the name trouble him until the morning of the 27th, +five days later—a Wednesday. Then he found beside his breakfast plate two +letters bearing the postmark of Chippinge. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s afoot?” he muttered. But he had a prevision before he +broke the seal of the first. And the contents bore out his fears. The letter +ran thus: +</p> + +<p class="right" style="font-size:smaller"> +“Stapylton, Chippinge. +</p> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">Dear Sir</span>—I make no apology for troubling +you in a matter in which your interest is second only to mine and which is also +of a character to make apology beside the mark. It has not been necessary to +require your presence at Chippinge upon the occasion of former elections. But +the unwholesome ferment into which the public mind has been cast by the +monstrous proposals of Ministers has nowhere been more strongly exemplified +than here, by the fact that, for the first time in half a century, the right of +our family to nominate the members for the Borough is challenged. Since the +year 1783 no serious attempt has been made to disturb the Vermuyden interest. +And I have yet to learn that—short of this anarchical Bill, which will +sweep away all the privileges attaching to property—such an attempt can +be made with any chance of success. +</p> + +<p> +“I am informed nevertheless that Lord Lansdowne, presuming on a small +connection in the Corporation, intends to send at least one candidate to the +poll. Our superiority is so great that I should not, even so, trouble you to be +present, were it not an object to discourage these attempts by the exhibition +of our full strength, and were it not still more important to do so at a time +when the existence of the Borough itself is at stake. +</p> + +<p> +“Isaac White will apprise you of the arrangements to be made and will +keep you informed of all matters which you should know. Be good enough to let +Mapp learn the day and hour of your arrival, and he will see that the carriage +and servants meet the coach at Chippenham. Probably you will come by the York +House. It is the most convenient. +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:40%">“I have the honour to be +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:45%">“Your sincere kinsman, +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:50%">“<span class="sc">Robert Vermuyden.</span> +</p> + +<p class="hang1"> +“To Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, Esquire,<br/> +“17 Bury Street, St. James’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan’s face grew long, and his fork hung suspended above his plate, as +he perused the old gentleman’s epistle. When all was read he laid it +down, and whistled. “Here’s a fix!” he muttered. And he +thought of his speech at the Academic; and for the first time he was sorry that +he had made it. “Here’s a fix!” he repeated. +“What’s to be done?” +</p> + +<p> +He was too much disturbed to go on with his breakfast, and he tore open the +other letter. It was from Isaac White, his cousin’s attorney and agent. +It ran thus: +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:50%">“High Street, Chippinge, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“April 25, 1831. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“<i>Chippinge Parliamentary Election</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">Sir</span>.—I have the honour to inform you, as +upon former occasions, that the writ in the above is expected and that Tuesday +the 3rd day of May will be appointed for the nomination. It has not been +needful to trouble you heretofore, but on this occasion I have reason to +believe that Sir Robert Vermuyden’s candidates will be opposed by +nominees in the Bowood Interest, and I have therefore, honoured Sir, to +intimate that your attendance will oblige. +</p> + +<p> +“The Vermuyden dinner will take place at the White Lion on Monday the +2nd, when the voters and their friends will sit down at 5 P. M. The Alderman +will preside, and Sir Robert hopes that you will be present. The procession to +the Hustings will leave the White Lion at ten on Tuesday the 3d, and a poll, if +demanded, will be taken after the usual proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +“Any change in the order of the arrangements will be punctually +communicated to you. +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:40%">“I have the honour to be, Sir, +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:45%">“Your humble obedient servant, +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:65%">“<span class="sc">Isaac White.</span> +</p> + +<div style="font-size:smaller"> +<p style="margin-left:6pt; text-indent:-6pt; margin-bottom:0pt"> +“Arthur V. Vaughan, Esq.,<br/> +(late H.M.’s 14th Dragoons), +</p> + +<p class="t2">“17 Bury Street, London.” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Vaughan flung the letter down and resumed his breakfast moodily. It was a piece +of shocking ill-fortune, that was all there was to be said. +</p> + +<p> +Not that he really regretted his speech! It had committed him a little more +deeply, but morally he had been committed before. It is a poor conscience that +is not scrupulous in youth; and he was convinced, or almost convinced, that if +he had never seen the Chancellor he would still have found it impossible to +support Sir Robert’s candidates. +</p> + +<p> +For he was sincere in his support of the Bill; a little because it flattered +his intellect to show himself above the prejudices of the class to which he +belonged; more, because he was of an age to view with resentment the abuses +which the Bill promised to sweep away. A Government truly representative of the +people, such as this Bill must create, would not tolerate the severities which +still disgraced the criminal law. It would not suffer the heartless delays +which made the name of Chancery synonymous with ruin. Under it spring-guns and +man-traps would no longer scare the owner from his own coverts. The poor would +be taught, the slave would be freed. Above all, whole classes of the well-to-do +would no longer be deprived of a voice in the State. No longer would the rights +of one small class override the rights of all other classes. +</p> + +<p> +He was at an age, in a word, when hope invites to change; and he was for the +Bill. “Ay, by Jove, I am!” he muttered, casting the die in fancy, +“and I’ll not be set down! It will be awkward! It will be odious! +But I must go through with it!” +</p> + +<p> +Still, he was sorry. He sprang from the class which had profited by the old +system—that system under which some eight-score men returned a majority +of the House of Commons. He had himself the prospect of returning two members. +He could, therefore enter, to a degree—at times to a greater degree than +he liked,—into the feelings with which the old-fashioned and the +interested, the prudent and the timid, viewed a change so great and so radical. +But his main objection was personal. He hated the necessity which forced him to +cross the wishes and to trample on the prejudices of an old man whom he +regarded with respect, and even with reverence: a solitary old man, the head of +his family, to whom he owed the very vote he must withhold; and who would +hardly, even by the logic of facts, be brought to believe that one of his race +and breeding could turn against him. +</p> + +<p> +Still it must be done; the die was cast. The sooner, therefore, it was done, +the better. He would go down to Stapylton at once, while his courage was high; +and he would tell Sir Robert. Then, whatever came of it, he would have nothing +with which to reproach himself. In the heat of resolve he felt very brave and +very virtuous; and the moment he rose from breakfast he went to the coach +office, and finding that the York House, the fashionable Bath, coach was full +for the following day, he booked an outside seat on the Bristol White Lion +Coach, which also passed through Chippenham. From Chippenham, Chippinge is +distant a short nine miles. +</p> + +<p> +That evening proved to be memorable; for the greater part of London was +illuminated by the Reformers in honour of the Dissolution; not without rioting +and drunkenness, violence on the part of the mob, and rage on the side of the +minority. When Vaughan passed through the streets before six next morning, on +his way to the White Horse Cellars, traces of the night’s work still +remained; and where the early sun fell on them showed ugly and grisly and +menacing enough. A moderate reformer might well have blenched at the sight, and +questioned—as many did question—whither this was tending. But +Vaughan was late; the coach, one out of three which were waiting to start, was +horsed. He had only eyes, as he came hurriedly up, for the seat he had reserved +behind the coachman. +</p> + +<p> +It was empty, and so far his fears were vain. But it annoyed him to find that +his next-door neighbour was a young lady travelling alone. She had the seat on +the near side. +</p> + +<p> +He climbed up quickly, and to reach his place had to pass before her. The space +between the seat and the coachman’s box was narrow, and as she rose to +allow him to pass she glanced up. Their eyes met; Vaughan raised his hat in +mute apology, and took his seat. He said no word. But a miracle had happened, +as miracles do happen, when the world is young. In his mind, as he sat down, he +was not repeating, “What a nuisance!” but was saying, “What +eyes! What a face! And, oh, heaven, what beauty! What blush-rose cheeks! What a +lovely mouth!” +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>For ’twas from eyes of liquid blue</i> +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>A host of quivered Cupids flew</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>And now his heart all bleeding lies</i> +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Beneath the army of the eyes</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +He gazed gravely at the group of watermen and night-birds who stood in the +roadway below waiting to see the coach start. And apparently he was unmoved. +Apparently he was the same Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan who had passed round the +boot of the coach to reach the ladder and his place. But he was not the same. +His thoughts were no longer querulous, full of the haste he had made, and the +breakfast he had to make; but of a pair of gentle eyes which had looked for one +instant into his, of a modest face, sweet and shy, of a Quaker-like bonnet that +ravished as no other bonnet had ever ravished the most susceptible! +</p> + +<p> +He was still gazing at the group of loiterers, without seeing them, when he +became aware that an elderly woman plainly but respectably dressed, who was +standing by the forewheel of the coach, was looking up at him, and trying to +attract his attention. Seeing that she had caught his eye she spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“Gentleman! Gentleman!” she said—but in a restrained voice, +as if she did not wish to be generally heard. “The young lady’s +address! Please say that she’s not left it! For the laundress!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and made sure that there was only one of the sex on the coach. +Then—to be honest, not without a tiny flutter at his heart—he +addressed his neighbour. “Pardon me,” he said “but there is +someone below who wants your address.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her eyes on him and his heart gave a perceptible jump. “My +address?” she echoed in a voice as sweet as her face. “I think that +there must be some mistake.” And then for a moment she looked at him as +if she doubted his intentions. +</p> + +<p> +The doubt was intolerable. “It’s for the laundress,” he said. +“See, there she is!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl rose to look over the side of the coach and perforce leant across him. +He saw that she had the slenderest waist and the prettiest figure—he had +every opportunity of seeing. Then the coach started with a jerk, and if she had +not steadied herself by laying her hand on his shoulder, she must have relapsed +on his knees. As it was she fell back safely into her seat. She blushed. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +But he was looking back. He had his eye on the woman, who remained in the +roadway, pointing after the coach and apparently asking a bystander some +question respecting it—perhaps where it stopped. “There she +is!” he exclaimed. “The woman with the umbrella! She is pointing +after us.” +</p> + +<p> +His neighbour looked back but made nothing of it. “I know no one in +London,” she said a little primly—but with sweet +primness—“except the lady at whose house I stayed last night. And +she is not able to leave the house. It must be a mistake.” And with a +gentle reserve which had in it nothing of coquetry, she turned her face from +him. +</p> + +<p> +Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! They were away, bowling down the slope of broad +empty Piccadilly with the four nags trotting merrily, and the April sun gilding +the roofs of the houses, and falling aslant on the verdure of the Green Park. +Then merrily up the rise to Hyde Park Corner, where the new Grecian Gates +looked across at the equally new arch on Constitution Hill; and where Apsley +House, the residence of “the Duke,” hiding with its new coat of +Bath stone the old brick walls, peeped through the trees at the statue of +Achilles, erected ten years back in the Duke’s honour. +</p> + +<p> +But, alas! what was this? Wherefore the crowd that even at this early hour was +large enough to fill the roadway and engage the attention of the New Police? +Vaughan looked and saw that every blind in Apsley House was lowered, and that +more than half of the windows were shattered. And the little French gentleman +who, to the coachman’s disgust, had taken the box-seat, saw it too; nay, +had seen it before, for he had come that way to the coach office. He pointed to +the silent, frowning mansion, and snapped his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“That is your reward for your Vellington!” he cried, turning in his +excitement to the two behind him. “And his lady, I am told, she lie dead +behind the broken vindows! They did that last night, your <i>canaille!</i> But +he vill not forget! And when the refolution come—bah—he vill have +the iron hand! He vill be the Emperor and he vill repay!” +</p> + +<p> +No one answered; they treated him with silent British scorn. But they one and +all stared back at the scene, at the grim blind house in the early sunshine, +and the gaping crowd—as long as it remained in sight. And some, no doubt, +pondered the sight. But who, with a pretty face beside him and a long +day’s drive before him, a drive by mead and shining river, over hill and +down, under the walls of grey churches and by many a marketplace and cheery +inn-yard—who would long dwell on changes past or to come? Or fret because +in the womb of time might lie that “refolution” of which the little +Frenchman spoke? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>IV<br/> +TANTIVY! TANTIVY! TANTIVY!</h2> + +<p> +The White Lion coach was a light coach carrying only five passengers outside, +and merrily it swept by Kensington Church, whence the travellers had a peep of +Holland House—home of the Whigs—on their right. And then in a +twinkling they were swinging through Hammersmith, where the ale-houses were +opening and lusty girls were beginning to deliver the milk. They passed through +Turnham, through Brentford, awakening everywhere the lazy with the music of +their horn. They saw Sion House on their left, and on their right had a glimpse +of the distant lawns of Osterley—the seat of Lady Jersey, queen of +Almack’s, and the Holland’s rival. Thence they travelled over +Hounslow Heath, and by an endless succession of mansions and lawns and orchards +rich at this season with apple blossom, and framing here and there a view of +the sparkling Thames. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan breathed the air of spring and let his eyes dwell on scene after scene; +and he felt that it was good to be young and to sit behind fast horses. He +stole a glance at his neighbour and judged by the brightness of her eyes, her +parted lips and rapt expression, that she felt with him. And he would have said +something to her, but he could think of nothing worthy of her. At last: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a beautiful morning,” he ventured, and cursed his +vapidity. +</p> + +<p> +But she did not seem to find bathos in the words. “It is, indeed!” +she answered with an enthusiasm which showed that she had forgotten her doubts +of him. “And,” she added simply, “I have not been on a coach +since I was a child!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not on a coach?” he cried in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“No. Except on the Clapham Stage. And that is not a coach like +this!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, perhaps it is not,” he said. And he thought of her, +and—oh, Lord!—of Clapham! And yet after all there was something +about her, about her grey, dove-like dress and her gentleness, which smacked of +Clapham. He wondered who she was and what she was; and he was still wondering +when she turned her eyes on him, and, herself serenely unconscious, sent a tiny +shock through him. +</p> + +<p> +“I enjoy it the more,” she said, “because I—I am not +usually free in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” +</p> + +<p> +He could say no more; not another word. It was the stupidest thing in the +world, but he was tongue-tied. Seeing, however, that she had turned from him +and was absorbed in the view of Windsor rising stately amid its trees, he had +the cleverness to steal a glance at the neat little basket which nestled at her +feet. Surreptitiously he read the name on the label. +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:40%"><span class="sc">Mary Smith</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:45%">Miss Sibson’s +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:50%">Queen’s Square, Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Smith! Just Mary Smith! For the moment—it is not to be +denied—he was sobered by the name. It was not a romantic name. It was +anything but high-sounding. The author of “Tremayne” or “De +Vere,” nay, the author of “Vivian Grey”—to complete the +trio of novels which were in fashion at the time—would have turned up his +nose at it. But what did it matter? He desired no more than to make himself +agreeable for the few hours which he and this beautiful creature must pass +together—in sunshine and with the fair English landscape gliding by them. +And that being so, what need he reck what she called herself or whence she +came. It was enough that under her modest bonnet her ears were shells and her +eyes pure cornflowers, and that a few pleasant words, a little April +dalliance—if only that Frenchman would cease to peep behind him and +grin—would harm neither the one nor the other. +</p> + +<p> +But opportunities let slip do not always recur. As he turned to address her +they rose the ascent of Maidenhead Bridge, had on either hand a glimpse of the +river framed in pale green willows, and halted with sweating horses before the +King’s Arms. The boots advanced, amid a group of gazers, and reared a +ladder against the coach. “Half an hour for breakfast, gentlemen!” +he cried briskly. And through the windows of the inn the travellers had a view +of a long table whereat the passengers on the up night-coach were already +feasting. +</p> + +<p> +Our friends hastened to descend, but not so fast that Vaughan failed to note +the girl’s look of uncertainty, almost of distress. He guessed that she +was not at ease in a scene so bustling and so new to her. And the thought gave +him the courage that he needed. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you allow me to find you a place at the table?” he said. +“I know this inn and they know me. Guard, the ladder here!” And he +took her hand—oh, such a little, little hand!—and aided her in her +descent. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you follow me?” he said. And he made way for her through the +knot of starers who cumbered the doorway. But once in the coffee-room he had, +cunning fellow, an inspiration. “Find this lady a seat!” he +commanded one of the attendant damsels. And when he had seen her seated and the +coffee set before her, he took himself deliberately to the other end of the +room. But whether he did so out of pure respect for her feelings, or because he +thought—and hugged himself on the thought—that he would be missed, +he did not himself know. Nor was he so much a captive, though he counted how +many rolls she ate, and looked a dozen times to see if she looked at him, as to +be unable to make an excellent breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +The cheery, noisy throng at the tables, the brisk coming and going of the +servants, the smell of hot coffee, the open windows, and the sunshine +outside—where the fresh team of the up night-coach were already tossing +their heads impatiently—he wondered how it all struck her, new to such +scenes and to this side of life. And then while he wondered he saw that she had +risen from the table and was going out with one of the waiting-maids. To reach +the door she had to pass near him; and, oh bliss, her eyes found him—and +she blushed. She blushed, ye heavens! He saw it clearly, and he sat thinking +about it until, though the coach was not due to start for another five minutes +and he might count on the guard summoning him, he was taken with fear lest some +one should steal his seat. And he hurried out. +</p> + +<p> +She was alone on the top of the coach, and a youthful waterman, one of the +crowd of loiterers below, was making eyes at her to the delight of his +companions. When Vaughan came forth, “I’d like to be him,” +the wag said, winking with vulgar gusto. And the bystanders grinned at the +good-looking young man who stood in the doorway buttoning up his box-coat. The +position might soon have become embarrassing to her if not to him; but in the +nick of time the eye of an inside passenger, who had followed him through the +doorway, alighted on a huge placard which hung behind the coach. +</p> + +<p> +“Take that down!” the stranger cried loudly and pompously. And in a +moment all eyes were upon him. He prodded with his umbrella at the offending +bill. “Do you hear me? Take it down, sir,” he repeated, turning to +the guard. He was a portly man, reddish about the gills. “Take it down, +sir, or I will! It is disgraceful! I shall report this conduct to your +employers.” +</p> + +<p> +The guard hesitated. “It don’t harm you, sir,” he pleaded, +anxious, it was clear, to propitiate a man who would presently be good for half +a crown. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t harm me?” the choleric gentleman retorted. +“Don’t harm me? What’s that to do with it? What +right—what right have you, man, to put party filth like that on a public +vehicle in which I pay to ride? ‘The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing +but the Bill!’ D—n the Bill, sir!” with violence. “Take +it down! Take it down at once!” he repeated, as if his order closed the +matter. +</p> + +<p> +The guard frowned at the placard, which bore, largely printed, the legend which +the gentleman found so little to his taste. He rubbed his head. “Well, I +don’t know, sir,” he said. And then—the crowd about the coach +was growing—he looked at the driver. “What do you say, +Sammy?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t touch it,” growled the driver, without deigning to +turn his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, sir, it is this way,” the guard ventured civilly. +“Mr. Palmer has a Whig meeting at Reading to-day and the town will be +full. And if we don’t want rotten eggs and broken +windows—we’ll carry that!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll not travel with it!” the stout gentleman answered +positively. “Do you hear me, man? If you don’t take it down I +will!” +</p> + +<p> +“Best not!” cried a voice from the little crowd about the coach. +And when the angry gentleman turned to see who spoke, “Best not!” +cried another behind him. And he wheeled about again, so quickly that the crowd +laughed. This raised his wrath to a white heat. +</p> + +<p> +He grew purple. “I shall have it taken down!” he said. +“Guard, remove it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t touch it,” growled the driver—one of a class +noted in that day for independence and surly manners. “If the gent +don’t choose to travel with it, let him stop here and be +d—d!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” the insulted passenger cried, “that I am a +Member of Parliament?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m hanged if you are!” coachee retorted. “Nor +won’t be again!” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd roared at this repartee. The guard was in despair. “Anyway, we +must go on, sir,” he said. And he seized his horn. “Take your +seats, gents! Take your seats!” he cried. “All for Reading! +I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve to think of the coach.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the horses!” grumbled the driver. “Where’s the +gent’s sense?” +</p> + +<p> +They all scrambled to their seats except the ex-member. He stood, bursting with +rage and chagrin. But at the last moment, when he saw that the coach would +really go without him, he swallowed his pride, plucked open the coach-door, and +amid the loud jeers of the crowd, climbed in. The driver, with a chuckle, bade +the helpers let go, and the coach swung cheerily away through the streets of +Maidenhead, the merry notes of the horn and the rattle of the pole-chains +drowning the cries of the gutter-boys. +</p> + +<p> +The little Frenchman turned round. “You vill have a refolution,” he +said solemnly. “And the gentleman inside he vill lose his head.” +</p> + +<p> +The coachman, who had hitherto looked askance at Froggy, as if he disdained his +neighbourhood, now squinted at him as if he could not quite make him out. +“Think so?” he said gruffly. “Why, Mounseer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt,” the Frenchman answered glibly. “The people +vill have, and the nobles vill not give! Or they vill give a leetle—a +leetle! And that is the worst of all. I have seen two refolutions!” he +continued with energy. “The first when I was a child—it is forty +years! My bonne held me up and I saw heads fall into the basket—heads as +young and as lofly as the young Mees there! And why? Because the people would +have, and the King, he give that which is the worst of all—a leetle! And +the trouble began. And then the refolution of last year—it was worth to +me all that I had! The people would have, and the Polignac, our +Minister—who is the friend of your Vellington—he would not give at +all! And the trouble began.” +</p> + +<p> +The driver squinted at him anew. “D’you mean to say,” he +asked, “that you’ve seen heads cut off?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen the white necks, as white and as small as the Mees there; I +have seen the blood spout from them; bah! like what you call pump! Ah, it was +ogly, it was very ogly!” +</p> + +<p> +The coachman turned his head slowly and with difficulty, until he commanded a +full view of Vaughan’s pretty neighbour; at whom he gazed for some +seconds as if fascinated. Then he turned to his horses and relieved his +feelings by hitting one of the wheelers below the trace; while Vaughan, willing +to hear what the Frenchman had to say, took up the talk. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps here,” he said, “those who have will give, and give +enough, and all will go well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nefer! Nefer!” the Frenchman answered positively. “By +example, the Duke whose château we pass—what you call it—Jerusalem +House?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sion House,” Vaughan answered, smiling. “The Duke of +Northumberland.” +</p> + +<p> +“By example he return four members to your Commons House. Is it not so? +And they do what he tell them. He have this for his nefew, and that for his +niece, and the other thing for his <i>maître d’hôtel!</i> And it is he +and the others like him who rule the country! Gives he up all that? To the +<i>bourgeoisie?</i> Nefer! Nefer!” he continued with emphasis. “He +will be the Polignac! They will all be the Polignacs! And you will have a +refolution. And by-and-by, when the <i>bourgeoisie</i> is frightened of the +<i>canaille</i> and tired of the blood-letting, your Vellington he will be the +Emperor. It is as plain as the two eyes in the face! So plain for me, I shall +not take off my clothes the nights!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, King Billy for me!” said the driver. “But if +he’s willing, Mounseer, why shouldn’t the people manage their own +affairs?” +</p> + +<p> +“The people! The people! They cannot! Your horses, will they govern +themselves? Will you throw down the reins and leave it to them, up hill, down +hill? The people govern themselves Bah!” And to express his extreme +disgust at the proposition, the Frenchman, who had lost his all with Polignac, +bent over the side and spat into the road. “It is no government at +all!” +</p> + +<p> +The driver looked darkly at his horses as if he would like to see them try it +on. “I am afraid,” said Vaughan, “that you think we are in +trouble either way then, whether the Tories give or withhold?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eizer way! Eizer way!” the Frenchman answered <i>con amore</i>. +“It is fate! You are on the edge of the what you call +it—<i>chute!</i> And you must go over! We have gone over. We have bumped +once, twice! We shall bump once, twice more, <i>et voilà</i>—Anarchy! Now +it is your turn, sir. The government has to be—shifted—from the one +class to the other!” +</p> + +<p> +“But it may be peacefully shifted?” +</p> + +<p> +The little Frenchman shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “I have nefer +seen the government shifted without all that that I have told you. There will +be the guillotine, or the barricades. For me, I shall not take off my clothes +the nights!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with a sincerity so real and a persuasion so clear that even Vaughan +was a little shaken, and wondered if those who watched the game from the +outside saw more than the players. As for the coachman: +</p> + +<p> +“Dang me,” he said that evening to his cronies in the tap of the +White Lion at Bristol, “if I feel so sure about this here Reform! We want +none of that nasty neck-cutting here! And if I thought Froggy was right +I’m blest if I wouldn’t turn Tory!” +</p> + +<p> +And for certain the Frenchman voiced what a large section of the timid and the +well-to-do were thinking. For something like a hundred and fifty years a small +class, the nobility and the greater gentry, turning to advantage the growing +defects in the representation—the rotten boroughs and the close +corporations—had ruled the country through the House of Commons. Was it +to be expected that the basis of power could be shifted in a moment? Or that +all these boroughs and corporations, in which the governing class were so +deeply interested, could be swept away without a convulsion; without opening +the floodgates of change, and admitting forces which no man could measure? Or, +on the other side, was it likely that, these defects once seen and the appetite +of the middle class for power once whetted, their claims could be refused +without a struggle from which the boldest must flinch? No man could say for +certain, and hence these fears in the air. The very winds carried them. They +were being discussed in that month of April not only on the White Lion coach, +not on the Bath road only, but on a hundred coaches, and a hundred roads over +the length and breadth of England. Wherever the sway of Macadam and Telford +extended, wherever the gigs of “riders” met, or farmers’ +carts stayed to parley, at fair and market, sessions and church, men shook +their heads or raised their voices in high debate; and the word <i>Reform</i> +rolled down the wind! +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan soon overcame his qualms; for his opinions were fixed. But he thought +that the subject might serve him with his neighbour, and he addressed her. +</p> + +<p> +“You must not let them alarm you,” he said. “We are still a +long way, I fancy, from guillotines or barricades.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” she answered. “In any case I am not +afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, if I may ask?” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at him with a gleam of humour in her eyes. “Little shrubs +feel little wind,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“But also little sun, I fear,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“That does not follow,” she said, without raising her eyes again. +“Though it is true that I—I am so seldom free in a morning that a +journey such as this, with the sunshine, is like heaven to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The morning is a delightful time,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried, as if she now knew that he felt with her. +“That is it! The afternoon is different.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, fortunately, you and I have—much of the morning left.” +</p> + +<p> +She made no reply to that, and he wondered in silence what was the employment +which filled her mornings and fitted her to enjoy with so keen a zest this +early ride. The Gloucester up-coach was coming to meet them, the guard tootling +merrily on his horn, and a blue and yellow flag—the Whig +colours—flying on the roof of the coach, which was crowded with smiling +passengers. Vaughan saw the girl’s eyes sparkle as the two coaches passed +one another amid a volley of badinage; and demure as she was, he was sure that +she had a store of fun within. He wished that she would remove her cheap thread +gloves that he might see if her hands were as white as they were small. She was +no common person, he was sure of that; her speech was correct, though formal, +and her manner was quiet and refined. And her eyes—he must make her look +at him again! +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to Bristol?” he said. “To stay there?” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps he threw too much feeling into his voice. At any rate the tone of her +answer was colder. “Yes,” she said, “I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going as far as Chippenham,” he volunteered. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +There! He had lost all the ground he had gained. She thought him a possible +libertine, who aimed at putting himself on a footing of intimacy with her. And +that was the last thing—confound it, he meant that to do her harm was the +last thing he had in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +It annoyed him that she should think anything of that kind. And he cudgelled +his brain for a subject at once safe and sympathetic, without finding one. But +either she was not so deeply offended as he fancied, or she thought him +sufficiently punished. For presently she addressed him; and he saw that she was +ever so little embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you please to tell me,” she said, in a low voice, “how +much I ought to give the coachman?” +</p> + +<p> +Oh. bless her! She did not think him a horrid libertine. “You?” he +said audaciously. “Why nothing, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—but I thought it was usual?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not on this road,” he answered, lying resolutely. “Gentlemen +are expected to give half a crown, others a shilling. Ladies nothing at all. +Sam,” he continued, rising to giddy heights of invention, “would +give it back to you, if you offered it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” He fancied a note of relief in her tone, and judged that +shillings were not very plentiful. Then, “Thank you,” she added. +“You must think me very ignorant. But I have never travelled.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must not say that,” he returned. “Remember the Clapham +Stage!” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed at the jest, small as it was; and her laugh gave him the most +delicious feeling—a sort of lightness within, half exhilaration, half +excitement. And of a sudden, emboldened by it, he was grown so foolhardy that +there is no knowing what he would not have said, if the streets of Reading had +not begun to open before them and display a roadway abnormally thronged. +</p> + +<p> +For Mr. Palmer’s procession, with its carriages, riders, and flags, was +entering ahead of them; and the train of tipsy rabble which accompanied it +blocked King Street, and presently brought the coach to a stand. The candidate, +lifting his cocked hat from time to time, was a hundred paces before them and +barely visible through a forest of flags and banners. But a troop of mounted +gentry in dusty black, and smiling dames in carriages—who hardly masked +the disgust with which they viewed the forest of grimy hands extended to them +to shake—were under the travellers’ eyes, and showed in the +sunlight both tawdry and false. Our party, however, were not long at ease to +enjoy the spectacle. The crowd surrounded the coach, leapt on the steps, and +hung on to the boot. And presently the noise scared the horses, which at the +entrance to the marketplace began to plunge. +</p> + +<p> +“The Bill! The Bill!” cried the rabble. And with truculence called +on the passengers to assent. “You lubbers,” they bawled, +“shout for the Bill! Or we’ll have you over!” +</p> + +<p> +“All right! All right!” replied Sammy, controlling his horses as +well as he could. “We’re all for the Bill here! Hurrah!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hurrah! Palmer for ever, Tories in the river!” cried the mob. +“Hurrah!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hurrah!” echoed the guard, willing to echo anything. “The +Bill for ever! But let us pass, lads! Let us pass! We’re for the Bear, +and we’ve no votes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Britons never will be slaves!” shrieked a drunken butcher as the +marketplace opened before them. The space was alive with flags and gay with +cockades, and thronged by a multitude, through which the candidate’s +procession clove its way slowly. “We’ll have votes now! Three +cheers for Lord John!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hurrah! Hurrah!” +</p> + +<p> +“And down with Orange Peel!” squeaked a small tailor in a high +falsetto. +</p> + +<p> +The roar of laughter which greeted the sally startled the horses afresh. But +the guard had dropped down by this time and fought his way to the head of one +of the leaders; and two or three good-humoured fellows seconded his efforts. +Between them the coach was piloted slowly but safely through the press; which, +to do it justice, meant only to exercise the privileges which the Election +season brought with it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>V<br/> +ROSY-FINGERED DAWN</h2> + +<p> +“<i>Beaucoup de bruit, pas de mal!</i>” Vaughan muttered in his +neighbour’s ear; and saw with as much surprise as pleasure that she +understood. +</p> + +<p> +And all would have gone well but for the imprudence of the inside passenger who +had distinguished himself by his protest against the placard. The coach was +within a dozen paces of the Bear, the crowd was falling back from it, the +peril, if it had been real, seemed past, the most timid was breathing again, +when he thrust out his foolish head, and flung a taunt—which those on the +roof could not hear—at the rabble. +</p> + +<p> +Whatever the words, their effect was disastrous. A bystander caught them up and +repeated them, and in a trice half-a-dozen louts flung themselves on the door +and strove to drag it open, and get at the man; while others, leaning over +their shoulders, aimed missiles at the inside passengers. +</p> + +<p> +The guard saw that more than the glass of his windows was at stake; but he +could do nothing. He was at the leaders’ heads. And the passengers on the +roof, who had risen to their feet to see the fray, were as helpless. Luckily +the coachman kept his head and his reins. “Turn ’em into the +yard!” he yelled. “Turn ’em in!” +</p> + +<p> +The guard did so, almost too quickly. The frightened horses wheeled round, and, +faster than was prudent, dashed under the low arch, dragging the swaying coach +after them. +</p> + +<p> +There was a cry of “Heads! Heads!” and then, more imperatively, +“Heads! Stoop! Stoop!” +</p> + +<p> +The warning was needed. The outsides were on their feet engrossed in the +struggle at the coach door. And so quickly did the coach turn that—though +a score of spectators in the street and on the balcony of the inn saw the +peril—it was only at the last moment that Vaughan and the two passengers +at the back, men well used to the road, caught the warning, and dropped down. +And it was only at the very last moment that Vaughan felt rather than saw that +the girl was still standing. He had just time, by a desperate effort, and amid +a cry of horror—for to the spectators she seemed to be already jammed +between the arch and the seat—to drag her down. Instinctively, as he did +so, he shielded her face with his arm; but the horror was so near that, as they +swept under the low brow, he was not sure that she was safe. +</p> + +<p> +He was as white as she was, when they emerged into the light again. But he saw +that she was safe, though her bonnet was dragged from her head; and he cried +unconsciously, “Thank God! Thank God!” Then, with that hatred of a +scene which is part of the English character, he put her quickly back into her +seat again, and rose to his feet, as if he wished to separate himself from her. +</p> + +<p> +But a score of eyes had seen the act; and however much he might wish to spare +her feelings, concealment was impossible. +</p> + +<p> +“Christ!” cried the coachman, whose copper cheeks were perceptibly +paler. “If your head’s on your shoulders, Miss, it is to that young +gentleman you owe it. Don’t you ever go to sleep on the roof of a coach +again! Never! Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, get a drop of brandy!” cried the landlady, who, from one of +the doors flanking the archway, had seen all. “Do you stay where you are, +Miss,” she continued, “and I’ll send it up to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then amid a babel of exclamations and a chorus of blame and praise, the ladder +was brought, and Vaughan made haste to descend. A waiter tripped out with the +brown brandy and water on a tray; and the young lady, who had not spoken, but +had remained, sitting white and still, where Vaughan had placed her, sipped it +obediently. Unfortunately the landlady’s eyes were sharp; and as Vaughan +passed her to go into the house—for the coach must be driven up the yard +and turned before they could set off again—she let fall a cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, sir!” she said, “your hand is torn dreadful! +You’ve grazed every bit of skin off it!” +</p> + +<p> +He tried to silence her; and failing, hurried into the house. She fussed after +him to attend to him; and Sammy, who was not a man of the most delicate +perceptions, seized the opportunity to drive home his former lesson. +“There, Miss,” he said solemnly, “I hope that’ll teach +you to look out another time! But better his hand than your head. You’d +ha’ been surely scalped!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl, a shade whiter than before, did not answer. And he thought her, for +so pretty a wench, “a right unfeelin’ un!” +</p> + +<p> +Not so the Frenchman. “I count him a very locky man!” he said +obscurely. “A very locky man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” the coachman answered with a grunt, “if you call that +lucky——” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Vraiment! Vraiment!</i> But I—alas!” the Frenchman +answered with an eloquent gesture, “I have lost my all, and the good +fortunes are no longer for me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Fortunes!” the coachman muttered, looking askance at him. “A +fine fortune, to have your hand flayed! But +where’s”—recollecting himself—“where’s that +there fool that caused the trouble! D—n me, if he shall go any further on +my coach. I’d like to double-thong him, and it’d serve him +right!” +</p> + +<p> +So when the ex-M.P. presently appeared, Sammy let go his tongue to such purpose +that the political gentleman; finding himself in a minority of one, retired +into the house and, with many threats of what he would do when he saw the +management, declined to go on. +</p> + +<p> +“And a good riddance of a d—d Tory!” the coachman muttered. +“Think all the world’s made for them! Fifteen minutes he’s +cost us already! Take your seats, gents, take your seats! I’m off!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, with his hand hastily bandaged, was the last to come out. He climbed +as quickly as he could to his place, and, without looking at his neighbour, he +said some common-place word. She did not reply, and they swept under the arch. +For a moment the sight of the thronged marketplace diverted him. Then he looked +at her, and he saw that she was trembling. +</p> + +<p> +If he was not quite so wise as the Frenchman, having had no <i>bonnes +fortunes</i> to speak of, he had, nevertheless, keen perceptions. And he +guessed that the girl, between her maiden shyness and her womanly gratitude, +was painfully placed. It could not be otherwise. A girl who had spent her +years, since childhood, within the walls of a school at Clapham, first as +genteel apprentice, and then as assistant; who had been taught to consider +young men as roaring lions with whom her own life could have nothing in common, +and from whom it was her duty to guard the more giddy of her flock; who had to +struggle at once with the shyness of youth, the modesty of her sex, and her +inexperience—above all, perhaps with that dread of insult which becomes +the instinct of lowly beauty—how was she to carry herself in +circumstances so different from any which she had ever imagined? How was she to +express a tithe of the feelings with which her heart was bursting, and which +overwhelmed her as often as she thought of the hideous death from which he had +snatched her? +</p> + +<p> +She could not; and with inborn good taste she refrained from the commonplace +word, the bald acknowledgment, in which a shallow nature might have taken +refuge. On his side, he guessed some part of this, and discerned that if he +would relieve her he must himself speak. Accordingly, when they had left the +streets behind them and were swinging merrily along the Newbury Road, he leant +towards her. +</p> + +<p> +“May I beg,” he said in a low voice, “that you won’t +think of what has happened? The coachman would have done as much, and scolded +you! I happened to be next you. That was all.” +</p> + +<p> +In a strangled voice, “But your hand,” she faltered. “I +fear—I——” She shuddered, unable to go on. +</p> + +<p> +“It is nothing!” he protested. “Nothing! In three days it +will be well!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her eves on him, eyes which possessed an eloquence of which their +owner was unconscious. “I will pray for you,” she murmured. +“I can do no more.” +</p> + +<p> +The pathos of her simple gratitude was such that Vaughan could not laugh it +off. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “We shall then be more +than quits.” And having given her a few moments in which to recover +herself, “We are nearly at Speenhamland,” he resumed cheerfully. +“There is the George and Pelican! It’s a great baiting-house for +coaches. I am afraid to say how much corn and hay they give out in a day. They +have a man who does nothing else but weigh it out.” And so he chattered +on, doing his utmost to talk of indifferent matters in an indifferent tone. +</p> + +<p> +She could not repulse him after what had passed. And now and then, by a timid +word, she gave him leave to talk. Presently he began to speak of things other +than those under their eyes, and when he thought that he had put her at her +ease, “You understand French?” he said looking at her suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I spoke it as a child,” she answered. “I was born abroad. I +did not come to England until I was nine.” +</p> + +<p> +“To Clapham?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I have been employed in a school there.” +</p> + +<p> +Prudently he hastened to bring the talk back to the road again. And she took +courage to steal a look at him when his eyes were elsewhere. He seemed so +strong and gentle and courteous; this unknown creature which she had been +taught to fear. And he was so thoughtful of her! He could throw so tender a +note into his voice. Beside d’Orsay or Alvanley—but she had never +heard of them—he might have passed muster but tolerably; but to her he +seemed a very fine gentleman. She had a woman’s eye for the fineness of +his linen, and the smartness of his waistcoat—had not Sir James Graham, +with his chest of Palermo stuffs, set the seal of Cabinet approval on fancy +waistcoats? Nor was she blind to the easy carriage of his head, and his air of +command. +</p> + +<p> +And there she caught herself up: reflecting with a blush that it was by the +easy path of thoughts such as these that the precipice was approached; that so +it was the poor and pretty let themselves be led from the right road. Whither +was she travelling? In what was this to end? She trembled. And if they had not +at that moment swung out of Savernake Forest and sighted the red roofs of +Marlborough, lying warm and sung at the foot of the steep London Hill, she did +not know what she should have done, since she could not repulse him. +</p> + +<p> +They rattled in merry style through the town, the leaders cantering, the bars +swinging, the guard tootling, the sun shining; past a score of inn signs before +which the heavy stages were baiting; past the two churches, while all the brisk +pleasantness of this new, this living world, appealed to her to go its way. +Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! Swerving to the right they pulled up bravely, with steaming +horses, before the door of the far-famed Castle Inn. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! +“Half an hour for dinner, gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Vaughan, thinking that all was well, or rather +declining to think of anything but her shy glances and the delightful present. +“You must cut my meat for me!” +</p> + +<p> +She did not reply, and he saw that her eyes went to the basket at her feet. He +guessed that she wished to avoid the expense of dining. “Or, perhaps, you +are not coming in?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not intend to do so,” she replied. “I suppose,” +she continued timidly, “that I may stay here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. You have something with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded pleasantly and left her; and she remained in her seat. As she ate, +the target for many a sly glance of admiration, she was divided between +gratitude and self-reproach; now thinking of him with a quickened heart, now +taking herself to task for her weakness. The result was that when he strode +out, confident and at ease, and looked up at her with laughing eyes, she +blushed furiously—to her own unspeakable mortification. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was no Lothario, and for a moment the telltale colour took him aback. +Then he told himself that at Chippenham, less than twenty miles down the road, +he was leaving her. It was absurd to suppose that, in the short space which +remained, either could be harmed. And he mounted gaily, and masking his +knowledge of her emotion with a skill which surprised himself, he chatted +pleasantly, unaware that with every word he was stamping the impression of her +face, her long eyelashes, her graceful head, her trick of this and that, more +deeply upon his memory. While she, reassured by the same thought that they +would part in an hour—and in an hour what harm could happen?—closed +her eyes and drank the sweet draught—the sweeter for its novelty, and for +the bitter which lurked at the bottom of the cup. Meantime Sammy winked sagely +at his horses, and the Frenchman cast envious glances over his shoulders, and +Silbury Hill, Fyfield, and the soft folds of the downs swept by, and on warm +commons and southern slopes the early bees hummed above the gorse. +</p> + +<p> +Here was Chippenham at last; and the end was come. He must descend. A hasty +touch, a murmured word, a pang half-felt; she veiled her eyes. If her colour +fluttered and she trembled, why not? She had cause to be grateful to him. And +if he felt as his foot touched the ground that the world was cold, and the +prospect cheerless, why not, when he had to face Sir Robert, and when his +political embarrassments, forgotten for a time, rose nearer and larger? +</p> + +<p> +It had often fallen to him to alight before the Angel at Chippenhan. From +boyhood he had known the wide street, in which the fairs were held, the red +Georgian houses, and the stone bridge of many arches over the Avon. But he had +never seen these things, he had never alighted there, with less satisfaction +than on this day. +</p> + +<p> +Still this was the end. He raised his hat, saluted silently, and turned to +speak to the guard. In the act he jostled a person who was approaching to +accost him. Vaughan stared. “Hallo, White!” he said. “I was +coming to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +White’s hat was in his hand. “Your servant, sir,” he said. +“Your servant, sir. I am glad to be here to meet you, Mr. Vaughan.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you didn’t expect me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, no; I came to meet Mr. Cooke, who was to arrive by this coach. +But I do not see him.” +</p> + +<p> +A light broke in upon Vaughan. “Gad! he must be the man we left behind at +Reading,” he said. “Is he a peppery chap?” +</p> + +<p> +“He might be so called, sir,” the agent answered with a smile. +“I fancied that you knew him.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Sergeant Wathen I know; not Mr. Cooke. Any way, he’s not come, +White.” +</p> + +<p> +“All the better, sir, if I can get a message to him by the up-coach. For +he’s not needed. I am glad to say that the trouble is at an end. My Lord +Lansdowne has given up the idea of contesting the borough, and I came over to +tell Mr. Cooke, thinking that he might prefer to go on to Bristol. He has a +house at Bristol.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean,” Vaughan said, “that there will be no +contest?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, no. Not now. And a good thing, too. Upset the town for nothing! +My lord has no chance, and Pybus, who is his lordship’s man here, he told +me himself——” +</p> + +<p> +He paused with his mouth open, and his eyes on a tall lady wearing a veil, who, +after standing a couple of minutes on the further side of the street, was +approaching the coach. To enter it she had to pass by him, and he stared, as if +he saw a ghost. “By Gosh!” he muttered under his breath. And when, +with the aid of the guard, she had taken her seat inside, “By +Gosh!” he muttered again, “if that’s not my lady—though +I’ve not seen her for ten years—I’ve the horrors!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to Vaughan to see if he had noticed anything. But Vaughan, without +waiting for the end of his sentence, had stepped aside to tell a helper to +replace his valise on the coach. In the bustle he had noted neither +White’s emotion nor the lady. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment he returned. “I shall go on to Bristol for the night, +White,” he said. “Sir Robert is quite well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite well, sir, and I shall be happy to tell him of your promptness in +coming.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell him anything,” the young man said, with a flash +of peremptoriness. “I don’t want to be kept here. Do you +understand, White? I shall probably return to town to-morrow. Anyway, say +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir,” White answered. “But I am sure Sir Robert +would be pleased to know that you had come down so promptly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, you can let him know later. Good-bye, White.” +</p> + +<p> +The agent, with one eye on the young squire and one on the lady, whose figure +was visible through the small coach-window, seemed to be about to refer to her. +But he checked himself. “Good-bye, sir,” he said. “And a +pleasant journey! I’m glad to have been of service, Mr. Vaughan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, White, thank you,” the young man answered. And he swung +himself up, as the coach moved. A good-natured nod, and—Tantivy! Tantivy! +Tantivy! The helpers sprang aside, and away they went down the hill, and over +the long stone bridge, and so along the Bristol road; but now with the shades +of evening beginning to spread on the pastures about them, and the cawing +rooks, that had been abroad all day on the uplands, streaming across the pale +sky to the elms beside the river. +</p> + +<p> +But <i>varium et mutabile femina</i>. When he turned, eager to take up the +fallen thread, Clotho could not have been more cold than his neighbour, nor +Atropos with her shears more decisive. “I’ve had good news,” +he said, as he settled his coat about him. “I came down with a very +unpleasant task before me. And it is lifted from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“So I am going on to Bristol instead of staying at Chippenham.” +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a great relief to me,” he continued cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” She spoke in the most distant of voices. +</p> + +<p> +He raised his brows in perplexity. What had happened to her? She had been so +grateful, so much moved, a few minutes before. The colour had fluttered in her +cheek, the tear had been visible in her eye, she had left her hand the fifth of +a second in his. And now! +</p> + +<p> +Now she was determined that she would blush and smile and be kind no more. She +was grateful—God knew she was grateful, let him think what he would. But +there were limits. Her weakness, as long as she believed that Chippenham must +part them, had been pardonable. But if he had it in his mind to attend her to +Bristol, to follow her or haunt her—as she had known foolish young cits +at Clapham to haunt the more giddy of her flock—then her mistake was +clear; and his conduct, now merely suspicious, would appear in its black +reality. She hoped that he was innocent. She hoped that his change of plan at +Chippenham had been no subterfuge; that he was not a roaring lion. But +appearances were deceitful and her own course was plain. +</p> + +<p> +It was the plainer, as she had not been blind to the respect with which all at +the Angel had greeted her companion; even White, a man of substance, with a +gold chain and seals hanging from his fob, had stood bareheaded while he talked +to him. It was plain that he was a fine gentleman; one of those whom young +persons in her rank of life must shun. +</p> + +<p> +So he drew scarcely five words out of her in as many miles. At last, thrice +rebuffed, “I am afraid you are tired,” he said. Was it for this +that he had chosen to go on to Bristol? +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she answered. “I am rather tired. If you please I +would prefer not to talk.” +</p> + +<p> +He was a little huffed then, and let her be; nor did he guess, though he was +full of conjectures about her, how she hated her seeming ingratitude. But there +was nought else for it; better seem thankless now than be worse hereafter. For +she was growing frightened. She was beginning to have more than an inkling of +the road by which young things were led to be foolish. Her ear retained the +sound of his voice though he was silent. The fashion in which he had stooped to +her—though he was looking another way now—clung to her memory. His +laugh, though he was grave now, rang for her, full of glee and good-fellowship. +She could have burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +They stayed at Marshfield to take on the last team. And she tried to divert her +mind by watching a woman in a veil who walked up and down beside the coach, and +seemed to return her curiosity. But she tried to little purpose, for she felt +strained and weary, and more than ever inclined to cry. Doubtless the peril +through which she had passed had shaken her. +</p> + +<p> +So that she was thankful when, after descending perilous Tog Hill, they saw +from Kingswood heights the lights of Bristol shining through the dusk; and she +knew that she was at her journey’s end. To arrive in a strange place on +the edge of night is trying to anyone. But to alight friendless and alone, amid +the bustle of a city, and to know that new relations must be created and a new +life built up—this may well raise in the most humble and contented bosom +a feeling of loneliness and depression. And doubtless that was why Mary Smith, +after evading Vaughan with a success beyond her hopes, felt as she followed her +modest trunk through the streets that—but she bent her head to hide the +unaccustomed tears. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>VI<br/> +THE PATRON OF CHIPPINGE</h2> + +<p> +Much about the time that the “Spectator” was painting in Sir Roger +the most lovable picture of an old English squire which our gallery contains, +Cornelius Vermuyden, of a younger branch of the Vermuydens who drained the +fens, was making a fortune in the Jamaica trade. Having made it in a dark +office at Bristol, and being, like all Dutchmen, of a sedentary turn, he +proceeded to found a family, purchase a borough, and, by steady support of Whig +principles and the Protestant succession, to earn a baronetcy in the +neighbouring county of Wilts. +</p> + +<p> +Doubtless the first Vermuyden had things to contend with, and at assize ball +and sessions got but two fingers from the De Coverleys and their long-descended +dames. But he went his way stolidly, married his son into a family of like +origin—the Beckfords—and, having seen little George II. firmly on +the throne, made way for his son. +</p> + +<p> +This second Sir Cornelius rebuilt Stapylton, the house which his father had +bought from the decayed family of that name, and after living for some ten +years into the reign of Farmer George, vanished in his turn, leaving Cornelius +Robert to succeed him, Cornelius George, the elder son, having died in his +father’s lifetime. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Cornelius Robert was something after the pattern of the famous Mr. +Onslow— +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>What can Tommy Onslow do?<br/> +He can drive a chaise and two.<br/> +What can Tommy Onslow more?<br/> +He can drive a chaise and four.</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +Yet he fitted the time, and, improving his father’s pack of trencher-fed +hounds by a strain of Mr. Warde’s blood, he hunted the country so +conscientiously that at his death a Dutch bottle might have been set upon his +table without giving rise to the slightest reflection. He came to an end, much +lamented, with the century, and Sir Robert, fourth and present baronet, took +over the estates. +</p> + +<p> +By that time, rid of the foreign prenomen, well allied by three good marriages, +and since the American war of true blue Tory leanings, and thorough Church and +King principles, the family was able to hold up its head among the best in the +south of England. There might be some who still remembered that— +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Saltash was a borough town<br/> +When Plymouth was a breezy down</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +But the property was good, the borough safe, and any time these twenty years +their owner might have franked his letters “Chippinge” had he +willed it. As it was, he passed, almost as much as Mr. Western in the east or +Sir Thomas Acland in the west, for the type of a country gentleman. The most +powerful Minister gave him his whole hand; and at county meetings, at Salisbury +or Devizes, no voice was held more powerful, nor any man’s hint more +quickly taken than Sir Robert Vermuyden’s. +</p> + +<p> +He was a tall and very thin man, of almost noble aspect, with a nose after the +fashion of the Duke’s, and a slight stoop. In early days he had been +something of a beau, though never of the Prince’s following, and he still +dressed finely and with taste. With a smaller sense of personal dignity, or +with wider sympathies, he might have been a happier man. But he had married too +late—at forty-five; and the four years which followed, and their sequel, +had darkened the rest of his life, drawn crow’s-feet about his eyes and +peevish lines about his mouth. Henceforth he had lived alone, nursing his +pride; and the solitude of this life—which was not without its dignity, +since no word of scandal touched it—had left him narrow and vindictive, a +man just but not over-generous, and pompous without complacency. +</p> + +<p> +The neighbourhood knew that he and Lady Sybil—he had married the +beautiful daughter of the last Earl of Portrush—had parted under +circumstances which came near to justifying divorce. Some held that he had +divorced her; but in those days an Act of Parliament was necessary, and no such +Act stood on the Statute-book. Many thought that he ought to have divorced her. +And while the people who knew that she still lived and still plagued him were +numerous, few save Isaac White were aware that it was because his marriage had +been made and marred at Bowood—and not purely out of principle—that +Sir Robert opposed the very name of Lansdowne, and would have wasted a half of +his fortune to wreck his great neighbour’s political power. +</p> + +<p> +Not that his Tory principles were not strong. During five Parliaments he had +filled one of his own seats, and had spoken from time to time after a dignified +fashion, with formal gestures and a copious sprinkling of classical allusions. +The Liberal Toryism of Canning had fallen below his ideal, but he had continued +to sit until the betrayal of the party by Peel and the Duke—on the +Catholic Claims—drove him from the House in disgust, and thenceforth +Warren’s Hotel, his residence when in town, saw him but seldom. He had +fancied then that nothing worse could happen; that the depths were plumbed, and +that he and those who thought with him might punish the traitor and take no +harm. With the Duke of Cumberland, the best hated man in England—which +was never tired of ridiculing his moustachios—Eldon, Wetherell, and the +ultra-Tories, he had not rested until he had seen the hated pair flung from +office; nor was any man more surprised and confounded when the result of the +work began to show itself. The Whigs, admitted to power by this factious +movement, and after an exile so long that Byron could write of them— +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Naught’s permanent among the human race<br/> +Except the Whigs not getting into place</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +—brought in no mild and harmless measure of reform, promising little and +giving nothing, such as foe and friend had alike expected; but a measure of +reform so radical that O’Connell blessed it, and Cobbett might have +fathered it: a measure which, if it passed, would sweep away Sir Robert’s +power and the power of his class, destroy his borough, and relegate him to the +common order of country squires. +</p> + +<p> +He was at first incredulous, then furious, then aghast. To him the Bill was not +only the doom of his own influence but the knell of the Constitution. Behind it +he saw red revolution and the crash of things. Lord Grey was to him Mirabeau, +Lord John was Lafayette, Brougham was Danton; and of them and of their kind, +when they had roused the many-headed, he was sure that the end would be as the +end of the Gironde. +</p> + +<p> +He was not the less furious, not the less aghast, when the moderates of his +party pointed out that he had himself to thank for the catastrophe. From the +refusal to grant the smallest reform, from the refusal to transfer the +franchise of the rotten borough of Retford to the unrepresented city of +Birmingham—a refusal which he had urged his members to support—the +chain was complete; for in consequence of that refusal Mr. Huskisson had left +the Duke’s Cabinet. The appointment of Mr. Fitzgerald to fill his seat +had rendered the Clare election necessary. O’Connell’s victory at +the Clare election had converted Peel and the Duke to the necessity of granting +the Catholic Claims. That conversion had alienated the ultra-Tories, and among +these Sir Robert. The opposition of the ultra-Tories had expelled Peel and the +Duke from power—which had brought in the Whigs—who had brought in +the Reform Bill. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hinc illæ lacrimæ!</i> For, in place of the transfer of the franchise of one +rotten borough to one large city—a reform which now to the most bigoted +seemed absurdly reasonable—here were sixty boroughs to be swept away, and +nearly fifty more to be shorn of half their strength, a Constitution to be +altered, an aristocracy to be dethroned! +</p> + +<p> +And Calne, Lord Lansdowne’s pocket borough, was spared! +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert firmly believed that the limit had been fixed with an eye to Calne. +They who framed the Bill, sitting in wicked, detestable confabulation, had +fixed the limit of Schedule B so as to spare Calne and +Tavistock—<i>Arcades ambo</i>, Whig boroughs both. Or why did they just +escape? In the whole matter it was this, strangely enough, which troubled him +most sorely. For the loss of his own borough—if the worst came to the +worst—he could put up with it. He had no children, he had no one to come +after him except Arthur Vaughan, the great-grandson of his grandmother. But the +escape of Calne, this clear proof of the hypocrisy of the righteous Grey, the +blatant Durham, the whey-faced Lord John, the demagogue Brougham—this +injustice kept him in a state of continual irritation. +</p> + +<p> +He was thinking of this as he paced slowly up and down the broad walk beside +the Garden Pool, at Stapylton—a solitary figure dwarfed by the great +elms. The placid surface of the pool, which mirrored the shaven lawns beyond it +and the hoary church set amidst the lawns, the silence about him, broken only +by the notes of song-birds or a faint yelp from the distant kennels, the view +over the green undulations of park and covert—all vainly appealed to him +to-day, though on summer evenings his heart took sad and frequent leave of +them. For that which threatened him every day jostled aside for the present +that which must happen one day. The home of his fathers might be his for some +years yet, but shorn of its chief dignity, of its pride, its mastery; while +Calne—Calne would survive, to lift still higher the fortunes of those who +had sold their king and country, and betrayed their order. +</p> + +<p> +Daily a man and horse awaited the mail-coach at Chippenham that he might have +the latest news; and, seeing a footman hurrying towards him from the house, he +supposed that the mail was in. But when the man, after crossing the long wooden +bridge which spanned the pool, approached with no diminution of speed, he +remembered that it was too early for the post; and hating to be disturbed in +his solitary reveries, he awaited the servant impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“What it is?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, Sir Robert, Lady Lansdowne’s carriage is at the +door.” +</p> + +<p> +Only Sir Robert’s darkening colour betrayed his astonishment. He had made +his feelings so well known that none but the most formal civilities now passed +between Stapylton and Bowood. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Lansdowne, Sir Robert. Her ladyship bade us say that she wishes to +see you urgently, sir.” The man, as well as the master, knew that the +visit was unusual. +</p> + +<p> +The baronet was a proud man, and he bethought him that the drawing-rooms, +seldom used and something neglected, were not in the state in which he would +wish his enemy’s wife to see them. “Where have you put her +ladyship?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“In the hall, Sir Robert.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. I will come.” +</p> + +<p> +The man hastened away over the bridge, and Sir Robert followed, more at +leisure, but still quickly. When he had passed the angle of the church which +stood in a line with the three blocks of building, connected by porticos, which +formed the house, and which, placed on a gentle eminence, looked handsomely +over the park, he saw that a carriage with four greys ridden by postillions and +attended by two outriders stood before the main door. In the carriage, her face +shaded by the large Tuscan hat of the period, sat a young lady reading. She +heard Sir Robert’s footstep, and looked up, and in some embarrassment met +his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He removed his hat. “It is Lady Louisa, is it not?” he said, +looking gravely at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said; and she smiled prettily at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you not go into the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” she replied, with a faint blush; “I think my +mother wishes to see you alone, Sir Robert.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good.” And with a bow, cold but perfectly courteous, he +turned and passed up the broad, shallow steps, which were of the same +time-tinted lichen-covered stone as the rest of the building. Mapp, the butler, +who had been looking out for him, opened the door, and he entered the hall. +</p> + +<p> +In his heart, which was secretly perturbed, was room for the wish that he had +been found in other than the high-buttoned gaiters and breeches of his country +life. But he suffered no sign of that or of his more serious misgivings to +appear, as he advanced to greet the still beautiful woman, who sat daintily +warming one sandalled foot at the red embers on the hearth. She was far from +being at ease herself. Warnings which her husband had addressed to her at +parting recurred and disturbed her. But it is seldom that a woman of the world +betrays her feelings, and her manner was perfect as he bent low over her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It is long,” she said gently, “much longer than I like to +remember, Sir Robert, since we met.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a long time,” he answered gravely; and when she had reseated +herself he sat down opposite her. +</p> + +<p> +“It is an age,” she said slowly; and she looked round the hall, +with its panelled walls, its deep window-seats, and its panoply of fox-masks +and antlers, as if she recalled the past, “It is an age,” she +repeated. “Politics are sad dividers of friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear,” he replied, in a tone as cold as courtesy permitted, +“that they are about to be greater dividers.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him quickly, with appeal in her eyes. “And yet,” she +said, “we saw more of you once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” He was wondering much, behind the mask of his civility, what +had drawn her hither. He knew that it could be no light, no passing matter +which had brought her over thirteen miles of Wiltshire roads to call upon a man +with whom intercourse had been limited, for years past, to a few annual words, +a formal invitation as formally declined, a measured salutation at race or +ball. She must have a motive, and a strong one. It was only the day before that +he had learned that Lord Lansdowne meant to drop his foolish opposition at +Chippinge; was it possible that she was here to make a favour of this? And +perhaps a bargain? If that were her errand, and my lord had sent her, thinking +to make refusal less easy, Sir Robert felt that he would know how to answer. He +waited. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>VII<br/> +THE WINDS OF AUTUMN</h2> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne looked pensively at the tapering sandal which she held forward +to catch the heat. “Time passes so very, very quickly,” she said +with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“With some,” Sir Robert answered. “With others,” he +bowed, “it stands still.” +</p> + +<p> +His gallantry did not deceive her. She knew it for the salute which duellists +exchange before the fray, and she saw that if she would do anything she must +place herself within his guard. She looked at him with sudden frankness. +“I want you to bear with me for a few minutes, Sir Robert,” she +said in a tone of appeal. “I want you to remember that we were once +friends, and, for the sake of old days, to believe that I am here to play a +friend’s part. You won’t answer me? Very well. I do not ask you to +answer me.” She pointed to the space above the mantel. “The +portrait which used to hang there?” she said. “Where is it? What +have you done with it? But there, I said I would not ask, and I am +asking!” +</p> + +<p> +“And I will answer!” he replied. This was the last, the very last +thing for which he had looked; but he would show her that he was not to be +overridden. “I will tell you,” he repeated. “Lady Lansdowne, +I have destroyed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not blame you,” she rejoined. “It was yours to do with +as you would. But the original—no, Sir Robert,” she said, staying +him intrepidly—she had taken the water now, and must +swim—“you shall not frighten me! She was, she is your wife. But not +yours, not your property to do with as you will, in the sense in which that +picture—but there, I am blaming where I should entreat. +I——” +</p> + +<p> +He stayed her by a peremptory gesture. “Are you here—from +her?” he asked huskily. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not.” +</p> + +<p> +“She knows?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Sir Robert, she does not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why,”—there was pain, real pain mingled with the +indignation in his tone—“why, in God’s name, Madam, have you +come?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him with pitying eyes. “Because,” she said, “so +many years have passed, and if I do not say a word now I shall never say it. +And because—there is still time, but no more than time.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her fixedly. “You have another reason,” he said. +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw her yesterday. I was in Chippenham when the Bristol coach passed, +and I saw her face for an instant at the window.” +</p> + +<p> +He breathed more quickly; it was evident that the news touched him home. But he +would not blench nor lower his eyes. “Well?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw her for a few seconds only, and she did not see me. And of +course—I did not speak to her. But I knew her face, though she was +changed.” +</p> + +<p> +“And because”—his voice was harsh—“you saw her +for a few minutes at a window, you come to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but because her face called up the old times. And because we are all +growing older. And because she was—not guilty.” +</p> + +<p> +He started. This was getting within his guard with a vengeance. “Not +guilty?” he cried in a tone of extreme anger. And he rose. But as she did +not move he sat down again. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she replied firmly. “She was not guilty.” +</p> + +<p> +His face was deeply red. For a moment he looked at her as if he would not +answer her, or, if he answered, would bid her leave his house. Then, “If +she had been,” he said grimly, “guilty, Madam, in the sense in +which you use the word, guilty of the worst, she had ceased to be my wife these +fifteen years, she had ceased to bear my name, ceased to be the curse of my +life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is yes, yes!” And his face was dark. “But as it was, she +was guilty enough! For years”—he spoke more rapidly as his passion +grew—“she made her name a byword and dragged mine in the dirt. She +made me a laughing-stock and herself a scandal. She disobeyed me—but what +was her whole life with me, Lady Lansdowne, but one long disobedience? When she +published that light, that foolish book, and dedicated it to—to that +person—a book which no modest wife should have written, was not her main +motive to harass and degrade me? Me, her husband? While we were together was +not her conduct from the first one long defiance, one long harassment of me? +Did a day pass in which she did not humiliate me by a hundred tricks, belittle +me by a hundred slights, ape me before those whom she should not have stooped +to know, invite in a thousand ways the applause of the fops she drew round her? +And when”—he rose, and paced the room—“when, tried +beyond patience by what I heard, I sent to her at Florence and bade her return +to me, and cease to make herself a scandal with that person, or my house should +no longer be her home, she disobeyed me flagrantly, wilfully, and at a price +she knew! She went out of her way to follow him to Rome, she flaunted herself +in his company, ay, and flaunted herself in such guise as no Englishwoman had +been known to wear before! And after that—after that——” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, proud as he was, mastered by his feelings; she had got within his +guard indeed. For a while he could not go on. And she, picturing the old days +which his passionate words brought back, days when her children had been +infants, saw, as it had been yesterday, the young bride, beautiful as a rosebud +and wild and skittish as an Irish colt—and the husband staid, dignified, +middle-aged, as little in sympathy with his captive’s random acts and +flighty words as if he had spoken another tongue. +</p> + +<p> +Thus yoked, and resisting the lightest rein, the young wife had shown herself +capable of an infinity of folly. Egged on by the plaudits of a circle of +admirers, she had now made her husband ridiculous by childish familiarities: +and again, when he found fault with these, by airs of public offence, which +covered him with derision. But beauty’s sins are soon forgiven; and +fretting and fuming, and leading a wretched life, he had yet borne with her, +until something which she chose to call a passion took possession of her. +“The Giaour” and “The Corsair” were all the rage that +year; and with the publicity with which she did everything she flung herself at +the head of her soul’s affinity; a famous person, half poet, half dandy, +who was staying at Bowood. +</p> + +<p> +The world which knew her decided that the affair was more worthy of laughter +than of censure, and laughed immoderately. But to the husband—the humour +of husbands is undeveloped—it was terrible. She wrote verses to the +gentleman, and he to her; and she published, with ingenuous pride, the one and +the other. Possibly this or the laughter determined the admirer. He fled, +playing the innocent Æneas; and her lamentations, crystallising in the shape of +a silly romance which made shop-girls weep and great ladies laugh, caused a +separation between the husband and wife. Before this had lasted many months the +illness of their only child brought them together again; and when, a little +later, the doctors advised a southern climate, Sir Robert reluctantly entrusted +the girl to her. She went abroad with the child, and the parents never met +again. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne, recalling the story, could have laughed with her mind and wept +with her heart; scenes so absurd under the leafy shades of Bowood or Lacock +jostled the tragedy; and the ludicrous—with the husband an unwilling +actor in it—so completely relieved the pathetic! But her bent towards +laughter was short. Sir Robert, unable to bear her eyes, had turned away; and +she must say something. +</p> + +<p> +“Think,” she said gently, “how young she was!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have thought of it a thousand times!” he retorted. “Do you +suppose,” turning on her with harshness, “that there is a day on +which I do not think of it!” +</p> + +<p> +“So young!” +</p> + +<p> +“She had been three years a mother!” +</p> + +<p> +“For the dead child’s sake, then,” she pleaded with him, +“if not for hers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Lansdowne!” There were both anger and pain in his voice as he +halted and stood before her. “Why do you come to me? Why do you trouble +me? Why? Is it because you feel yourself—responsible? Because you know, +because you feel, that but for you my home had not been left to me desolate? +Nor a foolish life been ruined?” +</p> + +<p> +“God forbid!” she said solemnly. And in her turn she rose in +agitation; moved for once out of the gracious ease and self-possession of her +life, so that in the contrast there was something unexpected and touching. +“God forbid!” she repeated. “But because I feel that I might +have done more. Because I feel that a word from me might have checked her, and +it was not spoken. True, I was young, and it might have made things +worse—I do not know. But when I saw her face at the window +yesterday—and she was changed, Sir Robert—I felt that I might have +been in her place, and she in mine!” Her voice trembled. “I might +have been lonely, childless, growing old; and alone! Or again, if I had done +something, if I had spoken as I would have another speak, were the case my +girl’s, she might have been as I am! Now,” she added tremulously, +“you know why I came. Why I plead for her! In our world we grow hard, +very hard; but there are things which touch us still, and her face touched me +yesterday—I remembered what she was.” She paused a moment, and +then, “After long years,” she continued softly, “it cannot be +hard to forgive; and there is still time. She did nothing that need close your +door, and what she did is forgotten. Grant that she was foolish, grant that she +was wild, indiscreet, what you will—she is alone now, alone and growing +old, Sir Robert, and if not for her sake, for the sake of your dead +child——” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped her by a peremptory gesture, but for the moment he seemed unable to +speak. At length, “You touch the wrong chord,” he said hoarsely. +“It is for the sake of my dead child I shall never, never forgive her! +She knew that I loved it. She knew that it was all to me. It grew worse! Did +she tell me? It was in danger; did she warn me? No! But when I heard of her +disobedience, of her folly, of things which made her a byword, and I bade her +return, or my house should no longer be her home, then, then she flung the news +of the child’s death at me, and rejoiced that she had it to fling. Had I +gone out then and found her in the midst of her wicked gaiety, God knows what I +should have done! I did try to go. But the Hundred Days had begun, I had to +return. Had I gone, and learned that in her mad infatuation she had neglected +the child, left it to servants, let it fade, I think—I think, Madam, I +should have killed her!” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne raised her hands. “Hush! Hush!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I loved the child. Therefore she was glad when it died, glad that she +had the power to wound me. Its death was no more to her than a weapon with +which to punish me! There was a tone in her letter—I have it +still—which betrayed that. And, therefore—therefore, for the +child’s sake, I will never forgive her!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry,” she murmured in a voice which acknowledged defeat. +“I am very sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood for a moment gazing at the blank space above the fireplace; his head +sunk, his shoulders brought forward. He looked years older than the man who had +walked under the elms. At length he made an effort to speak in his usual tone. +“Yes,” he said, “it is a sorry business.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I,” she said slowly, “can do nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” he replied. “Time will cure this, and all +things.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are sure that there is no mistake?” she pleaded. “That +you are not judging her harshly?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she saw the hopelessness of argument and held out her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me,” she said simply. “I have given you pain, and +for nothing. But the old days were so strong upon me—after I saw +her—that I could not but come. Think of me at least as a friend, and +forgive me.” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed low over her hand, but he gave her no assurance. And seeing that he +was mastering his agitation, and fearing that if he had leisure to think he +might resent her interference, she wasted no time in adieux. She glanced round +the well-remembered hall—the hall once smart, now shabby—in which +she had seen the flighty girl play many a mad prank. Then she turned +sorrowfully to the door, more than suspecting that she would never pass through +it again. +</p> + +<p> +He had rung the bell, and Mapp, the butler, and the two men were in attendance. +But he handed her to the carriage himself, and placed her in it with +old-fashioned courtesy, and with the same scrupulous observance stood +bareheaded until it moved away. None the less, his face by its set expression +betrayed the nature of the interview; and the carriage had scarcely swept clear +of the grounds and entered the park when Lady Louisa turned to her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Was he very angry?” she asked, eager to be instructed in the +mysteries of that life which she was entering. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne essayed to snub her. “My dear,” she said, “it +is not a fit subject for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, mother dear, you might tell me. You told me something, and it is +not fair to turn yourself into Mrs. Fairchild in a moment. Besides, while you +were with him I came on a passage so beautiful, and so pat, it almost made me +cry.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, don’t say ‘pat,’ say +‘apposite.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Then apposite, mother,” Lady Louisa answered. “Do you read +it. There it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne sniffed, but suffered the book to be put into her hand. Lady +Louisa pointed with enthusiasm to a line. “Is it a case like that, +mother?” she asked eagerly. +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>But never either found another<br/> +To free the hollow heart from paining.<br/> +They stood aloof, the scars remaining,<br/> +Like cliffs which had been rent asunder.<br/> +A dreary sea now flows between,<br/> +But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,<br/> +Shall wholly do away, I ween,<br/> +The marks of that which once hath been</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +The mother handed the book back to the daughter without looking at her. +“No,” she said; “I don’t think it is a case like +that.” +</p> + +<p> +But a moment later she wiped her eyes furtively, and then she told her daughter +more, it is to be feared, than Mrs. Fairchild would have approved. +</p> + +<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:20pt">* * * * * +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert, when they were gone, went heavily to the library, a panelled room +looking to the back, in which it was his custom to sit. For many years he had +passed some hours of every day, when he was at home, in that room; and until +now it had never occurred to his mind that it was dull or shabby. But it was +old Mapp’s habit to lower the blinds for his master’s +after-luncheon nap, and they were still down; and the half light which filtered +in was like the sheet which rather accentuates than hides the sharp features of +the dead. The faded engravings and the calf-bound books which masked the walls, +the escritoire, handsome and massive, but stained with ink and strewn with +dog’s eared accounts, the leathern-covered chair long worn out of shape +by his weight, the table beside it with yesterday’s +“Standard,” two or three volumes of the “Anti-Jacobin,” +and the “Quarterly,” a month old and dusty—all to his opened +eyes wore a changed aspect. They spoke of the slow decay of years, unchecked by +a woman’s eye, a woman’s hand. They told of the slow degradation of +his lonely life. They indicated a like change in himself. +</p> + +<p> +He stood a few moments on the hearth, looking about him with a shocked, pained +face. The months and the years had passed irrevocably, while he sat in that +chair, poring in a kind of lethargy over those books, working industriously at +those accounts. Asked, he had answered that he was growing old, and grown old. +But he had never for a moment comprehended, as he comprehended now, that he was +old. He had never measured the difference between this and that; between those +days troubled by a hundred annoyances, vexations, cares, when in spite of all +he had lived, and these days of sullen stagnancy and mere vegetation. +</p> + +<p> +He found the room, he found the reflection, intolerable. And he went out, took +with an unsteady hand his garden hat and returned to that broad walk under the +elms beside the pool which was his favourite lounge. Perhaps he fancied that +the wonted scene would deaden the pain of memory and restore him to his wonted +placidity. But his thoughts had been too violently broken. His hands shook, hid +lip trembled with the tearless passion of later life. And when his agitation +began to die down and something like calmness supervened, this did but enable +him to feel more keenly the pangs, not of remorse, but of regret; of bitter, +unavailing regret for all the things of which the woman who had lain on his +bosom had robbed his life. +</p> + +<p> +Stapylton stood in a side valley projected among the low green hills which +fringe the vale of the Wiltshire Avon. From where he stood all within sight, +the gentle downs above the house, the arable land which fringed them, the rich +pastures below—all, mill and smithy and inn, snug farm and thatched +cottage, called him lord. Nay, from the south end of the pool, where a wicket +gave entrance to the park—whence also a side view of the treble front of +the house could be obtained—the spire of Chippinge church was visible, +rising from its ridge in the Avon alley; and to the base of that spire all was +his, all had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. But not an +acre, not a rood, would be his child’s. +</p> + +<p> +This was no new thought. It was a thought that had saddened him on many and +many a summer evening when the shadow of the elms lay far across the sward, and +the silence of the stately house, the pale water, the far-stretching farms +whispered of the passing of the generations, of the passage of time, of the +inevitable end. Where he walked his father had walked; and soon he would go +whither his father had gone. And the heir would walk where he walked, listen to +the same twilight carollings, hear the first hoot of the distant owl. +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Cedes coemptis saltibus, el domo<br/> +Villaque, flavus quam Tiberis lavit</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Cedes, et exstructis in altum</i> +</p> + +<p class="t4"><i>Divitiis potietur heres</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +But no heir of his blood. No son of his. No man of the Vermuyden name. And for +that he had to thank her. +</p> + +<p> +It was this which to-day gave the old thought new poignancy. For that he had to +thank her. Truly, in the words wrung from him by the bitterness of his +feelings, she had left his house unto him desolate. If even the little girl had +lived, the child would have succeeded; and that had been something, that had +been much. But the child was dead; and in his heart he laid her death at his +wife’s door. And a stranger, or one in essentials a stranger, the +descendant by a second marriage of his grandmother, Katherine Beckford, was the +heir. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the young man would succeed and the old chattels would be swept away +to cottage or lumber-room. The old horses would be shot, the old dogs would be +hanged, the old servants discharged, perhaps the very trees under which he +walked and which he loved would be cut down. The house, the stables, the +kennels, all but the cellars would be refurnished; and in the bustle and +glitter of the new <i>régime</i>, begun in the sunshine, the twilight of his +own latter days would be forgotten in a month. +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>We die and are forgotten, ’tis Heaven’s +decree,<br/> +And thus the lot of others will be the lot of me!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Sunday by Sunday he had read those lines on the grave of a kinsman, a man whom +he had known. He had often repeated them, he could as soon forget them as his +prayers. To-day the old memories and the old times, which Lady Lansdowne had +made to rise from the dead, gave them a new meaning and a new bitterness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>VIII<br/> +A SAD MISADVENTURE</h2> + +<p> +Arthur Vaughan was not a little relieved by the tidings which Isaac White had +conveyed to him at Chippenham. The news freed him from a duty which did not +appear the less distasteful because it was no longer inevitable. To cast +against Sir Robert the vote which he owed to Sir Robert must have exposed him +to odium, whatever the matter at stake. But at this election, at which the +issue was, aye or no, was the borough to be swept away or not, to vote +“aye” was an act from which the least sensitive must have shrunk, +and which the most honest must have performed with reluctance. Add the extreme +exasperation of public feeling, of which every day and every hour brought to +light the most glaring proofs, and he had been fortunate indeed if he had not +incurred some general blame as well as the utmost weight of Sir Robert’s +displeasure. +</p> + +<p> +He was spared all this, and he was thankful. Yet, when he rose on the morning +after his arrival at Bristol, his heart was not as light as a feather. On the +contrary, as he looked from the window of the White Lion into the bustle of +Broad Street, he yawned dolefully; admitting that life, and particularly the +prospect before him, of an immediate return to London, was dull. Why go back? +Why stay here? Why do anything? The Woolsack? Bah! The Cabinet? Pooh! They were +but gaudy baits for the shallow and the hard-hearted. Moreover, they were so +distant, so unattainable, that pursuit of them seemed the merest moonshine; +more especially on this fine April morning, made for nothing but a coach ride +through an enchanted country, by the side of the sweetest face, the brightest +eyes, the most ravishing figure, the prettiest bonnet that ever tamed the +gruffest of coachmen. +</p> + +<p> +Heigh-ho! If it were all to do over again how happy would he be! How happy had +he been, and not known it, the previous morning! It was pitiful to think of him +in his ignorance, with that day, that blissful day, before him. +</p> + +<p> +Well, it was over. And he must return to town. For he would play no foolish +tricks. The girl was not in his rank in life, and he could not follow her +without injury to her. He was no preacher, and he had lived for years among men +whose lives, if not worse than the lives of their descendants, wore no +disguise; who, if they did not sin more, sinned more openly. But he had a +heart, and to mar an innocent life for his pleasure had shocked him; even if +the girl’s modesty and self-respect, disclosed by a hundred small things, +had not made the notion of wronging her abhorrent. None the less he took his +breakfast in a kind of dream, whispered “Mary!” three times in +different tones, and, being suddenly accosted by the waiter, was irritable. +</p> + +<p> +With all this he was wise enough to know his own weakness, and that the sooner +he was out of Bristol the better. He sent to the Bush office to book a place by +the midday coach to town; and then only, when he had taken the irrevocable +step, he put on his hat to kill the intervening time in Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +Unfortunately, as he crossed the hall, intending to walk towards Clifton, he +heard himself named; and turning, he saw that the speaker was the lady in +black, and wearing a veil, whom he had remarked walking up and down beside the +coach, while the horses were changing at Marshfield. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Vaughan?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He raised his hat, much surprised. “Yes,” he answered. He fancied +that she was inspecting him very closely through her veil. “I am Mr. +Vaughan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me,” she continued—her voice was refined and +low—“but they gave me your name at the office. I have something +which belongs to the lady who travelled with you yesterday, and I am anxious to +restore it.” +</p> + +<p> +He blushed; nor could he have repressed the blush if his life had hung upon it. +“Indeed?” he murmured. His confusion did not permit him to add +another word. +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless it was left in the coach,” the lady explained, +“and was taken to my room with my luggage. Unfortunately I am leaving +Bristol at once, within a few minutes, and I cannot myself return it. I shall +be much obliged if you will see that she has it safely.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke as if the thing were a matter of course. But Vaughan had now +recovered himself. “I would with pleasure,” he said; “but I +am myself leaving Bristol at midday, and I really do not know how—how I +can do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then perhaps you will arrange the matter,” the lady replied in a +tone of displeasure. “I have sent the parcel to your room and I have not +time to regain it. I must go at once. There is my maid! Good morning!” +And with a distant bow she glided from him, and disappeared through the nearest +doorway. +</p> + +<p> +He stood where she had left him, looking after her in bewilderment. For one +thing he was sure that she was a stranger, and yet she had addressed him in the +tone of one who had a right to be obeyed. Then how odd it was! What a +coincidence! He had made up his mind to end the matter, to go and walk the Hot +Wells like a good boy; and this happened and tempted him! +</p> + +<p> +Yes, tempted him. +</p> + +<p> +He would—— But he could not tell what he would do until he had seen +if the parcel were really in his room. The parcel! The mere thought that it was +hers sent a foolish thrill through him. He would go and see, and +then—— +</p> + +<p> +But he was interrupted. There were people standing or sitting round the hall, a +low-ceiled, dark wainscoted room, with sheaves of way-bills hung against the +square pillars, and theatre notices flanking the bar window. As he turned to +seek his rooms a hand gripped his arm and twitched him round, and he met the +grinning face of a man in his old regiment, Bob Flixton, commonly called the +Honourable Bob. +</p> + +<p> +“So I’ve caught you, my lad,” said he. “This is mighty +fine. Veiled ladies, eh? Oh, fie! fie!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, innocent as he was, was a little put out. But he answered +good-humouredly, “What brought you here, Flixton?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, just so! Very unlucky, ain’t it?” grinning. “Fear +I’ll cut you out, eh? You’re a neat artist, I must say.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know the good lady from Eve!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell that to—— But here, let me make you known to +Brereton,” hauling him towards a gentleman who was seated in one of the +window recesses. “Old West Indian man, in charge of the recruiting +district, and a good fellow, but a bit of a saint! Colonel,” he rattled +on, as they joined the gentleman, “here’s Vaughan, once of ours, +become a counsellor, and going to be Lord Chancellor. As to the veiled lady, +mum, sir, mum!” with an exaggerated wink. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan laughed. It was impossible to resist Bob’s impudent good-humour. +He was a fair young man, short, stout, and inclining to baldness, with a loud, +hearty voice, and a manner which made those who did not know him for a +peer’s son, think of a domestic fowl with a high opinion of itself. He +was for ever damning this and praising that with unflagging decision; a man +with whom it was impossible to be displeased, and in whom it was next to +impossible not to believe. Yet at the mess-table it was whispered that he did +not play his best when the pool was large; nor had he ever seen service, save +in the lists of love, where his reputation stood high. +</p> + +<p> +His companion, Vaughan saw, was of a different stamp. He was tall and lean, +with the air and carriage of a soldier, but with features of a refined and +melancholy cast, and with a brooding sadness in his eyes which could not escape +the most casual observer. He was somewhat sallow, the result of the West Indian +climate, and counted twenty years more than Flixton, for whom his gentle and +quiet manner formed an admirable foil. He greeted Vaughan courteously, and the +Honourable Bob forced our hero into a seat beside them. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s snug!” he said. “And now mum’s the word, +Vaughan. We’ll not ask you what you’re doing here among the +nigger-nabobs. It’s clear enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan explained that the veiled lady was a stranger who had come down in the +coach with him, and that, for himself, it was election business which had +brought him. +</p> + +<p> +“Old Vermuyden?” returned the Honourable Bob. “To be sure! +Man you’ve expectations from! Good old fellow, too. I know him. Go and +see him one of these days. Gad, Colonel, if old Sir Robert heard your views +he’d die on the spot! D——n the Bill, he’d say! And I +say it too!” +</p> + +<p> +“But afterwards?” Brereton returned, drawing Vaughan into the +argument by a courteous gesture. “Consider the consequences, my dear +fellow, if the Bill does not pass.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hang the consequences!” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t,” drily. “You can hang men—we’ve +been too fond of hanging them—but not consequences! Look at the state of +the country; everywhere you will find excitement, and dangerous excitement. +Cobbett’s writings have roused the South; the papers are full of rioters +and special commission to try them! Not a farmer can sleep for thinking of his +stacks, nor a farmer’s wife for thinking of her husband. Then for the +North; look at Birmingham and Manchester and Glasgow, with their Political +Unions preaching no taxation without representation. Or, nearer home, look at +Bristol here, ready to drown the Corporation, and Wetherell in particular, in +the Float! Then, if that is the state of things while they still expect the +Bill to pass, what will be the position if they learn it is not to pass? No, +no! You may shrug your shoulders, but the three days in Paris will be nothing +to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What I say is, shoot!” Flixton answered hotly. “Shoot! +Shoot! Put ’em down! Put an end to it! Show ’em their places! What +do a lot of d——d shopkeepers and peasants know about the Bill? Ride +’em down! Give ’em a taste of the Float themselves! I’ll +answer for it a troop of the 14th would soon bring the Bristol rabble to their +senses!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should be sorry to see it tried,” Brereton answered, shaking his +head. “They took that line in France last July, and you know the result. +You’ll agree with me, Mr. Vaughan, that where Marmont failed we are not +likely to succeed. The more as his failure is known. The three days of July are +known.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, by the Lord,” the Honourable Bob cried. “The revolution +in France bred the whole of this trouble!” +</p> + +<p> +“The mob there won, and the mob here know it. In my opinion,” +Brereton continued, “conciliation is our only card, if we do not want to +see a revolution.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hang your conciliation! Shoot, I say!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think, Mr. Vaughan?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think with you, Colonel Brereton,” Vaughan answered, “that +the only way to avoid such a crisis as has befallen France is to pass the Bill, +and to set the Constitution on a wider basis by enlisting as large a number as +possible in its defence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” from Flixton. +</p> + +<p> +“On the other hand,” Vaughan continued, “I would put down the +beginnings of disorder with a strong hand. I would allow no intimidation, no +violence. The Bill should be passed by argument.” +</p> + +<p> +“Argument? Why, d——n me, intimidation is your +argument!” the Honourable Bob struck in, with more acuteness than he +commonly evinced. “Pass the Bill or we’ll loose the dog! At +’em, Mob, good dog! At ’em! That’s your argument!” +triumphantly. “But I’ll be back in a minute.” And he left +them. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan laughed. Brereton, however, seemed to be unable to take the matter +lightly. “Do you really mean, Mr. Vaughan,” he said, “that if +there were trouble, here, for instance, you would not hesitate to give the +order to fire?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, sir, if it could not be put down with the cold steel.” +</p> + +<p> +The Colonel shook his head despondently. “I don’t think I +could,” he said. “I don’t think I could. You have not seen +war, and I have. And it is a fearful thing. Bad enough abroad, infinitely worse +here. The first shot—think, Mr. Vaughan, of what it might be the +beginning! What hundreds and thousands of lives might hang upon it! How many +scores of innocent men shot down, of daughters made fatherless!” He +shuddered. “And to give such an order on your own responsibility, when +the first volley might be the signal for a civil war, and twenty-four hours +might see a dozen counties in a blaze! It is horrible to think of! Too +horrible! It’s too much for one man’s shoulders! Flixton would do +it—he sees no farther than his nose! But you and I, Mr. Vaughan—and +on one’s own judgment, which might be utterly, fatally wrong! My God, +no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet there must be a point,” Vaughan replied, “at which such +an order becomes necessary; becomes mercy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” Brereton answered eagerly; “but who is to say when that +point is reached; and that peaceful methods can do no more? Or, granted that +they can do no more, that provocation once given, your force is sufficient to +prevent a massacre! A massacre in such a place as this!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan saw that the idea had taken possession of the other’s mind, and, +aware that he had distinguished himself more than once on foreign service, he +wondered. It was not his affair, however; and “Let us hope that the +occasion may not arise,” he said politely. +</p> + +<p> +“God grant it!” Brereton replied. And then again, to himself and +more fervently, “God grant it!” he muttered. The shadow lay darker +on his face. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan might have wondered more, if Flixton had not returned at that moment +and overwhelmed him with importunities to dine with him the next evening. +“Gage and Congreve of the 14th are coming from Gloucester,” he +said, “and Codrington and two or three yeomanry chaps. You must come. If +you don’t, I’ll quarrel with you and call you out! It’ll do +you good after the musty, fusty, goody-goody life you’ve been leading. +Brereton’s coming, and we’ll drink King Billy till we’re +blind!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan hesitated. He had taken his place on the coach, but—but after all +there was that parcel. He must do something about it. It seemed to be his fate +to be tempted, yet—what nonsense that was! Why should he not stay in +Bristol if he pleased? +</p> + +<p> +“You’re very good,” he said at last. “I’ll +stay.” +</p> + +<p> +Yet on his way to his room he paused, half-minded to go. But he was ashamed to +change his mind again, and he strode on, opened his door, and saw the parcel, a +neat little affair, laid on the table. +</p> + +<p> +It bore in a clear handwriting the address which he had seen on the basket at +Mary Smith’s feet. But, possibly because an hour of the Honourable +Bob’s company had brushed the bloom from his fancy, it moved him little. +He looked at it with something like indifference, felt no inclination to kiss +it, and smiled at his past folly as he took it up and set off to return it to +its owner. He had exaggerated the affair and his feelings; he had made much out +of little, and a romance out of a chance encounter. He could smile now at that +which had moved him yesterday. Certainly: +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>’Tis woman’s whole existence; man may range</i> +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>The Court, camp, Church, the vessel and the mart</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange</i> +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>Pride, fame, ambition to fill up his heart</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +And the Honourable Bob, with his breezy self-assertion, had brought this home +to him and, with a puff of everyday life, had blown the fantasy away. +</p> + +<p> +He was still under this impression when he reached Queen’s Square, once +the pride of Bristol, and still, in 1831, a place handsome and well inhabited. +Uniformly and substantially built, on a site surrounded on three sides by deep +water, it lay, indeed, rather over-near the quays, of which, and of the basins, +it enjoyed a view through several openings. But in the reign of William IV. +merchants were less averse from living beside their work than they are now. The +master’s eye was still in repute, and though many of the richest citizens +had migrated to Clifton, and the neighbouring Assembly Rooms in Prince’s +Street had been turned into a theatre, the spacious square, with its wide lawn, +its lofty and umbrageous elms, its colony of rooks, and, last of all, its fine +statue of the Glorious and Immortal Memory, was still the abode of many +respectable people. In one corner stood the Mansion House; a little further +along the same side the Custom House; and a third public department, the +Excise, also had offices here. +</p> + +<p> +The Cathedral and the Bishop’s Palace, on College Green, stood, as the +crow flies, scarce a bow-shot from the Square; on which they looked down from +the westward, as the heights of Redcliffe looked down on it from the east. But +marsh as well as water divided the Square from these respectable neighbours; +nor, it must be owned, was this the only drawback. The centre of the +city’s life, but isolated on three sides by water, the Square was as +easily reached from the worse as from the better quarters, and owing to the +proximity of the Welsh Back, a coasting quay frequented by the roughest class, +it was liable in times of excitement to abrupt and boisterous inroads. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan entered the Square by Queen Charlotte Street, and had traversed one +half of its width when his nonchalance failed him. Under the elms, in the +corner which he was approaching, were a dozen children. They were at play, and +overlooking them from a bench, with their backs to him, sat two young persons, +the one in that mid-stage between childhood and womanhood when the eyes are at +their sharpest and the waist at its thickest, the other, Mary Smith. +</p> + +<p> +The colour rose to his brow, and to his surprise he found that he was not +indifferent. Nor was the discovery that the back of her head and an inch of the +nape of her neck had this effect upon him the worst. He had to ask himself +what, if he was not indifferent, he was doing there, sneaking on the skirts of +a ladies’ school. What were his intentions, and what his aim? For to +healthy minds there is something distasteful in the notion of an intrigue +connected, ever so remotely, with a girls’ school. Nor are conquests +gained on that scene laurels of which even a Lothario is over-proud. If Flixton +saw him, or some others of the gallant Fourteenth! +</p> + +<p> +And yet, in the teeth of all this, and under the eyes of all Queen’s +Square, he must do his errand. And sheepish within, brazen without, he advanced +and stood beside her. She heard his step, and, unsuspicious as the youngest of +her flock, looked up to see who came—looked, and saw him standing within +a yard of her, with the sunshine falling through the leaves on his wavy, fair +hair. For the twentieth part of a second he fancied a glint of glad surprise in +her eyes. Then, if anything could have punished him, it was the sight of her +confusion; it was the blush of distress which covered her face as she rose to +her feet. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, cruel! He had pursued her, when to pursue was an insult! He had followed +her when he should have known that in her position a breath of scandal was +ruin! And oh, the round eyes of the round-faced child beside her! +</p> + +<p> +“I must apologise,” he murmured humbly, “but I am not +trespassing upon you without a cause. I—I think that this is +yours.” And rather lamely, for the distress in her face troubled him, he +held out the parcel. +</p> + +<p> +She put her hand behind her, and as stiffly as Miss Sibson—of the +Queen’s Square Academy for Young Ladies of the Genteel and Professional +Classes—could have desired. “I do not understand, sir,” she +said. She was pale and red by turns, as the round eyes saw. +</p> + +<p> +“You left this in the coach.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” +</p> + +<p> +“You left this in the coach,” he repeated, turning very red +himself. Was it possible that she meant to repudiate her own property because +he brought it? “It is yours, is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not!” in incredulous astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I am sure it is,” he persisted. Confound it, this was a little +overdoing modesty! He had no desire to eat the girl! “You left it inside +the coach, and it has your address upon it. See!” And he tried to place +it in her hands. +</p> + +<p> +But she drew back with a look of reprobation of which he would not have +believed her eyes capable. “It is not mine, sir,” she said. +“Be good enough to leave us!” And then, drawing herself up, mild +creature as she was, “You are intruding, sir,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Now, if Vaughan had really been guilty of approaching her upon a feigned +pretext, he had certainly retired on that with his tail between his legs. But +being innocent, and both incredulous and angry, he stood his ground, and his +eyes gave back some of the reproach which hers darted. +</p> + +<p> +“I am either mad or it is yours,” he said stubbornly, heedless of +the ring of staring children who, ceasing to play, had gathered round them. +“It bears your name and address, and it was left in the coach by which +you travelled yesterday. I think, Miss Smith, you will be sorry afterwards if +you do not take it.” +</p> + +<p> +She fancied that his words imported a bribe; and in despair of ridding herself +of him, or in terror of the tale which the children would tell, she took her +courage in both hands. “You say that it is mine?” she said, +trembling visibly. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I do,” he answered. And again he held it out to her. +</p> + +<p> +But she did not take it. Instead, “Then be good enough to follow +me,” she replied, with something of the prim dignity of the +school-mistress. “Miss Cooke, will you collect the children and bring +them into the house?” +</p> + +<p> +And, avoiding his eyes, she led the way across the road to the door of one of +the houses. He followed, but reluctantly, and after a moment of hesitation. He +detested the scene which he now foresaw, and bitterly regretted that he had +ever set foot inside Queen’s Square. To be suspected of thrusting an +intrigue upon a little schoolmistress, to be dragged, with a pack of staring, +chattering children in his train, before some grim-faced duenna—he, a man +of years and affairs, with whom the Chancellor of England did not scorn to +speak on equal terms! It was hateful; it was an intolerable position. Yet to +turn back, to say that he would not go, was to acknowledge himself guilty. He +wished—he wished to heaven that he had never seen the girl. Or at least +that he had had the courage, when she first denied the thing, to throw the +parcel on the seat and go. +</p> + +<p> +It was not an heroic frame of mind; but neither was the position heroic. And +something may be forgiven him in the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately the trial was short. She opened the door of the house, and on the +threshold he found himself face to face with a tall, bulky woman, with a double +chin, and an absurdly powdered nose, who wore a cameo of the late Queen +Charlotte on her ample bosom. Miss Sibson had viewed the encounter from an +upper window, and her face was a picture of displeasure, slightly tempered by +powder. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this?” she asked, in an intimidating voice. “Miss +Smith, what is this, if you please?” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps Mary, aware that her place was at stake, was desperate. At any rate she +behaved with a dignity which astonished Vaughan. “This gentleman, +Madam,” she explained, speaking with firmness though her face was on +fire, “travelled with me on the coach yesterday. A few minutes ago he +appeared and addressed me, and insisted that the—the parcel he carries is +mine, and that I left it in the coach. It is not mine, and I have not seen it +before.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson folded her arms upon her ample person. The position was not +altogether new to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” she said, eying the offender majestically, “have you +any explanation to offer—of this extraordinary conduct?” +</p> + +<p> +He had, indeed. As clearly as his temper permitted he told his tale, his tone +half ironical, half furious. +</p> + +<p> +When he paused, “Who do you say gave it to you?” Miss Sibson asked +in a deep voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know her name. A lady who travelled in the coach.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson’s frown grew even deeper. “Thank you,” she +replied, “that will do. I have heard enough, and I understand. I +understand, sir. Be good enough to leave the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Madam——” +</p> + +<p> +“Be good enough to leave the house,” she repeated. “That is +the door,” pointing to it. “That is the door, sir! Any apology you +may wish to make, you can make by letter to me. To me, you understand! I think +one were not ill-fitting!” +</p> + +<p> +He lost his temper altogether at that, and he flung the parcel with violence, +and with a violent word, on a chair. “Then at any rate I shall not take +that, for it’s not mine!” he cried. “You may keep it, +Madam!” +</p> + +<p> +And he flung out, his retreat hampered and made humiliating by the entrance of +the pupils, who, marshalled by the round-eyed one, and all round-eyed +themselves, blocked the doorway at that unlucky moment. He broke through them +without ceremony, though they represented the most respectable families in +Bristol, and with his head bent he strode wrathfully across the Square. +</p> + +<p> +To be turned out of a girls’ boarding-school! To be shown the door like +some wretched philandering schoolboy, or a subaltern in his first folly! He, +the man of the world, of experience, of ambition! The man with a career! He was +furious. +</p> + +<p> +“The little cat!” he cried as he went. “I wish I had never +seen her face! What a fool, what a fool I was to come!” +</p> + +<p> +Unheroic words and an unheroic mood. But though there were heroes before +Agamemnon, it is not certain that there were any after George the Fourth. At +any rate, any who, like that great man, were heroic always and in all +circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Probably Vaughan would have forgiven the little cat had he known that she was +at that moment weeping very bitterly, with her face plunged into the pillow of +her not over-luxurious bed. For she was young, and a woman. And because, in her +position, the name of love was taboo; because to her the admiring look, which +to a more fortunate sister was homage, was an insult; because the <i>petits +soins</i>, the flower, the note, the trifle that to another were more precious +than jewels, were not for her, it did not follow that she was not flesh and +blood, that she had not feeling, affection, passion. True, the pang was soon +deadened, for habit is strong. True, the bitter tears were soon dried, for +employers like not gloomy looks. True, she soon cried shame on her own +discontent, for she was good as gold. And yet to be debarred, in the tender +springtime, from the sweet scents, the budding blooms, the gay carols, to have +but one April coach-ride in a desert of days, is hard—is very hard. Mary +Smith, weeping on her hopeless pillow—not without thought of the cruel +arch stooping to crush her, the cruel fate from which he had snatched her, not +without thought of her own ingratitude, her black ingratitude—felt that +it was hard, very hard. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>IX<br/> +THE BILL FOR GIVING EVERYBODY EVERYTHING!</h2> + +<p> +It is difficult to describe and impossible to exaggerate the heat of public +feeling which preceded the elections of ’31. Four-fifths of the people of +this country believed that the Bill—from which they expected so much that +a satirist has aptly given it the title at the head of this chapter—had +been defeated in the late House by a trick. That trick the King, God bless him, +had punished by dissolving the House. It remained for the people to show their +sense of the trick by returning a very different House; such a House as would +not only pass the Bill, but pass it by a majority so decisive that the Lords, +and particularly the Bench of Bishops, whose hostility was known, would not +dare to oppose the public will. +</p> + +<p> +But as no more than a small proportion of these four-fifths had votes, they +were forced to act, if they would make their will obeyed, indirectly; in one +place by the legitimate pressure of public opinion, in another by bribery, in a +third by intimidation, in a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth by open violence; +everywhere by the unspoken threat of revolution. And hence arose the one good, +sound, and firm argument against the Bill which the Tory party enjoyed. +</p> + +<p> +One or two of their other arguments are not without interest, if only as the +defence set up for a system so anomalous as to seem to us incredible—a +system under which Gatton, with no inhabitants, returned two members, and +Sheffield, with something like a hundred thousand inhabitants, returned none; +under which Dunwich, long drowned under the North Sea, returned two members, +and Birmingham returned none; under which the City of London returned four and +Lord Lonsdale returned nine; under which Cornwall, with one-fourth of the +population of Lancashire, returned thrice as many representatives; under which +the South vastly outweighed the North, and land mightily outweighed all other +property. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, in no two boroughs was the franchise the same. One man lived in a +hovel and had a vote; his neighbour lived in a mansion and had no vote. +Frequently the whole of the well-to-do townsfolk were voteless. Then, while any +man with five thousand pounds might buy a seat, nor see the face of a single +elector, on the other hand, the poll might be kept open for fifteen days, and a +single county election might cost two hundred thousand pounds. Bribery, +forbidden in theory, was permitted in practice. The very Government bribed +under the rose, and it was humorously said that all that a man’s +constituents required was to be satisfied of the <i>impurity</i> of his +intentions! +</p> + +<p> +An anomalous system; yet its defenders had something to say for it. +</p> + +<p> +First, that narrow as the franchise seemed, every class found somewhere in +England its mouthpiece. At Preston, where all could vote who slept in the +borough the previous night, the poorest class; in the potwalloping boroughs +where a fireplace gave a vote, the next class; in a city like Westminster, the +ratepayers; in the counties, the freeholders; in the universities, the clergy. +And so on, the argument being that the very anomalies of the system provided a +mixed representation without giving the masses a preponderant voice. +</p> + +<p> +Secondly, they said that it insured a House of ability, by enabling young men +of parts, but small means, to obtain seats. Those who put this forward +flourished a long list of statesmen who had come in for nomination boroughs. It +began with Pitt and ended with Macaulay—a feather plucked from the +enemy’s wing; and Burke stood for much in it. It became one of the +commonplaces of the struggle. +</p> + +<p> +The third contention was of greater weight. It was that, with all its abuses, +the old system had worked well. This argument, too, had its commonplace. The +proverb, <i>stare super antiquas vias</i>, was thundered from a thousand +platforms, coupled with copious references to the French wars, and to the pilot +who had weathered the storm. This was the argument of the old, and the rich, +and the timid—of those who clung to top-boots in the daytime and to +pantaloons in the evening. But as the struggle progressed it came to be merged +in the one sound argument to which reference has been made. +</p> + +<p> +“If you do not pass the Bill,” said the Whigs, “there will be +a revolution.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” the Tories rejoined. “And whom have we to thank +for that? Who, using the French Revolution of last July as a fulcrum, have +unsettled the whole country? And now, having disturbed everything, tell us that +we must grant to force what is not due to reason? You! But if the Bill is to +pass, not because it is a good Bill, but because the mob desire it, where will +this end? Pass Bills out of fear, and where will you end? Presently there will +arise a ranting adventurer, more violent than Brougham, a hoary schemer more +unscrupulous than Grey, an angry boy, outscolding Durham, a pedant more +bloodless than Lord John, an honest fanatic blinder than Althorp! And when +<i>they</i> threaten <i>you</i> with the terrors of the mob, what will you +say?” +</p> + +<p> +To which the Whigs could only reply that the people must be trusted; +and—and that the Bill must pass, or not only coronets but crowns would be +flying. +</p> + +<p> +Dry arguments nowadays; but in those days alive, and to the party on its +defence—the party which found itself thrust against the wall, that its +pockets might be emptied—of vital interest. From scores of platforms +candidates, leaning forward, bland and smiling, with one hand under the +coat-tails and the other gently pumping, pumping, pumping, enunciated +them—old hands these; or, red in the face, thundered them, striking fist +into palm and overawing opposition; or, hopeless amid the rain of dead cats and +stale eggs, muttered them in a reporter’s ear, since the hootings of the +crowd made other utterance impossible. But ever as the contest went on, the +smiling candidate grew rarer; for day by day the Tories, seeing their cause +hopeless, seeing even Whigs, such as Sir Thomas Acland in Devonshire and Mr. +Wilson Patten in Lancashire, cast out if they were lukewarm, grew more +desperate, cried more loudly on high heaven, asserted more frantically that +justice was dead on the earth. All this, while those who believed that the Bill +was going to give everything to everybody pushed their advantage without mercy. +Many a borough which had not known a contest for a generation, many a county, +was fought and captured. No Tory felt safe; no bargain, though signed and +sealed, held good; no patron, though he had held his income from his borough as +secure as any part of his property, could say that his voters would dare to go +to the poll. +</p> + +<p> +This last was the apprehension in the mind of Isaac White, Sir Robert +Vermuyden’s agent, as on the day after Lady Lansdowne’s visit he +drove his gig and fast-trotting cob up the avenue. The treble front of the +house looked down on him from its gentle eminence; its windows blinked in the +afternoon sunshine, and the mellow tints of the stone harmonised with the +russet bloom which in April garbs the poplar and the later-bursting trees. +Tradition said that the second baronet had built a wing for each of his two +sons. After the death of the elder, however, the east wing had been devoted to +kitchens and offices, and the west to a splendid hospitality. In these days the +latter wing was so seldom used that it had almost fallen into decay. Laurels +grew up before the side windows and darkened them, and bats lived in the dry +chimneys. The rooms above stairs were packed with the lumber of the last +century, with the old wig-boxes, the old travelling-trunks, the old +harpsichords, even an old sedan chair; while the lower rooms, swept and bare, +and hung with flat, hard portraits, enjoyed an evil reputation in the +servants’ quarters, where many a one could tell of skirts that rustled +unseen, and dead feet that trod the polished floors. +</p> + +<p> +But to Isaac White all this was nought. He had seen the house in every aspect; +and to-day his mind was filled with other things—with votes and voters, +with some anxiety on his own account and more on his patron’s. What would +Sir Robert say if aught went wrong at Chippinge? True, the loss of the borough +seemed barely possible; it had been held securely for many years. But the times +were so stormy, public feeling ran so high, the mob was so rough, that nothing +seemed impossible, in view of the stress to which the soundest candidates were +exposed. If Mr. Bankes stood to fail in Dorset, if Mr. Duncombe had small +chance in Yorkshire, if Sir Edward Knatchbull was a lost man in Kent, if Mr. +Hart Davies was no better in Bristol, if no man but an out-and-out Reformer +could count on success, who was safe? +</p> + +<p> +White’s grandfather, his father, he himself had lived and thriven by the +system which he saw tottering to its fall. He belonged to it, he was part of +it; did he not mark his allegiance to it by wearing top-boots in the daytime +and shorts in full dress? And he was prepared—were it only out of +gratitude to the ladder by which he had risen—to stand by it and by his +patron to the last. But, strange anomaly, White was at heart a Cobbett man. His +sneaking sympathies were, in his own despite, with the class from which he +sprang. He saw commons filched from the poor, while the labourers fell on the +rates. He saw large taxes wrung from the country to be spent in the town. He +saw the severity of the laws, and especially the game laws. He saw absentee +rectors and starving curates. He saw the dumb impotence of nine-tenths of the +people; and he felt that the system under which these things had grown up was +wrong. But wrong or right, he was part of it, he was pledged to it; and all the +theories in the world, and all the “Political Registers” which he +digested of an evening, would not induce him to betray it. +</p> + +<p> +Notwithstanding, he feared that in the matter of the borough he had not been +quite so wide-awake as became him; or Pybus, the Bowood man, would not have +stolen a march upon him. His misgivings grew as he came in sight of the door, +and saw Sir Robert on the flight of steps which led to it. Apparently the +baronet had seen him, for as White drove up a servant appeared to lead the mare +to the stables. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert looked her over as she was led away. “The grey looks well, +White,” he said. She was of his breeding. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Sir Robert. Give me a good horse and they may have the new-fangled +railroads that like them. But I am afraid, sir——” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment!” The servant was out of hearing, and the +baronet’s tone, as he caught White up, betrayed agitation. “Who is +that looking over the Lower Wicket, White?” he continued. “She has +been there a quarter of an hour, and—and I can’t make her +out.” +</p> + +<p> +His tone surprised White, who looked and saw at a distance of a hundred paces +the figure of a woman leaning on the wicket-gate nearest the stables. She was +motionless, and he had not looked many seconds before he caught the thought in +Sir Robert’s mind. “He’s heard,” he reflected, +“that her ladyship is in the neighbourhood, and it has alarmed +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot see at this distance, sir,” he answered prudently, +“who it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then go and ask her her business,” Sir Robert said, as +indifferently as he could. “She has been there a long time.” +</p> + +<p> +White went, a little excited himself; but half-way to the woman, who continued +to gaze at the house as if unconscious of his approach, he discovered that, +whoever she was, she was not Lady Sybil. She was stout, middle-aged, plain; and +he took a curt tone with her when he came within earshot. “What are you +doing here?” he said. “That’s the way to the servants’ +hall.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman looked at him. “You don’t know me, Mr. White?” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +He looked hard in return. “No,” he answered bluntly, “I +don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, I know you,” she replied. “More by +token——” +</p> + +<p> +He cut her short. “Have you any message?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“If I have, I’ll give it myself,” she retorted drily. +“Truth is, I’m in two minds about it. What you have, you have, +d’you see, Mr. White; but what you’ve given ain’t yours any +more. Anyway——” +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway,” impatiently, “you can’t stay here!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” she replied, “very good. As you are so kind, +I’ll take a day to think of it.” And with a cool nod she turned her +back on the puzzled White, and went off down the park towards the town. +</p> + +<p> +He went back to Sir Robert. “She’s a stranger, sir,” he said; +“and, I think, a bit gone in the head. I could make nothing of +her.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert drew a deep breath. “You’re sure she was a +stranger?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s no one I know, sir. After one of the men, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert straightened himself. He had spent a bad ten minutes gazing at the +distant figure. “Just so,” he said. “Very likely. And now +what is it, White?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve bad news, sir, I’m afraid,” the agent said, in an +altered tone. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s that d——d Pybus, sir! I’m afraid that, +after all——” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re going to fight?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid, Sir Robert, they are.” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman’s eyes gleamed. “Afraid, sir, afraid?” he +cried. “On the contrary, so much the better. It will cost me some money, +but I can spare it; and it will cost them more, and nothing for it. Afraid? I +don’t understand you.” +</p> + +<p> +The agent, standing on the step below him, coughed dubiously. “Well, +sir,” he said, “what you say is reasonable. +But——” +</p> + +<p> +“But! But what?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is so much excitement in the country at this +time——” +</p> + +<p> +“So much greediness in the country,” Sir Robert retorted, striking +his stick upon the stone steps. “So much unscrupulousness, sir; so many +liars promising, and so many fools listening; so much to get, and so many who +would like it! There’s all that, if you please; but for excitement, I +don’t know”—with a severe look—“what you mean, or +what it has to do with us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid, sir, there is bad news from Devon, where it is said our +candidate is retiring.” +</p> + +<p> +“A good man, but weak; neither one side nor the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“And from Dorset, sir, where they say Mr. Bankes will be beaten.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll not believe it,” Sir Robert answered positively. +“I’ll never believe it. Mr. Bankes beaten in Dorset! Absurd! Why do +you listen to such tales? Why do you listen? By G—d, White, what is the +matter with you? Or how does it touch us if Mr. Bankes is beaten? Nine votes to +four! Nine will still be nine, and four four, if he be beaten. When you can +make four to be more than nine you may come whining to me!” +</p> + +<p> +White coughed. “Dyas, the butcher——” +</p> + +<p> +“What of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sir Robert, I am afraid he has been getting some queer +notions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Notions?” the baronet echoed in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“He has been listening to someone, and—and thinks he has views on +the Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert exploded. “Views!” he cried. “Views! The butcher +with views! Why, damme, White, you must be mad! Mad! Since when have butchers +taken to politics, or had views?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know anything about that, sir,” White mumbled. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert struck his stick fiercely on a step. “But I do! I do! And I +know this,” he continued, “that for twenty years he’s had +thirty pounds a year to vote as I tell him. By gad, I never heard such a thing +in my life! Never! You don’t mean to tell me that the man thinks the +vote’s his own to do what he likes with?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid,” the agent admitted reluctantly, “that that is +what he’s saying, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert’s thin face turned a dull red. “I never heard of such +impudence in all my life,” he said, “never! A butcher with views! +And going to vote for them! Why, damme,” he continued, with angry +sarcasm, “we’ll have the tailors, the bakers, and the +candlestickmakers voting their own way next. Good G—d! What does the man +think he’s had thirty pounds a year for for all these years, if not to do +as he is bid?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s behaving very ill, sir,” White said, severely, +“very ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ill!” Sir Robert cried; “I should think he was, the +scoundrel!” And he foamed over afresh, though we need not follow him. +When he had cooled somewhat, “Well,” he said, “I can turn him +out, and that I’ll do, neck and crop! By G—d, I will! I’ll +ruin him. But there, it’s the big rats set the fashion and the little +ones follow it. This is Spinning Jenny’s work. I wish I had cut off my +hand before I voted for him. Well, well, well!” And he stood a moment in +bitter contemplation of Sir Robert Peel’s depravity. It was nothing that +Sir Robert was sound on reform. By adopting the Catholic side on the claims +he—he, whose very nickname was Orange Peel—had rent the party. And +all these evils were the result! +</p> + +<p> +The agent coughed. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert, who was no fool, looked sharply at him. “What!” he said +grimly. “Not another renegade?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” White answered timidly. “But Thrush, the +pig-killer—he’s one of the old lot, the Cripples, that your father +put into the corporation——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, and I wish I had kept them cripples.” Sir Robert growled. +“All cripples! My father was right, and I was a fool to think better men +would do as well, and do us credit. In his time there were but two of the +thirteen could read and write; but they did as they were bid. They did as they +were bid. And now—well, man, what of Thrush?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was gaoled yesterday by Mr. Forward, of Steynsham, for +assault.” +</p> + +<p> +“For how long?” +</p> + +<p> +“For a fortnight, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert nearly had a fit. He reared himself to his full height, and glared +at White. “The infernal rascal!” he cried. “He did it on +purpose!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no doubt, sir, that it determined them to fight,” the +agent answered. “With Dyas they are five. And five to seven is not +such—such odds that they may not have some hope of winning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Five to seven!” Sir Robert repeated; and at an end of words, at an +end of oaths, could only stare aghast. “Five to seven!” he +muttered. “You’re not going to tell me—there’s +something more.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, no; that’s the worst,” White answered, relieved +that his tale was told. “That’s the worst, and may be bettered. +I’ve thought it well to postpone the nomination until Wednesday the 4th, +to give Sergeant Wathen a better chance of dealing with Dyas.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well!” Sir Robert muttered. “It has come to that. It +has come to dealing with such men as butchers, to treating them as if they had +minds to alter and views to change. Well, well!” +</p> + +<p> +And that was all Sir Robert could say. And so it was settled; the Vermuyden +dinner for the 2nd, the nomination and polling for the 4th. “You’ll +let Mr. Vaughan know,” Sir Robert concluded. “It’s well we +can count on somebody.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>X<br/> +THE QUEEN’S SQUARE ACADEMY FOR YOUNG LADIES</h2> + +<p> +Miss Sibson sat in state in her parlour in Queen’s Square. Rather more +dignified of mien than usual, and more highly powdered of nose, the +schoolmistress was dividing her attention between the culprit in the corner, +the elms outside—between which fledgeling rooks were making adventurous +voyages—and the longcloth which she was preparing for the young +ladies’ plain-sewing; for in those days plain-sewing was still taught in +the most select academies. Nor, while she was thus engaged in providing for the +domestic training of her charges, was she without assurance that their minds +were under care. The double doors which separated the schoolroom from the +parlour were ajar, and through the aperture one shrill voice after another +could be heard, raised in monotonous perusal of Mrs. Chapone’s +“Letters to a Young Lady upon the Improvement of the Mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson wore her best dress, of black silk, secured half-way down the +bodice by the large cameo brooch. But neither this nor the reading in the next +room could divert her attention from her duties. +</p> + +<p> +“The tongue,” she enunciated with great clearness, as she raised +the longcloth in both hands and carefully inspected it over her glasses, +“is an unruly member. Ill-nature,” she continued, slowly meting off +a portion, and measuring a second portion against it, “is the fruit of a +bad heart. Our opinions of others”—this with a stern look at Miss +Hilhouse, fourteen years old, and in disgrace—“are the reflections +of ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +The young lady, who was paying with the backboard for a too ready wit, put out +the unruly member, and, narrowly escaping detection, looked inconceivably +sullen. +</p> + +<p> +“The face is the mirror to the mind,” Miss Sibson continued +thoughtfully, as she threaded a needle against the light. “I hope, Miss +Hilhouse, that you are now sorry for your fault.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Hilhouse maintained a stolid silence. Her shoulders ached, but she was +proud. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said Miss Sibson placidly; “very good! With time +comes reflection.” +</p> + +<p> +Time, a mere minute, brought more than reflection. A gentleman walked quickly +across the fore-court to the door, the knocker fell sharply, and Miss +Hilhouse’s sullenness dropped from her. She looked first uncomfortable, +then alarmed. “Please, may I go now?” she muttered. +</p> + +<p> +Wise Miss Sibson paid no heed. “A gentleman?” she said to the maid +who had entered. “Will I see him? Procure his name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Miss Sibson,” came from the corner in an agonised whisper, +“please may I go?” Fourteen standing on a stool with a backboard +could not bear to be seen by the other sex. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson looked grave. “Are you sincerely sorry for your fault?” +she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And will you apologise to Miss Smith for your—your gross +rudeness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye-es.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then go and do so,” Miss Sibson replied; “and close the +doors after you.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl fled. And simultaneously Miss Sibson rose, with a mixture of dignity +and blandness, to receive Arthur Vaughan. The schoolmistress of that day who +had not manner at command had nothing; for deportment ranked among the +essentials. And she was quite at her ease. The same could not be said of the +gentleman. But that his pride still smarted, but that the outrage of yesterday +was fresh, but that he drew a savage satisfaction from the prospect of the +apologies he was here to receive, he had not come. Even so, he had told himself +more than once that he was a fool to come; a fool to set foot in the house. He +was almost sure that he had done more wisely had he burned the letter in which +the schoolmistress informed him that she had an explanation to offer—and +so had made an end. +</p> + +<p> +But if in place of meeting him with humble apologies, this confounded woman +were going to bear herself as if no amends were due, he had indeed made a +mistake. +</p> + +<p> +Yet her manner said almost as much as that. “Pray be seated, sir,” +she said; and she indicated a chair. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down stiffly, and glowered at her. “I received your note,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +She smoothed her ample lap, and looked at him more graciously. +“Yes,” she said, “I was relieved to find that the unfortunate +occurrence of yesterday was open to another explanation.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have yet,” he said curtly, “to hear the +explanation.” Confound the woman’s impudence! +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” she said slowly. “Exactly. Well, it turns out that +the parcel you left behind you when you”—for an instant a smile +broke the rubicund placidity of her face—“when you retired so +hurriedly contained a pelisse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” he said drily. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; and a letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; a letter from a lady who has for some years taken an interest in +Miss Smith. The pelisse proved to be a gift from her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I fail to see——” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” Miss Sibson interposed blandly, indeed too blandly. +“You fail to see why you came to be selected as the bearer? So do I. +Perhaps you can explain that.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he answered shortly. “Nor is that my affair. What I +fail to see, Madam, is why Miss Smith did not at once suspect that the present +came from the lady in question.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” Miss Sibson replied, “the lady was not known to be +in this part of England; and because you, sir, maintained that Miss Smith had +left the parcel in the coach.” +</p> + +<p> +“I maintained what I was told.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it was not the fact. However, let that pass.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Vaughan retorted, with some warmth. “For it seems to +me, Madam, very extraordinary that in a matter which was capable of so simple +an explanation you should have elected to insult a stranger—a stranger +who——” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was performing no more than an office of civility, you would +say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—yes.” Miss Sibson spoke slowly, and was silent for a +moment after she had spoken. Then, somewhat abruptly, “You are an usher, +I think,” she said, “at Mr. Bengough’s?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan almost jumped in his chair. “I, Madam?” he cried. +“Certainly not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at Mr. Bengough’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not!” he repeated, with indignation. Was the woman mad? +An usher? Good heavens! +</p> + +<p> +“I know your name,” she said slowly. +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“I came from London the day before yesterday. I am staying at the White +Lion, and I am late of the 14th Dragoons.” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, indeed,” she said. “Is that so? +Well,” rubbing a little of the powder from her nose with a needlecase, +and looking at him very shrewdly, “I think,” she continued, +“that that is the answer to your question.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stared. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I must speak more plainly. Were you an usher at Mr. +Bengough’s your civility—civility, I think you called it?—to +my assistant had passed very well, Mr. Vaughan. But the civility of a +gentleman, late of the 14th Dragoons, fresh from London, and staying at the +White Lion, to a young person in Miss Smith’s position is apt, as in this +case—eh?—to lead to misconstruction.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do me an injustice!” he said, reddening to the roots of his +hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly, possibly,” Miss Sibson said. But on that, without +warning, she gave way to a fit of silent laughter, which caused her portly form +to shake like a jelly. It was a habit with her, attributed by some to her +private view of Mrs. Chapone’s famous letters on the improvement of the +mind; by others, to that knowledge of the tricks and turns of her sex with +which thirty years of schoolkeeping had endowed her. +</p> + +<p> +No doubt the face of rueful resentment with which Arthur Vaughan regarded her +did not shorten the fit. But at last, “Young gentleman,” she said, +“you do not deceive me! You did not come here to-day merely to hear an +old woman make an apology.” +</p> + +<p> +He tried to maintain an attitude of dignified surprise. But her jolly laugh, +her shrewd red face were too much for him. His eyes fell. “Upon my +honour,” he said, “I meant nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook with fresh laughter. “It is just of that I complain, +sir,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“You can trust me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can trust Miss Smith,” she retorted, shaking her head. +“Her I know, though our acquaintance is of the shortest. Still, I know +her from top to toe. You, young gentleman, I don’t know. Mind,” she +continued, with good-nature, “I don’t say that you meant any harm +when you came to-day. But I’ll wager you thought that you’d see +her.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan laughed out frankly. Her humour had conquered him. “Well,” +he said audaciously, “and am I not to see her?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson looked at him, and rubbed a little more powder from her nose. +“Umph!” she said doubtfully. “If I knew you I’d know +what to say to that. A pretty girl, eh?” she added with her head on one +side. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“And a good one! And if you were the usher at Mr. Bengough’s +I’d ask no more, but I’d send for her. But——” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped. Vaughan said nothing, but a little out of countenance looked at +the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so, just so,” Miss Sibson said, as quietly as if he had +answered her. “Well, I am afraid I must not send for her.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the carpet. “I have seen so little of her,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“And I daresay you are a man of property?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am independent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, there it is.” Miss Sibson smoothed out the lap of her +silk dress. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think,” he said, in some embarrassment, “that five +minutes’ talk would hurt her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Umph!” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed—an awkward laugh. “Come, Miss Sibson,” he said. +“Let us have the five minutes, and let us both have the chance.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked out of the window, and rubbed her glasses reflectively. +“Well,” she said at length, as if she had not quite made up her +mind, “I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Vaughan. I did not intend to +be so, but you have met me half-way, and I believe you to be a gentleman. The +truth is, I should not have gone as far with you as I have +unless”—she looked at him suddenly—“I had had a +character of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of me?” he cried in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“From Miss Smith?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson smiled at his simplicity. “Oh, no,” she said; +“you are going to see the character.” And with that the +schoolmistress drew from her workbox a small slip of paper, which she unfolded +and gave to him. “It is from the lady,” she said, “who made +use of you yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +He took it in much astonishment. On the inner side of the paper, which was +faintly scented, he read a dozen words in a fine handwriting: +</p> + +<p> +“Mary Smith, from her fairy godmother. The bearer may be trusted.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stared at the paper in undiminished surprise. “I don’t +understand,” he said. “Who is the lady, and what does she know of +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot tell you, nor can Miss Smith,” Miss Sibson replied. +“Who, indeed, has seen her only twice or thrice, at long intervals, and +has not heard her name. But Miss Smith’s education—she has never +known her parents—was defrayed, I presume, by this godmother. And once a +year Miss Smith has been in the habit of receiving a gift, of some value to a +young person in her position, accompanied by a few words in that +handwriting.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stared. “And,” he said, “you draw the inference +that—that——” +</p> + +<p> +“I draw no inference,” Miss Sibson replied drily, “save that +I have authority from—shall I say her godmother—to trust you +farther than I should have trusted you. That is the only inference I draw. But +I have one thing to add,” she continued. “Miss Smith did not enter +my employment in an ordinary way. My late assistant left me abruptly. While I +was at a loss an attorney of character in this city called on me and said that +a client desired to place a young person in safe hands; that she was a trained +teacher, and must live by teaching, but that care was necessary, since she was +very young, and had more than her share of good looks. He hinted, Mr. Vaughan, +at the inference which you, I believe, have already drawn. And—and that +is all.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked thoughtfully at the carpet. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson waited awhile. At last: “The point is,” she said +shrewdly, “do you still wish to have the five minutes?” +</p> + +<p> +Arthur Vaughan hesitated. He knew that he ought, that it was his duty, to say +“No.” But something in the woman’s humorous eye challenged +him, and recklessly—for the gratification of a moment—he said: +“Yes, if you please, I will see her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, very good,” Miss Sibson answered slowly. She had not +been blind to the momentary hesitation. “Then I will send her to you to +make her apologies. Only be kind enough to remember that she does not know that +you have seen that slip of paper.” +</p> + +<p> +He assented, and with a good-natured nod Miss Sibson rose and went heavily from +the room. Not for nothing was she held in Bristol a woman of sagacity, whose +game of whist it was a pleasure to watch; nor without reason had that attorney +of character, of whom we have heard, chosen her <i>in custodiam puellæ</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan waited, and to be frank, his heart beat more quickly than usual. He +knew that he was doing a foolish thing, though he had refused to commit +himself; and an unworthy thing, though Miss Sibson, perhaps for her own +reasons, had winked at it. He knew that he had no right to see the girl if he +did not mean her well; and how could he mean her well when he had no intention +of marrying her? For, for a man with his career in prospect to marry a girl in +her position—to say nothing of the stigma which no doubt lay upon her +birth—was a folly of which none but boys and old men were capable. +</p> + +<p> +He listened, ill at ease, already repenting. The voices in the next room, +reduced to a faint murmur by the closed doors, ceased. She was being told. She +was being sent to him. He coloured. Yes, he was ashamed of himself. He rose and +went to the window, and wished that he had said “No”; that he had +taken himself off. What was he doing here at his time of life—the most +sane and best balanced time of life—in this girls’ school? It was +unworthy of him. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened, and he forgot his unworthiness, he forgot all. The abnormal +attraction, allurement, charm, call it what you will, which had overcome him +when she turned her eyes on him on the coach overcame him again—and +tenfold. He thought that it must lie in her eyes, gentle as a dove’s. And +yet he did not know. He had not seen her indoors before, and her hair gathered +in a knot at the back of her head was a Greek surprise to him; while her +blushes, the quivering of her mouth, her figure slender but full of grace, and +high-girdled after the mode of the day—all, all were so perfect, so +enticing, that he knew not where the magic lay. +</p> + +<p> +But magic there was. And such magic that though he had prepared himself, and +though the last thing in his thoughts was to insult her, he forgot himself. As +she paused, her hand still resting on the door, her face downcast and +distressed, “Good G—d,” he cried, “how beautiful you +are!” +</p> + +<p> +And she saw that he meant no insult, that the words burst from him +spontaneously. But not the less for that was their effect on her. She turned +white, her very heart seeming to stop, she appeared to be about to swoon. While +he, forgetting all but her shrinking beauty, devoured her with his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Until he remembered himself. Then he turned from her to the window. +“Forgive me!” he cried. “I did not know what I said. You came +on me so suddenly; you looked so beautiful——” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped; he could not go on. +</p> + +<p> +And she was trembling from head to foot; but she made an effort to escape back +to the commonplace. “I came,” she stammered—it was clear that +she hardly knew what she was saying—“Miss Sibson told me to come to +say that I—I was sorry, sir, that I—I misjudged you +yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday? Yesterday?” he cried, almost angrily. “Bah, it is +an age since yesterday!” +</p> + +<p> +She could make no answer to that, though she knew well what he meant. If she +answered him it was only by suffering him to gaze at her in an eloquent +silence—a silence in which his eyes cried again and again, “How +beautiful you are!” While her eyes, downcast, under trembling lashes, her +heart beaten down, defenceless, cried only for “Quarter, quarter!” +</p> + +<p> +They were yards apart. The table, and on it Miss Sibson’s squat workbox +and a pile of longcloth, was between them. Miss Sibson herself could have +desired nothing more proper. And yet— +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield,<br/> +Thy lord at length is forced to yield.<br/> +Vain, vain is every outward care,<br/> +The foe’s within and triumphs there!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p> +It was all over. In her ears would ring for ever his words of worship—the +cry of the man to the woman, “How beautiful you are!” She would +thrill with pleasure when she thought of them, and burn with shame, and never, +never, never be the same again! And for him, with that cry forced from him, +love had become present, palpable, real, and the idea of marriage real also; an +idea to be withstood, to be combated, to be treated as foolish, Byronic, +impossible. But an idea which would not leave him any more than the image of +her gentle beauty, indelibly stamped on his brain, would leave him. He might +spend some days or some weeks in doubt and wretchedness. But from that moment +the odds were against him—he was young, and passion had never had her way +with him—as seriously against him as against the army that with spies and +traitors in its midst moves against an united foe. +</p> + +<p> +Not a word that was <i>convenant</i> had passed between them, though so much +had passed, when a hasty footstep crossed the forecourt, and stopped at the +door. The knocker fell sharply twice, and recalled them to realities. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I must go,” she faltered, wresting herself from the spell +of his eyes. “I have said what I—I hope you understand, and +I—it is time I went.” How her heart was beating! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I must go!” +</p> + +<p> +Too late! A loud voice in the passage, a heavy step, announced a visitor. The +door flew open, and there entered, pushing the startled maid aside, the +Honourable Bob Flixton, at the height of his glory, loud, impudent, and +unabashed. +</p> + +<p> +“Run to earth, my lad!” he cried boisterously. “Run to earth! +Run——” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off, gaping, as his eyes fell upon poor Mary, who, in making way for +him, had partly hidden herself behind the door. He whistled softly, in great +amazement, and “Hope I don’t intrude,” he continued. And he +grinned; while Vaughan, looking blackest thunder at him, could find no words +that were adequate. To think that this loud-voiced, confident fool, the Don +Giovanni of the regiment, had stumbled on his pearl! +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well!” the Honourable Bob resumed, casting down his +eyes as if he were shocked. And again: “I hope I don’t +intrude,” he continued—it was the parrot cry of that year. “I +didn’t know. I’ll take myself off again”—he whistled +low—“as fast as I can.” +</p> + +<p> +But Vaughan felt that to let him go thus, to spread the tale with a thousand +additions and innuendoes, was worst of all. “Wait, if you please,” +he said, with a note of sternness in his tone. “I am coming with you, +Flixton. Good-morning, Miss Smith.” +</p> + +<p> +“See here, won’t you introduce me?” cried the irrepressible +Bob. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” Vaughan answered curtly, and without staying to reflect. +“You will kindly tell Miss Sibson, Miss Smith, that I am obliged, greatly +obliged to her. Now come, Flixton! I have done my business, and we are not +wanted here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I come reluctantly,” said Bob, allowing himself to be dragged out, +but not until he had cast a last languishing look at the beauty. And on the +doorstep, “Sly dog, sly dog!” he said. “To think that in +Bristol, where pretty girls are as scarce as mushrooms in March, there should +be such an angel! Damme, an angel! And you the discoverer. It beats all!” +</p> + +<p> +“Shut up,” Vaughan answered angrily. “You know nothing about +it!” And then, still more sourly, “See here, Flixton, I take it ill +of you following me here. It was too cool, I say.” +</p> + +<p> +But the Honourable Bob was not quick to quarrel. “I saw you go in, dear +chap,” he cried heartily. “I wanted to tell you that the hour of +dinner was changed. See? Did my own errand, and coming back thought +I’d—truth was, I fancied you’d some little game on +hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the kind!” +</p> + +<p> +The Honourable Bob stopped. “Honour bright? Honour bright?” he +repeated eagerly. “Mean to say, Vaughan, you’re not on the track of +that little filly?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan scowled. “Not in the way you mean,” he said sternly. +“You make a mistake. She’s a good girl.” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton winked. “Heard that before, my lad,” he said, “more +than once. From my grandmother. I’ll take my chance of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan in his heart would have been glad to fall upon him and pommel him. But +there were objections to that course. On the other hand, his feelings had +cooled in the last few minutes, and he was far from prepared to announce +offhand that he was going to marry the beauty. So “No, you will not, +Flixton,” he said. “Let it go! Do you hear? The fact is,” he +continued, in some embarrassment, “I’m in a sort of fiduciary +relation to the young lady, and—and I am not going to see her played +with. That’s the fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fiduciary relation?” the Honourable Bob retorted, in perplexity. +“What the deuce is that? Never heard of it! D’you mean, man, that +you are—eh?—related to her? Of course, if so——” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am not related to her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then——” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m not going to see her made a fool of, that’s +all!” +</p> + +<p> +An idea struck the Honourable Bob. He stared. “See here,” he said +in a tone of horror, “you ain’t—you ain’t thinking of +marrying her?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan’s cheeks burned. “May be, and may be not,” he said +curtly. “But either way, it is my business!” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely you’re not! Man alive!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is my business, I say!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, of course, if it is as bad as that,” Flixton answered +with a grin. “But—hope I don’t intrude, Vaughan, but +ain’t you making a bit of a fool of yourself? What’ll old Vermuyden +say, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my business too!” Vaughan answered haughtily. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so, just so; and quite enough for me. All I say is—if you are +not in earnest yourself, don’t play the dog in the manger!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>XI<br/> +DON GIOVANNI FLIXTON</h2> + +<p> +In the political world the last week of April and the first week of May of that +year were fraught with surprises. It is probable that they saw more astonished +people than are to be found in England in an ordinary twelvemonth. The party +which had monopolised power for half a century, and to that end and the +advancement of themselves, their influence, their friends, and their +dependants, had spent the public money, strained the law, and supported the +mob, were incredibly, nay, were bitterly surprised when they saw all these +engines turned against them; when they found dependants falling off and friends +growing cold; above all, when they found that rabble, which they had so often +directed, aiming its yells and brickbats against their windows. +</p> + +<p> +But it is unlikely that any Tory of them all was more surprised by the change +in the political aspect than Arthur Vaughan—when he came to think of +it—by the position in which he had put himself. Certainly he had taken no +step that was not revocable. He had said nothing positive; his honour was not +engaged. But he had said a good deal. On the spur of the moment, moved by the +strange attraction which the girl had for him, he had spoken after a fashion +which only farther speech could justify. And then, not content with that, as if +fortune were determined to make sport of his discretion, he had been led by +another impulse—call it generosity, call it jealousy, call it what you +will—to say more to Bob Flixton than he had said to her. +</p> + +<p> +He had done this who had hitherto held himself a little above the common run of +men. Who had chalked out his career and never doubted that he had the strength +to follow it. Who had not been content to wait, idle and dissipated, for a dead +man’s shoes, but in the pride of a mind which he believed to be the +master of his passions had set his face towards the high prizes of the senate +and the forum. He, who if he could not be Fox, would be Erskine. Who would be +anything, in a word, except the empty-headed man of pleasure, or the plain +dullard satisfied to sit in a corner with a little. +</p> + +<p> +He, who had planned such a future, now found himself on the brink—ay, on +the very point—of committing as foolish an act as the most thoughtless +could commit. He was proposing to marry a girl below him in station, still +farther below him in birth, whom he had only known three days, whom he had only +seen three times! And all because she had beautiful eyes, and looked at +him—Heavens, how she had looked at him! +</p> + +<p> +He went hot as he pictured her with her melting eyes, hanging towards him a +little as the ivy inclines to the oak. And then he turned cold. And cold, he +considered what he was going to do! +</p> + +<p> +Of course he was not going to marry her. +</p> + +<p> +No doubt he had said to her more than he had the right to say. But his honour +was not engaged. The girl was not the worse for him; even if that which he had +read in her eyes were true, she would get over it as quickly as he would. But +marry her, give way to a feeling doubtless evanescent, let himself be swayed by +a fancy at which he would laugh a year later—no! No! He was not so weak. +He had not only his career to think of, but the family honours which would be +his one day. What would old Vermuyden say if he impaled a baton sinister with +the family arms, added a Smith to the family alliances, married the nameless, +penniless teacher in a girls’ school? +</p> + +<p> +No, of course, he was not going to marry her. He had said what he had said to +the Honourable Bob merely to shield her from a Don Juan. He had not meant it. +He would go for a long fatiguing walk and put the notion and the girl out of +his head, and come back cured of his folly, and make a merry night of it with +the old set. And to-morrow—no, the morrow was Sunday—on Monday he +would return to London and to all the chances which the changing political +situation must open to an ambitious man. He regretted that he had not taken the +Chancellor’s hint and sought for a seat in the House. +</p> + +<p> +But the solitary ramble in the valley of the Avon, which was a hundredfold more +beautiful in those days than in these, because less spoiled by the hand of man, +a ramble by the Logwood Mills, with their clear-running weedy stream, by +King’s Weston and Leigh Woods—such a ramble, tuneful with the songs +of birds and laden with the scents of spring, may not be the surest cure for +that passion, which +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t4"><i>is not to be reasoned down or lost</i> +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>In high ambition or a thirst for greatness!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +At any rate he returned uncured, and for the first part of the Honourable +Bob’s dinner was wildly merry. After that, and suddenly, he fell into a +moody silence which his host was not the last to note. +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately with the removal of the cloth and the first brisk journey of the +decanters came news. A waiter brought it. Hart Davies, the Tory candidate for +Bristol, and for twenty years its popular member, had withdrawn, seeing his +chance hopeless. The retirement was unexpected, and it caused so much surprise +that the party could think of nothing else. Nine-tenths of those present were +Tories, and Flixton proposed that they should sally forth and vent their +feelings by smashing the windows of the Bush, the Radical headquarters; a feat +performed many a time before with no worse consequences than a broken head or +two. But Colonel Brereton set his foot sharply on the proposal. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll put you under arrest if you do,” he said. +“I’m senior officer of the district, and I’ll not have it, +Flixton! Do you think that this is the time, you madmen,” he continued, +looking round the table and speaking with indignation, “to provoke the +rabble, and get the throats of half Bristol cut?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come, Colonel, it is not as bad as that!” Flixton +remonstrated. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know how bad it is,” Brereton answered, his +brooding eyes kindling. And he developed anew his fixed idea that the forces of +disorder, once provoked, were irresistible; that the country was at their +mercy, and that only by humouring them, a course suggested also by humanity, +could the storm be weathered. +</p> + +<p> +The company consisted, for the most part, of reckless young subalterns flushed +with wine. They listened out of respect to his rank, but they winked and +grinned behind his back; until, half conscious of ridicule, he grew angry. On +ordinary occasions Flixton would have been the worst offender. But he had the +grace to remember that the Colonel was his guest, and he sought to turn the +subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come!” he cried, hammering the table and pushing the bottle. +“Let the Colonel alone. For Heaven’s sake shelve the cursed Bill! +I’m sick of it! It’s the death of all fun and jollity. I’ll +give you a sentiment: ‘The Fair when they are Kind, and the Kind when +they are Fair.’ Fill up! Fill up, all, and drink it!” +</p> + +<p> +They echoed the toast in various tones, sober or fuddled. And some began to +grow excited. A glass was shattered and flung noisily into the fire. A new one +was called for, also noisily. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Bill,” Flixton continued to his right-hand neighbour, +“it’s your turn! Give us something spicy!” And he hammered +the table. “Captain Codrington’s sentiment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s have a minute!” pleaded the gentleman assailed. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a minute,” boisterously. “See, the table’s waiting +for you! Captain Codrington’s sentiment!” +</p> + +<p> +Men of small genius kept a written list, and committed some lines to memory +before dinner. The Captain was one of these. But the call on him was sudden, +and he sought, with an agonised mind, for one which would seem in the least +degree novel. At last, with a sigh of relief, “<i>Maids and +Missuses!</i>” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, Maids and Missuses!” the Honourable Bob echoed, raising +his glass. “And especially,” he whispered, calling his +neighbour’s attention to Vaughan by a shove, “schoolmissuses! +Schoolmissuses, my lad! Here, Vaughan,” he continued aloud, “you +must drink this, and no heeltaps!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan caught his name and awoke from a reverie. “Very good,” he +said, raising his glass. “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Maids and Missuses!” the Honourable Bob replied, with a wink at +his neighbour. And then, incited by the fumes of the wine he had taken, he rose +to his feet and raised his glass. “Gentlemen,” he said, +“gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Silence,” they cried. “Silence! Silence for Bob’s +speech.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he resumed, a spark of malice in his eyes, +“I’ve a piece of news to give you! It’s news +that—that’s been mighty slyly kept by a gentleman here present. +Devilish close he’s kept it, I’ll say that for him! But he’s +a neat hand that can bamboozle Bob Flixton, and I’ve run him to earth, +run him to earth this morning and got it out of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear! Hear! Bob! Go on, Bob; what is it?” from the company. +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to hear, my Trojans! And no flam! Gentlemen, charge your +glasses! I’ve the honour to inform you that our old friend and tiptopper, +Arthur Vaughan, otherwise the Counsellor, has got himself regularly put up, +knocked down, and sold to as pretty a piece of the feminine as you’ll see +in a twelvemonth! Prettiest in Bristol, ’pon honour,” with feeling, +“be the other who she may! Regular case of—” and in +irresistibly comic accents, with his head and glass alike tilted, he drolled, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0">“<i>There first for thee my passion grew</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen;</i> +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>Thou wast the daughter of my tu</i>- +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>tor, law professor at the U</i>- +</p> + +<p class="t4"><i>niversity of Göttingen!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +’Niversity of Göttingen! Don’t laugh, gentlemen! It’s so! +He’s entered on the waybill, book through to matrimony, +and”—the Honourable Bob was undoubtedly a little +tipsy—“and it only remains for us to give him a good send-off. So +charge your glasses, and——” +</p> + +<p> +Brereton laid his hand on his arm. He was sober and he did not like the look on +Vaughan’s disgusted face. “One moment, Flixton,” he said; +“is this true, Mr. Vaughan?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan’s brow was as black as thunder. He had never dreamt that, drunk +or sober, Flixton would be guilty of such a breach of confidence. He hesitated. +Then, “No!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not true?” Codrington struck in. “You are not +going to be married, old chap?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, man,” Flixton hiccoughed, “you told me so—or +something like it—-only this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You either misunderstood me,” Vaughan answered, in a tone so +distinct as to be menacing, “for you have said far more than I said. Or, +if you prefer it, I’ve changed my mind. In either case it is my business! +And I’ll trouble you to leave it alone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if you put it—that way, old chap?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do put it that way!” +</p> + +<p> +“And any way,” Brereton said, interposing hurriedly, “this is +no time for marrying! I’ve told you boys before, and I tell you +again——” +</p> + +<p> +And he plunged into a fresh argument on the old point. Two or three joined +issue, grinning. And Vaughan, as soon as attention was diverted from him, +slipped away. +</p> + +<p> +He was horribly disgusted, and sunk very low in his own eyes. He loathed what +he had done. He had not, indeed, been false to the girl, for he had given her +no promise. He had not denied her, for her name had not been mentioned. And he +had not gone back on his resolution, for he had never formed one seriously. Yet +in a degree he had done all these things. He had played a shabby part by +himself and by the girl. He had been meanly ashamed of her. And though his +conduct had followed the lines which he had marked out for himself, he hoped +that he might never again feel so unhappy, and so poor a thing, as he felt as +he walked the streets and cursed his discretion. +</p> + +<p> +Discretion! Cowardice was the right name for it. Because the girl, the most +beautiful, pure, and gentle creature on whom his eyes had ever rested, was +called Mary Smith, and taught in a school, he disavowed her and turned his back +on her. +</p> + +<p> +He did not know that he was suffering what a man, whose mind has so far +governed his heart, must suffer when the latter rebels. In planning his life he +had ignored his heart; now he must pay the penalty. He went to bed at last, but +not to sleep. Instead he lived the scene over and over again, now wondering +what he ought to have done; now brooding on what Flixton must think of him; now +on what she, whose nature, he was sure, was as perfect as her face, would think +of him, if she knew. How she would despise him! +</p> + +<p> +The next day was Sunday, and he spent it, in accordance with a previous +promise, with Brereton, at his pleasant home at Newchurch, a mile from the +city. Though the most recent of his Bristol acquaintances, Brereton was the +most congenial; and a dozen times Vaughan was on the point of confiding his +trouble to him. He was deterred by the melancholy cast of Brereton’s +character, which gave promise of no decisive advice. And early in the evening +he took leave of his host and strolled towards the Downs, balancing <i>I +would</i> against <i>I will not</i>; now facing the bleak of a prudent +decision, now thrilling with foolish rapture, as he pondered another event. +Lord Eldon had married young and with as little prudence; it had not impeded +his rise, nor Erskine’s. Doubtless Sir Robert Vermuyden would say that he +had disgraced himself; but he cared little for that. What he had to combat was +the more personal pride of the man who, holding himself a little wiser than his +fellows, cannot bear to do a thing that in the eyes of the foolish may set him +below them! +</p> + +<p> +Of course he came to no decision; though he wandered on Brandon Hill until the +Float at his feet ceased to mirror the lights, and Bristol lay dark below him. +And Monday found him still hesitating. Thrice he started to take his place on +the coach. And thrice he turned back, hating himself for his weakness. If he +could not overcome a foolish fancy, how could he hope to scale the heights of +the Western Circuit, or hurl Coleridge and Follett from their pride of place? +Or, still harder task, how would he dare to confront in the House the cold eye +of Croker or of Goulburn? No, he could not hope to do either. He had been wrong +in his estimate of himself. He was a poor creature, unable to hold his own +amongst his fellows, impotent to guide his own life! +</p> + +<p> +He was still contesting the matter when, a little before noon, he espied +Flixton in the act of threading his way through the busy crowd of Broad Street. +The Honourable Bob was wearing hessians, and a high-collared green riding-coat, +with an orange vest and a soft many-folded cravat. In fine, he was so smart +that suspicion entered Vaughan’s head; and on its heels—jealousy. +</p> + +<p> +In a twinkling he was on Flixton’s track. Broad Street, the heart of +Bristol, was thronged, for Hart Davies’s withdrawal was in the air and an +election crowd was abroad. Newsboys with their sheets, tipsy ward-leaders, and +gossiping merchants jostled one another. The beau’s green coat, however, +shone conspicuous, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0" style="text-indent:15%"><i>Glorious was his course</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>And long the track of light he left behind him!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +and before Vaughan had asked himself if he were justified in following, pursued +and pursuer were over Bristol Bridge, and making, by way of the Welsh +Back—a maze of coal-hoys and dangling cranes—for Queen’s +Square. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan doubted no longer, weighed the propriety of his course no longer. For a +cool-headed man of the world, who asked nothing better than to master a silly +fancy, he was foolishly perturbed. He made on with a grim face; but a dray +loading at a Newport coal-hulk drew across his path, and Flixton was pacing +under the pleasant elms and amid the groups that loitered up and down the +sunlit Square, before Vaughan came within hail, and called him by name. +</p> + +<p> +Flixton turned then, saw who it was, and grinned—nothing abashed. +“Well,” he said, tipping his hat a little to one side, “well, +old chap! Are you let out of school too?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan had already discovered Mary Smith and her little troop under the trees +in the farthest corner. But he tried to smile—and did so, a little awry. +“This is not fair play, Flixton,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“That is just what I think it is,” the Honourable Bob answered +cheerfully. “Eh, old chap? Neat trick of yours the other day, but not +neat enough! Thought to bamboozle me and win a clear field! Neat! But no go, I +found you out and now it is my turn. That’s what I call fair play.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Flixton,” Vaughan replied—he was fast losing his +composure—“I’m not going to have it. That’s +plain.” +</p> + +<p> +The Honourable Bob stared. “Oh!” he answered. “Let’s +understand one another. Are you going to marry the girl after all?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve told you——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’ve told me, yes, and you’ve told me, no. The +question is, which is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan controlled himself. He could see Mary out of the corner of his eye, and +knew that she had not yet taken the alarm. But the least violence might attract +her attention. “Whichever it be,” he said firmly, “is no +business of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you claim the girl——” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not claim her, Flixton. I have told you that. +But——” +</p> + +<p> +“But you mean to play the dog in the manger?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean to see,” Vaughan replied sternly, “that you +don’t do her any harm.” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton hesitated. Secretly he held Vaughan in respect; and he would have +postponed his visit to Queen’s Square had he foreseen that that gentleman +would detect him. But to retreat now was another matter. The duel was still in +vogue; barely two years before the Prime Minister had gone out with a brother +peer in Battersea Fields; barely twenty years before one Cabinet Minister had +shot another on Wimbledon Common. He could not, therefore, afford to show the +white feather, and though he hesitated, it was not for long. “You mean to +see to that, do you?” he retorted. +</p> + +<p> +“I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then come and see,” he returned flippantly. “I’m going +to have a chat with the young lady now. That’s not murder, I +suppose?” And he turned on his heel and strolled across the turf towards +the group of which Mary was the centre. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan followed with black looks; and when Mary Smith, informed of their +approach by one of the children, turned a startled face towards them, he was at +Flixton’s shoulder, and pressing before him. +</p> + +<p> +But the Honourable Bob had the largest share of presence of mind, and he was +the first to speak. “Miss Smith,” he said, raising his hat with +<i>aplomb</i>, “I—you remember me, I am sure?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan pushed before him; and before the girl could speak—for jealousy +is a fine spoiler of manners, “This gentleman,” he said, +“wishes to see——” +</p> + +<p> +“To see——” said Flixton, with a lower bow. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Sibson!” Vaughan exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +The children stared; gazing up into the men’s faces with the undisguised +curiosity of childhood. Fortunately the Mary Smith who had to confront these +two was no longer the Mary Smith whom Vaughan’s appearance had stricken +with panic three days before. For one thing, she knew Miss Sibson better, and +feared her less. For another, her fairy godmother—the gleam of whose +gifts never failed to leave a hope of change, a prospect of something other +than the plodding, endless round—had shown a fresh sign. And last, not +least, a more potent fairy, a fairy whose wand had power to turn Miss +Sibson’s house into a Palace Beautiful, and Queen’s Square, with +its cawing rooks and ordered elms, into an enchanted forest, had visited her. +</p> + +<p> +True, Vaughan had left her abruptly—to cool her burning cheeks and still +her heart as she best might! But he had said what she would never forget, and +though he had left her doubting, he had left her loving. And so the Mary who +found herself addressed by two gallants was much less abashed than she who on +Friday had had to do with one. +</p> + +<p> +Still she was astonished by their address; and she showed this, modestly and +quietly. “If you wish to see Miss Sibson,” she +said—instinctively she looked at Vaughan’s companion—“I +will send for her.” And she was in the act of turning, with comparative +ease, to despatch one of the children on the errand, when the Honourable Bob +interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“But we don’t want Miss Sibson—now,” he said. “A +man may change his mind as well as a woman! Eh, old chap?” turning to his +friend with simulated good-humour. “I’m sure you will say so, Miss +Smith.” +</p> + +<p> +She wondered what their odd manner to one another meant. And, to add to her +dignity, she laid her hand on the shoulder of one of her charges and drew her +closer. +</p> + +<p> +“Moreover, I’m sure,” Flixton continued—for Vaughan +after his first hasty intervention, stood sulkily silent—“I’m +sure Mr. Vaughan will agree with me——” +</p> + +<p> +“I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes he will, Miss Smith, because he is the most changeable of men +himself! A weathercock, upon my honour!” And he pointed to the tower of +St. Mary, which from the high ground of Redcliffe Parade on the farther side of +the water, looks down on the Square. “Never of the same mind two days +together!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan snubbed him savagely. “Be good enough to leave me out!” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” the Honourable Bob answered, laughing, “he wants to +stop my mouth! But I’m not to be stopped. Of all men he’s the least +right to say that I mustn’t change my mind. Why, if you’ll believe +me, Miss Smith, no farther back than Saturday morning he was all for being +married! ’Pon honour! Went away from here talking of nothing else! In the +evening he was just as dead the other way! Nothing was farther from his +thoughts. Shuddered at the very idea! Come, old chap, don’t look +fierce!” And he grinned at Vaughan. “You can’t deny +it!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan could have struck him; the trick was so neat and so malicious. +Fortunately a man who had approached the group touched Vaughan’s elbow at +this critical moment, and diverted his wrath. “Express for you, +sir,” he said. “Brought by chaise, been looking for you everywhere, +sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan smothered the execration which rose to his lips, snatched the letter +from the man, and waved him aside. Then, swelling with rage, he turned upon +Flixton. But before he could speak the matter was taken out of his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Children,” said Mary Smith in a clear, steady voice, “it is +time we went in. The hour is up, collect your hoops. I think,” she +continued, looking stiffly at the Honourable Bob, “you have addressed me +under a misapprehension, sir, intending to address yourself to Miss Sibson. +Good-morning! Good-morning!” with a slight and significant bow which +included both gentlemen. And taking a child by either hand, she turned her back +on them, and with her little flock clustering about her, and her pretty head +held high, she went slowly across the road to the school. Her lips were +trembling, but the men could not see that. And her heart was bursting, but only +she knew that. +</p> + +<p> +Without that knowledge Vaughan was furiously angry. It was not only that the +other had got the better of him by a sly trick; but he was conscious that he +had shown himself at his worst—stupid when tongue-tied, and rude when he +spoke. Still, he controlled himself until Mary was out of earshot, and then he +turned upon Flixton. +</p> + +<p> +“What right—what right,” he snarled, “had you to say +what I would do! And what I would not do? I consider your +conduct——” +</p> + +<p> +“Steady, man!” Flixton, who was much the cooler of the two, said. +He was a little pale. “Think before you speak. You would interfere. What +did you expect? That I was going to play up to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I expected at least——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, you can tell me another time what you expected. I have an +engagement now and must be going,” the Honourable Bob said. “See +you again!” And with a cool nod he turned on his heel, and assured that, +whatever came of the affair, he had had the best of that bout, he strode off. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was only too well aware of the same fact; and but that he held himself +in habitual control, he would have followed and struck his rival. As it was, he +stood a moment looking blackly after him. Then, sobered somewhat, though still +bitterly chagrined, he took his way towards his hotel, carrying in his +oblivious hand the letter which had been given him. Once he halted, half-minded +to return to Miss Sibson’s and to see Mary and explain. He took, indeed, +some steps in the backward direction. But he reflected that if he went he must +speak, and plainly. And, angry as he was, furiously in love as he was, was he +prepared to speak? +</p> + +<p> +He was not prepared. And while he stood doubting between that eternal would, +and would not, his eyes fell on the letter in his hand. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>XII<br/> +A ROTTEN BOROUGH</h2> + +<p> +Chippinge, Sir Robert Vermuyden’s borough, was in no worse case than +two-thirds of the small boroughs of that day. Still, of its great men Cowley +might have written: +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Nothing they but dust can show,<br/> +Or bones that hasten to be so.</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +And of its greatness he might have said the same. The one and the other +belonged to the past. +</p> + +<p> +The town occupies a low, green hill, dividing two branches of the Avon which +join their waters a furlong below. Built on the ridge and clinging to the +slopes of this eminence the stone-tiled houses look pleasantly over the gentle +undulations of the Wiltshire pastures—no pastures more green; and at a +distance are pleasantly seen from them. But viewed more closely—at the +date of which we write—the picturesque in the scene became mean or +incongruous. Of the Mitred Abbey that crowned the hill and had once owned these +fertile slopes there remained but the maimed hulk, patched and botched, and +long degraded to the uses of that parish church its neighbour, of which nothing +but the steeple survived. The crown-shaped market cross, once a dream of beauty +in stone, still stood, but battered and defaced; while the Abbot’s +gateway, under which sovereigns had walked, was sunk to a vile lock-up, the due +corrective of the tavern which stood cheek by jowl with it. +</p> + +<p> +Still, to these relics, grouped as they were upon an open triangular green, the +hub of the town, there clung in spite of all some shadow of greatness. The +stranger whose eye fell on the doorway of the Abbey Church, with its whorls of +sculptured images, gazed and gazed again with a sense of wondering awe. But let +him turn his back on these buildings, and his eye met, in cramped street and +blind alley, a lower depth. Everywhere were things once fine, sunk to base +uses; old stone mansions converted into tenements; the solid houses of mediæval +burghers into crazy taverns; fretted cloisters into pigsties and hovels; a +Gothic arch propped the sagging flank of a lath-and-plaster stable. Or if +anything of the beauty of a building survived, it was masked by climbing +penthouses; or, like the White Lion, the old inn which had been the +Abbot’s guesthouse, it was altered out of all likeness to its former +self. For the England of ’31, gross and matter-of-fact, was not awake to +the value of those relics of a noble past which generations of intolerance had +hurried to decay. +</p> + +<p> +Doubtless in this mouldering, dusty shell was snug, warm living. Georgian +comfort had outlived the wig and the laced coat, and though the influence of +the Church was at its lowest ebb, and morals were not much higher, inns were +plenty and flourished, and in the panelled parlours of the White Lion or the +Heart and Hand was much good eating, followed by deep drinking. The London road +no longer passed through the town; the great fair had fallen into disuse. But +the cloth trade, by which Chippinge had once thriven, had been revived, and the +town was not quite fallen. Still, of all its former glories, it retained but +one intact. It returned two members to Parliament. That which Birmingham and +Sheffield had not, this little borough of eighteen hundred souls enjoyed. +Fallen in all other points, it retained, or rather its High Steward, Sir Robert +Vermuyden, retained the right of returning, by the votes of its Alderman and +twelve capital burgesses, two members to the Commons’ House. +</p> + +<p> +And Sir Robert could not by any stretch of fancy bring himself to believe that +the town would willingly part with this privilege. Why should it strip itself? +he argued. It enjoyed the honour vicariously, indeed. But did he not year by +year pay the Alderman and eight of the capital burgesses thirty pounds apiece +for their interest, a sum which quickly filtered through their pockets and +enriched the town, besides taking several of the voters off the rates? Did he +not also at election times set the taps running and distribute a moderate +largesse among the commonalty, and—and in fact do everything which it +behoved a liberal and enlightened patron to do? Nay, had he not, since his +accession, raised the status of the voters, long and vulgarly known as +“The Cripples,” so that they, who in his father’s time had +been, almost without exception, drunken illiterates, were now to the extent of +at least one half, men of respectable position? +</p> + +<p> +No, Sir Robert wholly declined to believe that Chippinge had any wish for a +change so adverse to its interests. The most he would admit was that there +might be some slight disaffection in the place, due to that confounded Bowood, +which was for ever sapping and mining and seeking to rob its neighbours. +</p> + +<p> +But even he was presently to be convinced that there was a very odd spirit +abroad in this year ’31. The new police and the new steam railways and +this cholera of which people were beginning to talk, were not the only new +things. There were new ideas in the air; and the birds seemed to carry them. +They took possession not only of the troublesome and +discontented—poachers whom Sir Robert had gaoled, or the sons of men whom +his father had pressed—but of the most unlikely people. Backs that had +never been aught but pliant grew stiff. Men who had put up with the old system +for more years than they could remember grew restive. Others, who had all their +lives stood by while their inferiors ruled the roost, discovered that they had +rights. Nay—and this was the strangest thing of all—some who had +thriven by the old management and could not hope to gain by a change revolted, +after the fashion of Dyas the butcher, and proved the mastery of mind over +matter. Not many, indeed, these; martyrs for ideas are rare. But their action +went for much, and when later the great mass of the voteless began to move, +there were rats in plenty of the kind that desert sinking ships. By that time +he was a bold man who in tavern or workshop spoke for the rule of the few, to +which Sir Robert fondly believed his borough to be loyal. +</p> + +<p> +His agent had never shared that belief, fortunately for him; or he had had a +rude awakening on the first Monday in May. It was customary for the Vermuyden +interest to meet the candidates on the Chippenham road, half an hour before the +dinner hour, and to attend them in procession through the town to the White +Lion. Often this was all that the commonalty saw of an election, and a little +horseplay was both expected and allowed. In old days, when the +“Cripples” had belonged to the very lowest class, their grotesque +appearance in the van of the gentlemanly interest had given rise to many a +home-jest. The crowd would follow them, jeering and laughing, and there would +be some pushing, and a drunken man or two would fall. But all had passed in +good humour; the taps had been running in one interest, the ale was Sir +Robert’s, and the crowd envied while they laughed. +</p> + +<p> +White, as he stood on the bridge reviewing the first comers, wished he might +have no worse to expect to-day. But he did not hope as much. The town was +crowded, and the streets down to the bridge were so cumbered with moving groups +that it was plain the procession would have to push its way. For certain, too, +many of the people did not belong to Chippinge. With the townsfolk White knew +he could deal. He did not believe that there was a Chippinge man who, eye to +eye with him, would cast a stone. But here were yokels from Calne and Bowood, +who knew not Sir Robert; with Bristol lambs and men as dangerous, and not a few +Radicals from a distance, rabid with zeal and overflowing with promises. Made +up of such elements the crowd hooted from time to time, and there was a threat +in the sound that filled White with misgivings. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was this the worst. The cloth factory stood close to the bridge. The +procession must pass it. And the hands employed in it, hostile to a man, were +gathered before the doorway, in their aprons and paper caps, waiting to give +the show a reception. They had much to say already, their jeers and taunts +filling the air; but White had a shrewd suspicion that they had worse missiles +in their pockets. +</p> + +<p> +Still, he had secured the attendance of a score of sturdy fellows, sons of Sir +Robert’s farmers, and these, with a proportion of the tagrag and bobtail +of the town, gave a fairly solid aspect to his party. Nor was the jeering all +on one side, though that deep and unpleasant groaning which now and again +rolled down the street was wholly Whiggish. +</p> + +<p> +Alas, it was when the agent came to analyse his men that he had most need of +the smile that deceives. True, the rector was there and the curate of Eastport, +and the clerk and the sexton—the two last-named were voters. And there +were also four or five squires arrayed in support of the gentlemanly interest, +and as many young bucks come to see the fun. Then there were three other +voters: the Alderman, who was a small grocer, and Annibal the +basketmaker—these two were stalwarts—and Dewell the barber, also +staunch, but a timid man. There was no Dyas, however, Sir Robert’s +burliest supporter in old days, and his absence was marked. Nor any Thrush the +pig-killer—the jaws of a Radical gaol held him. Nor, last and heaviest +blow of all—for it had fallen without warning—was there any +Pillinger of the Blue Duck. Pillinger, his wife said, was ill. What was worse +he was in the hands of a Radical doctor capable, the agent believed, of +hocussing him until the polling was over. The truth about +Pillinger—whether he lay ill or whether he lay shamming, whether he was +at the mercy of the apothecary or under the thumb of his wife—White could +not learn. He hoped to learn it before it was too late. But for the present +Pillinger was not here. +</p> + +<p> +The Alderman, Annibal, Dewell, the clerk, the sexton, and Arthur Vaughan. White +totted them up again and again and made them six. The Bowood voters he made +five—four stalwarts and Dyas the butcher. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly he might still poll Pillinger. But, on the other hand, Mr. Vaughan +might arrive too late. White had written to his address in town, and receiving +no answer had sent an express to Bristol on the chance that the young gentleman +was still there. Probably he would be in time. But when things are so very +close—and when there were alarm and defeat in the air—men grow +nervous. White smiled as he chatted with the pompous Rector and the country +squires, but he was very anxious. He thought of old Sir Robert at Stapylton, +and he sweated at the notion of defeat. Cobbett had reached his mind, but Sir +Robert had his heart! +</p> + +<p> +“Boo!” moaned the crowd higher up the street. The sound sank and +the harsh voice of a speaker came fitfully over the heads of the people. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that?” asked old Squire Rowley, one of the country +gentlemen. +</p> + +<p> +“Some spouter from Bristol, sir, I fancy,” the agent replied +contemptuously. And with his eye he whipped in a couple of hobbledehoys who +seemed inclined to stray towards the enemy. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” the Squire continued, lowering his voice, “you +can depend on your men, White?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord, yes, sir,” White answered; like a good election agent he +took no one into his confidence. “We’ve enough here to do the +trick. Besides, young Mr. Vaughan will be here to-morrow, and the landlord of +the Blue Duck, who is not well enough to walk to-day, will poll. He’d +break his heart, bless you,” White continued, with a brow of brass, +“if he could not vote for Sir Robert!” +</p> + +<p> +“Seven to five.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seven to four, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Dyas, I hear, the d——d rogue, will vote against +you?” +</p> + +<p> +White winked. +</p> + +<p> +“Bad,” he said cryptically, “but not as bad as that, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! oh!” quoth the other, nodding, “I see.” And then, +glancing at the gang before the cloth works, whose taunts of +“Flunkies!” and “Sell your birthright, will you?” were +constant and vicious, “You’ve no fear there’ll be violence, +White?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, no, sir,” White answered; “you know what election rows +are, all bark and no bite!” +</p> + +<p> +“Still I hear that at Bath, where I’m told Lord Brecknock stands a +poor chance, they are afraid of a riot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, sir,” White answered indifferently, “this +isn’t Bath.” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely,” the Rector struck in, in pompous tones. “I +should like to see anything of that kind here! They would soon,” he +continued with an air, “find that I am not on the commission of the peace +for nothing! I shall make, and I am sure you will make,” he went on, +turning to his brother justice, “very short work of them! I should like +to see anything of that kind tried here!” +</p> + +<p> +White nodded, but in his heart he thought that his reverence was likely to have +his wish gratified. However, no more was said, for the approach of the +Stapylton carriages, with their postillions, outriders and favours, was +signalled by persons who had been placed to watch for them, and the party on +the bridge, falling into violent commotion, raised their flags and banners and +hastened to form an escort on either side of the roadway. As the gaily-decked +carriages halted on the crest of the bridge, loud greetings were exchanged. The +five voters took up a position of honour, seats in the carriages were found for +three or four of the more important gentry, and seven or eight others got to +horse. Meanwhile those of the smaller folk, who thought that they had a claim +to the recognition of the candidates, were gratified, and stood back blushing, +or being disappointed stood back glowering; all this amid confusion and +cheering on the bridge and shrill jeers on the part of the cloth hands. Then +the flags were waved aloft, the band of five, of which the drummer could truly +say “<i>Pars magna fui</i>,” struck up “See, the Conquering +Hero Comes!” and White stood back for a last look. +</p> + +<p> +Then, “Shout, lads, shout!” he cried, waving his hat. +“Don’t let ’em have it all their own way!” And with a +roar of defiance, not quite so loud or full as the gentlemanly interest had +raised of old, the procession got under way, and, led by a banner bearing +“Our Ancient Constitution!” in blue letters on a red ground, swayed +spasmodically up the street. The candidates for the suffrages of the electors +of Chippinge had passed the threshold of the borough. “Hurrah! Yah! +Hurrah! Yah! Yah! Yah! Down with the Borough-mongers. Our Ancient Constitution! +Hurrah! Boo! Boo!” +</p> + +<p> +White had his eye on the clothmen, and under its spell they did not go beyond +hooting and an egg or two, spared from the polling day, and flung at long range +when the Tories had passed. No one was struck, and the carriages moved onward, +more or less triumphantly. Sergeant Wathen, who was in the first, and whose +sharp black eyes moved hither and thither in search of friends, rose repeatedly +to bow. But Mr. Cooke, who did not forget that he was paying two thousand five +hundred pounds for his seat, and thought that it should be a soft one, scarcely +deigned to move. For as the procession advanced into the town the clamour of +the crowd which lined the narrow High Street and continually shouted “The +Bill! The Bill!” drowned the utmost efforts of Sir Robert’s +friends, and left no doubt of the popular feeling. +</p> + +<p> +There was some good-humoured pushing and thrusting, the drum beating and the +church bells jangling bravely above the hubbub. And once or twice the rabble +came near to cutting the procession in two. But there was no real attempt at +mischief, and all went well until the foremost carriage was abreast of the +Cross, which stands at the head of the High Street, where the latter debouches +into the space before the Abbey. +</p> + +<p> +Then some foolish person gave the word to halt before Dyas the butcher’s. +And a voice—it was not White’s—cried, “Three groans for +the Radical Rat! Rat! Rat!” +</p> + +<p> +The groans were given before the crowd fully understood their meaning or the +motive for the stoppage. The drummer beat out something which he meant for the +Rogues’ March, and an unseen hand raising a large dead rat, tied to a +stick, waved it before the butcher’s first-floor windows. +</p> + +<p> +The effect was surprising—to old-fashioned folk. In a twinkling, with a +shout of “Down with the Borough-mongers!” a gang of white-aproned +clothmen rushed the rear of the procession, drove it in upon the main body, and +amid screams and uproar forced the whole line out of the narrow street into the +space before the Abbey. Fortunately the White Lion, which faced the Abbey, +stood only a score of paces to the left of the Cross, and the carriages were +able to reach it; but in disorder, pressed on by such a fighting, swaying, +shouting crowd as Chippinge had not seen for many a year. +</p> + +<p> +It was no time to stand on dignity. The candidates tumbled out as best they +could, their chief supporters followed them, and while half a dozen single +combats proceeded at their elbows, they hastened across the pavement into the +house. The Rector alone disdained to flee. Once on the threshold of the inn, he +turned and raised his hat above his head: +</p> + +<p> +“Order!” he cried, “Order! Do you hear me!” +</p> + +<p> +But “Yah! Borough-monger!” the rabble answered, and before he could +say more a young farmer was hurled against him, and a whip, of which a +postillion had just been despoiled, whizzed past his head. He, too, turned tail +at that, with his face a shade paler than usual; and with his retreat +resistance ceased. The carriages were hustled somehow and anyhow into the yard, +and there the greater part of the procession also took refuge. A few, sad to +say, sneaked off and got rid of their badges, and a few more escaped through a +neighbouring alley. No one was much hurt; a few black eyes were the worst of +the mischief, nor could it be said that any vindictive feeling was shown. But +the town was swept clear, and the victory of the Radicals was complete. Left in +possession of the open space before the Abbey, they paraded for some time under +the windows of the White Lion, waving a captured flag, and cheering and +groaning by turns. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime in the hall of the inn the grandees were smoothing their ruffled +plumes, in a state of mind in which it was hard to say whether indignation or +astonishment had larger place. Oaths flew thick as hail, unrebuked by the +Church, the most outspoken perhaps being by the landlord, who met them with a +pale face. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord, good Lord, gentlemen!” he said, “what violence! +What violence! What are we coming to next? What’s took the people, +gentlemen? Isn’t Sir Robert here?” +</p> + +<p> +For to this simple person it seemed impossible that people should behave badly +in that presence. +</p> + +<p> +“No, he’s not!” Mr. Cooke answered with choler. +“I’d like to know why he’s not! I wish to +Heaven”—only he did not say “Heaven”—“that +he were here, and he’d see what sort of thing he has let us into!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, ah, well!” returned the more discreet and philosophic +Sergeant, “shouting breaks no bones. We are all here, I hope? And after +all, this shows up the Bill in a pretty strong light, eh, Rector? If it is to +be carried by methods such as these—these—” +</p> + +<p> +“D——d barefaced intimidation!” Squire Rowley growled. +</p> + +<p> +“Or if it is to give votes to such persons as these——” +</p> + +<p> +“D——d Jacobins! Republicans every one!” interposed the +Squire. +</p> + +<p> +“It will soon be plain to all,” the Sergeant concluded, in his +House of Commons manner, “that it is a most revolutionary, dangerous, +and—and unconstitutional measure, gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“By G—d!” Mr. Cooke cried—he was thinking that if this +was the kind of thing he was to suffer he might as well have fought Taunton or +Preston, or any other open borough, and kept his money in his +pocket—“by G—d, I wish Lord John were stifled in the mud +he’s stirred up, and Gaffer Grey with him!” +</p> + +<p> +“You can add Bruffam, if you like,” Wathen answered +good-humouredly—he was not paying two thousand five hundred guineas for +his seat. “And rid me of a rival and the country of a pest, Cooke! But +come, gentlemen, now we’re here and no bones broken, shall we sit down? +We are all safe, I trust, Mr. White? And especially—my future +constituents?” with a glance of his shrewd Jewish-looking eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, no harm done,” White replied as cheerfully as he could; +which was not overcheerfully, for in all his experience of Chippinge he had +known nothing like this; and he was a trifle scared. “Yes, sir,” he +continued, looking round, “all here, I think! And—and by +Jove,” in a tone of relief, “one more than I expected! Mr. Vaughan! +I am glad, sir, very glad, sir,” he added heartily, “to see you. +Very glad!” +</p> + +<p> +The young man who had alighted from his postchaise a few minutes before did +not, in appearance at least, reciprocate the feeling. He looked sulky and +bored. But he shook the outstretched hand; he could do no less. Then, saying +scarcely a word, he stood back again. He had hastened to Chippinge on receiving +White’s belated express, but rather because, irritated by the collision +with Flixton, he welcomed any change, than because he was sure what he would +do. In the chaise he had thought more of Mary than of politics, more of the +Honourable Bob than of his cousin. And though, as far as Sir Robert was +concerned, he was resolved to be frank and to play the man, his mind had +travelled no farther. +</p> + +<p> +Now, thrown suddenly among these people, he was, in a churlish way, taken +somewhat aback. But, in a thoroughly bad temper, he told himself it did not +matter. If they did not like the line he was going to take, that was their +business. He was not responsible to them. In fine, he was in a savage mood, +with half his mind here and the other half dwelling on the events of the +morning. For the moment politics seemed to him a poor game, and what he did or +did not do of little consequence! +</p> + +<p> +White and the others were not blind to his manner, and might have resented it +in another. But Sir Robert’s heir was a great man and had a right to +moods if any man had; doubtless he was become a fine gentleman and thought it a +nuisance to vote in his own borough. They were all politeness to him, +therefore, and while his eyes passed haughtily beyond them, seeking Sir Robert, +they presented to him those whom he did not know. +</p> + +<p> +“Very kind of you to come, Mr. Vaughan,” said the Sergeant, who, +like many browbeaters, could be a sycophant at need. “Very kind indeed! I +don’t know whether you know Mr. Cooke? He, equally with me, is obliged to +you for your attendance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Greatly obliged, sir,” Mr. Cooke muttered. “Certainly, +certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan bowed coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Is not Sir Robert here?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +He was still looking beyond those to whom he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Mr. Vaughan.” +</p> + +<p> +And then, “This way to dinner,” White cried loudly. “Come, +gentlemen! Dinner, gentlemen, dinner!” +</p> + +<p> +And Vaughan, heedless what he did or where he dined, but inclined in a sardonic +way to amuse himself, went in with them. What did it matter? He was not going +to vote for them. But that was his business, and Sir Robert’s. He was not +responsible to them. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly he was in a very bad temper. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>XIII<br/> +THE VERMUYDEN DINNER</h2> + +<p> +Vaughan began to think more soberly of his position when he found himself set +down at the table. He had White, who took one end, on his right; and the +Sergeant was opposite him. At the other end the Alderman presided, supported by +Mr. Cooke and the Rector. +</p> + +<p> +The young man looked down the board, at the vast tureens that smoked on it, and +at the faces, smug or jolly, hungry or expectant, that surrounded them; and +amid the flood of talk which burst forth the moment his reverence had said a +short grace, he began to feel the situation uncomfortable. True, he had a sort +of right to be there, as the heir, and a Vermuyden. True, too, he owed nothing +to anyone there; nothing to the Sergeant, whom he secretly disliked, nothing to +Mr. Cooke, whom he despised—in his heart he was as exclusive as Sir +Robert himself—nothing to White, who would one day be his paid dependant. +He owed them no explanation. Why then should he expose himself to their anger +and surprise? He would be silent and speak only when the time came, and he +could state his views to Sir Robert with a fair chance of a fair hearing. +</p> + +<p> +Still he saw that the position in which he had placed himself was a false one: +and might become ridiculous. And it crossed his mind to feign illness and to go +out and incontinently walk over to Stapylton and see Sir Robert. Or he might +tell White quietly that he did not find himself able to support his +cousin’s nominations: and before the news got abroad he might withdraw +and let them think what they would. But he was too proud to do the one, and in +too sulky a mood to do the other. And he sat still. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Sir Robert?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He left home on a sudden call, this morning, sir,” White +explained; wondering what made the young squire—who was wont to be +affable—so distant. “On unexpected business.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been important as well as unexpected,” Wathen said, +with a smile, “to take Sir Robert away today, Mr. White.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was both, sir, as I understood,” White answered, “for Sir +Robert did not make me acquainted with it. He seemed somewhat put +out—more put out than I have often seen him. But he said that whatever +happened he would be back before the nomination.” And then, turning to +Vaughan, “You must have passed him, sir?” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now I think of it,” Vaughan answered, his spoon suspended, +“I did. I met a travelling carriage and four with jackets like his. But, +I thought it was empty.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, that was Sir Robert. He will not be best pleased,” White +continued, turning to the Sergeant, “when he hears what a reception we +had!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, ah, well!” the Sergeant replied—pleasantness was +his cue to-day. “Things are worse in Bath I’ll be sworn, Mr. +White.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt, sir, no doubt! I think,” White added, forgetting his +study of Cobbett, “the nation has gone mad.” +</p> + +<p> +After that Vaughan’s other neighbour, Squire Rowley, who met him annually +at Stapylton, claimed his ear. The old fellow, hearty and good-natured, but a +bigoted Tory, who would have given Orator Hunt four dozen and thought Lord +Grey’s proper reward a block on Tower Hill, was the last person whom +Vaughan would have chosen for a confidant; since only to hear of a Vermuyden +turned Whig would have gone near to giving him a fit. Perforce, nevertheless, +Vaughan had to listen to him and answer him; he could not without rudeness cut +him short. But all the time as they talked, Vaughan’s uneasiness +increased. With every minute his eyes wandered more longingly to the door. +Improved in temper by the fare and by the politeness of his neighbours, he +began to see that he had been foolish to thrust himself among people with whom +he did not agree. Still he was there; and he must see the dinner to an end. +After all a little more or a little less would not add to Sir Robert’s +anger. He could explain that he thought it more delicate to avoid an open +scandal. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the collision with the crowd had loosened the guests’ tongues +and never had a Vermuyden dinner gone more freely. Even the +“Cripples,” whose wont it was to begin the evening with odious +obsequiousness and close it with a freedom as unpleasant, found speech early, +and were loudest in denunciation of a Bill which threatened to deprive them of +their annuities. By the time huge joints had taken the place of the tureens, +and bowls of potatoes and mounds of asparagus dotted the table, the noise was +incessant. There was claret for those who cared for it, and strong ale for all. +And while some discussed the effect which a Bill that disfranchised Chippinge +would have on their pockets and interests, others driving their arguments home +with blows on the table recalled, almost with tears, the sacred name of +Pitt—the pilot who weathered the storm; or held up to execration a +cabinet of Whigs dead to every Whig principle, and alive only to the chance of +power which a revolution might afford. +</p> + +<p> +“But what was to be expected? What was to be expected?” old Rowley +insisted. “We’ve only ourselves to thank! When Peel and the Duke +took up the Catholic Claims they stepped into the Whigs’ shoes—and +devilishly may they pinch them! The Whigs had to find another pair, you see, +sir, and stepped into the Radicals’! And the only people left at a loss +are the honest part of us; who are likely to end not only barefoot but +barebacked! Ay, by G—d, we are!” +</p> + +<p> +And so on, and so on; even White, who was vastly relieved by Vaughan’s +arrival, which made his majority safe, talked freely, and gave Dyas and +Pillinger of the Blue Duck the rough side of his tongue. While Vaughan, used to +a freer atmosphere, listened to their one-sided arguments, their trite +prophecies, their incredible prejudices—such they seemed to him—and +now turned up his nose, now pitied them, as an effete, a doomed, a dying race. +</p> + +<p> +While he thought of this the dinner wore on, the joints vanished, and huge +steaming puddings made their appearance on the board; those who cared not for +plum puddings could have marrow-puddings. Then cheese and spring onions, and +some special old ale, light coloured, heady, and served in tall, spare glasses, +went round. At length the rector, a trifle flushed, rose to say grace, and +Vaughan saw that the cloth was about to be removed. Bottles of strong port and +tawny Madeira were at hand. Some called already for their favourite punch, or +for hot grog. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he thought, “I can escape with a good grace. And I +will!” +</p> + +<p> +But as he made a movement to rise, the Sergeant rose opposite him, lifted his +glass, and fixed him with his eye. And Vaughan felt that he could not leave at +that moment without rudeness. “Gentlemen, on your feet, if you +please,” he cried blandly. “The King! The King, God bless him! The +King, gentlemen, and may he never suffer for the faults of his servants! May +the Grey mare never run away with him. May William the Good ne’er be +ruined by a—bad Bill! Gentlemen, the King, God bless him, and deliver him +from the Whigs!” +</p> + +<p> +They drank the toast amid a roar of laughter and applause. And once more as +they sat down Vaughan thought that he would escape. Again he was hindered. This +time the interruption came from behind. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, Vaughan!” someone muttered in his ear. “You’re +the last person I expected to see here!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and disgust filled him. The speaker, who had just entered, was the +son of a clergyman in the neighbourhood and had gone to the bar. He was a +shifty, flattering fellow, at once a toady and a backbiter; who had wormed +himself into society too good for him, and in London was Vaughan’s +<i>bête noir</i>. But had that been all! Alas, he was also a member of the +Academic. He had been present at Vaughan’s triumph ten days before, and +had heard him proclaim himself a Reformer of the Reformers. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Vaughan could find not a word. He could only mutter +“Oh!” in a tone of dismay. He feared that his face betrayed the +chagrin he felt. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were quite the other way?” Mowatt said. And he +grinned. He was a weedy, pale young man, with thin lips and a false smile. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan hesitated. “So I am!” he said curtly. +</p> + +<p> +“But—but I thought——” +</p> + +<p> +“Order! Order!” cried the Alderman, a trifle uplifted by wine and +his position. “Silence, if you please, gentlemen, for the Senior +Candidate! And charge your glasses!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan turned to the table, a frown on his brow. Wathen was on his feet, +holding his wine glass before his breast with one hand, while the other rested +on the table. His attitude was that of a man confident of his powers and +pleased to exert them. Nevertheless, as he prepared to speak, he lowered his +eyes to the table as if he thought that a little mock-modesty became him. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, “it is my privilege to propose a toast, +that at this time and in this place—this time, gentlemen, when to an +extent unknown within living memory, all is at stake, and this place which has +so much to lose—it is my privilege, I say, to propose a toast that must +go straight to the heart of every man in this room, nay, of every true-born +Englishman, and every lover of his country! It is <i>Our Ancient Constitution, +our Chartered Rights, our Vested Interests!</i> [Loud and continued applause.] +Yes, gentlemen, our ancient Constitution, the security of every man, woman, and +child in this realm! And coupled with it our Chartered Rights, our Vested +Interests, which, unassailed for generations, are to-day called in question by +the weakness of many, by the madness of some, by the wicked ambition of a few. +[Loud cheering]. Gentlemen, to one Cromwell this town owes the destruction of +your famous Abbey, once the pride of this county! To another Cromwell it owes +the destruction of the walls that in troublous times secured the hearths of +your forefathers! It lies with us—but we must be instant and +diligent—it lies with us, I say, to see that those civil bulwarks which +protect us and ours in the enjoyment of all we have and all we hope +for——” +</p> + +<p> +“In this world!” the Rector murmured in a deep bass voice. +</p> + +<p> +“In this world,” the Sergeant continued, accepting the amendment +with a complimentary bow, “are not laid low by a third Cromwell! I care +not whether he mask himself under the name of Grey, or of Russell, or of +Brougham, or of Lansdowne!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused amid such a roar of applause as shook the room. +</p> + +<p> +“For think not”—the Sergeant resumed when it died +down—“think not, gentlemen, whatever the easily led vulgar may +think, that sacrilegious hands can be laid on the Ark of the Constitution +without injury to many other interests; without the shock being felt through +all the various members of the State down to the lowest: without endangering +all those multiform rights and privileges for which the Constitution is our +guarantee! Let the advocates of this pernicious, this revolutionary Bill say +what they will, they cannot deny that its effect will be to deprive you in +Chippinge who, for nearly five centuries, have enjoyed the privilege of +returning members to Parliament—of that privilege, with +all”—here he glanced at the rich array of bottles that covered the +board—“the amenities which it brings with it! And for whose +benefit? For that of men no better qualified—nay, by practice and +heredity less qualified—than yourselves. But, gentlemen, mark me, that is +not all! That is but the beginning, and it may be the least part. That loss +they cannot hide from you. That loss they do not attempt to hide from you. But +they do hide from you,” he continued in his deepest and most tragic tone, +“a fact to which the whole course of history is witness—that a +policy of robbery once begun is rarely stayed, if it be stayed, until the +victim is bare! Bare, gentlemen! Gentlemen, the freemen of this borough have of +ancient right, conferred by an ancient sovereign——” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless him!” from Annibal, now somewhat drunk. “God bless +him! Here’s his health!” +</p> + +<p> +The Sergeant paused an instant and looked round the table. Then more slowly, +“Ay, God bless him!” he said. “God bless King Canute! But +what—what if those grants of land—-I care not whether you call them +chartered rights or vested interests—which you freemen enjoy of +him—what if they do not enure? You have them,” with a penetrating +glance from face to face, “but for how long, gentlemen, if this Bill +pass? You are too clear-sighted to be blind to the peril! Too shrewd to think +that you can part with one right, as old, as well vested, as perfectly +secured—and keep the others undiminished? Gentlemen, if you are so blind, +take warning! For wherever this anarchical, this dangerous, this revolutionary +Bill——” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear! Hear! Hear!” from Vaughan’s neighbour, the Squire. +</p> + +<p> +“Wherever, I say, this Bill finds supporters—and I can well believe +that in Birmingham and Sheffield, where they have all to gain and nothing to +lose, it will find supporters, it should find none in Chippinge! Where we have +all to lose and nothing to gain, and where no man but a fool or a rogue can in +reason support it! Gentlemen, you are neither fools nor +rogues——” +</p> + +<p> +“No! No! No! No!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, gentlemen, and therefore, though a few silly fellows may shout for +the Bill in the streets, I am sure that I shall have the whole of this +influential company with me when I give you the toast of ‘Our Ancient +Constitution, Our Chartered Rights, Our Vested Interests!’ May the Bill +that assails them be defeated by the good sense of a sober and united people! +May those who urge it and those who support it—rogues where they are not +fools, and fools where they are not rogues—meet with the fate they +deserve! And may we be there to see! Gentlemen,” he continued, raising +his hand for silence, “in the absence upon pressing business of our +beloved High Steward, the model of an English gentleman and the pattern of an +English landlord, I beg to couple this toast”—here the +Sergeant’s sharp black eyes fixed themselves suddenly on his opposite +neighbour—“with the name of his kinsman, Mr. Arthur Vaughan!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” The room shook with the volume of +applause, the tables trembled. And through it all Arthur Vaughan’s heart +beat hard, and he swallowed nervously. He was caught. Whether the Sergeant knew +it or not, he was trapped. From the beginning of the speech he had had his +misgivings. He had listened anxiously; and though he had lost nothing, though +one half of his mind had followed the speaker’s thread, the other half +had scanned the prospect feverishly, weighed the chances of escape, and grown +chill with the fear of what was coming. If he had only withdrawn in time! If he +had only—— +</p> + +<p> +“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” They were pounding the table with fist +and glass, and looking towards him—two long rows of flushed, excited, +tipsy faces. Some were drinking to him. Others were scanning him curiously. All +were waiting. +</p> + +<p> +He leant forward. “I don’t wish to speak,” he said, +addressing the Sergeant in a troubled voice. “Call on some one else, if +you please.” +</p> + +<p> +But “Impossible, sir!” White, surprised by his evident nervousness, +answered. He had thought Vaughan anything but a shy person. “Impossible, +sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Get up! Get up!” cried the Squire, his neighbour, laying a jocund +hand on him and trying to lift him to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +But Vaughan resisted; his throat was so dry that he could hardly frame his +words. “I don’t wish to speak,” he muttered. “I +don’t agree——” +</p> + +<p> +“Say what you like, my dear sir!” the Sergeant rejoined blandly, +but with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He had had his doubts of Master +Vaughan ever since he had caught him on his way to the Chancellor: now he +thought that he had him pinned. He did not suppose that the young man would +dare to revolt openly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, you must get up,” said White, who had no suspicion that +his hesitation arose from any cause but shyness. “Anything will +do.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan rose—slowly, and with a beating heart. He rose perforce. For a +moment he stood, deafened by his reception. For the smaller men saw in him one +of the old family, the future landlord of two-thirds of them, the sometime +owner of the very roof under which they were gathered. And he, while they +greeted his rising and he stood waiting with an unhappy face for silence, +wondered, even at this last moment, what he would say. And Heaven knows what he +would have said—so hard was it to disappoint those cheering men, all +looking at him with worship in their eyes—so painful was it to break old +ties—if he had not caught behind him Mowatt’s whisper, “Eat +his words! He’ll have to unsay——” +</p> + +<p> +No more than that, a fragment, but enough; enough to show him that he had +better, far better seem false to these men, to his blood, to the past, than be +false to himself. He straightened his shoulders, and lifted his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, and now his voice though low was steady, +“I rise unwillingly—unwillingly, because I feel too late that I +ought not to be here. That I have no right to be here. [No! No!] No right to be +here, for this reason,” he continued, raising his hand for silence, +“for this reason, that in much of what Sergeant Wathen has said, I cannot +go with him.” +</p> + +<p> +There, it was out! But no more than a stare of perplexity passed from the more +intelligent faces about him to the duller faces lower down the table. They did +not understand; it was only clear that he could not mean what he seemed to +mean. But he was going on in a silence so complete that a pin falling to the +floor might have been heard! +</p> + +<p> +“I rise unwillingly, I say again, gentlemen,” he continued, +“and I beg you to remember this, and that I did not come here of set +purpose to flaunt my opinions before you. For I, too”—here he +betrayed his secret agitation—“thus far I do go with Sergeant +Wathen,—I, too, am for Our Ancient Constitution, I give place to no man +in love of it. And I, too, am against revolution, I will stand second to none +in abhorrence of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear! Hear!” cried the Rector in a tone of unmistakable relief. +“Hear, hear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, go on,” chimed in the Squire. “Go on, lad, go on! +That’s all right!” And half aside in his neighbour’s ear, +“Gad! he frightened me!” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“But—but to be plain,” Vaughan resumed, pronouncing every +word clearly, “I do not regard the Bill which the Sergeant has mentioned, +the Bill which is in all your minds, as assailing the one, or as being +tantamount to the other! On the contrary, I believe that it restores the +ancient balance of the Constitution, and will avert, as nothing else will +avert, a Revolution!” +</p> + +<p> +As he paused on that word, the Squire, who was of a free habit, tried to rise +and speak, but choked. The Rector gasped. Only Mr. Cooke found his voice. He +sprang to his feet, purple in the face. “By G—d!” he roared, +“are we going to listen to this?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan sat down, pale but composed. But he found all eyes on him, and he rose +again. +</p> + +<p> +“It was against my will I said what I have said,” he resumed. +“I did not wish to speak. I do not wish you to listen. I rose only +because I was forced to rise. But being up, I owed it to myself to say enough +to clear myself of—of the appearance of duplicity. That is all.” +</p> + +<p> +The Sergeant did not speak, but gazed darkly at him, his mind busy with the +effect which this would have on the election. White, too, did not +speak—he sat stricken dumb. The Squire swore, and five or six of the more +intelligent hissed. But again it was Cooke who found words. +</p> + +<p> +“That all? But that is not all!” he shouted. “That is not +all! What are you, sir?” For still, in common with most of those at the +table, he could not believe that he heard aright. He fancied that this was some +trope, some nice distinction, which he had not followed. “You may be Sir +Robert Vermuyden’s cousin ten times over,” he continued, +vehemently, “but we’ll have it clear what we have to expect. Speak +like a man, sir! Say what you mean!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan had taken his seat, but he rose again, a gleam of anger in his eyes. +“Have I not spoken plainly?” he said. “I thought I had. If +you have still any doubt, sir, I am for the Constitution, but I think that it +has suffered by the wear and tear of time and needs repair. I think that the +shifting of population during the last two centuries, the decay of one place +and the rise of another, call for some change in the representation! I hold +that the spread of education and the creation of a large and wealthy class +unconnected with the land, render that change more urgent if we would avoid a +revolution! I believe that the more we enlarge the base upon which our +institutions rest, the more safely, the more steadily, and the longer will they +last!” +</p> + +<p> +They knew now, they understood, and the storm broke. The smaller men, or such +of them as were sober, stared. But the greater number burst into a roar of +dissent, of reprobation, of anger, led by the Squire. +</p> + +<p> +“A Whig, by Heaven!” he cried violently. And he thrust his chair as +far as possible from his neighbour. “A Whig, by Heaven! And here!” +While others cried, “Renegade!” “Radical!” and +“What are you doing here?” and hissed him. But above all, in some +degree stilling all, rose Cooke’s crucial question, “Are you for +the Bill? Answer me that!” And he extended his hand for silence. +“Are you for the Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” Vaughan answered. The storm steadied him. +</p> + +<p> +“You are?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fool or rogue, then! which are you?” shrieked a voice from the +lower end of the table. “Fool or rogue? Which are you?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan turned sharply in the direction of the voice. “That reminds +me,” he said with a vigour which seemed after a few seconds to gain him a +hearing—for the noise died down—“that reminds me, Sergeant +Wathen is against the Bill. But he has addressed himself solely and only to +your prejudices, gentlemen! I am for the Bill—I am for the Bill,” +he repeated, seeing that their attention was wandering, +“I——” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, silenced and taken aback. For some were on their feet, others were +rising; the faces of nine out of ten were turned from him. What was it? He +turned to see; and he saw. +</p> + +<p> +A few paces within the door stood Sir Robert himself; his fur collared +travelling cloak hanging loose about him and showing his tall spare figure at +its best. He stooped, but his high-bred face, cynically smiling, was turned +full on the speaker; it was certain that he had heard much, if not all. And +Vaughan had been brave indeed, he had been a hero, if taken by surprise and at +this disadvantage he had not shown some discomfiture. +</p> + +<p> +It is easy to smile now! Easy to say that this was but an English gentleman, +bound like others by the law! And Vaughan’s own kinsman! But few would +have smiled then. He, through whose hands passed a quarter of the patronage of +a county, who dammed or turned the stream of promotion, who had made many there +and could unmake them, whose mere hint could have consigned, a few years back, +the troublesome to the press-gang, who belonged almost as definitely, almost as +exclusively, to a caste, as do white men in the India of to-day; who seldom +showed himself to the vulgar save in his coach and four, or riding with belted +grooms behind him—about such an one in ’31 there was, if no +divinity, at least the ægis of real power, that habit which unquestioned +authority confers, that port of Jove to which men bow! Scan the pictured faces +of the men who steered this country through the long war—the faces of +Liverpool and Castlereagh— +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t5"><i>Daring pilots in extremity</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>Scorning the danger when the waves ran high</i>; +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +or of those men, heirs to their traditions, who, for nearly twenty years, +confronted the no less formidable forces of discontent and +disaffection—of Peel and Wellington, Croker and Canning, and he is blind +who does not find there the reflection of that firm rule, the shadow of that +power which still survived, though maimed and weakened in the early thirties. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly it was not easy to smile at such men then; at their pride or their +prejudices, their selfishness or their eccentricity. For behind lay solid +power. Small blame to Vaughan therefore, if in the face of the servile +attitude, the obsequious rising of the company about him, he felt his +countenance change, if he could not quite hide his dismay. And though he told +himself that his feelings were out of place, that the man did but stand in the +shoes which would one day be his, and was but now what he would be, <i>vox +faucibus hæsit</i>—he was dumb. It was Sir Robert who broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear, Mr. Vaughan,” he said, the gleam in his eyes alone +betraying his passion—for he would as soon have walked the country lanes +in his dressing robe as given way to rage in that company—“I fear +you are saying in haste words which you will repent at leisure! Did I hear +aright that—that you are in favour of the Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” Vaughan replied a little huskily. +“I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so, just so!” Sir Robert replied with a certain lightness. +And raising his walking cane he pointed gravely and courteously to the door a +pace or two from him. “That is the door, Mr. Vaughan,” he said. +“You must be here, I am sure, under an error.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan coloured painfully. “Sir Robert,” he said, “I owe +you, I know——” +</p> + +<p> +“You will owe me very little by to-morrow evening,” Sir Robert +rejoined, interrupting him suavely. “Much less than you now think! But +that is not to the point. Will you—kindly withdraw?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would like at least to say this! That I came here——” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you kindly withdraw?” Sir Robert persisted. “That is +all.” And he pointed again, and still more blandly, to the door. +“Any explanation you may please to offer—and I do not deny that one +may be in place—you can give to my agent to-morrow. He, on his part, will +have something to say. For the present—Annibal,” turning with +kindly condescension, “be good enough to open the door for this +gentleman. Good-evening, Mr. Vaughan. You will not, I am sure, compel me to +remove with my friends to another room?” +</p> + +<p> +And as he continued to point to the door, and would listen to nothing—and +the room was certainly his—Vaughan walked out. And Annibal closed the +door behind him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>XIV<br/> +MISS SIBSON’S MISTAKE</h2> + +<p> +It was perhaps fortunate for Miss Hilhouse that she did not hazard any remarks +on that second escapade in the Square. Whether this amendment in her manners +was due to Miss Sibson’s apothegms, or to the general desire of the +school to see the new teacher’s new pelisse—which could only be +gratified by favour—or to a threatening rigidity in Mary Smith’s +bearing must remain a question. But children are keen observers. Their senses +are as sharp as their tongues are cruel. And it is certain that Miss Smith had +not read four lines of the fifth chapter of The Fairchild Family before a +certain sternness in her tone was noted by those who had not already marked the +danger signal in her eyes. For the gentlest eyes can dart lightnings on +occasion. The sheep will turn in defence of its lamb. Nor ever walked woman who +could not fight for her secret and her pride. +</p> + +<p> +So Miss Hilhouse bit her tongue and kept silence, the girls behaved +beautifully, and Mary read The Fairchild Family to them in a tone of monotony +that perfectly reflected the future as she saw it. She had been very foolish, +and very weak, but she was not without excuse. He had saved her life, she could +plead that. True, brought up as she had been at Clapham, shielded from all +dealings with the other sex, taught to regard them as wolves, or at best as a +race with which she could have no safe parley, she should have known better. +She should have known that handsome, courteous, masterful-eyed, as they +were—and with a way with them that made poor girls’ hearts throb at +one moment and stand still at another—she should have known that they +meant nothing. That they were still men, and that she must not trust them, must +not think of them, must not expect to find them more steadfast to a point than +the weather-cock on St. Mary’s at Redcliffe. +</p> + +<p> +The weather-cock? Ah! +</p> + +<p> +She had no sooner framed the thought in the middle of the reading than she was +aware of a sensation; and a child, one of the youngest, raised her hand. +“Please—” +</p> + +<p> +Mary paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” she asked. “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please, Miss Smith, did the weather-cock speak?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary reddened violently. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak? The weather-cock? What do you mean, child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please, Miss Smith, you said that the weather-cock told Lucy the truth, +the truth, and all the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible!” Mary stammered. “I—I should have said, +the coachman.” And Mary resumed the story, but with a hot face; a face +that blushed more painfully and more intolerably because she was conscious that +every eye was upon it, and that a score of small minds were groping for the +cause of her confusion. +</p> + +<p> +She remembered, oh, how well she remembered, that the schoolmistress at Clapham +had told her that she had every good quality except strength of will. And how +thoroughly, how rapidly had she proved the truth of the exception! Freed from +control for only twenty-four hours, left for that time to her own devices, she +had listened to the first voice that addressed her, believed the first +flattering look that fell on her, taken the most ordinary +attentions—attentions at which any girl with knowledge of the world or +strength of will would have smiled—for gold, real red gold! So that a +light look without a spoken word had drawn her heart from her. How it behoved +her to despise herself, loathe herself, discipline herself! How she ought to +guard herself in the future! Above all, how thankful should she be for the dull +but safe routine that fenced, and henceforth would fence, her life from such +dangers! +</p> + +<p> +True. Yet how dreary to her young eyes seemed that routine stretched before +her! How her courage fainted at the prospect of morning added to morning, +formal walk to formal walk, lesson to lesson, one generation of pupils to +another! For generation would follow generation, one chubby face would give +place to another, and still she would be there, plodding through the stale +task, listening with an aching head to the strumming on the harpsichord, saying +the same things, finding the same faults, growing slowly into a correcting, +scolding, punishing machine. By and by she would know The Fairchild Family by +heart, and she would sicken at the “Letters on the Improvement of the +Mind.” The children would still be young, but grey hairs would come to +her, she would grow stout and dull; and those slender hands, those dainty +fingers still white and fine, still meet for love, would be seared by a million +needle-pricks and roughened by the wear and tear of ten thousand hours of plain +sewing. +</p> + +<p> +She was ungrateful, oh, she was ungrateful to think such thoughts! For in what +was her lot worse than the lot of others? Or worse than it had been a week +before when, who more humble-minded or contented, more cheerful or helpful than +Mary Smith? When her only fault had been a weakness of character which her old +schoolmistress hoped would be cured by time? When, though the shadow of an +unknown Miss Sibson loomed formidable before her, she had faced her fate +bravely and hopefully, supported not a little by the love and good +wishes—won by a thousand kind offices—which went with her into the +unknown world. +</p> + +<p> +What had happened in the meantime? A little thing, oh, a very little thing. But +to think of it under the childrens’ eyes made her face burn again. She +had lost her heart—to a man. To a man! The very word seemed improper in +that company. How much more improper when the man cared nothing for her, but +tossing her a smile for guerdon, had taken her peace of mind and gone his way, +with a laugh. At the best, if he had ever dreamt seriously of her, ever done +more than deem her an innocent, easily flattered and as lightly to be won, he +had changed his mind as quickly as a weather-cock shifts in April. And he had +talked—that hurt her, that hurt her most! He had talked of her freely, +boasted of her silliness, told his companions what he would do, or what he +would not do; made her common to them! +</p> + +<p> +She got away for a few minutes at tea-time. But twenty pairs of eyes followed +her from the room and seized on her as she returned. And “Miss Smith, +ain’t you well?” piped a tiny treble. +</p> + +<p> +She was controlling her voice to answer—that she was quite well, when +Miss Sibson intervened. “Miss Fripp,” she said sombrely, +“write ‘Are you not,’ twenty times on your slate after tea! +Miss Hilhouse, if you stare in that fashion you will be goggle-eyed. Young +ladies, elbows, elbows! Have I not told you a score of times that the art of +deportment consists in the right use of the elbow? Now, Miss Claxton, in what +does the art of deportment consist?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the right use of the elbow, Ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is the right use of the elbow?” +</p> + +<p> +“To efface it, Ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is better,” Miss Sibson replied, somewhat mollified. +“Understood is half done. Miss Smith,” looking about her with +benevolence, “had you occasion to commend any young lady’s needle +this afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Smith looked unhappy: conscious that she had not been as attentive to her +duties as became her. “I had no occasion to find fault, +Ma’am,” she said timidly. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Then every fourth young lady beginning at my right hand may +take a piece of currant cake. I see that Miss Burges is wearing the silver +medal for good conduct. She may take a piece, and give a piece to a friend. +When you have eaten your cake you may go to the schoolroom and play for half an +hour at Blind Man’s Buff. But—elbows! Elbows, young ladies,” +gazing austerely at them over her glasses. “In all your frolics let +deportment be your first consideration.” +</p> + +<p> +The girls trooped out and Mary Smith rose to go with them. But Miss Sibson bade +her remain. “I wish to speak to you,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Mary trembled. For Miss Sibson was still in some measure an unknown +quantity, a perplexing mixture of severity and benevolence, sound sense and +Mrs. Chapone. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to speak to you,” Miss Sibson continued when they were +alone. And then after a pause during which she poured herself out a third cup +of tea, “My dear,” she said soberly, “the sooner a false step +is retraced the better. I took a false step yesterday—I blame myself for +it—when I allowed you—in spite of my rule to the contrary—to +see a gentleman. I made that exception partly out of respect to the note which +the parcel contained; the affair was strange and out of the ordinary. And +partly because I liked the gentleman’s face. I thought him a gentleman; +he told me that he had an independence: I had no reason to think him more than +that. But I have heard to-day, my dear—I thought it right to make some +enquiry in view of the possibility of a second visit—that he is a +gentleman of large expectations, who will one day be very rich and a man of +standing in the country. That alters the position,” Miss Sibson continued +gravely. “Had I known it”—she rubbed her nose thoughtfully +with the handle of her teaspoon—“I should not have permitted the +interview.” And then after a few seconds of silence, “You +understand me, I think, my dear?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Mary said in a low voice. She spoke with perfect composure. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so, just so,” Miss Sibson answered, pleased to see that the +girl was too proud to give way before her—though she was sure that she +would cry by and by. “I am glad to think that there is no harm done. As I +have said, the sooner a false step is retraced, the better; and therefore if he +calls again I shall not permit him to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not wish to see him,” Mary said with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Then that is understood.” +</p> + +<p> +But strangely enough, the words had barely fallen from Miss Sibson’s lips +when there came a knock at the house door, and the same thought leapt to the +mind of each; and to Mary’s cheek a sudden vivid blush that, fading as +quickly as it came, left her paler than before. Miss Sibson saw the +girl’s distress, and she was about to suggest, in words equivalent to a +command, that she should retire, when the door opened and the neat maidservant +announced—with poorly masked excitement—that a gentleman wished to +see Miss Smith. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” she asked, with majesty; as if she already scented +the fray. +</p> + +<p> +“In the parlour, Ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Very good. I will see him.” But not until the maid had +retired did the schoolmistress rise to her feet. “You had better stay +here,” she said, looking at her companion, “until my return. It is +of course your wish that I should dismiss him?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary shivered. Those dreams of something brighter, something higher, something +fuller than the daily round; of a life in the sunshine, of eyes that looked +into hers—this was their end! But she said “Yes,” bravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Good girl,” said Miss Sibson, feeling, good, honest creature, more +than she showed. “I will do so.” And she swam forth. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Mary! The door was barely shut before her heart whispered that she had +only to cross the hall and she would see him; that, on the other hand, if she +did not cross the hall, she would never, never, never see him again! She would +stay here for all time, bound hand and foot to the unchanging round of petty +duties, a blind slave in the mill, no longer a woman—though her +woman’s heart hungered for love—but a dull, formal, old maid, +growing more stiff and angular with every year! No farther away than the other +side of the hall were love and freedom. And she dared not, she dared not open +the door! +</p> + +<p> +And then she bethought her, that he was no weathercock, for he had come again! +He had come! And it must be for something. For what? +</p> + +<p> +She heard the door open on the parlour side of the hall, and she knew that he +was going. And she stood listening, waiting with blanched cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened and Miss Sibson came in, met her look—and started. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” the schoolmistress exclaimed; and for a moment she stood, +looking strangely at the girl, as if she did not know what to say to her. Then, +“We were mistaken,” she said, with a serious face. “It is not +the gentleman you were expecting, my dear. On the contrary, it’s a +stranger who wishes to see you on business.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary tried to gain command of herself. “I had rather not,” she said +faintly. “I don’t think I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear—you must,” Miss Sibson rejoined, with unusual +gravity. “Still, there is no hurry. He can wait a few minutes. He can +await your leisure. Do you sit down and compose yourself. You have no reason to +be disturbed. The gentleman”—she continued, with an odd inflection +in her voice—“is old enough to be your father.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>XV<br/> +MR. PYBUS’S OFFER</h2> + +<p> +“A note for you, sir.” Vaughan turned moodily to take it. It was +the morning after the Vermuyden dinner, and he had slept ill, he had risen +late, he was still sitting before his breakfast, toying with it rather than +eating it. His first feeling on leaving the dining-room had been bitter chagrin +at the ease with which Sir Robert had dealt with him. This had given place a +little later to amusement; for he had a sense of humour. And he had laughed, +though sorely, at the figure he had cut as he beat his retreat. Still later, as +he lay, excited and wakeful, he had fallen a prey to doubt; that horrible three +o’clock in the morning doubt, which defies reason, which sees all the +<i>cons</i> in the strongest light and reduces the <i>pros</i> to shadows. +However, one thing was certain. He had crossed the Rubicon. He had divorced +himself by public act from the party to which his forbears—for the +Vaughans as well as the Vermuydens had been Tories—had belonged. He had +joined the Whigs; nay, he had joined the Reformers. But though he had done this +deliberately and from conviction, though his reason approved the step, and his +brain teemed with arguments in its favour, the chance that he might be wrong +haunted him. +</p> + +<p> +That governing class from which he was separating himself, from which his +policy would snatch power, which in future would dub him traitor, what had it +not done for England? With how firm a hand had it not guided the country +through storm and stress, with what success shielded it not from foreign foes +only, but from disruption and revolution? He scanned the last hundred and fifty +years and saw the country, always under the steady rule of that class which had +the greatest stake in its prosperity, advancing in strength and riches and +comfort, ay, and, though slowly in these, in knowledge also and the humanities +and decencies. And the question forced itself upon him, would that great middle +class into whose hands the sway now fell, use it better? Would they produce +statesmen more able than Walpole or Chatham, generals braver than Wolfe or +Moore, a higher heart than Nelson’s? Nay, would the matter end there? +Would not power slip into the hands of a wider and yet a wider circle? Would +Orator Hunt’s dream of Manhood Suffrage, Annual Parliaments and the +Ballot become a reality? Would government by the majority, government by tale +of heads, as if three chawbacons must perforce be wiser than one squire, +government by the ill-taught, untrained mass, with the least to lose and the +most to gain—would that in the long run plunge the country in fatal +misfortunes? +</p> + +<p> +It was just possible that those who deemed the balance of power, established in +1688, the one perfect mean between despotism and anarchy—it was just +possible that they were right. And that he was a fool. +</p> + +<p> +Then to divert his mind he had allowed himself to think of Mary Smith. And he +had tossed and tumbled, ill-satisfied with himself. He was brave, he told +himself, in the wrong place. He had the courage to break with old associations, +to defy opinion, to disregard Sir Robert—where no more than a point of +pride was concerned; for it was absurd to fancy that the fate of England hung +on his voice. But in a matter which went to the root of his happiness—for +he was sure that he loved Mary Smith and would love no other—he had not +the spirit to defy a little gossip, a few smiles, the contempt of the worldly. +He flushed from head to foot at the thought of a life which, however +modest—and modesty was not incompatible with ambition—was shared by +her, and would be pervaded by her. And yet he dared not purchase that life at +so trifling a cost! No, he was weak where he should be strong, and strong where +he should be weak. And so he had tossed and turned, and now after two or three +hours of feverish sleep, he sat glooming over his tea cup. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he broke open the note which the waiter had handed to him. He read +it, and “Who brought this?” he asked, with a perplexed face. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know, sir,” Sam replied glibly, beginning to collect +the breakfast dishes. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you enquire?” +</p> + +<p> +“Found it on the hall table, sir,” the man answered, in the same +tone. “Fancy,” with a grin, “it’s a runaway knock, sir. +Known a man find a cabbage at the door and a whole year’s wages under +it—at election time, sir! Yes, sir. Find funny things in funny +places—election time, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan made no reply, but a few minutes later he took his hat and descending +the stairs, strolled with an easy air into the street. He paused as if to +contemplate the Abbey Church, beautiful even in its disfigurement. Then, but as +if he were careless which way he went, he turned to the right. +</p> + +<p> +The main street, with its whitened doorsteps and gleaming knockers, lay languid +in the sunshine; perhaps, enervated by the dissipation of the previous evening. +The candidates who would presently pay formal visits to the voters were not yet +afoot: and though taverns where the tap was running already gave forth maudlin +laughter, no other sign of the coming event declared itself. A few tradesmen +stood at their doors, a few dogs lay stretched in the sun; and only +Vaughan’s common sense told him that he was watched. +</p> + +<p> +From the High Street he presently turned into a narrow alley on the right which +descended between garden walls to the lower level of the town. A man who was +lounging in the mouth of the alley muttered “second door on the +left,” as Vaughan passed, and the latter moved on counting the doors. At +the one indicated he paused, and, after making certain that he was not +observed, he knocked. The door opened a little way. +</p> + +<p> +“For whom are you?” asked someone who kept himself out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +“Buff and Blue,” Vaughan answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Right; sir,” the voice rejoined briskly. The door opened wide and +Vaughan passed in. He found himself in a small walled garden smothered in lilac +and laburnum, and shaded by two great chestnut trees already so fully in leaf +as to hide the house to which the garden belonged. +</p> + +<p> +The person who had admitted him, a very small, very neat gentleman in a +high-collared blue coat and nankeen trousers, with a redundant soft cravat +wound about his thin neck, bowed low. “Happy to see you, Mr. +Vaughan,” he chirped. “I am Mr. Pybus, his lordship’s man of +business. Happy to be the intermediary in so pleasant a matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope it may turn out so,” Vaughan replied drily. “You +wrote me a very mysterious note.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t be too careful, sir,” the little man, who was said to +model himself upon Lord John Russell, answered with an important frown. +“Can’t be too careful in these matters. You’re watched and I +am watched, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say,” Vaughan replied. +</p> + +<p> +“And the responsibility is great, very great. May I——” +he continued, pulling out his box, “but I dare say you don’t take +snuff?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“No? The younger generation! Just so! Many of the young gentry smoke, I +am told. Other days, other manners! Well—we know of course what happened +last night. And I’m bound to say, I honour you, Mr. Vaughan! I honour +you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can let that pass,” Vaughan replied coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good! Very good! Of course,” he continued with importance, +“the news was brought to me at once, and his lordship knew it before he +slept.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed. Yes. And he wrote to me this morning—in his dressing +gown, I don’t doubt. He commanded me to tell you——” +</p> + +<p> +But here Vaughan stopped him—somewhat rudely. “One minute, Mr. +Pybus,” he said, “I don’t wish to know what Lord Lansdowne +said or did—because it will not affect my conduct. I am here because you +requested me to grant you an interview. But if your purpose be merely to convey +to me Lord Lansdowne’s approval—or disapproval,” in a tone a +little more contemptuous than was necessary, “be good enough to +understand that they are equally indifferent to me. I have done what I have +done without regard to my cousin’s—to Sir Robert Vermuyden’s +feelings. You may take it for certain,” he added loftily, “that I +shall not be led beyond my own judgment by any regard for his +lordship’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“But hear me out!” the little man cried, dancing to and fro in his +eagerness; so that, in the shifting lights under the great chestnut tree, he +looked like a pert, bright-coloured bird. “Hear me out, and you’ll +not say that!” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall say, Mr. Pybus——” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg you to hear me out!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on!” he said. “I have said my say, and I suppose you +understand me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall hold it unsaid,” Mr. Pybus rejoined warmly, “until I +have spoken!” And he waved an agitated finger in the air. “Observe, +Mr. Vaughan—his lordship bade me take you entirely into confidence, and I +do so. We’ve only one candidate—Mr. Wrench. Colonel Petty is sure +of his election in Ireland and we’ve no mind to stand a second contest to +fill his seat: in fact we are not going to nominate him. Lord Kerry, my +lord’s eldest son thought of it, but it is not a certainty, and my lord +wishes him to wait a year or two and sit for Calne. I say it’s not a +certainty. But it’s next door to a certainty since you have declared +yourself. And my lord’s view, Mr. Vaughan, is that he who hits the buck +should have the haunch. You take me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll be downright, sir. To the point, sir. Will you be our +candidate?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” Vaughan cried. He turned very red. “What do you +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“What I said, sir. Will you be our candidate? For the Bill, the whole +Bill, and nothing but the Bill? If so, we shall not say a word until to-morrow +and then we shall nominate you with Mr. Wrench, and take ’em by surprise. +Eh? Do you see? They’ve got their speeches ready full of my lord’s +interference and my lord’s dictation, and they will point to Colonel +Petty, my lord’s cousin, for proof! And then,” Mr. Pybus winked, +much after the fashion of a mischievous paroquet, “we’ll knock the +stool from under ’em by nominating you! And, mind you, Mr. Vaughan, we +are going to win. We were hopeful before, for we’ve one of their men in +gaol, and another, Pillinger of the Blue Duck, is tied by the leg. His wife +owes a bit of money and thinks more of fifty guineas in her own pocket than of +thirty pounds a year in her husband’s. And she and the doctor have got +him in bed and will see that he’s not well enough to vote! Ha! Ha! So +there it is, Mr. Vaughan! There it is! My lord’s offer, not mine. I +believe he’d word from London what you’d be likely to do. Only he +felt a delicacy about moving—until you declared yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” Vaughan replied. And indeed he did see more than he liked. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so, sir. My lord’s a gentleman if ever there was one!” +And Mr. Pybus, pulling down his waistcoat, looked as if he suspected that he +had imbibed much of his lordship’s gentility. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stood, thinking; his eyes gazing into the shimmering depths of green +where the branches of the chestnut tree under which he stood swept the +sun-kissed turf. And as he thought he tried to still the turmoil in his brain. +Here within reach of his hand, to take or leave, was that which had been his +ambition for years! No longer to play at the game, no longer to make believe +while he addressed the Forum or the Academic that he was addressing the Commons +of England; but verily and really to be one of that august body, and to have +all within reach. Had not the offer of cabinet honours fallen to Lord +Palmerston at twenty-five? And what Lord Palmerston had done at twenty-five, he +might do at thirty-five! And more easily, if he gained a footing before the +crowd of new members whom the Bill would bring in, took the floor. The thought +set his pulse a-gallop. His chance! His chance at last! But if he let it slip +now, it might not be his for long years. It is poor work waiting for dead +men’s shoes. +</p> + +<p> +And yet he hesitated, with a flushed face. For the thing offered without price +or preface, by a man who had power to push him, by the man who even now was +pushing Mr. Macaulay at Calne, tempted him sorely. Nor less—nor less +because he remembered with bitterness that Sir Robert had made him no such +offer, and now never would! So that if he refused this offer, he could look for +no second from either side! +</p> + +<p> +And yet he could not forget that Sir Robert was his kinsman, was the head of +his family, the donor of his vote. And in the night watches he had decided +that, his mind delivered, his independence declared, he would not vote. Neither +for Sir Robert—for conscience’s sake; nor against Sir Robert, for +his name’s sake! +</p> + +<p> +Then how could he not only take an active part against him, but raise his +fortunes on his fall? +</p> + +<p> +He drew a deep breath. And he put the temptation from him. “I am much +obliged to his lordship,” he said quietly. “But I cannot accept his +offer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not accept it?” Mr. Pybus cried. “Mr. Vaughan! You +don’t mean it, sir! You don’t mean it! It’s a safe seat! +It’s in your own hands, I tell you! And after last night! Besides, it is +not as if you had not declared yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot accept it,” Vaughan repeated coldly. “I am obliged +to Lord Lansdowne for his kind thought of me. I beg you to convey my thanks to +him. But I cannot—in the position I occupy—accept the offer.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pybus stared. Was it possible that the scene at the Vermuyden dinner had +been a ruse? A piece of play-acting to gain his secrets? If so—he was +undone! “But,” he quavered with an unhappy eye, “you are in +favour of the Bill, Mr. Vaughan?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am. +</p> + +<p> +“And—and of Reform generally, I understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then—I don’t understand? Why do you refuse?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan raised his head and looked at him with a movement which would have +reminded Isaac White of Sir Robert. “That is my business,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“But you see,” Mr. Pybus remonstrated timidly—he was rather a +crestfallen bird by this time—“I confess I was never more surprised +in my life! Never! You see I’ve told you all our secrets.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall keep them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but—oh dear! oh dear!” Pybus was thinking of what he +had said about Mrs. Pillinger of the Blue Duck. “I—I don’t +know what to say,” he added. “I am afraid I have been too hasty, +very hasty! Very precipitate! Of course, Mr. Vaughan,” he continued, +“the offer would not have been made if we had not thought you certain to +accept it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” Vaughan replied with dignity, “you can consider that +it has not been made. I shall not name it for certain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well! Well!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can say no more,” Vaughan continued coldly. “Indeed, there +is nothing more to be said, Mr. Pybus?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” piteously, “I suppose not. If you really won’t +change your mind, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not do that,” the young man answered. And a minute later +with Mr. Pybus’s faint appeals still sounding in his ears he was on the +other side of the garden door, and striding down the alley, towards the +King’s Wall, whence making a detour he returned to the High Street. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>XVI<br/> +LESS THAN A HERO</h2> + +<p> +It was the evening of the day on which the meeting between Arthur Vaughan and +Mr. Pybus had taken place, and from the thirty-six windows in the front of +Stapylton lights shone on the dusky glades of the park; here, twinkling +fairy-like over the long slope of sward that shimmered pale-green as with the +ghostly reflection of dead daylight, there, shining boldly upon the clump of +beeches that topped an eminence with blackness. Vaughan sat beside Isaac White +in the carriage which Sir Robert had sent for him; and looking curiously forth +on the demesne which would be his if he lived, he could scarcely believe his +eyes. Was the old squire so sure of victory that he already illuminated his +windows? Or was the house, long sparely inhabited, and opened only at rare +intervals and to dull and formal parties, full now from attic to hall? Election +or no election, it seemed unlikely. Yet every window, yes, every window had its +light! +</p> + +<p> +He was too proud to question the agent who, his errand done, and his message +delivered, showed no desire to talk. More than once, indeed, in the course of +their short companionship, Vaughan had caught White looking at him strangely; +with something like pity in his eyes. And though the young man was far from +letting this distress him—probably White, with his inborn reverence for +Sir Robert, despaired of all who fell under his displeasure—it closed his +lips and hardened his heart. He was no paid servant; but a kinsman and the +heir. And he would have Sir Robert remember this. For his own part, he was not +going to forget who he was; that a Chancellor had stooped to flatter him and a +Cabinet Minister had offered him a seat. He had refused for a point of honour a +bait which few would have refused; and he was not going to be browbeaten by an +old gentleman whom the world had out-paced, and whose beliefs, whose +prejudices, whose views, were of yesterday. Who, in his profound ignorance of +present conditions, would plunge England into civil war rather than resign a +privilege as obsolete as ship-money, and as illegal as the Dispensing Power. +</p> + +<p> +While he thought of this the carriage stopped at the door. He alighted and +ascended the steps. +</p> + +<p> +The hall more than made good the outside promise; it was brilliantly lighted, +and behind Mapp and the servant who received him Vaughan had a passing glimpse +of three or four men in full-dress livery. From the dining-room on his left +issued peals of laughter, and voices, so clear that, though he had not the +smallest reason to expect to hear them there, he was sure that he caught Bob +Flixton’s tones. The discovery was not pleasing; but Mapp, turning the +other way and giving him no time to think, went before him to the suite of +state-rooms—which he had not seen in use more than thrice within his +knowledge of the house. It must be so then—he thought with a slight shock +of surprise. The place must be full! For the gilt mirrors in both the large and +small drawing-rooms reflected the soft light of many candles, wood fires burned +and crackled on the hearths, the “Morning Chronicle,” the +“Quarterly,” and other signs of life lay about on the round tables, +and an air of cheerful <i>bienséance</i> pervaded all. What did it mean? +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert has finished dinner, sir,” Mapp said—even he +seemed to wear an unusual air of solemnity. “He will be with you, sir, +immediately. Hope you are well, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite well, Mapp, thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he was left alone—to wonder if a second surprise awaited him. He had +had one that day. If a second were in store for him what was its nature? Could +Sir Robert on his side be going to offer him one of the seats—if he would +recant? He hoped not. But he had not time to give more than a thought to that +before he heard footsteps and voices crossing the hall. The next moment there +entered the outer room—at such a distance from the hearth of the room in +which he stood, that he had a leisurely view of all before they reached +him—three persons. The first was a tall burly man in slovenly evening +clothes, and with an ungainly rolling walk; after him came Sir Robert himself, +and after him again, Isaac White. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan advanced a step or two, and Sir Robert passed by the burly man, who had +a pendulous under lip, and a face at once flabby and melancholy. The baronet +held out his hand. “We have not quarrelled yet, Mr. Vaughan,” he +said, with a cordiality which took Vaughan quite by surprise. “I trust +and believe that we are not going to quarrel. I bid you welcome therefore. +This,” he continued with a gesture of courteous deference, “is Sir +Charles Wetherell, whom you know by reputation, and whom, for a reason which +you will understand by and by, I have asked to be present at our +interview.” +</p> + +<p> +The stout man eyed Vaughan from under bushy eyebrows. “I think we have +met before,” he said in a deep voice. “At Westminster, Mr. Vaughan, +on the 22nd of last month.” He had a habit of blinking as he talked. +“I was beholden to you on that occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan had already recognised him and recalled the incident in Palace Yard. He +bowed with an expression of silent sympathy. But he wondered all the more. The +presence of the late attorney-general, a man of mark in the political world, +whose defeat at Norwich was in that morning’s paper—what did it +mean? Did they think to browbeat him? Or—had Sir Charles Wetherell also +an offer to make to him? In any event it seemed that he had made himself a +personage by his independence. Sought by the one side, sought by the other! A +résumé of the answer he would give flashed before him. However, they were not +come to that yet! +</p> + +<p> +“Will you sit down,” said Sir Robert. The great man’s voice +and manner—to Vaughan’s surprise—were less autocratic and +more friendly than he had ever known them. Indeed, in comparison of the lion of +last evening he was but a mouse. “In the first place,” he +continued, “I am obliged to you for your compliance with my +wishes.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan murmured that he had come at no inconvenience to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not,” Sir Robert replied. “In the next place let me +say, that we have to speak to you on a matter of the first importance; a matter +also on which we have the advantage of knowledge which you have not. It is my +desire, therefore, to admit you to a parity with us in that respect, Mr. +Vaughan, before you express yourself on any subject on which we are likely to +differ.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked keenly, almost suspiciously at him; and an observer would have +noticed that there was a closer likeness between the two men than the slender +tie of blood warranted. “If it is a question, Sir Robert,” he said +slowly, “of the subject on which we differed last evening, I would prefer +to say at once——” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t!” Wetherell, who was seated within a long reach of +him, struck in. “Don’t!” And he laid an elephantine and not +over-clean hand on Vaughan’s knee. “You can spill words as easy as +water,” he continued, “and they are as hard to pick up again. Hear +what Vermuyden has to say, and what I’ve to say—’tisn’t +much—and then blow your trumpet—if you’ve any breath +left!” he added <i>sotto voce</i>, as he threw himself back. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan hesitated a moment. Then, “Very good,” he said, “if +you will hear me afterwards. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“But and If are two wenches always raising trouble!” Wetherell +cried coarsely. “Do you listen, Mr. Vaughan. Do you listen. Now, +Vermuyden, go on.” +</p> + +<p> +But Sir Robert did not seem to have words at command. He took a pinch of snuff +from the gold box with which his fingers trifled: and he opened his mouth to +resume; but he hesitated. At length, “What I have to tell you, Mr. +Vaughan,” he said, in a voice more diffident than usual, “had +perhaps been more properly told by my attorney to yours. I fully admit +that,” dusting the snuff from his frill. “And it would have been so +told but for—but for exigencies not immediately connected with it, which +are nevertheless so pressing as to—to induce me to take the one step +immediately possible. Less regular, but immediately possible! In spite of this, +you will believe, I am sure, that I do not wish to take any advantage of you +other than,” he paused with an embarrassed look at Wetherell, “that +which my position gives me. For the rest I”—he looked again at his +snuffbox and hesitated—“I think—I——” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better come to the point!” Wetherell growled +impatiently, jerking his ungainly person back in his chair, and lurching +forward again. “To the point, man! Shall I tell him?” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert straightened himself—with a sigh of relief. “If you +please,” he said, “I think you had better. It—it may come +better from you, as you are not interested.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked from one to the other, and wondered what on earth they meant, +and what they would be at. His cordial reception followed by this strange +exordium, the preparations, the presence of the three men seated about him and +all, it seemed, ill at ease—these things begot instinctive misgivings; +and an uneasiness, which it was not in the power of reason to hold futile. What +were they meditating? What threat, what inducement? And what meant this strange +illumination of the house, this air of festivity? It could be nothing to him. +And yet—but Wetherell was speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Vaughan,” he said gruffly—and he swayed himself as was +his habit to and fro in his seat, “my friend here, and your kinsman, has +made a discovery of—of the utmost possible importance to him; and, +speaking candidly, of scarcely less importance to you. I don’t know +whether you read the trash they call novels now-a-days—‘The +Disowned’” with a snort of contempt, “and +‘Tremayne’ and the rest? I hope not, I don’t! But it’s +something devilish like the stuff they put in them that I’ve to tell you. +You’ll believe it or not, as you please. You think yourself heir to the +Stapylton estates? Of course you do. Sir Robert has no more than a +life-interest, and if he has no children, the reversion in fee, as we lawyers +call it, is yours. Just so. But if he has children, son or daughter, you are +ousted, Mr. Vaughan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to tell me,” Vaughan said, his face grown suddenly +rigid, “that he has children?” His heart was beating furiously +under his waistcoat, but, taken aback as he was, he maintained outward +composure. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” Wetherell answered bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then——” +</p> + +<p> +“He has a daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will have to be proved!” Vaughan said slowly and in the tone of +a man who chose his words. And he rose to his feet. He felt, perhaps he was +justified in feeling, that they had taken him at a disadvantage. That they had +treated him unfairly in trapping him hither, one to three; in order that they +might see, perhaps, how he took it! Not—his thoughts travelled rapidly +over the facts known to him—that the thing could be true! The punishment +for last night’s revolt fell too pat, too <i>à propos</i>, he’d not +believe it! And besides, it could not be true. For Lady Vermuyden lived, and +there could be no question of a concealed marriage, or a low-born family. +“It will have to be proved!” he repeated firmly. “And is +matter rather for my lawyers than for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert, too, had risen to his feet. But it was Wetherell who spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so!” he said. “Perhaps so. Indeed I admit it, young +sir! It will have to be proved. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“It should have been told to them rather than to me!” Vaughan +repeated, with a sparkling eye. And he turned as if he were determined to treat +them as hostile and to have nothing farther to say to them. +</p> + +<p> +But Wetherell stopped him. “Stay, young man,” he said, “and +be ashamed of yourself! You forget yourself!” And before Vaughan, stung +and angry, could retort upon him, “You forget,” he continued, +“that this touches another as closely as it touches you—and more +closely! You are a gentleman, sir, and Sir Robert’s kinsman. Have you no +word then, for him!” pointing, with a gesture roughly eloquent, to his +host. “You lose, but have you no word for him who gains! You lose, but is +it nothing to him that he finds himself childless no longer, heirless no +longer? That his house is no longer lonely, his hearth no longer empty! Man +alive,” he added, dropping with honest indignation to a low note, +“you lose, but what does he not gain? And have you no word, no generous +thought for him? Bah!” throwing himself back in his seat. “Poor +human nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still it must be proved,” said Vaughan sullenly, though in his +heart he acknowledged the truth of the reproach. +</p> + +<p> +“Granted! But will you not hear what it is, that is to be proved?” +Wetherell retorted. “If so, sit down, sir, sit down, and hear what we +have to tell you like a man. Will you do that,” in a tone of extreme +exasperation, which did but reflect the slowly hardening expression of Sir +Robert’s face, “or are you quite a fool?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan hesitated, looking with angry eyes on Wetherell. Then he sat down. +“Am I to understand,” he said coldly, “that this is news to +Sir Robert?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was news to him yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan bowed and was silent; aware that a more generous demeanour would better +become him, but unable to compass it on the spur of the moment. He was +ignorant—unfortunately—of the spirit in which he had been summoned: +consequently he could not guess that every word he uttered rang churlishly in +the ears of more than one of his listeners. He was no churl; but he was taken +unfairly—as it seemed to him. And to be called upon in the first moment +of chagrin to congratulate Sir Robert on an event which ruined his own +prospects and changed his life—was too much. Too much! But again +Wetherell was speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall know what we know from the beginning,” he said, in his +heavy melancholy way. “You are aware, I suppose, that Sir Robert +married—in the year ’10, was it not?—Yes, in the year +’10, and that Lady Vermuyden bore him one child, a daughter, who died in +Italy in the year ’15. It appears now—we are in a position to +prove, I think—that that child did not die in that year, nor in any year; +but is now alive, is in this country and can be perfectly identified.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan coughed. “This is strange news,” he said, “after all +these years; and somewhat sudden, is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert’s face grew harder, but Wetherell only shrugged his shoulders. +“If you will listen,” he replied, “you will know all that we +know. It is no secret, at any rate in this room it is no secret, that in the +year ’14 Sir Robert fancied that he had grave reason to be displeased +with Lady Vermuyden. It was thought by her friends that a better agreement +might be produced by a temporary separation, and the child’s health +afforded a pretext. Accordingly, Sir Robert suffered Lady Vermuyden to take it +abroad, her suite consisting of a courier, a maid, and a nurse. The nurse she +sent back to England not long afterwards on the plea that an Italian woman from +whom the child might learn the language would be better. For my part, I believe +that she acted bonâ-fide in this. But in other respects,” puffing out his +cheeks, “her conduct was such as to alarm her husband; and, in terms +perhaps too peremptory, Sir Robert bade her return at once—or cease to +consider his house as her home. Her answer was the announcement of the +child’s death.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that it did not die,” Vaughan murmured, “as Lady +Vermuyden said?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have this evidence. But first let me say, that Sir Robert on the +receipt of the news set out for Italy overland. The Hundred Days, however, +stopped him; he could not cross France, and he returned without certifying the +child’s death. He had indeed no suspicion, no reason for suspicion. Well, +then, for evidence that it did not die. The courier is dead, and there remains +only the maid. She is alive, she is here, she is in this house. And it is from +her that we have learned the truth—that the child did not die.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused a moment, brooding in his fat, melancholy way on the pattern of the +carpet between his feet. Sir Robert, with a face hard and proud, sat upright, +listening to the tale of his misfortunes—and doubtless suffered torments +as he listened. +</p> + +<p> +“Her story,” Wetherell resumed—possibly he had been arranging +his thoughts—“is this. Lady Vermuyden was living a life of the +wildest gaiety. She had no affection for the child; if the woman is to be +believed, she hated it. To part with it was nothing to her one way or the +other, and on receipt of Sir Robert’s order to return, her ladyship +conceived the idea of punishing him by abducting the child and telling him it +was dead. She set out from Florence with it; on the way she left it at Orvieto +in charge of the Italian nurse, and arriving in Rome she put about the story of +its death. Shortly afterwards she had it carried to England and bred up in an +establishment near London—always with the aid and connivance of her +maid.” +</p> + +<p> +“The maid’s name?” Vaughan asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Herapath—Martha Herapath. But to proceed. By and by Lady Vermuyden +returned to England, and settled at Brighton, and the maid left her and +married, but continued to draw a pension from her. Lady Vermuyden persisted +here—in the company of Lady Conyng—but I need name no +names—in the same course of giddiness, if no worse, which she had pursued +abroad; and gave little if any heed to the child. But this woman Herapath never +forgot that the pension she enjoyed was dependent on her power to prove the +truth: and when a short time back the girl, now well-grown, was withdrawn from +her knowledge, she grew restive. She sought Lady Vermuyden, always a creature +of impulse, and when her ladyship, foolish in this as in all things, refused to +meet her views she—she came to us,” he continued, lifting his head +abruptly and looking at Vaughan, “and told us the story.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will have to be proved,” Vaughan said stubbornly. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt, strictly proved,” Wetherell replied. “In the +meantime if you would like to peruse the facts in greater detail, they are +here, as taken down from the woman’s mouth.” He drew from his +capacious breast-pocket a manuscript consisting of several sheets which he +unfolded and flattened on his knee. He handed it to Vaughan. +</p> + +<p> +The young man took it, without looking at Sir Robert: and with his thoughts in +a whirl—and underlying them a sick feeling of impending +misfortune—he proceeded to read it, line after line, without taking in a +single word. For all the time his brain was at work measuring the change. His +modest competence would be left to him. He would have enough to live as he was +now living, and to pursue his career; or, in the alternative, he might settle +down as a small squire in his paternal home in South Wales. But the great +inheritance which had loomed large in the background of his life and had been +more to him than he had admitted, the future dignity which he had undervalued +while he thought it his own, the position more enviable than many a +peer’s, and higher by its traditions than any to which he could attain by +his own exertions, though he reached the Woolsack—these were gone if +Wetherell’s tale was true. Gone in a moment, at a word! And though he +might have lost more, though many a man had lost his all by such a stroke and +smiled, he was no hero, and he could not on the instant smile. He could not in +a moment oust all bitterness. He knew that he was taking the news unworthily; +that he was playing a poor part. But he could not force himself to play a +better—on the instant. When he had read with unseeing eyes to the bottom +of the first page and had turned it mechanically, he let the papers fall upon +his knee. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not wish me,” he said slowly, “to express an opinion +now, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Wetherell answered. “Certainly not. But I have not +quite done. I have not quite done,” he repeated ponderously. “I +should tell you that for opening the matter to you now—we have two +reasons, Mr. Vaughan. Two reasons. First, we think it due to you—as one +of the family. And secondly, Vermuyden desires that from the beginning, his +intentions shall be clear and—be understood.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thoroughly understand them,” Vaughan answered drily. No one was +more conscious than he that he was behaving ill. +</p> + +<p> +“That is just what you do not!” Wetherell retorted stolidly. +“You spill words, young man, and by and by you will wish to pick them up +again. You cannot anticipate, at any rate, you have no right to anticipate, Sir +Robert’s intentions, of which he has asked me to be the mouthpiece. The +estate, of course, and the settled funds must go to his daughter. But there is, +it appears, a large sum arising from the economical management of the property, +which is at his disposal. He feels,” Wetherell continued sombrely, an +elbow on each knee and his eyes on the floor, “that some injustice has +been done to you, and he desires to compensate you for that injustice. He +proposes, therefore, to secure to you the succession to two-thirds of this sum; +which amounts—which amounts, in the whole I believe”—here he +looked at White—“to little short of eighty thousand pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, who had been more than once on the point of interrupting him, did so +at last. “I could not accept it!” he exclaimed impulsively. And he +rose, with a hot face, from his seat. “I could not accept it.” +</p> + +<p> +“As a legacy?” Wetherell, who was fond of money, said with a queer +look. “As a legacy, eh? Why not?” While Sir Robert, with compressed +lips, almost repented of his generosity. He had looked for some show of +good-feeling, some word of sympathy, some felicitation from the young man, who, +after all, was his blood relation. But if this was to be his return, if his +advances were to be met with suspicion, his benevolence with churlishness, then +all, all in this young man was of a piece—and detestable! +</p> + +<p> +And certainly Vaughan was not showing himself in the best light. He was +conscious that he had taken the news ill; but he could not change his attitude +in a moment. Under no circumstances is it an easy thing to take a gift with +grace: to take one with grace under these circumstances—and when he had +already misbehaved—was beyond him, as it would have been beyond most men. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment drawn this way by his temper, that way by his better feelings, he +did not know how to answer Wetherell’s last words. At last and lamely, +“May I ask,” he said, “why Sir Robert makes me this offer +while the matter lies open?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert will prove his case,” Wetherell answered gruffly, +“if that is what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean——” +</p> + +<p> +“He does not ask you to surrender anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am bound to say, then, that the offer is very generous,” Vaughan +replied, melting, and speaking with some warmth. “Most generous. +But——” +</p> + +<p> +“He asks you to surrender nothing,” Wetherell repeated stolidly, +his face between his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“But I still think it is premature,” Vaughan persisted doggedly. +“And handsome as it is, more than handsome as it is, I think that it +would have come with greater force, were my position first made clear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe,” Wetherell said, his face still hidden. “I +don’t deny that.” +</p> + +<p> +“As it is,” with a deep breath, “I am taken by surprise. I do +not know what to say. I find it hard to say anything in the first flush of the +matter.” And Vaughan looked from one to the other. “So, for the +present, with Sir Robert’s permission,” he continued, “and +without any slight to his generosity, I will take leave. If he is good enough, +to repeat on some future occasion, this very handsome—this uncalled for +and generous offer, which he has now outlined, I shall know, I hope, what is +due to him, without forgetting what is due also to myself. In the meantime I +have only to thank him and——” +</p> + +<p> +But the belated congratulation which was on his lips and which might have +altered many things, was not to be uttered. +</p> + +<p> +“One moment!” Sir Robert struck in. “One moment!” He +spoke with a hardness born of long suppressed irritation. “You have taken +your stand, Mr. Vaughan, strictly on the defensive, I see——” +</p> + +<p> +“But I think you understand——” +</p> + +<p> +“Strictly on the defensive,” the baronet repeated, requiring +silence by a gesture. “You must not be surprised therefore, if +I—nay, let me speak!—if I also say a word on a point which touches +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t!” Wetherell growled in his deep voice; and for an +instant he raised his huge face, and looked stolidly at the wall before him. +</p> + +<p> +But Sir Robert was not to be bidden. “I think otherwise,” he said. +“Mr. Vaughan, the election to-morrow touches me very nearly—in more +ways than one. The vote you have, you received at my hands and hold only as my +heir. I take it for granted, therefore, that under the present circumstances, +you will use it as I desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” Vaughan said. And drawing himself up to his full height he +passed his eyes slowly from one to the other with a singular smile. +“Oh!” he repeated—and there was a world of meaning in his +tone. “Am I to understand then——” +</p> + +<p> +“I have made myself quite clear,” Sir Robert cried, his manner +betraying his agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to understand,” Vaughan persisted, “that the offer +which you made me a few minutes back, the generous and handsome offer,” +he continued with a faint note of irony in his voice, “was dependent on +my conduct to-morrow? Am I to understand that?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you please to put it so,” Sir Robert replied, his voice +quivering with the resentment he had long and patiently suppressed. “And +if your own sense of honour does not dictate to you how to act.” +</p> + +<p> +“But do you put it so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean——” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” Vaughan said, “does the offer depend on the use I +make of my vote to-morrow? That is the point, Sir Robert!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Wetherell muttered indistinctly. +</p> + +<p> +But again Sir Robert would not be bidden. “I will be frank,” he +said haughtily. “And my answer is, yes! yes! For I do not conceive, Mr. +Vaughan, that a gentleman would take so great a benefit, and refuse so slight a +service! A service, too, which, quite apart from this offer, most +men——” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” Vaughan replied, interrupting him. “That is +clear enough.” And he looked from one to the other with a smile of +amusement; the smile of a man suddenly reinstated in his own opinion—and +once more master of his company. “Now I understand,” he continued. +“I see now why the offer which a few minutes ago seemed so premature, so +strangely premature, was made this evening. To-morrow it had been made too +late! My vote had been cast and I could no longer be—bribed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bribed, sir?” cried Sir Robert, red with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, bribed, sir. But let me tell you,” Vaughan went on, allowing +the bitterness which he had been feeling to appear, “let me tell you, Sir +Robert, that if not only my future, but my present, if my all, were at +stake—I should resent such an offer as an insult!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert took a step towards the bell and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“An insult!” Vaughan repeated firmly. “As great an insult as +I should inflict upon you, if I were unwise enough to do the errand I was asked +to do a week ago—by a cabinet minister. And offered you, Sir Robert, here +in your own house, a peerage conditional on your support of the Bill!” +</p> + +<p> +“A peerage?” Sir Robert’s eyes seemed to be starting from his +head. “A peerage! Conditional on my——” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, conditional on your renunciation of those opinions which you +honestly hold as I honestly hold mine!” Vaughan repeated coolly. “I +will make the offer if you wish it.” +</p> + +<p> +Wetherell rose ponderously. “See here!” he said. “Listen to +me, will you, you two! You, Vermuyden, as well as the young man. You will both +be sorry for what you are saying now! Listen to me! Listen to me, man!” +</p> + +<p> +But the baronet was already tugging at the bell-rope. He was no longer red; he +was white with anger. And not without reason. This whipper-snapper, this +pettifogging lad, just out of his teens, to talk to him of peerages, to +patronise him, to offer him—to—to—— +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he stammered and could not speak. At last, “Enough! Enough, +sir; leave my house!” he cried, shaking from head to foot with passion, +and losing for the first time in many years his self-control. “Leave my +house,” he repeated furiously, “and never set foot in it again! Not +a pound, and not a penny will you have of mine! Never! Never! Never!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan smiled, “Very good, sir,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. +“Your fortune is your own. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“Begone, sir! Not another word, but go!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan raised his eyebrows, bowed in a ceremonious fashion to Wetherell, and +nodded to White, who stood petrified and gaping. Then he walked slowly through +that room and the next, and with one backward smile—vanished. +</p> + +<p> +And this time, as he passed through the hall, narrowly missing Flixton who was +leaving the dining-room, there could be no doubt that the breach was complete, +that the small cordiality which had existed between the two men was at an end. +The Bill, which had played so many mischievous tricks, severed so many old +friends, broken the ties of so many years, had dealt no one a more spiteful +blow than it had dealt Arthur Vaughan. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>XVII<br/> +THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION</h2> + +<p> +The great day on which the Borough of Chippinge was to give its vote, Aye or +No, Reform or No Reform, the Rule of the Few or the Rule of the Many, was come; +and in the large room on the first floor of the White Lion were assembled a +score of persons deeply interested in the issue. Those who had places at the +three windows were gazing on what was going forward in the space below; and it +was noticeable that while the two or three who remained in the background +talked and joked, these were silent; possibly because the uproar without made +hearing difficult. The hour was early, the business of the day was to come, but +already the hub-bub was indescribable. Nor was that all; every minute some +missile, a much enduring cabbage-stalk, or a dead cat in Tory colours, rose to +a level with the windows, hovered, and sank—amid a storm of groans or +cheers. For the most part, indeed, these missiles fell harmless. But that the +places of honour at the windows were not altogether places of safety was proved +by a couple of shattered panes, as well as by the sickly hue of some among the +spectators. +</p> + +<p> +Nearly all who had attended the Vermuyden dinner were in the room. But, for +certain, things which had worn one aspect across the mahogany, wore another +now. At the table old and young had made light of the shoving and mauling and +drubbing through which they had forced their way to the good things before +them; they had even made a jest of the bit of a rub they were likely to have on +the polling day. Now, the sight of the noisy crowd which filled the open space, +from the head of the High Street to the wall of the Abbey, and from the +Vineyard east of it, almost to the West Port—made their bones ache. They +looked, even the boldest, at one another. The heart of Dewell, the barber, was +in his boots; the rector stared aghast; and Mowatt, the barrister, Arthur +Vaughan’s ill-found friend, wished for once that he was on the vulgar +side. +</p> + +<p> +True, the doors of the White Lion were guarded by a sturdy phalanx of Vermuyden +lads; mustered with what difficulty and kept together by what arguments, White +best knew. But what were two or three score, however faithful, and however +strong, against the hundreds and thousands who swayed and cheered and groaned +before the Inn? Who swarmed upon the old town-cross until they hid every inch +of the crumbling stonework; who clung to every niche and buttress of the Abbey; +and from whose mass as from a sea the solitary church spire rose like some +lighthouse cut off by breakers? Who, here, forgetful of their Wiltshire birth +cheered the Birmingham tub-thumper to the echo, and there, roared stern assent +to the wildest statements of the Political Union? +</p> + +<p> +True, a dozen banners and thrice as many flags gave something of a festive air +to the scene. But the timid who tried to draw solace from these retreated +appalled by the daring “Death or Freedom!” inscribed on one banner: +or the scarcely less bold “The Sovereign People,” which bellied +above the clothiers. The majority of the placards bore nothing worse than the +watchword of the party: “The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the +Bill!” or “Retrenchment and Reform!” or—in reference to +the King—“God bless the two Bills!” But for all that, Dewell, +the barber—and some more who would not have confessed it—wished the +day well over and no bones broken! A great day for Chippinge, but a day on +which many an old score was like to be paid, many a justice to hear the +commonalty’s opinion of him, many a man who had thriven under the old +rule, to read the writing on the wall! +</p> + +<p> +Certainly nothing like the spectacle visible from the White Lion windows had +been seen in Chippinge within living memory. The Abbey, indeed, which had seen +the last of the mitred Abbots pass out—shorn of his strength, and with +weeping townsfolk about him in lieu of belted knights—that pile, stately +in its ruin, which had witnessed a revolution greater even than this which +impended, and more tragic, might have viewed its pair, might have seen its +precincts seethe as they seethed now. But no living man. Nor did those who +scanned the crowd from the White Lion find aught to lessen its terrors. There +were, indeed, plenty of decent, respectable people in the crowd, who, though +they were set on gaining their rights, had no notion of violence. But wood +burns when it is kindled: and here at the corner of the Heart and Hand, the +Whig headquarters, was a spark like to light the fire—Boston, the +bruiser, and a dozen of his fellows; men who were, one and all, the idols of +the yokels who stood about them and stared. Pybus, who had brought them hither, +was not to be seen; he was weaving his spells in the Heart and Hand. But Mr. +Williams, White-Hat Williams, the richest man in Chippinge, who, voteless, had +only lived of late to see this day—he was here at the head of his +clothmen, and as fierce as the poorest. And half-a-dozen lesser men there were +of the same kind; sallow Blackford, the Methodist, the fugleman of every +dissenter within ten miles; and two or three small lawyers whom the landlords +did not employ, and two or three apothecaries who were in the same case. With +these were one or two famished curates, with Sydney Smith for their warranty, +and his saying about Dame Partington’s Mop and the Atlantic on their +lips; and a sprinkling of spouters from the big towns—men who had the +glories of Orator Hunt and William Cobbett before their eyes. And everywhere, +working in the mass like yeast, moved a score of bitter malcontents—whom +the old system had bruised under foot—poachers whom Sir Robert had +jailed, or the lovers of maids as frail as fair, or labourers whom the Poor +Laws had crushed—a score of malcontents whose grievances long muttered in +pothouses now flared to light and cried for vengeance. In a word, there were +the elements of mischief in the crowd: and under the surface an ugly spirit. +Even the most peaceable were grim, knowing it was now or never. So that the +faces at the White Lion windows grew longer as their owners gazed and listened. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what’s come to the people!” the Rector +bawled, turning about to make himself heard by his neighbour. “Eh, +what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to see Lord Grey hung!” answered Squire Rowley, his +face purple. “And Lord Lansdowne with him! What do you say, sir?” +to Sergeant Wathen. +</p> + +<p> +“Fortunate a show of hands don’t carry it!” the Sergeant +cried, shrugging his shoulders with an assumption of easiness. +</p> + +<p> +“Carry it? Of course we’ll carry it!” the Squire replied +wrathfully. “I suppose two and two still make four!” +</p> + +<p> +Isaac White, who was whispering with a man in a corner of the room, wished that +he was sure of that; or, rather, that three and two made six. But the Squire +was continuing. “Bah!” he cried in disgust. “Give these +people votes? Look at ’em! Look at ’em, sir! Votes indeed! Votes +indeed! Give ’em oakum, I say!” +</p> + +<p> +He forgot that nine-tenths of those below were as good as the voters at his +elbow, who were presently to return two members for Chippinge. Or rather, it +did not occur to him, good old Tory as he was, and convinced, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>’Twas the Jacobins brought every mischief about</i>, +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +that Dewell’s vote was Dewell’s, or Annibal’s +Annibal’s. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, “I wish we were safe at the hustings!” young Mowatt +shouted in the ear of the man who stood in front of him. +</p> + +<p> +The man chanced to be Cooke, the other candidate. He turned. “At the +hustings?” he said irascibly. “Do you mean, sir, that we are +expected to fight our way through that rabble?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid we must,” Mowatt answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it—has been d——d badly arranged!” retorted +the outraged Cooke, who never forgot that as he paid well for his seat it ought +to be a soft one. “Go through this mob, and have our heads broken?” +</p> + +<p> +The faces of those who could hear him grew longer. “And it wants only +five minutes of ten,” complained a third. “We ought to be going +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“D——n me, but suppose they don’t let us go!” +cried Cooke. “Badly arranged! I should think it is, sir! D——d +badly arranged! The hustings should have been on this side.” +</p> + +<p> +But hitherto the hustings had been at Chippinge a matter of form, and it had +not occurred to anyone to alter their position—cheek by jowl with the +Whig headquarters, but divided by seventy yards of seething mob from the White +Lion. However, White, on an appeal being made to him, put a better face on the +matter. “It’s all right, gentlemen,” he said, +“it’s all right! If they have the hustings, we have the returning +officer, and they can do nothing without us. I’ve seen Mr. Pybus, and I +have his safe conduct for our party to go to the hustings.” +</p> + +<p> +But it is hard to satisfy everybody, and at this there was a fresh outcry. +“A safe conduct?” cried the Squire, redder about the gills than +before. “For shame, sir! Are we to be indebted to the other side for a +safe conduct! I never heard of such a thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“I quite agree with you,” cried the Rector. “Quite! I +protest, Mr. White, against anything of the kind.” +</p> + +<p> +But White was unmoved. “We’ve got to get our voters there,” +he said. “Sir Robert will be displeased, I know, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“Never was such a thing heard of!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, but never was such an election,” White answered with +spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Sir Robert?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll be here presently,” White replied. “He’ll +be here presently. Anyway, gentlemen,” he continued, “we had better +be going down to the hall. In a body, gentlemen, if you please, and voters in +the middle. And keep together, if you please. A little shouting,” he +added cheerfully, “breaks no bones. We can shout too!” +</p> + +<p> +The thing was unsatisfactory, and without precedent; nay, humiliating. But +there seemed to be nothing else for it. As White said, this election was not as +other elections; Bath was lost, and Bristol, too, it was whispered; the country +was gone mad. And so, frowning and ill-content, the magnates trooped out, and +led by White began to descend the stairs. There was much confusion, one asking +if the Alderman was there, another demanding to see Sir Robert, here a man +grumbling about White’s arrangements, there a man silent over the +discovery, made perhaps for the first time, that here was like to be an end of +old Toryism and the loaves and the fishes it had dispensed. +</p> + +<p> +In the hall where the party was reinforced by a crowd of their smaller +supporters a man plucked White’s sleeve and drew him aside. +“She’s out now!” he whispered. “Pybus has left two with +him and they won’t leave him for me. But if you went and ordered them out +there’s a chance they’d go, and——” +</p> + +<p> +“The doctor’s not there?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, and Pillinger’s well enough to come, if you put it strong. +He’s afraid of his wife and they’ve got him body and soul, +but——” +</p> + +<p> +White cast a despairing eye on the confusion about him. “How can I +come?” he muttered. “I must get these to the poll first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ll never do it!” the man retorted. +“There’ll be no coming and going, to-day, Mr. White, you take it +from me. Now’s the time while they’re waiting for you in front. You +can slip out at the back and bring him in and take him with you. It’s the +only way, so help me! They’re in that temper we’ll be lucky if +we’re all alive to-morrow!” +</p> + +<p> +The man was right; and White knew it, yet he hesitated. If he had had an +<i>aide</i> fit for the task, the thing might be done. But to go +himself—he on whom everything fell! He reflected. Possibly Arthur Vaughan +might not vote for the enemy after all. But if he did, Sir Robert would poll +only five to six, and be beaten! Unless he polled Pillinger, when the returning +officer’s vote, of which he was sure, would give him the election. +Pillinger’s vote, therefore, was vital; everything turned upon it. And he +determined to go. His absence would only cause a little delay, and he must risk +that. He slipped away. +</p> + +<p> +He was missed at once, and the discovery redoubled the confusion. One asked +where he was, and another where Sir Robert was; while Cooke in tones louder and +more irritable than was prudent found fresh fault, and wished to heaven that he +had never seen the place. Long accustomed to one-sided contests of which both +parties knew the issue, the Tory managers were helpless; they were aware that +the hour had struck, and that they were expected, but without White they were +uncertain how to act. Some cried that White had gone on, and that they should +follow; some that Sir Robert was to meet them at the hustings, others that they +might as well be home as waiting there! While the babel without deafened and +distracted them. At last, without order given, they found themselves moving +out. +</p> + +<p> +Their reception did not clear their brains. Such a roar of execration as +greeted them had never been heard in Chippinge: the hair on Dewell, the +barber’s, head stood up, the Alderman’s checks grew pale, Cooke +dropped his cane, the stoutest flinched. Changed indeed were the times from +those a year or two past when their exit had been greeted by sycophantic +cheers, or, at worst, by a little good-humoured jesting! Now the whole +multitude in the open, not in one part, but in every part, knew as by instinct +of their setting forth, brandished on the instant a thousand arms at them, +deafened them with a thousand voices, demanded monotonously “The Bill! +The Bill!” Nor had the demonstration stopped there, but for the +intervention of a body of a hundred Whig stalwarts who, posting themselves on +the flanks of the derided procession, conferred on its slow march an ignoble +safety. +</p> + +<p> +No wonder that many a one who found himself thus guarded rubbed his eyes. The +times were changed indeed! No more despotism of Squire and Parson, no more +monopoly of places, no more nominated members, no more elections that did but +mock men who had no share in them, no more “Cripples,” no more snug +jobs! The Tories might agree with Mr. Fudge +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>That this passion for roaring had come in of late<br/> +Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the State</i>, +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +and foretell the ruinous outcome of it. But the thing was, the many-headed, the +many-handed had them in its grip. They must go meekly, or not at all; with +visions of French fish-fags and guillotines before their eyes, and wondering, +most of them—as they tried to show a bold front, tried to wave their +banners and give some answering shout to the sea that beat upon them—how +they would get home again with whole skins! +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps there was only one of them who never had that thought; though he, alone +of them all, was unaware of the precautions taken for his safety. That was Sir +Robert Vermuyden, the master of all, the patron, the Borough-monger! Attended +by Bob Flixton, who had come with him from Bristol to see the fun—and +whose voice it will be remembered Vaughan had overheard at Stapylton the +evening before—and by two or three other guests, he had entered the White +Lion from the rear; arriving in time to fall in—somewhat surprised at his +supporters’ precipitation—at the tail of the procession. The moment +he was recognised by the crowd he was greeted with a roar of “Down with +the Borough-monger!” that fairly appalled his companions. But he faced it +calmly, imperturbably, quietly; a little paler, a little prouder, and a little +sterner perhaps than usual, but with a gleam in his eyes that had not been seen +in them for years. For answer to all he smiled with a curling lip: and it is +probable that as much as any hour in his life he enjoyed this hour, which put +him to the test before those over whom he had ruled so long. His caste might be +passing, the days of his power might be numbered, the waves of democracy might +be rising about the system in which he believed the safety of England to lie; +but no man should see him falter. No veteran of the old noblesse in days which +Sir Robert could remember had gone to his fate more proudly than the English +patrician was prepared to go to his, ay, and though worse than the guillotine +awaited him. +</p> + +<p> +His contemptuous attitude, his fearless bearing, impressed the crowd, +appreciative at bottom, of courage. And presently, where he turned his cold, +smiling eyes they gaped instead of hissing: and one here and there under the +magic of his look doffed hat or carried hand to forehead, and henceforth was +mute. And so great is the sympathy of all parts of a mob that this silence +spread quickly, mysteriously, at last, wholly. So that when he, last of his +party, stepped on the hustings, there was for a moment a complete stillness; a +stillness of expectation, while he looked round; such a stillness as startled +the leaders of the opposition. It could not be—it could not be, that +after all, the old lion would prove too much for them! +</p> + +<p> +White-Hat Williams roared aloud in his rage. “Up hats and shout, +lads,” he yelled, “or by G—d the d——d Tories will +do us after all! Are you afraid of them, you lubbers! Shout, lads, +shout!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>XVIII<br/> +THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION (<span class="sc">Continued</span>)</h2> + +<p> +The beast that was in the crowd answered to the spur. “Ye’ve robbed +us long enough, ye old rascal!” a harsh Midland voice shrieked over the +heads of the throng. “We’ll have our rights now, you +blood-sucker!” And “Boo! Boo!” the lower elements of the mob +broke forth. And then in stern cadence, “The Bill! The Bill! The +Bill!” +</p> + +<p> +“Out of Egypt, and out of the House of Bondage!” shrieked a +Methodist above the hub-bub. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay!” +</p> + +<p> +“Slaves no longer!” +</p> + +<p> +“No! No! No!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear that, ye hoary tyrant!” in a woman’s shrill tones. +“Who jailed my man for a hare?” +</p> + +<p> +A roar of laughter which somewhat cleared the air followed this. Sir Robert +smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +The hustings, a mere wooden platform, raised four feet above the ground, rested +against the Abbey gateway. It was closed at the rear and at each end; but in +front it was guarded only by a stout railing. And so public was it, and so +exposed its dangerous eminence, that the more timid of the unpopular party were +no sooner upon it than they yearned for the safe obscurity of the common level. +Of the three booths into which the interior was divided, the midmost was +reserved for the returning officer and his staff. +</p> + +<p> +Bob Flixton, who kept close to Sir Robert’s elbow, looked down on the sea +of jeering faces. “I tell you what it is,” he said. +“We’re going to have a confounded row!” +</p> + +<p> +Mowatt, at some distance from him, was of the same opinion, but regarded the +outlook differently. “It’s my belief,” he muttered, +“that we shall all be murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +And “D——n the Bill!” the old Squire ejaculated. +“The people are off their heads! Jack as good as his master, and better +too!” +</p> + +<p> +These four, with the candidates, were in the front row. The Rector, the +Alderman, and one or two of the neighbouring gentry shared the honour; and +faced as well as they could the hooting and yelling, and the occasional +missile. In the front of the other booth were White-Hat Williams and Blackford, +the minister, Mr. Wrench, the candidate, wreathed in smiles, a pair of Whig +Squires from the Bowood side, a curate of the same colour, Pybus—and +Arthur Vaughan! +</p> + +<p> +A thrill ran through Sir Robert’s supporters when they saw his young +kinsman on the other side; actually on the other side and arrayed against them. +Their hearts, already low, sank a peg lower. Of evil omens this seemed the +worst; sunk is the cause the young desert! And many were the curious eyes that +searched the renegade’s features and strove to read his thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +But in vain. His head high, his face firmly composed, Vaughan looked stonily +before him. Nor was it possible to say whether he was really unmoved, was +stolidly indifferent, or merely masked agitation. Sir Robert on his side never +looked at him, nor betrayed any sense of his presence. But he knew. He knew! +And with the first bitter presage of defeat—for he was not a man to be +intimidated by noise—he repeated his vow: “Not a pound, nor a +penny! Never! Never!” This public renunciation, this wanton +defiance—he would never forgive it! Henceforth, it must be war to the +knife between them. No thousands, no compensation, no compromise! As the young +man was sowing, so he should reap. He who, in its darkest hour not only +insulted but abandoned his family, what punishment was too severe for him? +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan could make a good guess at the proud autocrat’s feelings: and he +averted his eyes with care. The proceedings here opened, and he listened +laughingly; until midway in the reading of some document which no one +heeded—the crowd jeering and flouting merrily—he caught a new note +in the turmoil. The next moment he was conscious of a swirling movement among +those below him, there was a rush of the throng to his right, and he looked +quickly to see what it meant. +</p> + +<p> +A man—one of a group of three or four who appeared to be trying to push +their way through the crowd—was being hustled and flung to and fro amid +jeers and taunts. He was striving to gain the hustings, but was still some way +from it; and his chance of reaching it with his clothes on his back seemed +small. Vaughan saw so much; then the man lost his temper, and struck a blow. It +was returned—and then, not till then, Vaughan saw that the man was Isaac +White. He cried “Shame!”—and had passed one leg over the +barriers to go to the rescue, when he saw that another was before him. Sir +Robert’s tall, spare figure was down among the crowd—which opened +instinctively before his sharp command. His eyes, his masterful air still had +power; the press opened instinctively before his sharp command. He had reached +White, had extricated him, and turned to make good his retreat, when it seemed +to strike the more brutal element in the crowd—mostly strangers to +him—that here was the prime enemy of the cause, on foot amongst them, at +their mercy! A rush was made at his back. He turned undaunted, White and two +more at his side; the rabble recoiled. But when he wheeled again, a second rush +was made, and they were upon him, and hustled him before he could turn. A man +with a long stick struck off his hat, another—a lout with a cockade of +amber and blue, the Whig colours—tried to trip him up. He stumbled, at +the same moment a third man knocked White down. +</p> + +<p> +“Yah! Down with him!” roared the crowd, “Down with the +Borough-monger!” +</p> + +<p> +But Vaughan, who had anticipated rather than seen the stumble, was over the +rail, and cleaving the crowd, was at his side. He reached him a little in front +of Bob Flixton, who had descended to the rescue from the other end of the +booth. Vaughan hurled back the man who had tripped Sir Robert and who was still +trying to throw him down; and the sight of the amber and blue which the new +champion wore checked the assailants, and gave White time to rise. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was furious. “Back, you cowards!” he cried fiercely. +“Would you murder an old man? Shame on you! Shame!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, you bullies!” cried Flixton, hitting one on the jaw very +neatly—and completely disposing of that one for the day. “Back with +you!” +</p> + +<p> +As Vaughan spoke, half-a-dozen of his Tory supporters surrounded the baronet +and bore him back out of danger. Though Sir Robert was undaunted, he was +shaken; and breathing quickly, he let his hand rest for support on the nearest +shoulder. It was Vaughan’s, and the next instant he saw that it was; and +he withdrew the hand as if he had let it rest on a hot iron. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Flixton,” he said—and the words reached a dozen ears at +least, “your arm, if you please? I would rather be without this +gentleman’s assistance.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan’s face flamed. But neither the words nor the action took him +unawares. He stepped back with dignity, slightly touched his hat, and so +returned to his side of the hustings. +</p> + +<p> +But he was wounded and very angry. Alone of his party he had +intervened—and this was his reward. When Pybus pushed his way to his side +and stooped to his ear, talking quickly and earnestly, he did not repel him. +</p> + +<p> +Episode as it was, the affray startled Sir Robert’s friends: and White in +particular took it very seriously. If violence of this sort was to rule, if +even Sir Robert’s person was not respected, he saw that he would not be +able to bring his voters to the poll. They would run some risk of losing their +lives, and one or two for certain would not dare to vote. The thing must be +stopped, and at once. With this in view he made his way to the passage at the +back of the hustings, which was common to all three booths, and heated and +angry—his lip was cut by the blow he had received—he called for +Pybus. But the press at the back of the hustings was great, and one of +White-Hat Williams’s foremen, who blocked the gangway, laughed in his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to speak to Pybus,” said White, glaring at the man, who on +ordinary days would have touched his hat to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Then want’ll be your master,” the other retorted, with a +wink. And when White tried to push by him, the man gave him the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me pass,” White foamed. No thought of Cobbett now, had the +agent! These miserable upstarts, their insolence, their certainty of triumph +fired his blood. “Let me pass!” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“See you d——d first!” the other answered bluntly. +“Your game’s up, old cock! Your master has held the pit long +enough, but his time’s come.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t——” +</p> + +<p> +“If you put your nose in here, we’ll pitch you over the +rail!” the other declared. +</p> + +<p> +White almost had a fit. Fortunately White-Hat Williams himself appeared at this +moment: and White appealed to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Williams,” he said, “is this your safe conduct?” +</p> + +<p> +“I gave none,” with a grin. +</p> + +<p> +“Pybus did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, for your party! But if you choose to straggle in one by one, we +can’t be answerable for every single voter,” with a wink. +“Nor for any of you getting back again! No, no, White. +</p> + +<div class="poem0"> + +<p class="t0" style="text-indent:-6pt"> + +“<i>Beneath the ways of Ministers, and it’s the truth I tell, +You’ve bought us very cheap, good White, and you’ve sold us very +well!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +But that’s over! That’s at an end to-day! But—what’s +this?” +</p> + +<p> +This, was Sir Robert stepping forward to propose his candidates: or rather, it +was the roar, mocking and defiant, which greeted his attempt to do so. It was a +roar that made speech impossible. No doubt, among the crowd which filled the +space through which he had driven so often with his four horses, the great man, +the patron, the master of all, there were some who still respected, and more +who feared him; and many who would not have insulted him. For if he had used +his power stiffly, he had not used it ill. But there were also in the crowd men +whose hearts were hot against the exclusiveness which had long effaced them; +who believed that freedom or slavery hung on the issue of this day; who saw the +prize of a long and bitter effort at stake, and were set on using every +intimidation, ay, and every violence, if victory could not be had without them. +And, were the others many or few, these swept them away, infected them with +recklessness, gave that stern and mocking ring to the roar which continued and +thwarted Sir Robert’s every effort to make himself heard. +</p> + +<p> +He stood long facing them, waiting, and never blenching. But after a while his +lip curled and his eyes looked disdain on the mob below him: such disdain as +the old Duke in after days hurled at the London rabble, when for answer to +their fulsome cheers he pointed to the iron shutters of Apsley House. Sir +Robert Vermuyden had done something, and thought that he had done more, for the +men who yelped and snarled and snapped at him. According to his lights, acting +on his maxim, all for the people and nothing by the people, he had treated them +generously, granted all he thought good for them, planned for them, wrought for +them. He had been master, but no task-master. He had indeed illustrated the +better side of that government of the many by the few, of the unfit by the fit, +with which he honestly believed the safety and the greatness of his country to +be bound up. +</p> + +<p> +And this was their return! No wonder that, seeing things as he saw them, he +felt a bitter contempt for them. Freedom? Such freedom as was good for them, +such freedom as was permanently possible—they had. And slavery? Was it +slavery to be ruled, wisely and firmly, by a class into which they might +themselves rise, a class which education and habit had qualified to rule. In +his mind’s eye, as he looked down on this fretting, seething mass, he saw +that which they craved granted, and he saw, too, the outcome; that most cruel +of all tyrannies, the tyranny of the many over the few, of the many who have +neither a heart to feel nor a body to harm! +</p> + +<p> +Once, twice, thrice one of his supporters thrust himself forward, and leaning +on the rail, appealed with frantic gestures for silence, for a hearing, for +respect. But each in turn retired baffled. Not a word in that tempest of sound +was audible. And no one on the other side intervened. For they were pitiless. +They in the old days had suffered the same thing: and it was their turn now. +Even Vaughan stood with folded arms and a stern face: feeling the last contempt +for the howling rabble before him, but firmly determined to expose himself to +no second slight. At length Sir Robert saw that it was hopeless, shrugged his +shoulders with quiet scorn, and shouting the names of his candidates in a +clerk’s ear, put on his hat, and stood back. +</p> + +<p> +The old Squire seconded him in dumb show. +</p> + +<p> +Then the Sergeant stood forward to state his views. He grasped the rail with +both hands and waited, smiling blandly. But he might have waited an hour, he +might have waited until night. The leaders for the Bill were determined to make +their power felt. They were resolved that not a word on the Tory side should be +heard. The Sergeant waited, and after a time, still smiling blandly, bowed and +stood back. +</p> + +<p> +It was Mr. Cooke’s turn. He advanced. “Shout, and be hanged to +you!” he cried, apoplectic in the face. An egg flew within a yard of him, +and openly shaking his fist at the crowd he retired amid laughter. +</p> + +<p> +Then White-Hat Williams, who had looked forward to this as to the golden moment +of his life and had conned his oration until he knew its thunderous periods by +heart, stepped forward to nominate the Whig candidates. He took off his hat; +and as if that had been the signal for silence, such a stillness fell on all +that his voice rang above the multitude like a trumpet. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, and smiling looked first to the one side and +then to the other. “Gentlemen——” +</p> + +<p> +Alas, he smiled too soon. The Tories grasped the situation, and, furious at the +reception which had fallen to the lot of their leaders, determined that if they +were not heard, no one should be heard. Before he could utter another word they +broke into rabid bellowings, and what their shouts lacked in volume they made +up in ill-will. In a twinkling they drowned White-Hat Williams’s voice; +and now who so indignant as the Whigs? In thirty seconds half-a-dozen single +combats were proceeding in front of the Tory booth, blood flowed from as many +noses, and amid a terrific turmoil respectable men and justices of the peace +leant across the barriers and shook their fists and flung frenzied challenges +broadcast. +</p> + +<p> +All to no purpose. The Tories, though so much the weaker party, though but one +to eight, could not be silenced. After making three or four attempts to gain a +hearing White-Hat Williams saw that he must reserve his oration: and with a +scowl he shouted his names into the ear of the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“Who? Who did he say?” growled the Squire, panting with rage and +hoarse with shouting. His face was crimson, his cravat awry, he had lost his +hat. “Who? Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrench and—one moment, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? Who do you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t hear! One moment, sir! Oh, yes! Wrench and +Vaughan!” +</p> + +<p> +“Vaughan?” old Rowley cried with a profane oath. +“Impossible!” +</p> + +<p> +But it was not impossible! Though so great was the surprise, so striking the +effect upon Sir Robert’s supporters that for a few seconds something like +silence supervened. The serpent! The serpent! Here was a blow indeed—in +the back! +</p> + +<p> +Then as Blackford, the Methodist, rose to second the nomination, the storm +broke out anew and more furiously than before. “What?” foamed the +Squire, “be ruled by a rabble of grinning, yelling monkeys? By gad, +I’ll leave the country first! I—I hope someone will shoot that +young man! I wish I’d never shaken his hand! By G—d, I’m glad +my father is in his grave! He’d never ha’ believed this! Never! +Never!” +</p> + +<p> +And from that time until the poll was declared open—in dumb +show—not a word was audible. +</p> + +<p> +Then at last the shouting of the rival bands sank to a confused babel of jeers, +abuse, and laughter. Exhausted men mopped their faces, voiceless men loosened +their neck-cloths, the farthest from the hustings went off to drink, and there +was a lull until the sound of a drum and fife announced a new event, and forth +from the Heart and Hand advanced a procession of five led by the accursed Dyas. +</p> + +<p> +They were the Whig voters and they marched proudly to the front of the +polling-booth, the mob falling back on either side to give them place. +</p> + +<p> +Dyas flung his hat into the booth. “Wrench and Vaughan!” he cried +in a voice which could be heard in the White Lion. “And I care not who +knows it!” +</p> + +<p> +They put to him the bribery oath. “I can take it,” he answered. +“Swallow it yourselves, if you can!” +</p> + +<p> +“You should know the taste, Jack,” cried a sly friend: and for a +moment the laugh was against him. +</p> + +<p> +One by one—the process was slow in those days—they voted. +“Five for Wrench and Vaughan.” Wrench rose and bowed to each as he +retired. Arthur Vaughan took no notice. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert’s voters looked at one another uneasily. They had the day +before them, but—and then he saw the look, and, putting White and his +remonstrances on one side, he joined them, bade them follow him, and descended +before them. He would ask no man to do what he would not do himself. +</p> + +<p> +But the moment his action was understood, the moment the men were seen behind +him, there was a yell so fierce and a movement so threatening, that on the +lowest step of the hustings he stood bareheaded, raised his hand for silence +and for a wonder was obeyed. In a clear, loud voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect to terrify me,” he cried, “either by threats +or violence? Let any man look in my face and see if it change colour? Let him +come and lay his hand on my heart and feel if it beats the quicker. Keep my +voters from the poll and you stultify your own, for there will be no election. +Make way then, and let them pass to their duty!” +</p> + +<p> +And the crowd made way; and Arthur Vaughan felt a reluctant pang of admiration. +The five were polled; the result so far, five for each of the candidates. +</p> + +<p> +There remained to poll only Arthur Vaughan and Pillinger of the Blue Duck, if +he could be brought up by the Tories. If neither of these voted the Returning +Officer would certainly give the casting vote for Sir Robert’s +candidates—if he dared. +</p> + +<p> +Isaac White believed that he would not dare, and for some time past the agent +had been in covert talk with Pybus at the back of the hustings, two or three of +the friends of each masking the conference. Now he drew aside his employer who +had returned in safety to his place; and he conferred with him. But for a time +it was clear that Sir Robert would not listen to what he had to say. He looked +pale and angry, and returned but curt answers. But White persisted, holding him +by the sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Vaughan—bah, what a noise they make—does not wish to +vote,” he explained. “But in the end he will, sir, it is my +opinion, and that will give it to them unless we can bring up +Pillinger—which I doubt, sir. Even if we do, it is a +tie——” +</p> + +<p> +“Well? Well?” Sir Robert struck in, eyeing him sternly. “What +more do we want? The Returning Officer——” +</p> + +<p> +“He will not dare,” White whispered, “and if he does, sir, it +is my belief he will be murdered. More, if we win they will rush the booth and +destroy the books. They have as good as told me they will stick at nothing. +Believe me, sir,” he continued earnestly, “better than one and one +we can’t look for now. And better one than none!” +</p> + +<p> +But it was long before Sir Robert would be persuaded. No, defeat or victory, he +would fight to the last! He would be beholden to the other side for nothing! +White, however, was an honest man and less afraid of his master than usual: and +he held to it. And at length the reflection that the bargain would at least +shut out his kinsman prevailed with Sir Robert, and he consented. +</p> + +<p> +He was too chivalrous to return on his own side the man whose success would +fill his pockets. He elected for Wathen and never doubted that the Bowood +interest would return their first love, Wrench. But when the landlord of the +Blue Duck was brought up by agreement to vote for a candidate on either side, +Pillinger voted by order for Wathen and Vaughan. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s some d——d mistake!” shrieked the Squire, +as the words reached his ears. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no mistake, and to the silent disgust of the Tories and amid the +frantic cheering of the Whigs, the return was made in favour of Sergeant John +Wathen, and Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, esquire. Loud and long was the cheering: +the air was black with caps. But when the crowd sought for the two to chair +them according to immemorial custom, only the Sergeant could be found, and he +with great prudence declined the honour. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>XIX<br/> +THE FRUITS OF VICTORY</h2> + +<p> +Arthur Vaughan could write himself Member of Parliament. The plaudits of the +Academic and the mimic contests of the Debating Club were no longer for him. +Fortune had placed within his grasp the prize of which he had often dreamt; and +henceforth all lay open to him. But, as a contemporary in a letter written on a +like occasion says, he had gone through innumerable horrors to reach the goal. +And the moment the result was known and certain he slipped away from his place, +and from the oppressive good-wishes of his new and uncongenial +friends—the Williamses and the Blackfords; and shutting himself up in his +rooms at the White Lion, where his entrance was regarded askance, he set +himself to look the future in the face. +</p> + +<p> +He could not blame himself for the past, for he had done nothing of which he +was ashamed. He had been put by circumstances in a false position, but he had +freed himself frankly and boldly; and every candid man must acknowledge that he +could not have done otherwise than he had. Yet he was aware that his conduct +was open to misconstruction. Some, even on his own side, would say that he had +gone to Chippinge prepared to support his kinsman; and that then, tempted by +the opportunity of gaining the seat for himself, he had faced about. Few would +believe the truth—that twenty-four hours before the election he had +declined to stand. Still fewer would believe that in withdrawing his +“No,” he had been wholly moved by the offer which Sir Robert had +made to him and the unworthy manner in which he had treated him. +</p> + +<p> +Yet that was the truth; and so entirely the truth, that but for that offer he +would have resigned the seat even now. For he had no mind to enter the House +under a cloud. He knew that to do so was to endanger the boat in which his +fortunes were embarked. But in face of that offer he could not withdraw. Sir +Robert, Wetherell, White, all would believe that he had resigned, not on the +point of honour, but for a bribe, and because the bribe, refused at first, grew +larger the longer he eyed it. +</p> + +<p> +So, for good or evil, his mind was made up. And for a few minutes, while the +roar of the mob applauding him rose to his windows, he was happy. He was a +member of the Commons’ House. He stood on that threshold on which Harley +and St. John, Walpole the wise, and the inspired Cornet, Pitt and Fox, spoiled +children of fortune, Castlereagh the illogical, and Canning +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Born with an ancient name of little worth,<br/> +And disinherited before his birth</i>, +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +and many another had stood; knowing no more than he knew what fortune had in +womb for them, what of hushed silence would one day mark their rising, what +homage of loyal hearts and thundering feet would hang upon their words. As +their fortunes his might be; to sway to tears or laughter, to a nation’s +weal or woe, the men who ruled; to know his words were fateful, and yet to +speak with no uncertain voice; to give the thing he did not deign to wear, and +make the man whom he must follow after, ay, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>To fall as Walpole and to fail as Pitt!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +this, all this might be his, if he were worthy! If the dust of that arena knew +no better man! +</p> + +<p> +His heart rose on the wave of thought and he felt himself fit for all, equipped +for all. He owned no task too hard, no enterprise too high. Nor did he fall +from the clouds until he remembered the change in his fortunes, and bethought +him that henceforth he must depend upon himself. The story would be sifted, of +course, and its truth or falsehood be made clear. But whatever use Sir Robert +might have deigned to make of it, Vaughan did not believe that he would have +stooped to invent it. And if it were true, then all the importance which had +attached to himself as the heir to a great property, all the privileges, all +the sanctity of coming wealth, were gone. +</p> + +<p> +But with them the responsibilities of that position were gone also. The change +might well depress his head and cloud his heart. He had lost much which he +could hardly hope to win for himself. Yet—yet there were compensations. +</p> + +<p> +He had passed through much in the last twenty-four hours; and, perhaps for that +reason, he was peculiarly open to emotion. In the thought that henceforth he +might seek a companion where he pleased, in the remembrance that he had no +longer any tastes to consult but his own, any prejudices to respect save those +which he chose to adopt, he found a comfort at which he clutched eagerly and +thankfully. The world which shook him off—he would no longer be guided by +its dictates! The race, strenuous and to the swift, ay, to the draining of +heart and brain, he would not run it alone, uncheered, unsolaced—merely +because while things were different he had walked by a certain standard of +conduct! If he was now a poor man he was at least free! Free to take the one he +loved into the boat in which his fortunes floated, nor ask too closely who were +her forbears. Free to pursue his ambition hand in hand with one who would +sweeten failure and share success, and who in that life of scant enjoyment and +high emprise to which he must give himself, would be a guardian angel, saving +him from the spells of folly and pleasure! +</p> + +<p> +He might please himself now, and he would. Flixton might laugh, the men of the +14th might laugh. And in Bury Street he might have winced. But in Mecklenburgh +Square, where he and she would set up their modest tent, he would not care. +</p> + +<p> +He could not go to Bristol until the morrow, for he had to see Pybus, but he +would write and tell her of his fortunes and ask her to share them. The step +was no sooner conceived than attempted. He sat down and took pen and paper, and +with a glow at his heart, in a state of generous agitation, he prepared to +write. +</p> + +<p> +But he had never written to her, he had never called her by her name. And the +difficulty of addressing her overwhelmed him. In the end, after sitting +appalled by the bold and shameless look of “Dear Mary,” +“Dearest Mary,” and of addresses warmer than these, he solved the +difficulty, after a tame and proper fashion by writing to Miss Sibson. And this +is what he wrote: +</p> + +<p class="continue"> +“<span class="sc">Dear Madame</span>, +</p> + +<p> +“At the interview which I had with you on Saturday last, you were good +enough to intimate that if I were prepared to give an affirmative answer to a +question which you did not put into words, you would permit me to see Miss +Smith. I am now in a position to give the assurance as to my intentions which +you desired, and trust that I may see Miss Smith on my arrival in Bristol +to-morrow. +</p> + +<p> +“Believe me to remain, Madame, +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:40%">“Truly yours, +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:50%">“<span class="sc">Arthur V. +Vaughan</span>.” +</p> + +<p> +And all his life, he told himself, he would remember the use to which he had +put his first frank! +</p> + +<p> +That night the toasting and singing, drunkenness and revelry of which the +borough was the scene, kept him long waking. But eleven o’clock on the +following morning saw him alighting from a chaise at Bristol, and before noon +he was in Queen’s Square. +</p> + +<p> +For the time at least he had put the world behind him. And it was in pure +exultation and the joyous anticipation of what was to come that he approached +the house. He came, a victor from the fight; nor, he reflected, was it every +suitor who had it in his power to lay such offerings at the feet of his +mistress. In the eye of the world, indeed, he was no longer what he had been; +for the matchmaking mother he had lost his value. But he had still so much to +give which Mary had not, he could still so alter the tenor of her life, he +could still so lift her in the social scale, those hopes which she was to share +still flew on pinions so ambitious—ay, to the very scattering of garters +and red-ribbons—that his heart was full of the joy of giving. He must not +be blamed if he felt as King Cophetua when he stooped to the beggar-maiden, or +as the Lord of Burleigh when he woo’d the farmer’s daughter. After +all, he did but rejoice that she had so little and he had so much; that he +could give and she could grace. +</p> + +<p> +When he came to the house he paused a moment in wonder that when all things +were altered, his prospects, views, plans, its face rose unchanged. Then he +knocked boldly; the time for hesitation was past. He asked for Miss +Smith—thinking it likely that he would have to wait until the school rose +at noon. The maid, however, received him as if she expected him, and ushered +him at once into a room on the left of the entrance. He stood, holding his hat, +waiting, listening; but not for long. The door had scarcely closed on the girl +before it opened again, and Mary Smith came in. She met his eyes, and started, +blushed a divine rosy-red and stood wide-eyed and uncertain, with her hand on +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you not expect me?” he said, taken aback on his side. For this +was not the Mary Smith with whom he travelled on the coach; nor the Mary Smith +with whom he had talked in the Square. This was a Mary Smith, no less +beautiful, but gay and fresh as the morning, in dainty white with a broad blue +sash, with something new, something of a franker bearing in her air. “Did +you not expect me?” he repeated gently, advancing a step towards her. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she murmured, and she stood blushing before him, blushing +more deeply with every second. For his eyes were beginning to talk, and to tell +the old tale. +</p> + +<p> +“Did not Miss Sibson get my letter?” he asked gently. +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I have all—to do,” he said nervously. It was—it +was certainly a harder thing to do than he had expected. “Will you not +sit down, please,” he pleaded. “I want you to listen to me.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment she looked as if she would flee instead. Then she let him lead her +to a seat. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down within reach of her. “And you did not know that it was +I?” he said, feeling the difficulty increase with every second. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” he said, hesitating, “that you are glad that it +is?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to see you again—to thank you,” she murmured. But +while her blushes and her downcast eyes seemed propitious to his suit, there +was something—was it, could it be a covert smile hiding at the corners of +her little mouth?—some change in her which oppressed him, and which he +did not understand. One thing he did understand, however: that she was more +beautiful, more desirable, more intoxicating than he had pictured her. And his +apprehensions grew upon him, as he paused tongue-tied, worshipping her with his +eyes. If, after all, she would not? What if she said, “No”? For +what, now he came to measure them beside her, were those things he brought her, +those things he came to offer, that career which he was going to ask her to +share? What were they beside her adorable beauty and her modesty, the candour +of her maiden eyes, the perfection of her form? He saw their worthlessness; and +the bold phrase with which he had meant to open his suit, the confident, +“Mary, I am come for you,” which he had repeated so often to the +rhythm of the chaise-wheels, that he was sure he would never forget it, died on +his lips. +</p> + +<p> +At last, “You speak of thanks—it is to gain your thanks I am +come,” he said nervously. “But I don’t ask for words. I want +you to think as—as highly as you can of what I did for you—if you +please! I want you to believe that I saved your life on the coach. I want you +to think that I did it at great risk to myself. I want you,” he continued +hurriedly, “to exaggerate a hundredfold—everything I did for you. +And then I want you to think that you owe all to a miser, who will be content +with nothing short of—of immense interest, of an extortionate +return.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think that I understand,” she answered in a low +tone, her cheeks glowing. But beyond that, he could not tell aught of her +feelings; she kept her eyes lowered so that he could not read them, and there +were, even in the midst of her shyness, an ease and an aloofness in her +bearing, which were new to him and which frightened him. He remembered how +quickly she had on other occasions put him in his place; how coldly she had +asserted herself. Perhaps, she had no feeling for him. Perhaps, apart from the +incident in the coach, she even disliked him! +</p> + +<p> +“You do not understand,” he said unsteadily, “what is the +return I want?” +</p> + +<p> +“No-o,” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +He stood up abruptly, and took a pace or two from her. “And I hardly dare +tell you,” he said. “I hardly dare tell you. I came to you, I came +here as brave as a lion. And now, I don’t know why, I am +frightened.” +</p> + +<p> +She—astonishing thing!—leapt the gulf for him. Possibly the greater +distance at which he stood gave her courage. “Are you afraid,” she +murmured, moving her fingers restlessly, and watching them, “that you may +change your mind again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Change my mind?” he ejaculated, not for the moment understanding +her. So much had happened since his collision with Flixton in the Square. +</p> + +<p> +“As that gentleman—said you were in the habit of doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was not true?” +</p> + +<p> +“True?” he exclaimed hotly. “True that I—that +I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Changed your mind?” she said with her face averted. “And +not—not only that, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“What else?” he asked bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Talked of me—among your friends?” +</p> + +<p> +“A lie! A miserable lie!” he cried on impulse, finding his tongue +again. “But I will tell you all. He saw you—that first morning, you +remember, and never having seen anyone so lovely, he intended to make you the +object of—of attentions that were unworthy of you. And to protect you I +told him that I was going—to make you my wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that what you mean to-day?” she asked faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you did not mean it then?” she answered—though very +gently. “It was to shield me you said it?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her, astonished at her insight and her boldness. How different, +how very different was this from that to which he had looked forward! At last, +“I think I meant it,” he said gloomily. “God knows I mean it +now! But that evening,” he continued, seeing that she still waited with +averted face for the rest of his explanation, “he challenged me at dinner +before them all, and I,” he added jerkily, “I was not quite sure +what I meant—I had no mind that you should be made the talk of +the—of my friends——” +</p> + +<p> +“And so—you denied it?” she said gently. +</p> + +<p> +He hung his head. “Yes,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I—I understand,” she answered unsteadily. +“What I do not understand is why you are here to-day. Why you have +changed your mind again. Why you are now willing that I should be—the +talk of your friends, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood, the picture of abasement. Must he acknowledge his doubts and his +hesitation, allow that he had been ashamed of her, admit that he had deemed the +marriage he now sought, a mésalliance? Must he open to her eyes those hours of +cowardly vacillation during which he had walked the Clifton Woods weighing <i>I +would</i> against <i>I dare not?</i> And do it in face of that new dignity, +that new aloofness which he recognised in her and which made him doubt if he +had an ally in her heart. +</p> + +<p> +More, if he told her, would she understand? How should she, bred so +differently, understand how heavily the old name with its burden of +responsibilities, how heavily the past with its obligations to duty and +sacrifice, had weighed upon him! And if he told her and she did not understand, +what mercy had he to expect from her? +</p> + +<p> +Still, for a moment he was on the point of telling her: and of telling her also +why he was now free to please himself, why, rid of the burden with the +inheritance, he could follow his heart. But the tale was long and roundabout, +she knew nothing of the Vermuydens, of their importance, or his expectations, +or what he had lost or what he had gained. And it seemed simpler to throw +himself on her mercy. “Because I love you!” he said humbly. +“I have nothing else to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you are sure that you will not change your mind again?” +</p> + +<p> +There was that in her voice, though he could not see her face, which brought +him across two squares of the carpet as if she had jerked him with a string. In +a second he was on his knees beside her, and had laid a feverish hand on hers. +“Mary,” he cried, “Mary!” seeking to look up into her +face, “you will! You will! You will let me take you? You will let me take +you from here! I cannot offer you what I once thought I could, but I have +enough, and, you will?” There was a desperate supplication in his voice; +for close to her, so close that his breath was on her cheek, she seemed, with +her half-averted face and her slender figure, so dainty a thing, so delicate +and rare, that he could hardly believe that she could ever be his, that he +could be so lucky as to possess her, that he could ever take her in his arms. +“You will? You will?” he repeated, empty of all other words. +</p> + +<p> +She did not speak, she could not speak. But she bowed her head. +</p> + +<p> +“You will?” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her eyes on him then; eyes so tender and passionate that they seemed +to draw his heart, his being, his strength out of him. “Yes,” she +whispered shyly. “If I am allowed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Allowed? Allowed?” he cried. How in a moment was all changed for +him! “I would like to see——” And then breaking +off—perhaps it was her fault for leaning a little towards him—he +did that which he had thought a moment before that he would never dare to do. +He put his arm round her and drew her gently and reverently to him +until—for she did not resist—her head lay on his shoulder. +“Mine!” he murmured, “Mine! Mine! Mary, I can hardly believe +it. I can hardly think I am so blest.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you will not change?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Never! Never!” +</p> + +<p> +They were silent. Was she thinking of the dark night, when she had walked +lonely and despondent to her new and unknown home? Or of many another hour of +solitary depression, spent in dull and dreary schoolrooms, while others made +holiday? Was he thinking of his doubts and fears, his cowardly hesitation? Or +only of his present monstrous happiness? No matter. At any rate, they had +forgotten the existence of anything outside the room, they had forgotten the +world and Miss Sibson, they were in a Paradise of their own, such as is given +to no man and to no woman more than once, they were a million miles from +Bristol City, when the sound made by the opening door surprised them in that +posture. Vaughan turned fiercely to see who it was, to see who dared to +trespass on their Eden. He looked, only looked, and he sprang to his feet, +amazed. He thought for a moment that he was dreaming, or that he was mad. +</p> + +<p> +For on the threshold, gazing at them with a face of indescribable astonishment, +rage and incredulity, was Sir Robert Vermuyden. Sir Robert Vermuyden, the one +last man in the world whom Arthur Vaughan would have expected to see there! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>XX<br/> +A PLOT UNMASKED</h2> + +<p> +For a few moments the old man and the young man gazed at one another, alike in +this only that neither found words equal to his feelings. While Mary, covered +with confusion, blushing for the situation in which she had been found, could +not hold up her head. It was Sir Robert who at last broke the silence in a +voice which trembled with passion. +</p> + +<p> +“You viper!” he said. “You viper! You would sting +me—here also.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stared at him, aghast. The intrusion was outrageous, but astonishment +rather than anger was the young man’s first feeling. “Here +also?” he repeated, as if he thought that he must have heard amiss. +“<i>I</i> sting you? What do you mean? Why have you followed me?” +And then more warmly, “How dare you, sir, spy on me?” And he threw +back his head in wrath. +</p> + +<p> +The old man, every nerve and vein in his lean, high forehead swollen and +leaping, raised his cane and shook it at him. “Dare? Dare?” he +cried, and then for very rage his voice failed him. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan closed his eyes and opened them again. “I am dreaming,” he +said. “I must be dreaming. Are you Sir Robert Vermuyden? Is this house +Miss Sibson’s school? Are we in Bristol? Or is it all—but first, +sir,” recalling abruptly and with indignation the situation in which he +had been surprised, and raising his tone, “how come you here? I have a +right to know that!” +</p> + +<p> +“How come I here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! How come you here, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“You ask me! You ask me!” Sir Robert repeated, as if he could not +believe his ears. “How I come here! You scoundrel! You scoundrel!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan started under the lash of the word. The insult was gratuitous, +intolerable! No relationship, no family tie could excuse it. No wonder that the +astonishment and irritation which had been his first feelings, gave way to pure +anger. Sir Robert might be this or that. He might have, or rather, he might +have had certain rights. But now all that was over, the relationship was a +thing of the past. And to suppose that he was still to suffer the old +gentleman’s interference, to put up with his insults, to permit him in +the presence of a young girl, his promised wife, to use such language as he was +using, was out of the question. Vaughan’s face grew dark. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert,” he said, “you are too old to be called to +account. You may say, therefore, what you please. But not—not if you are +a gentleman—until this young lady has left the room.” +</p> + +<p> +“This—young—lady!” Sir Robert gasped in an +indescribable tone: and with the cane quivering in his grasp he looked from +Vaughan to the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Vaughan answered sternly. “That young lady! And do not +let me hear you call her anything else, sir, for she has promised to be my +wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“You lie!” the baronet cried, the words leaping from his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert!” +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter—promised to be your wife! +My—my——” +</p> + +<p> +“Your daughter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hypocrite!” Sir Robert retorted, flinging the word at him. +“You knew it! You knew it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that she was my daughter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your daughter!” +</p> + +<p> +This time the words fell from Arthur Vaughan in a whisper. And he stood, turned +to stone. His daughter? Sir Robert’s daughter? The girl—he tried +desperately to clear his mind—of whom Wetherell had told the story, the +girl whom her mother had hidden away, while in Italy, the girl whose +reappearance in life had ousted him or was to oust him from his inheritance? +Mary Smith—was that girl! His daughter! +</p> + +<p> +But no! The blood leapt back to his heart. It was impossible, it was +incredible! The coincidence was too great, too amazing. His reason revolted +against it. And “Impossible!” he cried in a louder, a bolder +tone—though fear underlay its confidence. “You are playing with me! +You must be jesting!” he repeated angrily. +</p> + +<p> +But the elder man, though his hand still trembled on his cane and his face was +sallow with rage, had regained some control of himself. Instead of retorting on +Vaughan—except by a single glance of withering contempt—he turned +to Mary. “You had better go to your room,” he said, coldly but not +ungently. For how could he blame her, bred amid such surroundings, for conduct +that in other circumstances had irritated him indeed? For conduct that had been +unseemly, unmaidenly, improper. “You had better go to your room,” +he repeated. “This is no fit place for you and no fit discussion for your +ears. I am not—the fault is not with you, but it will be better if you +leave us.” +</p> + +<p> +She was rising, too completely overwhelmed to dream of refusing, when Vaughan +interposed. “No,” he said with a gleam of defiance in his eyes. +“By your leave, sir, no! This young lady is my affianced wife. If it be +her own wish to retire, be it so. But if not, there is no one who has the right +to bid her go or stay. You”—checking Sir Robert’s wrathful +rejoinder by a gesture—“you may be her father, but before you can +exercise a father’s rights you must make good your case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Make good my case!” Sir Robert ejaculated. +</p> + +<p> +“And when you have made it good, it will still be for her to choose +between us,” Vaughan continued with determination. “You, who have +never played a father’s part, who have never guided or guarded, fostered +or cherished her—do not think, sir, that you can in a moment arrogate to +yourself a father’s authority.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert gasped. But the next moment he took up the glove so boldly flung +down. He pointed to the door, and with less courtesy than the occasion +demanded—but he was sore pressed by his anger, “Leave the room, +girl,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do as you please, Mary,” Vaughan said. +</p> + +<p> +“Go!” cried the baronet, stung by the use of her name. +“Stay!” said Vaughan. +</p> + +<p> +Infinitely distressed, infinitely distracted by this appeal from the one, from +the other, from this side, from that, she turned her swimming eyes on her +lover. “Oh, what,” she cried, “what am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +He did not speak, but he looked at her, not doubting what she would do, nor +conceiving it possible that she could prefer to him, her lover, whose sweet +professions were still honey in her ears, whose arm was still warm from the +pressure of her form—that she could prefer to him, a father who was no +more than the shadow of a name. +</p> + +<p> +But he did not know Mary yet, either in her strength or her weakness. Nor did +he consider that her father was already more than a name to her. She hung a +moment undecided and wretched, drooping as the white rose that hangs its head +in the first shower. Then she turned to the elder man, and throwing her arms +about his neck hung in tears on his breast. “You will be good to him, +sir,” she whispered passionately. “Oh, forgive him! Forgive him, +sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, forgive him, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert smoothed her hair with a caressing hand, and with pinched lips and +bright eyes looked at his adversary over her head. “I would forgive +him,” he said, “I could forgive him—all but this! All but +this, my dear! I could forgive him had he not tricked you and deceived you, +cozened you and flattered you—into this! Into the belief that he loves +you, while he loves only your inheritance! Or that part,” he added +bitterly, “of which he has not already robbed you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert,” Vaughan said, “you have stooped very low. But +it will not avail you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has availed me so far,” the baronet retorted. With confidence +he was regaining also command of himself. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan winced. In proportion as the other recovered his temper, he lost his. +</p> + +<p> +“It will avail me still farther,” Sir Robert continued exultantly, +“when my daughter understands, as she shall understand, sir, that when +you came here to-day, when you stole a march on me, as you thought, and +proposed marriage to her behind my back, you knew all that I knew! Knew, sir, +that she was my daughter, knew that she was my heiress, knew that she ousted +you, knew that by a marriage with her, and by that only, you could regain all +that you had lost!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a lie!” Vaughan cried, stung beyond endurance. He was pale +with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“Then refute it!” Sir Robert said, clasping the girl, who had +involuntarily winced at the word, more closely to him. “Refute it, sir! +Refute it!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is absurd! It—it needs no refutation!” Vaughan cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” Sir Robert retorted. “I state it. I am prepared to +prove it! I have three witnesses to the fact!” +</p> + +<p> +“To the fact that I——” +</p> + +<p> +“That you knew,” Sir Robert replied. “Knew this lady to be my +daughter when you came here this morning—as well as I knew it +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan returned his look in speechless indignation. Did the man really believe +in a charge, which at first had seemed to be mere vulgar abuse. It was not +possible! “Sir Robert,” he said, speaking slowly and with dignity, +“I never did you harm by word or deed until a day or two ago. And then, +God knows, perforce and reluctantly. How then can you lower yourself +to—to such a charge as this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you deny then,” the baronet replied with contemptuous force, +“do you dare to deny—to my face, that you knew?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stared. “You will say presently,” he replied, “that I +knew her to be your daughter when I made her acquaintance on the coach a week +ago. At a time when you knew nothing yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“As to that I cannot say one way or the other,” Sir Robert +rejoined. “I do not know how nor where you made her acquaintance. But I +do know that an acquaintance so convenient, so coincident, could hardly be the +work of chance!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good G—d! Then you will say also that I knew who she was when I +called on her the day after, and again two days after that—while you were +still in ignorance?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have said,” the baronet answered with cold decision, “that +I do not know how you made, nor why you followed up your acquaintance with her. +But I have, I cannot but have my suspicions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suspicions? Suspicions?” Vaughan cried bitterly. “And on +suspicion, the base issue of prejudice and dislike——” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, no!” Sir Robert struck in. “Though it may be that +if I knew who introduced you to her, who opened this house to you, and the +rest, I might find ground for more than suspicion! The schoolmistress might +tell me somewhat, and—you wince, sir! Ay,” he continued in a tone +of triumph. “I see there is something to be learned! But it is not upon +suspicion that I charge you to-day! It is upon the best of grounds. Did you not +before my eyes and in the presence of two other witnesses, read, no farther +back than the day before yesterday, in the drawing-room of my house, the whole +story of my daughter’s movements up to her departure from London for +Bristol! With the name of the school to which she was consigned? Did you not, +sir? Did you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never! Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” The astonishment in Sir Robert’s voice was so real, +so unfeigned, that it must have carried conviction to any listener. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan passed his hand across his brow; and Mary, who had hitherto kept her +face hidden, shivering under the stroke of each harsh word—for to a +tender heart what could be more distressing than this strife between the two +beings she most cherished?—raised her head imperceptibly. What would he +answer? Only she knew how her heart beat; how sick she was with fear; how she +shrank from that which the next minute might unfold! +</p> + +<p> +And yet she listened. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I remember now,” Vaughan said—and the consternation +he felt made itself heard in his voice. “I remember that I looked at a +paper——” +</p> + +<p> +“At a paper!” Sir Robert cried in a tone of withering contempt. +“At a detailed account, sir, of my daughter’s movements down to her +arrival at Bristol! Do you deny that?” he continued grimly. “Do you +deny that you perused that account?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stood for a moment with his hand pressed to his brow. He hesitated. +“I remember taking a paper in my hands,” he said slowly, his face +flushing, as the probable inference from his words occurred to him. “But +I was thinking so much of the disclosure you had made to me, and of the change +it involved—-to me, that——” +</p> + +<p> +“That you took no interest in the written details!” Sir Robert +cried in a tone of bitter irony. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not.” +</p> + +<p> +“You did not read a word, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not.” +</p> + +<p> +Before the baronet could utter the sneer which was on his lips, Mary +interposed. “I—I would like to go,” she murmured. “I +feel rather faint!” +</p> + +<p> +She detached herself from her father’s arm as she spoke, and with her +face averted from her lover, she moved uncertainly towards the door. She had no +wish to look on him. She shrank from meeting his shamed eyes. But something, +either the feeling that she would never see him again, and that this was the +end of her maiden love, or the desperate hope that even at this last moment he +might explain his admission—and those facts, “confirmation strong +as hell” which she knew, but which Sir Robert did not know—one or +other of these feelings made her falter on the threshold, made her turn. Their +eyes met. +</p> + +<p> +He stepped forward impulsively. He was white with pain, his face rigid. For +what pain is stronger than the pang of innocence accused? +</p> + +<p> +“One moment!” he said, in an unsteady voice. “If we part so, +Mary, we part indeed! We part forever! I said awhile ago that you must choose +between us. And you have chosen—it seems,” he continued unsteadily. +“Yet think! Give yourself, give me a chance. Will you not believe my +word?” And he held out his arms to her. “Will you not believe that +when I came to you this morning I thought you penniless? I thought you the +unknown schoolmistress you thought yourself a week ago! Will you not trust me +when I say that I never connected you with the missing daughter? Never dreamed +of a connection? Why should I?” he added, in growing agitation as the +words of his appeal wrought on himself. “Why should I? Or why do you in a +moment think me guilty of the meanest, the most despicable, the most mercenary +of acts?” +</p> + +<p> +He was going to take her hand, but Sir Robert stepped between them, grim as +fate and as vindictive. “No!” he said. “No! No more! You have +given her pain enough, sir! Take your dismissal and go! She has +chosen—you have said it yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +He cast one look at Sir Robert, and then, “Mary,” he asked, +“am I to go?” +</p> + +<p> +She was leaning, almost beside herself, against the door. And oh, how much of +joy and sorrow she had known since she crossed the threshold. A man’s +embrace, and a man’s treachery. The sweetness of love and the bitterness +of—reality! +</p> + +<p> +“Mary!” Vaughan repeated. +</p> + +<p> +But the baronet could not endure this. “By G—d, no!” he +cried, infuriated by the other’s persistence, and perhaps a little by +fear that the girl would give way. “You shall not soil her name with your +lips, sir! You shall torture her no longer! You have your dismissal! Take it +and go!” +</p> + +<p> +“When she tells me with her own lips to go,” Vaughan answered +doggedly, “I will go. Not before!” For never had she seemed more +desirable to him. Never, though contempt of her weakness wrestled with his +love, had he wanted her more. Except that seat in the House which had cost him +so dearly, she was all he had left. And it did not seem possible that she whom +he had held so lately in his arms, she who had confessed her love for him, with +whom he had vowed to share his life and his success, his lot good or +bad—it did not seem possible that she could really believe this +miserable, this incredible, this impossible thing of him! She could not! Or, if +she could, he was indeed mistaken in her. “I shall go,” he repeated +coldly, “and I shall not return.” +</p> + +<p> +And Mary had not believed it of him, had she known him longer or better; had +she known him as girls commonly know their lovers. But his wooing had been +short, we know: and we know, too, the distrust of men in which she had been +trained. He had taken her by storm, stooping to her from the height of his +position, having on his side her poverty and loneliness, her inexperience and +youth. Now all these things, and her ignorance of his world weighed against +him. Was it to be supposed, could it be credited that he, who had come to her +bearing her mother’s commendation, knew nothing, though he was her +kinsman? That he, who after plain hesitation and avowed doubt, laid all at her +feet as soon as her father was prepared to acknowledge her—still sought +her in ignorance? That he, who had read her story in black and white, still +knew nothing? +</p> + +<p> +No, she could not believe it. But it was a bitter thing to know that he did not +love her, that he had not loved her! That he had come to her for gain! She must +speak if it were only to escape, only to save herself from—from collapse. +She yearned for nothing now so much as to be alone in her room. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye,” she muttered, with averted eyes and pallid lips. +“I—I forgive you. Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +And she opened the door with groping fingers; and still, still looking away +from him lest she should break down, she went out. +</p> + +<p> +He drew a deep breath as she passed the threshold; and his eyes did not leave +her. But he did not speak. Nor did Sir Robert Vermuyden until his +daughter’s step, light as thistledown that morning, and now uncertain and +lagging, passed out of hearing, and—and at last a door closed on the +floor above. +</p> + +<p> +Then the elder man looked at the other. “Are you not going?” he +said with stern meaning. “You have robbed me of my borough, sir—I +give you joy of your cleverness. But you shall not rob me of my +daughter!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder which you love the better!” Vaughan snarled. And with the +vicious gibe he took his hat and went. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>XXI<br/> +A MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS</h2> + +<p> +It was September. The House elected in those first days of May was four months +old, and already it had fulfilled the hopes of the country. Without a division +it had decreed the first reading, and by a majority of one hundred and +thirty-six, the second reading of the People’s Bill; that Bill by which +the preceding House slaying, had been slain. New members were beginning to lose +the first gloss of their enthusiasm; the youngest no longer ogled the M.P. on +their letters, nor franked for the mere joy of franking. But the ministry still +rode the flood tide of favour, Lord Grey was still his country’s pride, +and Brougham a hero. It only remained to frighten the House of Lords, and in +particular those plaguy out-of-date fellows, the Bishops, into passing the +Bill; and the battle would be won, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>The streets be paved with mutton pies</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Potatoes eat like pine!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +And, in fine, everyone would live happily ever afterwards. +</p> + +<p> +To old Tories of the stamp of Sir Robert Vermuyden, the outlook was wholly +dark. But it is not often that public care clouds private joy; and had Eldon +been prime minister, with Wetherell for his Chancellor, the grounds of +Stapylton could hardly have worn a more smiling aspect than they presented on +the fine day in early September, which Sir Robert had chosen for his +daughter’s first party. The abrupt addition of a well-grown girl to a +family of one is a delicate process. It is apt to open the door to scandal. And +a little out of discretion, and more that she, who was now the apple of his +eye, might not wear her wealth with a difference, nor lack anything of the +mode, he had not hastened the occasion. A word had been dropped here and +there—with care; the truth had been told to some, the prepossessions of +others had been consulted. But at length the day was come on which she must +stand by his side and receive the world of Wiltshire. +</p> + +<p> +And she had so stood for more than an hour of this autumn afternoon; with such +pride on his side as was fitting, and such blushes on hers as were fitting +also. Now, the prime duty of reception over, and his company dispersed through +the gardens, Sir Robert lingered with one or two of his intimates on the lawn +before the house. In the hollow of the park hard by, stood the ample marquee in +which his poorer neighbours were presently to feed; gossip had it that Sir +Robert was already at work rebuilding his political influence. Near the tent, +Hunt the Slipper and Kiss in the Ring were in progress, and Moneymusk was being +danced to the strains of the Chippinge church band; the shrill voices of the +rustic youth proving that their first shyness was wearing off. Within the +gardens, a famous band from Bath played the new-fashioned quadrilles turn about +with Moore’s Irish Melodies; and a score of the fair, gorgeous as the +dragon-flies which darted above the water, meandered delicately up and down the +sward; or escorted by gentlemen in tightly strapped white trousers and blue +coats—or in Wellington frocks, the latest mode—appeared and again +disappeared among the elms beside the Garden Pool. In the background, the +house, adorned and refurnished, winked with all its windows at the sunshine, +gave forth from all its doors the sweet scent of flowers, throbbed to the very +recesses of the haunted wing with small talk and light laughter, the tap of +sandalled feet and the flirt of fans. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert thanked his God as he looked upon it all. And five years younger in +face and more like the Duke than ever, he listened, almost purring, to the +praises of his new-found darling. The odds had been great that with such a +breeding, she had been coarse or sly, common or skittish. And she was none of +these things, but fair as a flower, slender as Psyche, sweet-eyed as a loving +woman, dainty and virginal as the buds of May! And withal gentle and kind and +obedient—above all, obedient. He could not thank God enough, as he read +in the eyes of young men and old women, what they thought of her. And he was +thanking Him, though in outward seeming he was attentive to an old +friend’s prattle, when his eyes fell on a carriage and four which, +followed by two outriders, was sweeping past the marquee and breasting the +gentle ascent to the house. All who were likely to arrive in such state, the +Beauforts, Suffolks, Methuens, were come; the old Duke of Beaufort, indeed, and +his daughter-in-law were gone again. So Sir Robert stared at the approaching +carriage, wondering whom it might contain. +</p> + +<p> +“They are the Bowood liveries,” said his friend, who had longer +sight. “I thought they had gone to town for the Coronation.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert too had thought so. Indeed, though he had invited the Lansdownes +upon the principle, which even the heats attending the Reform Bill did not +wholly abrogate, that family friendships were above party—he had been +glad to think that he would not see the spoliators. The trespass was too +recent, the robbery too gross! Ay, and the times too serious. +</p> + +<p> +Here they were, however; Lady Lansdowne, her daughter, and a small gentleman +with a merry eye and curling locks. And Sir Robert repressed a sigh, and +advanced four or five paces to meet them. But though he sighed, no one knew +better what became a host; and his greeting was perfect. One of his bitterest +flings at Bowood painted it as the common haunt of fiddlers and poets, actors +and the like. But he received her ladyship’s escort, who was no other +than Mr. Moore of Sloperton, and of the Irish Melodies, with the courtesy which +he would have extended to an equal; nor when Lady Lansdowne sent her girl to +take tea under the poet’s care did he let any sign of his reprobation +appear. Those with whom he had been talking had withdrawn to leave him at +liberty, and he found himself alone with Lady Lansdowne. +</p> + +<p> +“We leave for Berkeley Square to-morrow, for the Coronation on the +8th,” she said, playing with her fan in a way which would have betrayed +to her intimates that she was not at ease. “I had many things to do this +morning in view of our departure and I could not start early. You must accept +our apologies, Sir Robert.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was gracious of your ladyship to come at all,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“It was brave,” she replied, with a gleam of laughter in her eyes. +“In fact, though I bear my lord’s warmest felicitations on this +happy event, and wreathe them with mine, Sir Robert——” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank your ladyship and Lord Lansdowne,” he said formally. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think that I should have ventured,” she continued with +another glint of laughter, “did I not bear also an olive branch.” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed, but waited in silence for her explanation. +</p> + +<p> +“One of a—a rather delicate nature,” she said. “Am I +permitted, Sir Robert, to—to speak in confidence?” +</p> + +<p> +He did not understand and he sought refuge in compliments. +“Permitted?” he said, with the gallant bow of an old beau. +“All things are permitted to so much——” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” she said. “But there! I will take you at your word. +You know that the Bill—there is but one Bill now-a-days—is in +Committee?” +</p> + +<p> +He frowned, disliking the subject. “I don’t think,” he said, +“that any good can come of discussing it, Lady Lansdowne.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think it may,” she replied, with a confidence which she did not +feel, “if you will hear me. It is whispered that there is a question in +Committee of one of the doomed boroughs. One, I am told, Sir Robert, hangs +between schedule A and schedule B; and that borough is Chippinge. Those who +know whisper Lord Lansdowne that ultimately it will be plucked from the +burning, and will be found in schedule B. Consequently it will retain one +member.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert’s thin face turned a dull red. So the wicked Whigs, who had +drawn the line of disfranchisement at such a point as to spare their pet +preserves, their Calne and Bedford and the like, had not been able with all +their craft to net every fish. One had evaded the mesh, and by Heavens, it was +Chippinge! Chippinge, though shorn of its full glory, would still return one +member. He had not hoped, he had not expected this. Now +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Non omnis moriar, multaque pars mei<br/> +Vitabit Libitinam!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +he thought with jubilation. And then another thought darted through his mind +and changed his joy to chagrin. A seat had been left to Chippinge. But why? +That Arthur Vaughan, that his renegade cousin, might continue to fill it, might +continue to hold it, under his nose and to his daily, hourly, his constant +mortification. By Heaven, it was too much! They had said well, who said that an +enemy’s gift was to be dreaded. But he would fight the seat, at the next +election and at every election, rather than suffer that miserable person, +miserable on so many accounts, to fill it at his will. And after all the seat +was saved; and no one could tell the future. The lasting gain might outlive the +temporary vexation. +</p> + +<p> +So, after frowning a moment, he tried to smooth his brow. “And your +mission, Lady Lansdowne,” he said politely, “is to tell me +this?” +</p> + +<p> +“In part,” she said, with hesitation, for the course, of his +feelings had been visible in his countenance. “But +also——” +</p> + +<p> +“But also—and in the main,” he answered with a smile, +“to make a proposition, perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +He thought of the most obvious proposition, and he spoke in pursuance of his +thought. “Then forgive me if I speak plainly,” he said. +“Whether the borough lose one member or both, whether it figure in +schedule B, or in schedule A, cannot affect my opposition to the Bill! If you +have it in commission, therefore, to make any proposal, based on a contrary +notion, I cannot listen even to your ladyship.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not,” she answered with a smile. “Sir Robert +Vermuyden’s malignancy is too well known. Yet I am the bearer of a +proposition. Suppose the Bill to become law, and I am told that it will surely +become law, can we not avoid future conflict, and—I will not say future +ill-will, for God knows there is none on our side, Sir Robert—but future +friction, by an agreement? Of course it will not be possible to nominate +members in the future as in the past. But for some time to come whoever is +returned for Chippinge must be returned by your influence, or by my +lord’s.” +</p> + +<p> +He coughed drily. “Possibly,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“In view of that,” she continued, flirting her fan, as she watched +his face—his manner was not encouraging, “and for the sake of peace +between families, and a little, perhaps, because I do not wish Kerry to be +beggared by contested elections, can we not now, while the future is on the lap +of the gods——” +</p> + +<p> +“In Committee,” Sir Robert corrected with a grave bow. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed pleasantly. “Well,” she allowed, “perhaps it is +not quite the same thing. But no matter! Whoever the Fates in charge, can we +not,” with her head on one side and a charming smile, “make a +treaty of peace?” +</p> + +<p> +“And what,” Sir Robert asked with urbane sarcasm, “becomes of +the rights of the people in that case, Lady Lansdowne? And of the purity of +elections? And of the new and independent electors whom my lord has brought +into being? Must we not think of these things?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked for an instant rather foolish. Then she rallied, and with a slightly +heightened colour, “In good time, we must,” she replied. “But +for the present it is plain that they will not be able to walk without +assistance.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” it was on the tip of his tongue to answer. “The new +and independent electors? Not walk without assistance? Oh, what a change is +here!” But he forbore. He said instead—but with the faintest shade +of irony, “Without <i>our</i> assistance, I think you mean, Lady +Lansdowne?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. And that being so, why should we not agree, my lord and +you—to save Kerry’s pocket shall I say—to bring forward a +candidate alternately?” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert shook his head gravely. He would fight. +</p> + +<p> +“Allowing to you, Sir Robert, as the owner of the influence hitherto +dominant in the borough, the first return.” +</p> + +<p> +“The first return—after the Bill passes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +That was a different thing. That was another thing altogether. A gleam of +satisfaction shone for an instant under the baronet’s bushy eyebrows. The +object he had most at heart was to oust his treacherous cousin. And here was a +method, sure and safe: more safe by far than any contest under the new Bill? +</p> + +<p> +“Well I—I cannot say anything at this moment,” he said, at +last, trying to hide his satisfaction. “These heats once over I do not +see—your ladyship will pardon me—why my influence should not still +predominate.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Lady Lansdowne’s turn. “And things be as before?” she +answered. “No, Sir Robert, no. You forget those rights of the people +which you were so kind as to support a moment ago. Things will not be as +before. But—but perhaps I shall hear from you? Of course it is not a +matter that can be settled, as in the old days, by our people.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall certainly hear,” he said, with something more than +courtesy. “In the meantime——” +</p> + +<p> +“I am dying to see your daughter,” she answered. “I am told +that she is very lovely. Where is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“A few minutes ago she was in the Elm Walk,” Sir Robert answered, a +slight flush betraying his gratification. “I will send for her.” +</p> + +<p> +But her ladyship would not hear of this; nor would she suffer him to leave his +post to escort her. “Here’s la belle Suffolk coming to take leave +of you,” she said. “And I know my way.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you will not know her,” Sir Robert answered. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne let her parasol sink over her shoulder. “I think I +shall,” she said with a glance of meaning, “if she is like her +mother.” +</p> + +<p> +And without waiting to see the effect of her words, she moved away. It was said +of old time of Juno, that she walked a Goddess confessed. And of Lady Lansdowne +as she moved slowly across the sunny lawn before the church, her dainty skirts +trailing and her parasol inclined, it might with equal justice have been said, +that she walked a great lady, of that day when great ladies still were, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Nor mill nor mart had mocked the guinea’s stamp</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +Whether she smiled on this person or bowed to that, or with a slighter movement +acknowledged the courtesy of those who, without claiming recognition made +respectful way for her, a gracious ease and a quiet nonchalance were in all her +actions. The deeper emotions seemed as far from her as were Hodge and Joan +playing Kiss in the Ring. But her last words to Sir Robert had reacted on +herself, and as she crossed the rustic bridge, she paused a moment to gaze on +the water. The band was playing the air of “She is far from the +Land,” and tears rose to her eyes as she recalled the past and pictured +scene after scene, absurd or pathetic in the career of the proud beauty who had +once queened it here, whose mad pranks and madder sayings had once filled these +shrubberies with mirth or chagrin, and whose child she was about to see. +</p> + +<p> +She sighed, as she resumed her course, unable even now to blame Lady Sybil as +her conduct to her child deserved. But where was the child? Not on the walk +under the elms, which was deserted in favour of the more lively attractions of +the park. Lady Lansdowne looked this way and that; at length availing herself +of the solitude, she paced the walk to its end. Thence a short path which she +well remembered, led to the kennels; and rather to indulge her sentiment and +recall the days when she was herself young, and had been intimate here, than +because she expected to meet Mary, she took this path. She had not followed it +a dozen steps, and was hesitating whether to go on or return, the strains of +Moore’s melody were scarcely blurred by the intervening laurels, when a +tall dark-robed figure stepped with startling abruptness from the shrubbery, +and stood before her. +</p> + +<p> +“Louisa,” said the stranger. And she raised her veil. +“Don’t you know me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sybil!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Sybil!” the other answered curtly. And then as if something +in Lady Lansdowne’s tone had wounded her, “Why not?” she +continued, raising her head proudly. “My name came easily enough to your +ladyship’s lips once! And I am not aware that I have done anything to +deprive me of the right to call my friends by their names, be they whom they +may!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! But——” +</p> + +<p> +“But you meant it, Louisa!” the other retorted with energy. +“Or is it that you find me so changed, so old, so worn, so altered from +her you once knew, that it astonishes you to trace in this face the features of +Sybil Matching!” +</p> + +<p> +“You are changed,” the other answered kindly. “I fear you +have been ill?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am ill. I am more, I am dying. Not here, nor to-day, nor +to-morrow——” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne interrupted her. “In that sense,” she said gently, +“we are all dying.” But though she said it, the change in Lady +Sybil’s appearance did indeed shock her; almost as much as her presence +in that place amazed her. +</p> + +<p> +“I have but three months to live,” Lady Sybil answered feverishly; +and her sunken cheeks and bright eyes, which told of some hidden disease, +confirmed her words. “I am dying in that sense! Do you hear? But I dare +say,” with a flash of her old levity, “it is my presence here that +shocks you? You are thinking what Vermuyden would say if he turned the corner +behind you, and found us together!” And, as Lady Lansdowne, with a +nervous start, looked over her shoulder, with the old recklessness, +“I’d like—I’d like to see his face, my dear, and yours, +too, if he found us. But,” she continued, with an abrupt change to +impassioned earnestness, “it’s not to see you that I came to-day! +Don’t think it! It’s not to see you that I’ve been waiting +for two hours past. I want to see my girl! I am going to see her, do you hear! +You must bring her to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sybil!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t contradict me, Louisa,” she cried peremptorily. +“Haven’t I told you that I am dying? Don’t you hear what I +say! Am I to die and not see my child? Cruel woman! Heartless creature! But you +always were! And cold as an icicle!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, I am not! And I think you should see her,” Lady +Lansdowne answered, in no little distress. How could she not be distressed by +the contrast between this woman plainly and almost shabbily dressed—for +the purpose perhaps of evading notice—and with illness stamped on her +face, and the brilliant, harum-scarum Lady Sybil, with whom her thoughts had +been busy a few minutes before? “I think you ought to see her,” she +repeated in a soothing tone. “But you should take the proper steps to do +so. You——” +</p> + +<p> +“You think—yes, you do!” Lady Vermuyden retorted with fierce +energy—“you think that I have treated her so ill that I have no +right to see her! That I cannot care to see her! But you do not know how I was +tried! How I was suspected, how I was watched! What wrongs I suffered! +And—and I never meant to hide her for good. When I died, she would have +come home. And I had a plan too—but never mind that—to right her +without Vermuyden’s knowledge and in his teeth. I saw her on a coach one +day along with—what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is someone coming,” Lady Lansdowne said hurriedly. Her +ladyship indeed was in a state of great apprehension. She knew that at any +moment she might be found, perhaps by Sir Robert: and the thought of the scene +which would follow—aware as she was of the exasperation of his +feelings—appalled her. She tried to temporise. “Another +time,” she said. “I think someone is coming now. See me another +time and I will do what I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” the other broke in, her face flushing with sudden anger. +“See you, Louisa? What do I care for seeing you? It is my girl I wish to +see, that I’m come to see, that I’m going to see! I’m her +mother, fetch her to me! I have a right to see her, and I will see her! I +demand her! If you do not go for her——” +</p> + +<p> +“Sybil! Sybil!” Lady Lansdowne cried, thoroughly alarmed by her +friend’s violence. “For Heaven’s sake be calm!” +</p> + +<p> +“Calm?” Lady Vermuyden answered. “Do you cease to dictate to +me, and do as I bid you! Go, and fetch her, or I will go myself and claim her +before all his friends. He has no heart. He never had a heart! It’s +sawdust,” with a hysterical laugh. “But he has pride and I’ll +trample on it! I’ll tread it in the mud—if you don’t fetch +her! Are you going, Miss Gravity? We used to call you Miss Gravity, I remember. +You were always,” with a faint sneer, “a bit of a prude, my +dear!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gravity! What long-forgotten trifles, what thoughts of youth the nickname +brought back to Lady Lansdowne’s recollection. What wars of +maidens’ wits, and half-owned jealousies, and light resentments, and +sunny days of pique and pleasure! Her heart, never anything but soft, under the +mask of her great-lady’s manner, waxed sore and pitiful. Yet how was she +to do the other’s bidding? How could she betray Sir Robert’s +confidence? How—— +</p> + +<p> +Someone was coming—really coming this time. She looked round. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give you five minutes!” Lady Sybil whispered. +“Five minutes, Louisa! Remember!” +</p> + +<p> +And when Lady Lansdowne turned again to her, she had vanished among the +laurels. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>XXII<br/> +WOMEN’S HEARTS</h2> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne walked slowly away in a state of perplexity, from which the +monotonous lilt of the band which was now playing quadrille music did nothing +to free her. Whether Sybil Vermuyden were dying or not, it was certain that she +was ill. Disease had laid its hand beyond mistaking on that once beautiful +face; the levity and wit which had formerly dazzled beholders now gleamed but +fitfully and with such a ghastly light as the corpse candle gives forth. The +change was great since Lady Lansdowne had seen her in the coach at Chippenham; +and it might well be that if words of forgiveness were to be spoken, no time +was to be lost. Old associations, a mother’s feelings for a mother, pity, +all urged Lady Lansdowne to compliance with her request; nor did the knowledge +that the woman, who had once queened it so brilliantly in this place, was now +lurking on the fringe of the gay crowd, athirst for a sight of her child, fail +to move a heart which all the jealousies of a Whig coterie had not hardened or +embittered. +</p> + +<p> +Unluckily the owner of that heart felt that she was the last person who ought +to interfere. It behoved her, more than it behoved anyone, to avoid fresh +ground of quarrel with Sir Robert. Courteously as he had borne himself on her +arrival, civilly as he had veiled the surprise which her presence caused him, +she knew that he was sore hurt by his defeat in the borough. And if those who +had thwarted him publicly were to intervene in his private concerns, if those +who had suborned his kinsman were now to tamper with his daughter, ay, or were +to incur a suspicion of tampering, she knew that his anger would know no +bounds. She felt, indeed, that it would be justified. +</p> + +<p> +She had to think, too, of her husband, who had sent her with the olive-branch. +He was a politic, long-sighted man; who, content with the solid advantage he +had gained, had no mind to push to extremity a struggle which must needs take +place at his own door. He would be displeased, seriously displeased, if her +mission, in place of closing, widened the breach. +</p> + +<p> +And yet—and yet her heart ached for the woman, who had never wholly lost +a place in her affections. And there was this. If Lady Sybil were thwarted no +one was more capable of carrying out her threat and of taking some violent +step, which would make matters a hundred times worse, alike for Sir Robert and +his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +While she weighed the matter, Lady Lansdowne found herself back at the rustic +bridge. She was in the act of stepping upon it—still deep in +thought—when her eyes encountered those of a young couple who were +waiting at the farther end to give her passage. She looked a second time; and +she stood. Then, smiling, she beckoned to the girl to come to her. Meanwhile, a +side-thought, born of the conjunction of the two young people, took form in her +mind. “I hope that may come to nothing,” she reflected. +</p> + +<p> +Possibly it was for this reason, that when the man would have come also, she +made it clear that the smile was not for him. “No, Mr. Flixton,” +she said, the faintest possible distance in her tone. “I do not want you. +I will relieve you of your charge.” +</p> + +<p> +And when Mary, timid and blushing, had advanced to her, “My dear,” +she said, holding out both her hands, and looking charmingly at her, “I +should have known you anywhere.” And she drew her to her and kissed her. +“I am Lady Lansdowne. I knew your mother, and I hope that you and my +daughter will be friends.” +</p> + +<p> +The mention of her mother increased Mary’s shyness. “Your ladyship +is very kind,” she murmured. She did not know that her embarrassment was +so far from hurting her, that the appeal in her eyes went straight to the elder +woman’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean to be kind at any rate,” Lady Lansdowne answered, smiling +on the lovely face before her. And then, “My dear,” she said, +“have they told you that you are very beautiful? More beautiful, I think, +than your mother was: I hope”—and she did not try to hide the depth +of her feelings—“that you may be more happy.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s colour faded at this second reference to her mother; made, she +could not doubt, with intention. Her father, even while he had overwhelmed her +with benefits, even while he had opened this new life to her with a hand full +of gifts, had taught her—tacitly or by a word at most—that that +name was the key to a Bluebeard’s chamber; that it must not be used. She +knew that her mother lived; she guessed that she had sinned against her +husband; she understood that she had wronged her child. But she knew no more: +and with this, since this at the least she must know, Sir Robert would have had +her content. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, to speak correctly, she did know more. She knew that the veiled lady +who had intervened at long intervals in her life must have been her mother. But +she felt no impulse of affection towards that woman—whom she had not +seen. Her heart went out instead to a shadowy mother who walked the silent +house at sunset, whose skirts trailed in the lonely passages, of whose career +of wild and reckless gaiety she had vague hints here and there. It was to this +mother, radiant and young, with the sheen of pearls in her hair, and the +haunting smile, that she yearned. She had learned in some subtle way that the +vacant place over the mantel in the hall which her own portrait by Maclise was +to fill, had been occupied by her mother’s picture. And dreaming of the +past, as what young girl alone in that stately house would not, she had seen +her come and go in the half lights, a beautiful, spoilt child of fashion. She +had traced her up and down the wide polished stairway, heard the tap of her +slender sandal on the shining floors, perceived in long-closed chambers the +fading odours of her favourite scent. And in a timid, frightened way she had +longed to know her and to love her, to feel her touch on her hair and give her +pity in return. +</p> + +<p> +It is possible that she might have dwelt more intimately on Lady Sybil’s +fate, possible that she might have ventured on some line of her own in regard +to her, if her new life had been free from preoccupation; if there had not been +with her an abiding regret, which clouded the sunniest prospects. But love, +man’s love, woman’s love, is the most cruel of monopolists: it +tramples on the claims of the present, much more of the absent. And if the +novelty of Mary’s new life, the many marvels to which she must accustom +herself, the new pleasures, the new duties, the strange new feeling of +wealth—if, in fine, the necessity of orientating herself afresh in +relation to every person and everything—was not able to put thoughts of +her lover from her mind, the claims of an unknown mother had an infinitely +smaller chance of asserting themselves. +</p> + +<p> +But now at that word, twice pronounced by Lady Lansdowne, the girl stood +ashamed and conscience-stricken. “You knew my mother?” she +faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my dear,” the elder woman answered gravely. “I knew her +very well.” +</p> + +<p> +The gravity of the speaker’s tone presented a new idea to Mary’s +mind. “She is not happy?” she said slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +With that word Lady Lansdowne looked over her shoulder; conscience makes +cowards, and her nervousness communicated itself to Mary. A possibility, at +which the girl had never glanced, presented itself, and so abruptly that all +the colour left her face. “She is not here?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she is here. And—don’t be frightened, my dear!” +Lady Lansdowne continued earnestly. “But listen to me! A moment ago I +thought of throwing you in her way without your knowledge. But, since I have +seen you, I have your welfare at heart, as well as hers. And I must, I ought to +tell you, that I do not think your father would wish you to see her. I think +that you should know this; and that you should decide for +yourself—whether you will see her. Indeed, you must decide for +yourself,” she repeated, her eyes fixed anxiously on the girl’s +face. “I cannot take the responsibility.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is unhappy?” Mary asked, looking most unhappy herself. +</p> + +<p> +“She is unhappy, and she is ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to go to her? You think so? Please—your ladyship, will you +advise me?” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne hesitated. “I cannot,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But—there is no reason,” Mary asked faintly, “why I +should not go to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no reason. I honestly believe,” Lady Lansdowne repeated +solemnly, “that there is no reason—except your father’s wish. +It is for you to say how far that, which should weigh with you in all other +things, shall weigh with you in this.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a burning colour dyed Mary’s face. “I will go to +her,” she cried impulsively. She had been weak once, she had been weak! +And how she had suffered for that weakness! But she would be strong now. +“Where is she, if you please?” she continued bravely. “Can I +see her at once?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is in the path leading to the kennels. You know it? No, you need not +take leave of me, child! Go, and,” Lady Lansdowne added with feeling, +“God forgive me if I have done wrong in sending you!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have not done wrong!” Mary cried, an unwonted spirit in her +tone. And, without taking other leave, she turned and went—though her +limbs trembled under her. She was going to her mother! To her mother! Oh, +strange, oh, impossible thought! +</p> + +<p> +Yet, engrossing as was that thought, it could not quite oust fear of her father +and of his anger. And the blush soon died; so that the whiteness of her cheeks +when she reached the Kennel Path was a poor set off for the ribbons that decked +her muslin robe. What she expected, what she wished or feared or hoped she +could never remember. What she saw, that which awaited her, was a woman, ill, +and plainly clad, with only the remains of beauty in her wasted features; but +withal cynical and hard-eyed, and very, very far from the mother of her +day-dreams. +</p> + +<p> +Such as she was the unknown scanned Mary with a kind of scornful amusement. +“Oh,” she said, “so this is what they have made of Miss +Vermuyden? Let me look at you, girl?” And laying her hands on +Mary’s shoulders she looked long into the tearful, agitated face. +“Why, you are like a sheet of paper!” she continued, raising the +girl’s chin with her finger. “I wonder you dared to come with Sir +Robert saying no! And, you little fool,” she continued in a swift spirit +of irritation, “as soon not come at all, as look at me like that! +You’ve got my chin and my nose, and more of me than I thought. But God +knows where you got your hare’s eyes! Are you always frightened?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Ma’am, no!” she stammered. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Ma’am? No, goose!” Lady Sybil retorted, mimicking her. +“Why, ten kings on ten thrones had never made me shake as you are +shaking! Nor twenty Sir Roberts in twenty passions! What is it you are afraid +of? Being found with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” Mary cried. And, to do her justice, the emotion with which +Lady Sybil found fault was as much a natural agitation, on seeing her mother, +as fear on her own account. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are afraid of me?” Lady Sybil rejoined. And again she +twitched the girl’s face to the light. +</p> + +<p> +Mary was amazed rather than afraid: but she could not say that. And she kept +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Or is it dislike of me?” the mother continued—a slight +grimace, as of pain, distorting her face. “You hate me, I suppose? You +hate me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, no!” the girl cried in distress. +</p> + +<p> +“You do, Miss!” And with no little violence she pushed Mary from +her. “You set down all to me, I suppose! I’ve kept you from your +own, that’s it! I am the wicked mother, worse than a step-mother, who +robbed you of your rights! And made a beggar of you and would have kept you a +beggar! I am she who wronged you and robbed you—the unnatural mother! And +you never ask,” she went on with fierce, impulsive energy, “what I +suffered? How I was wronged! What I bore! No, nor what I meant to do—with +you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, indeed——” +</p> + +<p> +“What I meant to do, I say!” Lady Sybil repeated violently. +“At my death—and I am dying, but what is that to you?—all +would have been told, girl! And you would have got your own. Do you believe +me?” she added passionately, advancing a step in a manner almost +menacing. “Do you believe me, girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, I do!” Mary cried, inexpressibly pained by the other’s +vehemence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll swear it, if you like! But I hoped that he—your +father—would die first and never know! He deserved no better! He deserved +nothing of me! And then you’d have stepped into all! Or better +still—do you remember the day you travelled to Bristol? It’s not so +long ago that you need forget it, Miss Vermuyden! I was in the coach, and I saw +you, and I saw the young man who was with you. I knew him, and I told myself +that there was a God after all, though I’d often doubted it, or you two +would not have been brought together! I saw another way then, but you’d +have parted and known nothing, if,” she continued, laughing recklessly, +“I had not helped Providence, and sent him with a present to your school! +But—why, you’re red enough now, girl! What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“He knew?” Mary murmured, with an effort. “You told him who I +was, Ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“He knew no more than a doll!” Lady Sybil answered. “I told +him nothing, or he’d have told again! I know his kind. No, I thought to +get all for you and thwart Vermuyden, too! I thought to marry his heir to the +little schoolmistress—it was an opera touch, my dear, and beyond all the +Tremaynes and Vivian Greys in the world! But there, when all promised well, +that slut of a maid went to my husband, and trumped my trick!” +</p> + +<p> +“And Mr.—Mr. Vaughan,” Mary stammered, “had no +knowledge—who I was?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr.—Mr. Vaughan!” Lady Sybil repeated, mocking her, +“had no knowledge? No! Not a jot, not a tittle! But what?” she went +on, in a tone of derision, “Sits the wind there, Miss Meek? You’re +not all milk and water, bread and butter and backboard, then, but have a spice +of your mother, after all? Mr.—Mr. Vaughan!” again she mimicked +her. “Why, if you were fond of the man, didn’t you say so?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary, under the fire of those sharp, hard eyes, could not restrain her tears. +But, overcome as she was, she managed in broken words to explain that her +father had forbidden it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, your father, was it?” Lady Sybil rejoined. “He said +‘No,’ and no it was! And the lord of my heart and the Man of +Feeling is dismissed in disgrace! And now we weep in secret and the worm feeds +on our damask cheek!” she ran on in a tone of raillery, assumed perhaps +to hide a deeper feeling. “I suppose,” she added shrewdly, +“Sir Robert would have you think that Vaughan knew who you were, and was +practising on you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you dismissed him at papa’s command, eh? That was it, was +it?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary could only confess the fact with tears, her distress in as strange +contrast with the gaiety of her dress as with the strains of the neighbouring +band, which told of festivity and pleasure. Perhaps some thought of this nature +forced itself upon Lady Sybil’s light and evasive mind: for as she +looked, the cynical expression of her eyes gave place to one of feeling and +emotion, better fitted to those wasted features as well as to the relation in +which the two stood to one another. She looked down the path, as if for the +first time she feared an intrusive eye. Then her glance reverted to her +daughter’s slender form and drooping head: and again it changed, it grew +soft, it grew pitiful. The laurels shut all in, the path was empty. The +maternal feeling, long repressed, long denied, long buried under a mountain of +pique and resentment, of fancied wrongs and real neglect, broke forth +irresistibly. In a step she was at the girl’s side, and snatching her to +her bosom in a fierce embrace, was covering her face, her neck, her hair with +hungry kisses. +</p> + +<p> +The action was so sudden, so unexpected, that crushed and even hurt by the +other’s grasp, and frightened by her vehemence, Mary would have resisted, +would have tried to free herself. Then she understood. And a rush of pent-up +affection, of love and pity, carried away the barriers of constraint and +timidity. She clung to Lady Sybil with tears of joy, murmuring low broken +words, calling her “Mother, Mother,” burying her face on her +shoulder, pressing herself against her. In a moment her being was stirred to +its depths. In all her life no one had caressed her after this fashion, no one +had embraced her with passion, no one had kissed her with more than the placid +affection which gentleness and goodness earn, and which kind offices kindly +performed warrant. Even Sir Robert, even her father, proud as he was of her, +much as he loved her, had awakened in her respect and gratitude—mingled +with fear—rather than love. +</p> + +<p> +After a time, warned by approaching voices, Lady Sybil put her from her; but +with a low and exultant laugh. “You are mine, now!” she said, +“Mine! Mine! You will come to me when I want you. And I shall want you +soon! Very soon!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary laid hold of her again. “Let me come now!” she cried with +passion, forgetting all but the mother she had gained, the clinging arms which +had cherished her, the kisses that had rained on her. “Let me come to +you! You are ill!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not now! Not now! I will send for you when I want you,” Lady +Sybil answered. “I will promise to send for you. And you will +come,” she added with the same ring of triumph in her voice. “You +will come!” For it was joy to her, even amid the satisfaction of her +mother-love, to know that she had tricked her husband; it was joy to her to +know that though she had taken all from the child and he had given all, the +child was hers—hers, and could never be taken from her! “You will +come! For you will not have me long. But,” she whispered, as the voices +came nearer, “go now! Go now! And not a word! Not a word, child, as you +love me. I will send for you when—when my time comes.” +</p> + +<p> +And with a last look, strangely made up of love and pain and triumph, Lady +Sybil moved out of sight among the laurels. And Mary, drying her tears and +composing her countenance as well as she could, turned to meet the +intruders’ eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately—for she was far from being herself—the two persons who +had wandered that way, did but pause at the end of the Kennel Path, and, +murmuring small talk, turn again to retrace their steps. She gained a minute or +two, in which to collect her thoughts and smooth her hair; but more than a +minute or two she dared not linger lest her continued absence should arouse +curiosity. As sedately as she could, she emerged from the shrubbery and made +her way—though her breast heaved with a hundred emotions—towards +the rustic bridge on which she saw that Lady Lansdowne was standing, keeping +Sir Robert in talk. +</p> + +<p> +In talk, indeed, of her. For as she approached he placed the coping-stone on +the edifice of her praises which her ladyship had craftily led him to build. +“The most docile,” he said, “I assure you, the most docile +child you can imagine! A beautiful disposition. She is docility itself!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope she may always remain so,” Lady Lansdowne answered slily. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no doubt she will,” Sir Robert replied with fond +assurance, his eye on the Honourable Bob, who was approaching the bridge from +the lawns. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne followed the look with her eyes and smiled. But she said +nothing. She turned to Mary, who was now near at hand, and reading in the +girl’s looks plain traces of trouble, and agitation, she contented +herself with sending for Lady Louisa, and asking that her carriage might be +called. In this way she cloaked under a little bustle the girl’s +embarrassment as she came up to them and joined them. Five minutes later Lady +Lansdowne was gone. +</p> + +<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:20pt">* * * * * +</p> + +<p> +After that, Mary would have had only too much food for thought, had her mother +alone filled her mind; had those kisses which had so stirred her being, those +clinging arms, and that face which bore the deep imprint of illness, alone +burdened her memory. Years afterwards the beat of the music which played in the +gardens that evening, while the party within sat at dinner, haunted her; +bringing back, as such things will, the scene and her aching heart, the outward +glitter and the inward care, the Honourable Bob’s gallantries and her +father’s stately figure as he rose and drank wine with her; ay, and the +hip, hip, hurrah which shook the glasses when an old Squire, a privileged +person, rose, before she could leave, and toasted her. +</p> + +<p> +Burdened only with the sacred memories of the afternoon, and the anxiety, the +pity, the love which they engendered, she had been far from happy, far from +free. But in truth, with all her feeling for her mother, Mary bore about with +her a keener and more bitter regret. The dull pain which had troubled her of +late when thoughts of Arthur Vaughan would beset her was grown to a pang of +shame, almost intolerable. She had told herself a hundred times before this +that it was her weakness, her fear of her father, her mean compliance that had +led her to give him up—rather than any real belief in his baseness. For +she had never, she was sure now, believed in that baseness. But now, now when +her mother, whose word it never struck her to doubt, had affirmed his +innocence, now that she knew, now since a phrase of that mother’s had +brought to her mind every incident of the never-to-be-forgotten coach-drive, +the May morning, the sunshine and the budding trees, the birth of +love—pain gnawed at her heart. She was sick with misery. +</p> + +<p> +For, oh, how vile, how thankless, how poor and small a thing he must think her! +He would have given her all, and she had robbed him of all. And then when she +had robbed him and he could give her little she had turned her back on him, +abandoned him, believed evil of him, heard him insulted, and joined in the +outrage! Over that thought, over that memory, she shed many and many a bitter +tear. Romance had come to her in her lowliness, and a noble lover, stooping to +her; and she had killed the one and denied the other. And now, now there was +nothing she could do, nothing she would dare to do. +</p> + +<p> +For that she had for a moment believed in his baseness—if she had indeed +believed—was not the worst. In that she had been the sport of +circumstances; appearances had deceived her, and the phase had been brief. But +that she had been weak, that she had been swayed, that she had given him up at +a word, that she had shown herself wholly unworthy of him—there was the +rub. Now, how happy had she been could she have gone back to Miss +Sibson’s, and the dull schoolroom and the old stuff dress and the +children’s prattle—and heard his step as he came across the +forecourt to the door! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>XXIII<br/> +IN THE HOUSE</h2> + +<p> +In truth Mary’s notion of the opinion which Arthur Vaughan had of her was +above, rather than below, the reality. In her most despondent moments she +scarcely exaggerated the things he thought of her, the contempt in which he +held her, or the resentment which set his blood boiling when he remembered how +she had treated him. He had gone to her and laid all that was left to him at +her feet; and she, who had already dealt his fortunes so terrible a blow, had +paid him for his unselfish offer, for his sacrifice of much that was dear to +him, with suspicion, with contumely, with mistrust! Instead of clinging to him, +to whom she had that moment plighted her troth, she had deserted him at a word. +In place of trusting the man who had woo’d her in her poverty, she had +believed the first whisper against him. She had shown herself heartless, +faithless, inconstant as the wind—a very woman! And +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Away, away—your smile’s a curse<br/> +Oh, blot me from the race of men,<br/> +Kind pitying Heaven! by death or worse</i> +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Before I love such things again!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +he might have murmured with a bitterness of which the author of the lines had +been incapable. But then, Mr. Moore, though his poetry and his singing brought +tears to the eyes of hardened women of fashion, had never lost at a blow a +great estate, a high position, and his love. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly Vaughan had, if man ever had, grounds for a quarrel with fate. He had +left London heart-whole and happy, the heir to a large fortune. He returned a +fortnight later, a member of the Commons House indeed, but heart-sick and +soured, beggared of his expectations and tortured by the thought of what might +have been—if his love had proved true as she was fair, and constant as +she was sweet. Fond dreams of her beauty still tormented him. Visions of the +modest home in which he would have found consolation in failure, and smiles in +success, rose up before him and derided him. He hated Sir Robert. He hated, or +tried to hate, the weakest and the most despicable of women. He saw all things +and all men with a jaundiced eye, the sound of his voice and the look of his +face were altered. Men who knew him and who passed him in the street, or who +saw him eating his chop in solitary churlishness, nudged one another and said +that he took his reverses ill; while others, wounded by his curtness or his +ill-humour, added that he did not go the right way to make the most of what was +left. +</p> + +<p> +For a certainty he was become a man unpleasant to handle. But within, under the +thorns, was a very human soul, wounded, sore, and miserable, seeking every way +for an outlet from its pains, and finding hope of escape at one point only. Men +were right, when they said that he did not go the way to make the most of his +chances. For he laid himself out to please no one at this time; it was not in +him. But he worked late and early, and with a furious energy to fit himself for +a political career; believing that success in that career was all that was left +to him, and that by the necessary labour he could best put the past behind him. +Love and pleasure, and those sweets of home life of which he had dreamed, were +gone from him. But the stern prizes of ambition, the crown of those who live +laborious days, might still be his—if the Mirror of Parliament were never +out of his hands, and if Mr. Hume himself were not more constant to his +favourite pillar under the gallery than he to such chance seat as might fall to +him on the same side of the House. +</p> + +<p> +Alas, he had not taken the oaths an hour—with a sore heart, in a ruck of +undistinguished new Members—before he saw that success was not so near or +so clearly within reach, as hope, with her flattering tale, had argued. The +times were propitious, certainly. The debates were close and fiery, and were +scanned out of doors with an interest unknown before. The strife between Croker +and Macaulay in the Commons, the duel between Brougham and Lyndhurst in the +Lords, were followed in the country with as much attention as a battle between +Belcher and Tom Cribb; and by the same classes. Everywhere men talked politics, +talked of Reform, and of little else. The clubs, the ’Change, the +taverns, nay, the drawing-rooms and the schools rang with the Bill, the whole +Bill, and nothing but the Bill; with Schedule A, cruel as Herod, and Schedule +B, which spared one of twins. Before the window in the Haymarket which weekly +displayed H.B.’s Political Caricatures, crowds stood gazing all day long, +whatever the weather. +</p> + +<p> +These things were in his favour. He remembered, too, the stress which the +Chancellor had laid on the advantage of entering the House in advance of the +crowd of new men whom the first Reformed Parliament must contain. +</p> + +<p> +Unfortunately it seemed to him that he was one of just such a mob of new men, +as it was. Nearly a fourth of his colleagues were strange to St. +Stephen’s; and the greater part of these, owing to the circumstances of +the election, were Whigs and sat on his side of the House. To raise his head +above the level of a hundred competitors, numbering not a few men of wit and +ability, and to do so within the short life of the present +Parliament—-for he saw no certain prospect of being returned +again—was no mean task. Little wonder that he was as regular in his +attendance as Mr. Speaker, and grew pale of nights over Woodfall’s +Important Debates. +</p> + +<p> +In the pride of his first return he had dreamed of a reputation to be gained by +his maiden speech; of burning periods that would astonish all who heard them, +of flights of fancy to live forever in the mouths of men, of a marshalling of +facts so masterly, and an exposition of figures so clear, as to obscure the +fame of Single-speech Hamilton, or of that modern phenomenon, Mr. Sadler. But +whatever the effect of the present chamber on the minds of novices, there was +that in the old,—mean and dingy as was its wainscotted interior, and +cumbered by overhanging galleries—there was a something, were it but the +memory that those walls had echoed the diatribes of Chatham and given back the +voice of Burke, had heard the laugh of Walpole and the snore of North, which +cooled the spirit of a new member; which shook his knees as effectually as if +the panelling of the room had vanished at a touch, and revealed the glories of +the Gothic Chapel which lay behind it. For behind that panelling and those +galleries, the ancient Chapel, with its sumptuous tracery and statues, its +frescoed walls and stained glass, still existed; no unfit image of the stately +principles which lie behind the dull everyday working of our Constitution. +</p> + +<p> +To Arthur Vaughan, a student of the history of the House, this effect of the +Chamber upon a new member was a commonplace. But he was a practised speaker in +the mimic arena; and he thought that he might rise above this feeling in his +own case. He fancied that he understood the <i>Genius Loci</i>; its hatred of +affectation, and almost of eloquence, its dislike to be bored, its preference +for the easy, the conversational, and the personal. And when he had waited +three weeks—so much he gave to prudence—his time came. +</p> + +<p> +He rose in a moderately thin house in the middle of the dinner-hour; and rose +as he thought fully prepared. Indeed he started well. He brought out two or +three sentences with ease and aplomb; and he fancied the difficulty over, the +threshold passed. But then—he knew not why, nor could he overcome the +feeling—the silence, kindly meant, in which as a new Member, he was +received, had a terrifying effect upon him. A mist rose before his eyes, his +voice sounded strange to him—and distant. He dropped the thread of what +he was saying, repeated himself, lost his nerve. For some seconds, standing +there with all faces turned to him—they seemed numberless seconds to him, +though in truth they were few—he could see nothing but the +Speaker’s wig, grown to an immense white cauliflower, which swelled and +swelled and swelled until it filled the whole House. He stammered, repeated +himself again—and was silent. And then, seeing that he was embarrassed, +they cheered him—and the mist cleared; and he went on—hurriedly and +nervously. But he was aware that he had dropped a link in his +argument—which he had not now the coolness to supply. And when he had +murmured a few sentences, more or less inept and incoherent, he sat down. +</p> + +<p> +In fact, though he had made no mark, he had also incurred no discredit. But he +felt that the eyes of all were on him, that they were gloating over his +failure, and comparing what he had done with what he had hoped to do, his +achievement with those secret hopes, those cherished aspirations, he felt all +the shame of open and disgraceful defeat. His face burned; he sat looking +before him, not daring for a while to divert his gaze, or to learn in +others’ eyes how great had been his mishap. +</p> + +<p> +Unfortunately, when he ventured to change his posture, and to put on his hat, +which he discovered he had been holding in his hand, he encountered Sergeant +Wathen’s eyes; and he read in them a look of amusement, which wounded his +pride more than the open ridicule of a crowd. That was the finishing stroke. He +walked out soon afterwards, bearing himself as indifferently as he could. But +no man ever carried out of the House a lower heart or a sense of more utter +failure. He had mistaken his talents, he had no aptitude for debate. Success as +a speaker was not within his reach. +</p> + +<p> +He thought something better of it next day, but not much. Nor could he put off +a sneaking, hang-dog air as he entered the lobby. A number of members were +gathered inside the double doors, where the stairs from the cloisters came up +by a third door; and one or two whom he knew spoke to him—but not of his +attempt. He fancied that he read in their looks a knowledge that he had failed, +that he was no longer a man to be reckoned with. He imagined that they used a +different tone to him. And at last one of them spoke of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Vaughan,” he said pleasantly, “you got through +yesterday. But if you’ll take my advice you’ll wait a bit. +It’s only one here and there can make much of it to begin.” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly cannot,” Vaughan said, smiling frankly, the better to +hide his mortification. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, you’re not alone,” the other answered, shrugging +his shoulders. “You’ll pick it up by and by, I dare say.” And +he turned to speak to another member. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan turned on his side to the paper for the day winch hung against each of +the four pillars of the lobby; and he pretended to be absorbed in it. The +employment helped him to keep his countenance. But he was sore wounded. He had +held his head so high in imagination, he had given so loose a rein to his +ambition; he had dreamt of making such an impression on the House as Mr. +Macaulay, though new to it, had made in his speech on the second reading of the +former Bill, and had deepened by his speech at the like stage of the present +Bill. Now he was told that he was no worse than the common run of country +members, who twice in three sessions rose and blundered through half a dozen +sentences! He was consoled with the reflection that only “one here and +there” succeeded! Only one here and there! When to him it was everything +to succeed, and to succeed quickly. When it was all he had left. +</p> + +<p> +The stream of members, entering the House, was large; for the motion to commit +the Bill was down for that afternoon, and if carried, would virtually put an +end to opposition in the Commons. Out of the corner of his eye Vaughan scanned +them, as they passed, and envied them. Peel, cold, proud and unapproachable, +went by on the arm of Goulburn. Croker, pale and saturnine, casting frowning +glances here and there, went in alone. The handsome, portly form of Sir James +Graham passed, in talk with the Rupert of Debate. After these a rush of +members; and at the tail of all slouched in the unwieldy, slovenly form of Sir +Charles Wetherell, followed by a couple of his satellites. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, glancing on one side of the paper which he appeared to be studying, +caught Sir Charles’s eye, and reddened. Seated on opposite sides of the +House—and no man on either side was more bitter, virulent, and pugnacious +than the late Attorney-General—the two had not encountered one another +since that evening at Stapylton, when the existence of Sir Robert’s +daughter had been disclosed to Vaughan. They had not spoken, much less had +there been any friendly passage between them. But now Sir Charles paused, and +held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Mr. Vaughan?” he said, in his deep bass voice. +“Your maiden essay yesterday, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan winced. “Yes,” he said stiffly, fancying that he read +amusement in the other’s moist eye. +</p> + +<p> +To his surprise, “You’ll do,” Sir Charles rejoined, looking +at the floor and speaking in a despondent tone. “The House would rather +you began in that way, than like some d——d peacock on a +lady’s terrace. Take the opportunity of saying three or four sentences +some fine day, and repeat it a week later. And I’ll wager you’ll +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“But little, I am afraid,” Vaughan said. None the less was his +heart full of gratitude to the fat, ungainly man. +</p> + +<p> +“All, may be,” Wetherell answered. “I shouldn’t wonder. +I’ve been told, by one who heard him, that Canning hesitated in his first +speech, very much as you did. It was on the Sardinian Subsidy. The men who +don’t feel the House never know the House. They dazzle it, Mr. Vaughan, +but they don’t guide it. And that’s what we’ve got to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +He passed on then, with a melancholy nod and averted eyes, but Vaughan could +have blest him for that “we.” “There’s one man at least +believes in me,” he told himself. And when a few hours later, in the +midst of a scene as turbulent as any which the House of Commons had ever +witnessed—nine times without a pause it divided on the motion that +“this House do now adjourn”—he watched the man who had +commended him, riding the storm and directing the whirlwind, now lashing the +Whigs to fury by his sarcasm, and now, carrying the whole House away in a +hurricane of laughter, if he did not approve—and with his views he could +not approve—he learnt, and learnt much. He saw that the fat, slovenly +man, with the heavy face and that hiatus between his breeches and his waistcoat +which had made him famous, was allowed to do things, and to say things, and to +look things, for which a less honest man had been hurried long ago to the Clock +Tower. And this, because the House believed in him; because it knew that he was +fighting for a principle really dear to him; because it knew that he honestly +put faith in those predictions of woe, which he scattered so freely, and in +that ruin of the Constitution, with which he twitted his opponents. +</p> + +<p> +A week later Vaughan acted upon his advice. He seized an opportunity and, +catching the Chairman’s eye—the Bill was in +Committee—delivered himself of a dozen sentences, with so much spirit and +propriety, that Sir Robert Peel, speaking an hour later, referred to the +“plausible defence raised by the Honourable Member for Chippinge.” +The reference drew all eyes to Vaughan: and though nothing was said to him and +he took care to bear himself as if he had done no better than before, he left +the House with a lighter step and a comfortable warmth about the heart. He was +more at ease that evening, if not more happy, than he had been for weeks past. +Love, pleasure, and the rest were gone; and faith in woman. But if he could be +sure of gaining a seat in the next Parliament, the way might be longer than he +had hoped, it might be more toilsome and more dusty: but in the end he would +arrive at the Treasury Bench. +</p> + +<p> +He little thought, alas, that the effort on which he hugged himself was to +prove a source of misfortunes. But so it was. His maiden speech had attracted +neither notice nor envy. But those few sentences, short and simple as they +were, by drawing an answer from the leader of the Opposition, had gained both +for him. Within five minutes a score of members had asked “Who is +he?” and another score had detailed the circumstances of his election for +Chippinge. He had gone down to vote for his cousin, in his cousin’s +borough, family vote and the rest; so the story ran. Then, finding on the +morning of the polling that if he threw over his cousin, he might gain the seat +for himself, he had turned his coat in a—well, in a very dubious manner, +snatched the seat, and—here he was! +</p> + +<p> +In a word, it was the version of the facts which he had once dreaded, and about +which he had afterwards ceased to trouble himself. +</p> + +<p> +There were, perhaps, half a dozen persons in the House who knew the facts, and +knew that the young man had professed from the first the opinions which he was +now supporting. But there was just so much truth in the version, garbled as it +was, just so much <i>vraisemblance</i> in the tale that even those who knew the +facts, could not wholly contradict it. The story did not come to +Wetherell’s ears; or he, for certain, would have gainsaid it. But it did +come to Wathen’s. Now the Sergeant was capable of spite, and he had not +forgotten the manner after which Vaughan had flouted him at Chippinge; his +defence—if a defence it could be called—was accompanied by so many +nods and shrugs, that persons less prejudiced than Tories, embittered by +defeat, and wounded by personalities, might have been forgiven, if they went +from the Sergeant with a lower opinion of our friend than before. +</p> + +<p> +From that day Vaughan, though he knew nothing of it, and though no one spoke to +him of it, was a marked man in the eyes of the opposite party. They regarded +him as a renegade; while his own side were not overanxious to make his cause +their own. The May elections had been contested with more spirit and less +scruple than any elections within living memory; and many things had been done +and many said, of which honourable men were not proud. Still it was +acknowledged that such things must be done—here and there—and even +that the doers must not be repudiated. But it was felt that the party was not +required to grapple the latter to its breast with hooks of steel. Rumour had it +that Lord Lansdowne felt himself to blame; and that the offender had been +disinherited by his cousin was asserted. The man would be of no great +importance, therefore, in the future; and if he did not make a second +appearance in Parliament, the loss in the end would be small. Not a few summed +up the matter in that way. +</p> + +<p> +If Vaughan had been intimate with anyone in the House he would have learned +what was afoot; and he might have taken steps to set himself right. But he had +lived little of his life in London, he had but made his bow to Society; of +late, also, he had been too sore to make new friends. Of course he had +acquaintances, every man has acquaintances. But no one in political circles +knew him well enough to think it worth while to put him on his guard. +</p> + +<p> +Unluckily, the next occasion which brought him to his feet, was of a kind to +give point to the feeling against him. On a certain Thursday, Sergeant Wathen +moved that the Borough of Chippinge be removed from Schedule A, to Schedule +B—his object being that it might retain one member; and Vaughan, thinking +the opening favourable, rose, intending to make a few remarks in a strain to +which the House, proverbially fond of a personal explanation, is prone to +listen with indulgence. For the motion itself, he had not much hope that it +would be carried: in a dozen other cases, a similar motion had failed. +</p> + +<p> +“It can only be,” he began—and this time the sound of his +voice did not perturb him—“from a strict sense of duty, Mr. Bernal, +it cannot be without pain that any Member—and I say this not on my +account only, but on behalf of many Honourable Members of this +House——” +</p> + +<p> +“No! No! Leave us out.” +</p> + +<p> +The words were uttered so loudly and so rudely that they silenced him; and he +looked in the direction whence they came. At once cries of “No, no! +Divide! No! No!” poured on him from all parts of the House, accompanied +by a dropping fire of catcalls and cockcrows. He lost the thread of his +remarks, and for a moment stood abashed and confounded. The Chairman did not +interfere and for an instant it looked as if the young speaker would be +compelled to sit down. +</p> + +<p> +But he recovered himself, gaining courage from the very vigour with which he +was attacked; and which seemed out of proportion to his importance. The moment +a lull in the fire of interruption occurred, he spoke in a louder voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, sir,” he proceeded, looking about him courageously, +“that it is only with pain, only under the <i>force majeure</i> of a love +of their country, that any Member can support the deletion from the Borough +Roll of this House, of that Constituency which has honoured him with its +confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Divide! Divide!” roared many on both sides of the House. For the +Tories were uncertain on which side he was speaking. +“Cock-a-doodle-doo-doo-doo!” +</p> + +<p> +But this fresh burst of disapproval found him better prepared. Firmly, though +the beads of perspiration stood on his brow, he persisted. “And +if,” he continued, “in the case which appeals so nearly to himself +an Honourable Member sees that the standard which justifies the survival of a +representative can be reached, with what gratification, sir, whether he sits on +this side of the House or on that——” +</p> + +<p> +“No! No! Leave us out!” in a roar of sound. And “Divide! +Divide!” +</p> + +<p> +“Or on that,” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Divide! Divide!” +</p> + +<p> +“Must he not press its claims and support its interests?” he +persisted gallantly. “Ay, sir, welcome in the event of success a decision +at once just, and of so much advantage, I will not say to +himself——” +</p> + +<p> +“It never will be to you!” shrieked a voice from the darker corner +under the opposite gallery. +</p> + +<p> +The shaft went home. He faltered. A roar of laughter drowned his last words, +and he sat down with a burning face; in some confusion, but in greater +perplexity. Had he transgressed, he wondered ruefully, some unwritten law of +the House! Had he offended in ignorance, and persisted in his offence? Should +he not, though Wathen had spoken, have spoken in his own case? In a matter so +nearly touching himself? +</p> + +<p> +He spoke to the Member who chanced to sit next him. “What was it?” +he asked humbly. “Did I do something wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +The man glanced at him coldly. “Oh, no,” he said. And he shrugged +his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary, I fancy you’ve to congratulate yourself,” +with a sneer so faint that Vaughan did not perceive it. “I understand +that we’re to do as we like on this—and they know it on the other +side. Eh? Yes, there’s the division. I think,” he added with the +same faint sneer, “you’ll save your seat.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” Vaughan exclaimed. “You don’t say so!” +</p> + +<p> +He could hardly believe it. But so it turned out. And so great was the +boon—the greater as no other borough was transferred in +Committee—that it swept away for the time the memory of what had +happened. His eyes sparkled. The seat saved, it was odd if with the wider +electorate created by the Bill, he was not sure of return! Still more odd, if +he was not sure of beating Wathen—he, who had opened the borough and been +returned by the Whig interest even while it was closed! No longer need he feel +so anxious and despondent when the Dissolution, which must follow the passage +of the Bill, rose to his mind. No longer need he be in so great a hurry to make +his mark, so envious of Mr. Macaulay, so jealous of Mr. Sadler. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly as far as his political career was in question the horizon was +clearing. If only other things had been as favourable! If only there had been +someone, were it in a cottage at Hammersmith or in a dull street off Bloomsbury +Square, to whom he might take home this piece of news; certain that other eyes +would sparkle more brightly than his, and another heart beat quick with joy! +</p> + +<p> +That could not be. There was an end of that. And his face settled back into its +gloom. Still he was less unhappy. The certainty of a seat in the next +Parliament was a great point gained! A great point to the good! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>XXIV<br/> +A RIGHT AND LEFT</h2> + +<p> +If anything was certain in a political world so changed, it was certain that if +the Reform Bill passed the Lords—in the teeth of those plaguy Bishops of +whose opposition so much was heard—a Dissolution would immediately +follow. To not a few of the members this contingency was a spectre, ever +present, seated at bed and board, and able to defy the rules even of +Almack’s and Crockford’s. For how could a gentleman, who had just +given five thousand pounds for his seat, contemplate with equanimity a notice +to quit, so rude and so premature? And worse, a notice to quit which meant +extrusion into a world in which seats at five thousand for a Parliament would +be few and far between; and fair agreements to pay a thousand a year while the +privilege lasted, would be unknown! +</p> + +<p> +Many a member asked loudly and querulously, “What will happen to the +country if the Bill pass?” But more asked themselves in their hearts, and +more often and more querulously, “What will happen to me if the Bill +pass? How shall I fare at the hands of these new constituencies, which, +unwelcome as a gipsy’s brats, I am forced to bring into the world?” +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto few on his own side of the House, and not many on the Tory side, had +regarded a Dissolution with more misgiving than Arthur Vaughan. The borough for +which he sat lay under doom; and he saw no opening elsewhere. He had no longer +the germs of influence nor great prospects: nor yet such a fortune as justified +him in an appeal to one of the new and populous boroughs. It was a pleasant +thing to go in and out by the door of the privileged, to take his chop at +Bellamy’s, to lounge in the dignified seclusion of the library, or to air +his new honours in Westminster Hall; pleasant also to have that sensation of +living at the hub of things, to receive whips, to give franks, to feel that the +ladder of ambition was open to him. But he knew that an experience of the House +counted by months did no man good; and the prospect of losing his plumes and +going forth again a common biped, was the more painful to him because his all +was embarked in the venture. He might, indeed, fall back on the bar; but with +half a heart and the reputation of a man who had tried to fly before he could +walk. +</p> + +<p> +His relief, therefore, when Chippinge, alone of all the Boroughs in Schedule A, +was removed in Committee to Schedule B, may be imagined. The road before him +was once more open, while the exceptional nature of his luck almost persuaded +him that he was reserved for greatness. True, Sergeant Wathen might pride +himself on the same fact; but at the thought Vaughan smiled. The Sergeant and +Sir Robert would find it a trifle harder, he thought, to deal with the +hundred-and-odd voters whom the Act enfranchised, than with the old Cripples! +And very, very ungrateful would those hundred-and-odd be, if they did not vote +for the man who had made their cause his own! +</p> + +<p> +A load, indeed, was lifted from his mind, and for some days his relief could be +read in the lightness of his step, and the returning gaiety of his eyes. He +knew nothing of the things which were being whispered about him. And though he +had cause to fancy that he was not <i>persona grata</i> on his own benches, he +thought sufficiently well of himself to set this down to jealousy. There is a +stage in the life of a rising man when many hands are against him; and those +most cruelly which will presently applaud him most loudly. He flattered himself +that he had set a foot on the ladder: and while he waited for an opportunity to +raise himself another step, he came as near to a kind of feverish happiness as +thoughts of Mary, ever recurring when he was alone, would permit. For the time +the loss of his prospects ceased to trouble him seriously. He lived less in his +rooms, more among men. He was less crabbed, less moody. And so the weeks wore +away in Committee, and a day or two after the Coronation, the Bill came on for +the third reading. +</p> + +<p> +The House was utterly weary. The leaders on both sides were reserving their +strength for the final debate, and Vaughan had some hope that he might find an +opening to speak with effect. With this in his mind he was on his way across +the Park about three in the afternoon, conning his peroration, when a hand was +clapped on his shoulder, and he turned to find himself face to face with +Flixton. +</p> + +<p> +So much had happened since they stood together on the hustings at Chippinge, +Vaughan’s fortunes had changed so greatly since they had parted in anger +in Queen’s Square, that he, at any rate, had no thought of bearing +malice. To Flixton’s “Well, my hearty, you’re a neat artist, +ain’t you? Going to the House, I take it?” he gave a cordial +answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. “That’s it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bringing ruination on the country, eh?” Flixton continued. And he +passed his arm through Vaughan’s, and walked on with him. +“That’s the ticket?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some say so, but I hope not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hope’s a cock that won’t fight, my boy!” the +Honourable Bob rejoined. “Fact is, you’re doing your best, only the +House of Lords is in the way, and won’t let you! They’ll pull you +up sweetly by and by, see if they don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what will the country say to that?” Vaughan rejoined +good-humouredly. +</p> + +<p> +“Country be d——d! That’s what all your chaps are +saying. And I tell you what! That book-in-breeches man—what do you call +him—Macaulay?—ought to be pulled up! He ought indeed! I read one of +his farragoes the other day and it was full of nothing but ‘Think long, I +beg, before you thwart the public will!’ and ‘The might of an +angered people!’ and ‘Let us beware of rousing!’ and all that +rubbish! Meaning, my boy, only he didn’t dare to say it straight out, +that if the Lords did not give way to you chaps, there’d be a revolution; +and the deuce to pay! And I say he ought to be in the dock. He’s as bad +as old Brereton down in Bristol, predicting fire and flames and all the rest of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you cannot deny, Flixton,” Vaughan answered soberly, +“that the country is excited as we have never known it excited before? +And that a rising is not impossible!” +</p> + +<p> +“A rising! I wish we could see one! That’s just what we +want,” the Honourable Bob answered, stopping and bringing his companion +to a sudden stand also. “Eh? Who was that old Roman—Poppæa, or some +name like that, who said he wished the people had all one head that he might +cut it off?” suiting the action to the word with his cane. “A +rising, begad? The sooner the better! The old Fourteenth would know how to deal +with it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Vaughan answered, “that you would be so +confident if you were once face to face with it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come! Don’t talk nonsense!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know all that! But I say, old chap,” he continued, changing +his tone, and descending abruptly from the political to the personal situation, +“You’ve played your cards badly, haven’t you? Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan fancied that he referred to Mary; or at best to his quarrel with Sir +Robert. And he froze visibly, “I won’t discuss that,” he said +in a different tone. And he moved on again. +</p> + +<p> +“But I was there the evening you had the row!” +</p> + +<p> +“At Stapylton?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +“And, lord, man, why didn’t you sing a bit small? And the old +gentleman would have come round in no time!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan halted, with anger in his face. “I won’t discuss it!” +he said with something of violence in his tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, very well!” Flixton answered with the superabundant +patience of the man whose withers are not wrung. “But when you did get +your seat—why didn’t you come to terms with someone?” with a +wink. “As it is, what’s the good of being in the House three +months, or six months—and out again?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan wished most heartily that he had not met the Honourable Bob; who, he +remembered, had always possessed, hearty and jovial as he seemed, a most +remarkable knack of rubbing him the wrong way. “How do you know?” +he asked with a touch of contempt—was he, a rising Member of Parliament +to be scolded after this fashion?—“How do you know that I shall be +out?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be out, if it’s Chippinge you are looking to!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, if you please, my friend? Why so sure?” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton winked with deeper meaning than before. “Ah, that’s +telling,” he said. “Still—why not? If you don’t hear it +from me, old chap, you’ll soon hear it from someone. Why, you ask? Well, +because a little bird whispered to me that Chippinge was—arranged! That +Sir Robert and the Whigs understood one another, and whichever way it went it +would not come your way!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan reddened deeply. “I don’t believe it,” he said +bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know that Chippinge was going to be spared?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“They didn’t tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” shrugging his shoulders, with a world of meaning, and +preparing to turn away. “Well, other people did, and there it is. I may +be wrong, I hope I am, old chap. Hope I am! But anyway—I must be going. I +turn here. See you soon, I hope!” +</p> + +<p> +And with a wave of the hand the Honourable Bob marched off through Whitehall, +his face breaking into a mischievous grin as soon as he was out of +Vaughan’s sight. “Return hit for your snub, Miss Mary!” he +muttered. “If you prick me, at least I can prick him! And do him good, +too! He was always a most confounded prig.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Vaughan, freed from his companion, was striding on past Downing +Street; the old street, long swept away, in which Walpole lived, and to which +the dying Chatham was carried. And unconsciously, under the spur of his angry +thoughts, he quickened his pace. It was incredible, it was inconceivable that +so monstrous an injustice had been planned, or could be perpetrated. He, who +had stepped into the breach, well-nigh in his own despite, he, who had refused, +so scrupulous had he been, to stand on a first invitation, he, who had been +elected almost against his will, was, for all thanks, to be set aside, and by +his friends! By those whose unsolicited act it had been to return him and to +put him into this position! It was impossible, he told himself. It was +unthinkable! Were this true, were this a fact, the meanness of political life +had reached its apogee! The faithlessness of the Whigs, their incredible +treachery to their dependants, could need no other exemplar! +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll not bear it! By Heaven, I’ll not bear it!” he +muttered. And as he spoke, striding along in the hurry of his spirits as if he +carried a broom and swept the whole Whig party before him, he overtook no less +a person than Sergeant Wathen, who had been lunching at the Athenæum. +</p> + +<p> +The Sergeant heard his voice and turning, saw who it was. He fancied that +Vaughan had addressed him. “I beg your pardon,” he said politely. +“I did not catch what you said, Mr. Vaughan.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Vaughan glowered at him, as if he would sweep him from his path, +along with the Whigs. Then out of the fullness of the heart the mouth spoke. +“Mr. Sergeant,” he said, in a not very friendly tone, “do you +know anything of an agreement disposing of the future representation of +Chippinge?” +</p> + +<p> +The Sergeant who knew all under the rose, looked shrewdly at his companion to +see, if possible, what he knew. And, to gain time, “I beg your +pardon,” he said. “I don’t think I—quite understand +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am told,” Vaughan said haughtily, “that an agreement has +been made to avoid a contest at Chippinge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean,” the Sergeant asked blandly, “at the next +election, Mr. Vaughan?” +</p> + +<p> +“At future elections!” +</p> + +<p> +The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders. “As a member,” he said primly, +“I take care to know nothing of such agreements. And I would recommend +you, Mr. Vaughan, to adopt that rule. For the rest,” he added, with a +candid smile, “I give you fair warning that I shall contest the seat. May +I ask who was your informant?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Flixton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Flixton? Flixton? Ah! The gentleman who is to marry Miss Vermuyden! +Well, I can only repeat that I, at any rate, am no party to such an +agreement.” +</p> + +<p> +His sly look which seemed to deride his companion’s inexperience, said as +plainly as a look could say, “You find the game of politics less simple +than you thought?” And at another time it would have increased +Vaughan’s ire. But as one pellet drives out another, the Sergeant’s +reference to Miss Vermuyden had in a second driven the prime subject from his +mind. He did not speak for a moment. Then with his face averted, “Is Mr. +Flixton—going to marry Miss Vermuyden?” he asked, in a muffled +tone. “I had not heard of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only heard it yesterday,” the Sergeant answered, not unwilling +to shelve the other topic. “But it is rumoured, and I believe it is true. +Quite a romance, wasn’t it?” he continued airily. “Quite a +nine days’ wonder! But”—he pulled himself up—“I +beg your pardon! I was forgetting how nearly it concerned you. Dear me, dear +me! It is a fair wind indeed that blows no one any harm!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan made no reply. He could not speak for the hard beating of his heart. +Wathen saw that there was something wrong and looked at him inquisitively. But +the Sergeant had not the clue, and could only suspect that the marriage touched +the other, because issue of it would entirely bar his succession. And no more +was said. As they crossed New Palace Yard, a member drew the Sergeant aside, +and Vaughan went up alone to the lobby. +</p> + +<p> +But all thought of speaking was flown from his mind; nor did the thinness of +the House when he entered tempt him. There were hardly more than a hundred +present; and these were lolling here and there with their hats on, half asleep +it seemed, in the dull light of a September afternoon. A dozen others looked +sleepily from the galleries, their arms flattened on the rail, their chins on +their arms. There were a couple of ministers on the Treasury Bench, and Lord +John Russell was moving the third reading. No one seemed to take much interest +in the matter; a stranger entering at the moment would have learned with +amazement that this was the mother of parliaments, the renowned House of +Commons; and with still greater amazement would he have learned that the small, +boyish-looking gentleman in the high-collared coat, and with lips moulded on +Cupid’s bow, who appeared to be making some perfunctory remarks upon the +weather, or the state of the crops, was really advancing by an important stage +the famous Bill, which had convulsed three kingdoms and was destined to change +the political face of the land. +</p> + +<p> +Lord John sat down presently, thrusting his head at once into a packet of +papers, which the gloom hardly permitted him to read. A clerk at the table +mumbled something; and a gentleman on the other side of the House rose and +began to speak. He had not uttered many sentences, however, before the members +on the Reform benches awoke, not only to life, but to fury. Stentorian shouts +of “Divide! Divide!” rendered the speaker inaudible; and after +looking towards the door of the House more than once he sat down, and the House +went to a division. In a few minutes it was known that the Bill had been read a +third time, by 113 to 58. +</p> + +<p> +But the foreign gentleman would have made a great mistake had he gone away, +supposing that Lord John’s few placid words—and not those spiteful +shouts—represented the feelings of the House. In truth the fiercest +passions were at work under the surface. Among the fifty-eight who shrugged +their shoulders and accepted the verdict in gloomy silence were some primed +with the fiercest invective; and others, tongue-tied men, who nevertheless +honestly believed that Lord John Russell was a republican, and Althorp a fool; +who were certain that the Whigs wittingly or unwittingly were working the +destruction of the country, were dragging her from the pride of place to which +a nicely-balanced Constitution had raised her, and laying her choicest +traditions at the feet of the rabble. Men who believed such things, and saw the +deed done before their eyes, might accept their doom in silence—even as +the King of old went silently to the Banquet Hall hard by—but not with +joy or easy hearts! +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, therefore, was not the only one who walked into the lobby that +evening, brooding darkly on his revenge. Yet, even he behaved himself as men, +so bred, so trained do behave themselves. He held his peace. And no one +dreamed, not even Orator Hunt, who sat not far from him under the shadow of his +White Hat, that this well-conducted young gentleman was revolving thoughts of +the Social Order, and of the Party System, and of most things which the Church +Catechism commends, beside which that terrible Radical’s own opinions +were mere Tory prejudices. The fickleness of women! The treachery of men! Oh, +Aetna bury them! Oh, Ocean overwhelm them! Let all cease together and be no +more! But give me sweet, oh, sweet, oh, sweet Revenge! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>XXV<br/> +AT STAPYLTON</h2> + +<p> +It was about a week before his encounter with Vaughan in the park—and on +a fine autumn day—that the Honourable Bob, walking with Sir Robert by the +Garden Pool, allowed his eyes to travel over the prospect. The smooth-shaven +lawns, the stately, lichened house, the far-stretching park, with its +beech-knolls and slopes of verdure, he found all fair; and when to these, when +to the picture on which his bodily eyes rested, that portrait of +Mary—Mary, in white muslin and blue ribbons, bowing her graceful head +while Sir Robert read prayers—which he carried in his memory, he told +himself that he was an uncommonly happy fellow. +</p> + +<p> +Beauty he might have had, wealth he might have had, family too. But to alight +on all in such perfection, to lose his heart where his head approved the step, +was a gift of fortune so rare, that as he strutted and talked by the side of +his host, his face beamed with ineffable good-humour. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless for a few moments silence had fallen between the two; and +gradually Sir Robert’s face had assumed a grave and melancholy look. He +sighed more than once, and when he spoke, it was to repeat in different words +what he had already said. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, you may speak,” he said, in a tone of some formality. +“And I have little doubt, Mr. Flixton, that your overtures will be +received as they deserve.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes? Yes? You think so?” Flixton answered with manifest delight. +“You really think so, Sir Robert, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so,” his host replied. “Not only because your suit +is in every way eligible, and one which does us honour.” He bowed +courteously as he uttered the compliment. “But because, Mr. Flixton, for +docility—and I think a husband may congratulate himself on the +fact——” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure! To be sure!” Flixton cried, not permitting him to +finish. “Yes, Sir Robert, capital! You mean that if I am not a happy +man——” +</p> + +<p> +“It will not be the fault of your wife,” Sir Robert said; +remembering with a faint twinge of conscience that the Honourable Bob’s +past had not been without its histories. +</p> + +<p> +“No! By gad, Sir Robert, no! You’re quite right! She’s got an +ank——” He stopped abruptly, his mouth open; bethinking +himself, when it was almost too late, that her father was not the person to +whom to detail her personal charms. +</p> + +<p> +But Sir Robert had not divined the end of the sentence. He was a trifle deaf. +“Yes?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s an—an—animated manner, I was going to +say,” Flixton answered with more readiness than fervour. And he blessed +himself for his presence of mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Animated? Yes, but gentle also,” Sir Robert replied, well-nigh +purring as he did so. “I should say that gentleness, and—and +indeed, my dear fellow, goodness, were the—but perhaps I am saying more +than I should.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all!” Flixton answered with heartiness. “Gad, I could +listen to you all day, Sir Robert.” +</p> + +<p> +He had listened, indeed, during a large part of the last week; and with so much +effect, that those histories to which reference has been made, had almost faded +from the elder man’s mind. Flixton seemed to him a hearty, manly young +fellow, a little boastful and self-assertive perhaps—but remarkably +sound. A soldier, who asked nothing better than to put down the rabble rout +which was troubling the country; a Tory, of precisely his, Sir Robert’s +opinions; the younger son of a peer, and a West Country peer to boot. In fine, +a staunch, open-air patrician, with good old-fashioned instincts, and none of +that intellectual conceit, none of those cranks, and fads, and follies, which +had ruined a man who also might have been Sir Robert’s son-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +Well that man, Sir Robert, perhaps because his conscience pricked him at times +by suggesting impossible doubts, was still bitterly angry. So angry that, had +the Baronet been candid, he must have acknowledged that the Honourable +Bob’s main virtue was his unlikeness to Arthur Vaughan; it was in +proportion as he differed from the young fellow who had so meanly intrigued to +gain his daughter’s affections, that Flixton appeared desirable to the +father. Even those histories proved that at any rate he had blood in him; while +his loud good-nature, his positiveness, as long as it marched with Sir +Robert’s positiveness, his short views, all gained by contrast. “I +am glad he is a younger son,” the Baronet thought. “He shall take +the old Vermuyden name!” And he lifted his handsome old chin a little +higher as he pictured the honours, that even in a changed and worsened England, +might cluster about his house. At the worst, and if the Bill passed, he had a +seat alternately with the Lansdownes; and in a future, which would know nothing +of Lord Lonsdale’s cat-o’-nine-tails, when pocket boroughs would be +rare, and great peers and landowners would be left with scarce a +representative, much might be done with half a seat. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, “Damme, Sir Robert,” Flixton cried, “there is the +little beauty—hem!—there she is, I think. With your permission I +think I’ll join her.” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means, by all means,” Sir Robert answered indulgently. +“You need not stand on ceremony.” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton waited for no more. Perhaps he had no mind to be bored, now that he had +gained what he wanted. He hurried after the slim figure with the white floating +skirts and the Leghorn hat, which had descended the steps of the house, moved +lightly across the lawns—and vanished. He guessed, however, whither she +was bound. He knew that she had a liking for walking in the wilderness behind +the house; a beech wood which was already beginning to put on its autumn glory. +And sure enough, hastening to a point among the smooth grey trunks where three +paths met, he discerned her a hundred paces away, walking slowly from him with +her eyes raised. +</p> + +<p> +“Squirrels!” Flixton thought. And he made up his mind to bring the +terriers and have a hunt on the following Sunday afternoon. In the meantime he +had another quarry in view, and he made after the white-gowned figure. +</p> + +<p> +She heard his tread on the carpet of dry beech leaves, and she turned and saw +him. She had come out on purpose that she might be alone, at liberty to think +at her ease and orientate herself, in relation to her new environment, and the +fresh and astonishing views which were continually opening before her. Or, +perhaps, that was but her pretext: an easy explanation of silence and solitude, +which might suffice for her father and possibly for Miss Sibson. For, for +certain, amid sombre thoughts of her mother, she thought more often and more +sombrely in these days of another; of happiness which had been forfeited by her +own act; of weakness, and cowardice, and ingratitude; of a man’s head +that stooped to her adorably, and then again of a man’s eyes that burned +her with contempt. +</p> + +<p> +It is probable, therefore, that she was not overjoyed when she saw Mr. Flixton. +But Sir Robert was so far right in his estimate of her nature that she hated to +give pain. It was there, perhaps, that she was weak. And so, seeing the +Honourable Bob, she smiled pleasantly on him. +</p> + +<p> +“You have discovered a favourite haunt of mine,” she said. She did +not add that she spent a few minutes of every day there: that the smooth +beech-trunks knew the touch of her burning cheeks, and the rustle of the +falling leaves the whisper of her penitence. Daily she returned by way of the +Kennel Path and there breathed a prayer for her mother, where a mother’s +arms had first enfolded her, and a mother’s kisses won her love. What she +did add was, “I often come here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you do,” the Honourable Bob answered, with a look of +admiration. “I assure you, Miss Mary, I could astonish you with the +things I know about you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Really!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. Really.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a significant chuckle in his voice which brought the blood to her +check. But she was determined to ignore its meaning. “You are +observant?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Of those—yes, by Jove, I am—of those, I—admire,” +he rejoined. He had it on his tongue to say “those I love,” but she +turned her eyes on him at the critical moment, and though he was doing a thing +he had often done, and he had impudence enough, his tongue failed him. There +are women so naturally modest that until the one man who awakens the heart +appears, it seems an outrage to speak to them of love. Mary Vermuyden, perhaps +by reason of her bringing up, was one of these; and though Flixton had had +little to do with women of her kind, he recognised the fact and bowed to it. He +came, having her father’s leave to speak to her; yet he found himself +less at his ease, than on many a less legitimate occasion. “Yes, by +Jove,” he repeated. “I observe them, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary laughed. “Some are more quick to notice than others,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“And to notice some than others!” he rejoined, gallantly. +“That is what I mean. Now that old girl who is with +you——” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Sibson?” Mary said, setting him right with some stiffness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! Well, she isn’t young! Anyway, you don’t suppose I +could say what she wore yesterday! But what you wore, Miss +Mary”—trying to catch her eye and ogle her—“ah, +couldn’t I! But then you don’t wear powder on your nose, nor need +it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wear it,” she said, laughing in spite of herself. +“But you don’t know what I may do some day! And for Miss Sibson, it +does not matter, Mr. Flixton, what she wears. She has one of the kindest +hearts, and was one of the kindest friends I had—or could have +had—when things were different with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, good old girl,” he rejoined, “but snubby! Bitten my +nose off two or three times, I know. And, come now, not quite an angel, you +know, Miss Mary!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she replied, smiling, “she is not, perhaps, an angel +to look at. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“She can’t be! For she is not like you!” he cried. “And +you are one, Miss Mary! You are the angel for me!” looking at her with +impassioned eyes. “I’ll never want another nor ask to see +one!” +</p> + +<p> +His look frightened her; she began to think he meant—something. And she +took a new way with him. “How singular it is,” she said, +thoughtfully, “that people say those things in society! Because they +sound so very silly to one who has not lived in your world!” +</p> + +<p> +“Silly!” Flixton replied, in a tone of mortification; and for a +moment he felt the check. He was really in love, to a moderate extent; and on +the way to be more deeply in love were he thwarted. Therefore he was, to a +moderate extent, afraid of her. And, “Silly?” he repeated. +“Oh, but I mean it, so help me! I do, indeed! It’s not silly to +call you an angel, for I swear you are as beautiful as one! That’s true, +anyway!” +</p> + +<p> +“How many have you seen?” she asked, ridiculing him. “And +what coloured wings had they?” But her cheek was hot. “Don’t +say, if you please,” she continued, before he could speak, “that +you’ve seen me. Because that is only saying over again what you’ve +said, Mr. Flixton. And that is worse than silly. It is dull.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mary,” he cried, pathetically, “you don’t +understand me! I want to assure you—I want to make you +understand——” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” she said, cutting him short, in an earnest whisper. And, +halting, she extended a hand behind her to stay him. “Please don’t +speak!” she continued. “Do you see them, the beauties? Flying round +and round the tree after one another faster than your eyes can follow them. +One, two, three—three squirrels! I never saw one, do you know, until I +came here,” she went on, in a tone of hushed rapture. “And until +now I never saw them at play. Oh, who could harm them?” +</p> + +<p> +He stood behind her, biting his lip with vexation; and wholly untouched by the +scene, which, whether her raptures were feigned or not, was warrant for them. +Hitherto he had had to do with women who met him halfway; who bridled at a +compliment, were alive to an <i>équivoque</i>, and knew how to simulate, if +they did not feel, a soft confusion under his gaze. For this reason +Mary’s backwardness, her apparent unconsciousness that they were not +friends of the same sex, puzzled him, nay, angered him. As she stood before +him, a hand still extended to check his advance, the sunshine which filtered +through the beech leaves cast a soft radiance on her figure. She seemed more +dainty, more graceful, more virginal than aught that he had ever conceived. It +was in vain that he told himself, with irritation, that she was but a girl +after all. That, under her aloofness, she was a woman like the others, as vain, +passionate, flighty, as jealous as other women. He knew that he stood in awe of +her. He knew that the words which he had uttered so lightly many a +time—ay, and to those to whom he had no right to address them—stuck +in his throat now. He wanted to say “I love you!” and he had the +right to say it, he was commissioned to say it. Yet he was dumb. All the +boldness which he had exhibited in her presence in Queen’s +Square—where another had stood tongue-tied—was gone. +</p> + +<p> +He took at last a desperate step. The girl was within arm’s reach of him; +her delicate waist, the creamy white of her slender neck, invited him. Be she +never so innocent, never so maidenly, a kiss, he told himself, would awaken +her. It was his experience, it was a scrap drawn from his store of worldly +wisdom, that a woman kissed was a woman won. +</p> + +<p> +True, as he thought of it, his heart began to riot, as it had not rioted from +that cause since he had kissed the tobacconist’s daughter at Exeter, his +first essay in gallantry. But only the bold deserve the fair! And how often had +he boasted that, where women were concerned, lips were made for other things +than talking! +</p> + +<p> +And—in a moment it was done. +</p> + +<p> +Twice! Then she slipped from his grasp, and stood at bay, with flaming checks +and eyes that—that had certainly not ceased to be virginal. “You! +You!” she cried, barely able to articulate. “Don’t touch +me!” +</p> + +<p> +She had been taken utterly, wholly by surprise; and the shock was immensely +increased by the facts of her bringing up and the restraints and conditions of +school-life. In his grasp, with his breath on her cheek, all those notions +about ravening wolves and the danger which attached to beauty in low +places—notions no longer applicable, had she taken time to +reason—returned upon her in force. The man had kissed her! +</p> + +<p> +“How—-how dare you?” she continued, trembling with rage and +indignation. +</p> + +<p> +“But your father——” +</p> + +<p> +“How dare you——” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father sent me,” he pleaded, quite crestfallen. “He +gave me leave——” +</p> + +<p> +She stared at him, as at a madman. “To insult me?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“No, but—but you won’t understand!” he answered, almost +querulously. He was quite chapfallen. “You don’t listen to me. I +want to marry you. I want you to be my wife. Your father said I might come to +you, and—and ask you. And—and you’ll say ‘Yes,’ +won’t you? That’s a good girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +He stared at her, turning red. “Oh, nonsense!” he stammered. And he +made as if he would go nearer. “You don’t mean it. My dear girl! +Listen to me! I do love you! I do indeed! And I—I tell you what it is, I +never loved any woman——” +</p> + +<p> +But she looked at him in such a way that he could not go on. “Do not say +those things!” she said. And her austerity was terrible to him. +“And go, if you please. My father, if he sent you to +me——” +</p> + +<p> +“He did!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he did not,” she replied with dignity, “understand my +feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—but you must marry someone,” he complained. “You +know—you’re making a great fuss about nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing!” she cried, her eyes sparkling. “You insult me, Mr. +Flixton, and——” +</p> + +<p> +“If a man may not kiss the girl he wants to marry——” +</p> + +<p> +“If she does not want to marry him?” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s not as bad as that,” he pleaded. “No, by +Jove, it’s not. You’ll not be so cruel. Come, Miss Mary, listen to +me a minute. You must marry someone, you know. You are young, and I’m +sure you have the right to choose——” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard enough,” she struck in, interrupting him with +something of Sir Robert’s hauteur. “I understand now what you +meant, and I forgive you. But I can never be anything to you, Mr. +Flixton——” +</p> + +<p> +“You can be everything to me,” he declared. It couldn’t, it +really couldn’t be that she meant to refuse him! Finally and altogether! +</p> + +<p> +“But you can be nothing to me!” she answered, cruelly—very +cruelly for her, but her cheek was tingling. “Nothing! Nothing! And that +being so, I beg that you will leave me now.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her with a mixture of supplication, resentment, chagrin. +</p> + +<p> +But she showed no sign of relenting. “You really—you really do mean +it?” he muttered, with a sickly smile. “Come, Miss Mary!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t! Don’t!” she cried, as if his words pained her. +And that was all. “Please go! Or I shall go.” +</p> + +<p> +The Honourable Bob’s conceit had been so far taken out of him that he +felt that he could make no farther fight. He could see no sign of relenting, +and feeling that, with all his experience, he had played his cards ill, he +turned away sullenly. “Oh, I will go,” he said. And he longed to +add something witty and careless. But he could not add anything. He, Bob +Flixton, the hero of so many <i>bonnes fortunes</i>, to be refused! He had laid +his all, and <i>pour le bon motif</i> at the feet of a girl who but yesterday +was a little schoolmistress. And she had refused him! It was incredible! But, +alas, it was also fact. +</p> + +<p> +Mary, the moment his back was turned, hurried with downcast face towards the +Kennels; to hide her hot cheeks and calm her feelings in the depths of the +shrubbery. Oddly enough, her first thoughts were less of that which had just +happened to her than of that suit which had been paid to her months before. +This man might love her or not; she could not tell. But Arthur Vaughan had +loved her: the fashion of this love taught her to prize the fashion of that. +</p> + +<p> +He had loved her. And if he had treated her as Mr. Flixton had treated her? +Would she have held to him, she wondered. She believed that she would. But the +mere thought set her knees trembling, made her cheeks flame afresh, filled her +with rapture. So that, shamefaced, frightened, glancing this way and that, as +one hunted, she longed to be safe in her room, there to cry at her ease. +</p> + +<p> +Doubtless it was natural that the incident should turn her thoughts to that +other love-making; and presently to her father’s furious dislike of that +other lover. She could not understand that dislike; for the Bill and the +Borough, Franchise or No Franchise, were nothing to her. And the grievance, +when Sir Robert had essayed to explain it, had been nothing. To her mind, +Trafalgar and Waterloo and the greatness of England were the work of Nelson and +Wellington—at the remotest, perhaps, of Mr. Pitt and Lord Castlereagh. +She could not enter into the reasoning which attributed these and all other +blessings of her country to a System! To a System which it seemed her lover was +pledged to overthrow. +</p> + +<p> +She walked until the tumult of her thoughts had somewhat abated; and then, +still yearning for the security of her own chamber, she made for the house. She +saw nothing of Flixton, no one was stirring. Already she thought herself safe; +and it was the very spirit of mischief which brought her, at the corner of the +church, face to face with her father. Sir Robert’s brow was clouded, and +the “My dear, one moment,” with which he stayed her, was pitched in +a more decisive tone than he commonly used to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to speak to you, Mary,” he continued. “Will you come +with me to the library?” +</p> + +<p> +She would fain have postponed the discussion of Mr. Flixton’s proposal, +which she foresaw. But her father, affectionate and gentle as he was, was still +unfamiliar; and she had not the courage to make her petition. So she +accompanied him, with a sinking heart, to the library. And, when he pointed to +a seat, she was glad to sit down. +</p> + +<p> +He took up his own position on the hearth rug; whence he looked at her gravely +before he spoke. At length: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he said, “I’m sorry for this! Though I do +not blame you. I think that you do not understand, owing to those drawbacks of +your early life, which have otherwise, thank God, left so slight a mark upon +you, that there are things which at your time of life you must leave +to—to the decision of your elders.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him. And there was not that complete docility in her look which +he expected to find. “I don’t think I understand, sir,” she +murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“But you can easily understand this, Mary,” he replied. “That +young girls of your age, without experience of life or of—of the darker +side of things, cannot be allowed to judge for themselves on all occasions. +There are sometimes circumstances to be weighed which it is not possible to +detail to them.” +</p> + +<p> +She closed her eyes for an instant, to collect her thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“But—but, sir,” she said, “you cannot wish me to have +no will—no choice—in a matter which affects me so nearly.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, speaking seriously and with something approaching +sternness. “But that will and that choice must be guided. They should be +guided. Your feelings are natural—God forbid that I should think them +otherwise! But you must leave the decision to me.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him, aghast. She had heard, but had never believed, that in the +upper classes matches were arranged after this fashion. But to have no will and +no choice in such a thing as marriage! She must be dreaming. +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot,” he continued, looking at her firmly but not unkindly, +“have either the knowledge of the past,” with a slight grimace, as +of pain, “or the experience needful to enable you to measure the result +of the step you take. You must, therefore, let your seniors decide for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I could never—never,” she answered, with a deep blush, +“marry a man without—liking him, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Marry?” Sir Robert repeated. He stared at her. +</p> + +<p> +She returned the look. “I thought, sir,” she faltered, with a still +deeper blush, “that you were talking of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he said, gravely, “I am referring to the subject +on which I understood that you requested Miss Sibson to speak to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“My mother?” she whispered, the colour fading quickly from her +face. +</p> + +<p> +He paused a moment. Then, “You would oblige me,” he said, slowly +and formally, “by calling her Lady Sybil Vermuyden. And +not—that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she is—my mother,” she persisted. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her, his head slightly bowed, his lower lip thrust out. +“Listen,” he said, with decision. “What you propose—to +go to her, I mean—is impossible. Impossible, you understand. There must +be an end of any thought of it!” His tone was cold, but not unkind. +“The thing must not be mentioned again, if you please,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +She was silent a while. Then, “Why, sir?” she asked. She spoke +tremulously, and with an effort. But he had not expected her to speak at all. +</p> + +<p> +Yet he merely continued, as he stood on the hearth rug, to look at her askance. +“That is for me,” he said, “to decide.” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“But I will tell you,” he said, stiffly. “Because she has +already ruined part of your life!” +</p> + +<p> +“I forgive her, from my heart!” Mary cried. +</p> + +<p> +“And ruined, also,” he continued, putting the interruption aside, +“a great part of mine. At your age I do not think fit to tell +you—all. It is enough, that she has robbed me of you, and deceived me. +Deceived me,” he repeated, more bitterly, “through long years when +you, my daughter, might have been my comfort and—” he ended, almost +inaudibly, “my joy.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned his back on her with the word and began to walk the room, his chin +sunk on his breast, his hands clasped. It was clear to Mary, watching him with +loving, pitying eyes, that his thoughts were with the unhappy past, with the +short fever, the ignoble contentions of his married life, or with the lonely, +soured years which had followed. She felt that he was laying to his +wife’s charge the wreck of his life, and the slow dry-rot which had +sapped hope, and strength, and development. +</p> + +<p> +Mary waited until his step trod the carpet less hurriedly. Then, as he paused +to turn, she stepped forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, sir—forgive her!” she cried. And there were warm tears +in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +He turned and looked at her. Possibly he was astonished at her persistence. +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” he said in a tone of finality. “Never! Let that be +the end.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mary had been dreaming of this moment for days. And she had resolved that, +come what might, though he frown, though his tone grow hard and his eye angry, +though he bring to bear on her the stern command of his eagle visage, she would +not be found lacking a second time. She would not again give way to her +besetting weakness, and spend sleepless nights in futile remorse. Diffidence in +the lonely schoolmistress had been pardonable, had been natural. But now, if +she were indeed sprung from those who had a right to hold their heads above the +crowd, if the doffed hats which greeted her when she went abroad, in the +streets of Chippinge as well as in the lanes and roads,—if these meant +anything—shame on her if she proved craven. +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot be the end, sir,” she said, in a low voice. “For +she is—still my mother. And she is alone and ill—and she needs +me.” +</p> + +<p> +He had begun to pace the room anew, this time with an impatient, angry step. +But at that he stood and faced her, and she needed all her courage to support +the gloom of his look. “How do you know?” he said. For Miss Sibson, +discharging an ungrateful task, had not entered into details. “Have you +seen her?” +</p> + +<p> +She felt that she must judge for herself; and though her mother had said +something to the contrary, and hitherto she had obeyed her, she thought it best +to tell all. “Yes, sir,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“A fortnight ago?” She trembled under the growing darkness of his +look. +</p> + +<p> +“Here?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the grounds, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you never told me!” he cried. “You never told me!” +he repeated, with a strange glance, a glance which strove with terror to +discern the mother’s features in the daughter’s face. “You, +too—you, too, have begun to deceive me!” +</p> + +<p> +And he threw up his hands in despair. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! no!” Mary cried, infinitely distressed. +</p> + +<p> +“But you have!” he rejoined. “You have kept this from +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only, believe me, sir,” she cried, eagerly, “until I could +find a fitting time.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now you want to go to her!” he answered, unheeding. “She +has suborned you! She, who has done the greatest wrong to you, has now done the +last wrong to me!” +</p> + +<p> +He began again to pace up and down the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! no!” she sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“It is so!” he answered, darting an angry glance at her. “It +is so! But I shall not let you go! Do you hear, girl? I shall not let you go! I +have suffered enough,” he continued, with a gesture which called those +walls to witness to the humiliations, the sorrows, the loneliness, from which +he had sought refuge within them. “I will not—suffer again! You +shall not go!” +</p> + +<p> +She was full of love for him, and of pity. She understood even that gesture, +and the past wretchedness to which it bore witness. And she yearned to comfort +him, and to convince him that nothing that had gone before, nothing that could +happen in the future, would set her against him. Had he been seated, she would +have knelt and kissed his hand, or cast herself on his breast and his love, and +won him to her. But as he walked she could not approach him, she did not know +how to soften him. Yet her duty was clear. It lay beside her dying mother. +Nevertheless, if he forbade her to go, if he withstood her, how was she to +perform it? +</p> + +<p> +At length, “But if she be dying, sir,” she murmured. “Will +you not then let me see her?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her from under his heavy eyebrows. “I tell you, I will not +let you go!” he said stubbornly. “She has forfeited her right to +you. When she made you die to me—you died to her! That is my decision. +You hear me? And now—now,” he continued, returning in a measure to +composure, “let there be an end!” +</p> + +<p> +She stood silenced, but not conquered; knowing him more intimately than she had +known him before; and loving him not less, but more, since pity and sympathy +entered into her love and drove out fear; but assured that he was wrong. It +could not be her duty to forsake: it must be his duty to forgive. But for the +present she saw that in spite of all his efforts he was cruelly agitated, that +she had stirred pangs long lulled to rest, that he had borne as much as he +could bear. And she would not press him farther for the time. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile he, as he stood fingering his trembling lips, was trying to bring the +cunning of age to bear. He was silently forming his plan. She had been too much +alone, he reflected; that was it. He had forgotten that she was young, and that +change and movement and life and gaiety were needful for her. This +about—that woman—was an obsession, an unwholesome fancy, which a +few days in a new place, and amid lively scenes, would weaken and perhaps +remove. And by and by, when he thought that he could trust his voice, he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“I said, let there be an end! But—you are all I have,” he +continued, with emotion, “and I will say instead, let this be for a time. +I must have time to think. You want—there are many things you want that +you ought to have—frocks, laces, and gew-gaws,” he added, with a +sickly smile, “and I know not what, that you cannot get here, nor I +choose for you. Lady Worcester has offered to take you with her to +town—she goes the day after to-morrow. I was uncertain this morning +whether to send you or not, whether I could spare you or not. Now, I say, go. +Go, and when you return, Mary, we will talk again.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then,” she said, pleading softly, “you will let me +go!” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” he cried, lifting his head in a sudden, uncontrollable +recurrence of rage. “But there, there! There! there! I shall have thought +it over—more at leisure. Perhaps! I don’t know! I will tell you +then. I will think it over.” +</p> + +<p> +She saw with clear eyes that this was an evasion, that he was deceiving her. +But she felt no resentment, only pity. She had no reason to think that her +mother needed her on the instant. And much was gained by the mere discussion of +the subject. At least he promised to consider it: and though he meant nothing +now, perhaps when he was alone he would think of it, and more pitifully. Yes, +she was sure he would. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go, if you wish it,” she said, submissively. She would show +herself obedient in all things lawful. +</p> + +<p> +“I do wish it,” he answered. “My daughter must know her way +about. Go, and Lady Worcester will take care of you. And when—when you +come back we will talk. You will have things to prepare, my dear,” he +continued, avoiding her eyes, “a good deal to prepare, I dare say, since +this is sudden, and you had better go now. I think that is all.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>XXVI<br/> +THE SCENE IN THE HALL</h2> + +<p> +Arthur Vaughan had been quick to see that he could not step at once into place +and fame; that success in political life could not in these days be attained at +a bound. But had he been less quick, the great debate which preceded the +passage of the Bill through the Commons must have availed to persuade him. That +their last words of warning to the country, their solemn remonstrances, might +have more effect, the managers of the Opposition had permitted the third +reading to be carried in the manner which has been described. But, that done, +they unmasked all their forces, bent on proving that if in the time to come the +peers threw out the Bill they would do so with a respectable weight, not only +of argument, but of public feeling behind them; and that, not only in the +country, but in the popular House. All that the bitter invective of Croker, the +mingled gibes and predictions of Wetherell, the close and weighty reasoning of +Peel, the precedents of Sugden could do to warn the timid and arouse the +prudent was done. That ancient Chamber, which was never again to echo the +accents of a debate so great, which stood indeed already doomed, as if it could +not long survive the order of things of which it had been for centuries the +centre, had heard, it may be, speeches more lofty, men more eloquent—for +whom had it not heard?—but never men more in earnest, or words more +keenly barbed by the prejudices of the passing, or the aspirations of the +coming, age. Of the one party were those who could see naught but glory in the +bygone, naught but peril in change, of the other, those whose strenuous aim it +was to make the future redress the wrongs of the past. The former were like +children, viewing the Armada hangings which tapestried the neighbouring +Chamber, and seeing only the fair front: the latter like the same children, +picking with soiled fingers at the backing, coarse, dusty and cobwebbed, which +for two hundred years had clung to the roughened masonry. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan sat through the three nights, brooding darkly on the feats performed +before him. If they who fought in the arena were not giants, if the House no +longer held a match for Canning and Brougham, the combatants seemed giants to +him; for a man’s opinion of himself is never far from the opinion which +others hold of him. And he soon perceived that a common soldier might as easily +step from the ranks and set the battle in order as he, Arthur Vaughan, rise up, +without farther training, and lead the attack or cover the defence. He sat +soured and gloomy, a mere spectator; dwelling, even while he listened to the +flowery periods of Macaulay, or the trenchant arguments of Peel, on the wrong +done to himself by the disposal of his seat. +</p> + +<p> +It was so like the Whigs, he told himself. Here on the floor of the House who +so loud as they in defence of the purity of elections, of the people’s +right to be represented, of the unbiassed vote of the electors? But behind the +scenes they were as keenly bent on jobbing a seat here, or neutralising a seat +there, and as careless of the people’s rights as they had ever been! It +was atrocious, it was shameful! If this were political life, if this were +political honesty, he had had enough of it! +</p> + +<p> +But alas, though he said it in his anger, there was the rub! He had not had, +and now he was not likely to have, enough of it. The hostility to himself, of +which he had come slowly to be conscious, as a man grows slowly to perceive a +frostiness in the air, had insensibly sapped his self-confidence and lowered +his claims. He no longer dreamt of rising and outshining the chiefs of his +party. But he still believed that he had it in him to succeed—were time +given him. And all through the long hours of the three nights’ debates +his thoughts were as often on his wrongs as on the momentous struggle which was +passing before his eyes, and for the issue of which the clubs of London were +keeping vigil. +</p> + +<p> +But enthusiasm is infectious. And when the tellers for the last time walked up +to the table, at five o’clock on the morning of the 22nd of September, +with the grey light of daybreak stealing in to shame the candles and betray the +jaded faces—when he and all men knew that for them the end of the great +struggle was come—Vaughan waited breathless with the rest and strained +his ears to catch the result. And when, a moment later, peal upon peal of +fierce cheering shook the old panels in their frames, and being taken up by +waiting crowds without, carried the news through the dawn to the very skirts of +London—the news that Reform had passed the People’s House, and that +only the peers now stood between the country and its desire—he shared the +triumph and shouted with the rest, shook hands with exultant neighbours, and +waved his hat, perspiring. +</p> + +<p> +But in his case the feeling of exultation was short-lived; perhaps in the case +of many another, who roared himself hoarse and showed a gleeful face to the +daylight. Certainly it was something to have taken part in such a scene, the +memory of which must survive for generations. It was something to have voted in +such a division. He might talk of it in days to come to his grandchildren. But +for him personally it meant that all was over; that here, if the Lords passed +the Bill, was the end. A Dissolution must follow, and when the House met again, +his place would know him no more. He would be gone, and no man would feel the +blank. +</p> + +<p> +Nor were less selfish doubts wanting. As he stood, caught in the press and +awaiting his turn to leave the crowded House, his eyes rested on the pale, +scowling faces which dotted the opposite benches; the faces of men who, +honestly believing that here and now the old Constitution of England had got +its deathblow, could not hide their bitter chagrin, or their scorn of the foe. +Nor could he, at any rate, view those men without sympathy; without the +possibility that they were right weighing on his spirits; without a faint +apprehension that this might indeed be the beginning of decay, the starting +point of that decadence which every generation since Queen Anne’s had +foreseen. For if many on that side represented no one but themselves, they +still represented vast interests, huge incomes, immense taxation. They were +those who, if England sank, had most to lose. He, in the past, had given up +almost his all that he might stand aloof from them; and that, because he +thought them prejudiced, wrong-headed, unreasonable. But he respected them. +And—what if they were right? +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the persistent cheering of his friends began to jar on his tired +nerves. He seemed to see in this a beginning of disorder, of license, of +revolution, of all those evils which the other party foretold. And then he had +little liking for the statistics of Hume: and Hume with his arm about his +favourite pillar, was high among the triumphant. Hard by him again was the +tall, thin form of Orator Hunt, for whom the Bill was too moderate; and the +taller, thinner form of Burdett. They, crimson with shouting, were his partners +in this; the bedfellows among whom his opinions had cast him. +</p> + +<p> +Thinking such thoughts, he was among the last to leave the House, which he did +by way of Westminster Hall. The scene as he descended to the Hall was so +striking that he stood an instant on the steps to view it. The hither half of +the great space was comparatively bare, but the farther half was occupied by a +throng of people held back by a line of the New Police, who were doing all they +could to keep a passage for the departing Members. As groups of the latter, +after chatting awhile at the upper end, passed, conscious of the greatness of +the occasion, down the lane thus formed, bursts of loud cheering greeted the +better-known Reformers. Some of the more forward of those who waited shook +hands with them, or patted them on the back; while others cried “God +bless you, sir! Long life to you, sir!” On the other hand, an angry moan, +or a spirit of hissing, marked the passage of a known Tory; or a voice was +raised calling to these to bid the Lords beware. A few lamps, which had burned +through the night, contended pallidly with the growing daylight, and gave to +the scene that touch of obscurity, that mingling of light and +shadow—under the dusky, far-receding roof—which is necessary to the +picturesque. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan did not suspect that, as he paused, looking down on the Hall, he was +himself watched, and by some sore enough that moment to be glad to wreak their +feelings in any direction. As he set his foot on the stone pavement a group +near at hand raised a cry of “Turncoat! Turncoat!” and that so +loudly that he could not but hear it. An unmistakable hiss followed; and then, +“Who stole a seat?” cried one of the men. +</p> + +<p> +“And isn’t going to keep it?” cried another. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan turned short at the last words—he had not felt sure that the +first were addressed to him. With a hot face, and every fibre in his body +tingling with defiance, he stepped up to the group. “Did you speak to +me?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +A man with a bullying air put himself before the others. He was a ruined Irish +Member, who had sat for years for a close borough, and for whom the Bill meant +duns, bailiffs, a sponging-house, in a word, the loss of all those +thing’s which made life tolerable. He was full of spite and spoiling for +a fight with someone, no matter with whom. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he replied, confronting our friend with a sneer. +“I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was about to answer him in kind, when he espied in the middle of the +group the pale, keen face and greyish whiskers of Sergeant Wathen. And, +“Perhaps you have not,” he retorted, “but that gentleman +has.” He pointed to Wathen. “And, if what was said a moment +ago,” he continued, “was meant for me, I have the honour to ask for +an explanation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Explanation?” a Member in the background cried, in a jeering tone. +“Is there need of one?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was no longer red, he was white with anger. “Who spoke?” he +asked, his voice ringing. +</p> + +<p> +The Irishman looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Right you are, +Jerry!” he said: “I’ll not give you up!” And then to +Vaughan, “I did not,” he said rudely. “For the rest, sir, the +Hall is large enough. And we have no need of your heroics here!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your pleasure, however,” Vaughan replied, haughtily, “is not +my law. Some one of you used words a moment ago which seemed to +imply——” +</p> + +<p> +“What, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I obtained my seat by unfair means! And the truth being perfectly +well known to that gentleman”—again he pointed to the Sergeant in a +way which left Wathen anything but comfortable. “I am sure that he will +tell you that the statement——” +</p> + +<p> +“Statement?” +</p> + +<p> +“Statement or imputation, or whatever you please to call it,” +Vaughan answered, sticking to his point in spite of interruptions, “is +absolutely unfounded—and false. And false! And, therefore, must be +retracted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, must!” Vaughan replied—he was no coward. “Must, +if you call yourselves gentlemen. But first, Mr. Sergeant,” he continued, +fixing Wathen with his eye, “I will ask you to tell these friends of +yours that I did not turn my coat at Chippinge. And that there was nothing in +my election which in any degree touched my honour.” +</p> + +<p> +The Sergeant looked flurried. He was of those who love to wound, but do not +love to fight. And at this moment he wished from the crown of his head to the +soles of his feet, that he had held his tongue. But unluckily, whether the +cloud upon Vaughan’s reputation had been his work or not, he had +certainly said more than he liked to remember; and, worse still, had said some +part of it within the last five minutes, in the hearing of those about him. To +retract, therefore, was to dub himself a liar; and he sought refuge, the +perspiration standing on his brow, in that half-truth which is at once worse +than a lie—and safer. +</p> + +<p> +“I must say, Mr. Vaughan,” he said, “that the—the +circumstances in which you used the vote given to you by your cousin, +and—and the way in which you turned against him after attending a dinner +of his supporters——” +</p> + +<p> +“Openly, fairly, and after warning, I turned against him,” Vaughan +cried, enraged at the show of justice which the accusation wore. “And +that, sir, in pursuance of opinions which I had publicly professed. More, I +allowed myself to be elected only after I had once refused Lord +Lansdowne’s offer of the seat! And after, only after, Sir Robert +Vermuyden had so treated me that all ties were broken. Sergeant Wathen, I +appeal to you again! Was that not so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of that,” Wathen answered, sullenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing? You know nothing of that?” Vaughan cried. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” the Sergeant answered, still more sullenly. “I know +nothing of what passed between you and your cousin. I know only that you were +present, as I have said, at a dinner of his supporters on the eve of the +election, and that on a sudden, at that dinner, you declared yourself against +him—with the result that you were elected by the other side!” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Vaughan stood glowering at him, struck dumb by his denial and by +the unexpected plausibility, nay, the unexpected strength of the case against +him. He was sure that Wathen knew more, he was sure that if he would he could +say more! He was sure that the man was dishonest. But he did not see how he +could prove it, and—— +</p> + +<p> +The Irish Member laughed. “Well, sir,” he said, derisively, +“is the explanation, now you’ve got it, to your mind?” +</p> + +<p> +The taunt stung Vaughan. He took a step forward. The next moment would have +seen him commit himself to a foolish action, that could only have led him to +Wimbledon Common or Primrose Hill. But in the nick of time a voice stayed him. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this, eh?” it asked, its tone more lugubrious than +usual. And Sir Charles Wetherell, who had just descended the stairs from the +lobby, turned a dull eye from one disputant to the other. “Can’t +you do enough damage with your tongues?” he rumbled. “Brawl +upstairs as much as you like! That’s the way to the Woolsack! But you +mustn’t brawl here!” And the heavy-visaged man, whose humour had +again and again conciliated a House which his coarse invective had offended, +once more turned from one to the other. “What is it?” he repeated. +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan hastened to appeal to him. “Sir Charles,” he said, “I +will abide by your decision! Though I do not know, indeed, that I ought to take +any man’s decision on a point which touches my honour!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” Wetherell said in an inimitable tone. “Court of Honour, +is it?” And he cast a queer look round the circle. “That’s +it, is it? Well, I dare say I’m eligible. I dare swear I know as much +about honour as Brougham about equity! Or the Sergeant +there”—Wathen reddened angrily—“about law! Or Captain +McShane here about his beloved country! Yes,” he continued, amid the +unconcealed grins of those of the party whose weak points had escaped, +“you may proceed, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a friend, Sir Charles,” Vaughan said, in a voice which +quivered with anxiety, “you are a friend of Sir Robert +Vermuyden’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I won’t deny him until I know more!” Wetherell +answered quaintly. “What of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know what occurred at Chippinge before the election?” +</p> + +<p> +“None better. I was there.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what passed between Sir Robert Vermuyden and me?” Vaughan +continued, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I do,” Wetherell answered. “In the main I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Sir Charles. Then I appeal to you. You are opposed to me in +politics, but you will do me justice. These gentlemen have thought fit to brand +me here and now as a turncoat; and, worse, as one who was—who was +elected”—he could scarcely speak for passion—“in +opposition to Sir Robert’s, to my relative’s candidates, under +circumstances dishonourable to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed? Indeed? That is serious.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I ask you, sir, is there a word of truth in that charge?” +</p> + +<p> +Wetherell had his eyes fixed gloomily on the pavement. He appeared to weigh the +matter a moment or two. Then he shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word,” he said, ponderously. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you bear me out, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, quite,” the other answered slowly, as he took out his +snuffbox. “To tell the truth, gentlemen,” he continued, in the same +melancholy tone, “Mr. Vaughan was fool enough to quarrel with his bread +and butter for the sake of the most worthless, damnable and mistaken +convictions any man ever held! That’s the truth. He showed himself a very +perfect fool, but an honourable and an honest fool—and that’s a +rare thing. I see none here.” +</p> + +<p> +No one laughed at the gibe, and he turned to Vaughan, who stood, relieved +indeed, but stiff and uncomfortable, uncertain what to do next. +“I’ll take your arm,” he said. “I’ve saved +you,” coolly, “from the ragged regiment on my side. Do you take me +safe,” he continued, with a look towards the lower end of the Hall, +“through your ragged regiment outside, my lad!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan understood only too well the generous motive which underlay the +invitation. But for a moment he hung back. +</p> + +<p> +“I am your debtor, Sir Charles,” he said, deeply moved, “as +long as I live. But I would like to know before I go,” and he raised his +head, with a look worthy of Sir Robert, “whether these gentlemen are +satisfied. If not——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, perfectly,” the Sergeant cried, hurriedly. +“Perfectly!” And he muttered something about being glad—hear +explanation—satisfactory. +</p> + +<p> +But the Irish Member stepped up and held out his hand. “Faith,” he +said, “there’s no man whose word I’d take before Sir +Charles’s! There’s no hiatus in his honour, whatever may be said of +his breeches! That’s one for you,” he added, addressing Wetherell. +“I owed you one, my good sir!” And then he turned to Vaughan. +“There’s my hand, sir! I apologise,” he said. +“You’re a man of honour, and it’s mistaken we were!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am obliged to you for your candour,” Vaughan said, gratefully. +</p> + +<p> +Half a dozen others raised their hats to him, or shook hands with him frankly. +The Sergeant did the same less frankly. But Vaughan saw that he was cowed. +Wetherell was Sir Robert Vermuyden’s friend, and the Sergeant was Sir +Robert’s nominee. So he pushed his triumph no farther. With a feeling of +gratitude too deep for words, he offered his arm to Sir Charles, and went down +the Hall in his company. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the crowd at the lower end had carried their joy and their +horseplay elsewhere; and no attempt was made—Vaughan only wished an +attempt had been made—to molest Wetherell. They walked across the yard to +Parliament Street, as the first sunshine of the day fell on the bridge and the +river. Flocks of gulls were swinging to and fro in the clear air above the +water, and dumb barges were floating up with the tide. The hub-bub in that part +was past and over; at that moment a score of coaches were speeding through the +suburbs, bearing to market-town and busy city, ay, and to village greens, where +the news was awaited eagerly, the tidings that the Bill had passed the Lower +House. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Charles walked a short distance in silence. Then, “I thought some +notion of the kind was abroad,” he said. “It’s as well this +happened. What are you going to do about your seat if the Bill pass, young +man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am told that it is pre-empted,” Vaughan answered, in a tone +between jest and earnest. +</p> + +<p> +“It is. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Sir Charles?” +</p> + +<p> +“You should see your own side about it,” Wetherell answered +gruffly. “I can’t say more than that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am obliged to you for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should be!” Wetherell retorted in a peculiar tone. And with an +oath and a strange gesture he disengaged his arm. Halting and wheeling about, +he pointed with a shaking hand to the towers of the Abbey, which rose against +the blue, beatified by the morning sunshine. “If I said ‘batter +down those walls, undig the dead, away with every hoary thing of time, the +present and the future are enough, and we, the generation that burns the +mummies, which three thousand years have spared—we are wiser than all our +forbears—’ what would you say? You would call me mad. Yet what are +you doing? Ay, you, you among the rest! The building that our fathers built, +patiently through many hundred years, adding a little here and strengthening +there, the building that Hampden and Shrewsbury and Walpole, Chatham and his +son, and Canning, and many others tended reverently, repairing here and there, +as time required, you, you, who think you know more than all who have gone +before you, hurry in ruin to the ground! That you may build your own building, +built in a day, to suit the day, and to perish with the day! Oh, mad, mad, mad! +Ay, +</p> + +<div class="poem1"> + +<p class="t0" style="text-indent:-6pt"> +“<i>Hostis habet muros; ruit alta a culmine Troja.<br/> +Sat patriæ Priamoque datum; si Pergama linquâ.<br/> +Defendi possent, etiam, hoc defensa fuissent!</i>” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +His voice quavered on the last accent, his chin sank on his breast. He turned +wearily and resumed his course. When Vaughan, who did not venture to address +him again, parted from him in silence at the door of his house, the fat +man’s pendulous lip quivered, and a single tear ran down his cheek. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>XXVII<br/> +WICKED SHIFTS</h2> + +<p> +It was with a lighter heart that Vaughan walked on to Bury Street. There were +still, it seemed, faith and honour in the world, and some men who could be +trusted. But if he expected much to come of this, if he expected to be received +with an ovation on his next appearance at Westminster, he was doomed to +disappointment. Wetherell’s defence convinced those who heard it; and in +time, no doubt, passing from mouth to mouth, would improve the young +Member’s relations, not only on the floor of the House, but in the +lobbies and at Bellamy’s. But the English are not dramatic. They have no +love for scenes. And no one of those whose silence or whose catcalls had +wronged him thought fit to take his hand in cold blood and ask his pardon; nor +did any Don Quixote cast down his glove in Westminster Hall and offer to do +battle with his traducers. The manner of one man became a shade more cordial; +another spoke where he would have nodded. And if Vaughan had risen at this time +to speak on any question which he understood he would have been heard upon his +merits. +</p> + +<p> +But the change, slow though genial, like the breaking up of an English frost, +came too late to do him much service. With the transfer of the Bill to the +House of Lords public interest deserted the Commons. They sat, indeed, through +the month of September, to the horror of many a country gentleman, who saw in +this the herald of evil days; and they debated after a fashion. But the +attendance was sparse, and the thoughts and hopes of all men were in another +place. Vaughan saw that for all the reputation he could now make the +Dissolution might be come already. And with this, and the emptiness of his +heart, from which he could no more put the craving for Mary Vermuyden than he +could dismiss her image from the retina of his mind, he was very miserable. The +void left by love, indeed, was rendered worse by the void left unsatisfied by +ambition. Mary’s haunting face was with him at his rising, went with him +to his pillow, her little hand was often on his sleeve, her eyes often pleaded +to his. In his lonely rooms he would pace the floor feverishly, savagely, +pestering himself with what might have been; kicking the furniture from his +path and—and hating her! For the idea of marriage, once closely presented +to man or woman, leaves neither unchanged, leaves neither as it found them, +however quickly it be put aside. +</p> + +<p> +Still it was not possible for one who sprang from the governing classes, and +was gifted with political instincts, to witness the excitement which moved the +whole country during those weeks of September and the early days of October, +without feeling his own blood stirred; without sharing to some extent the +exhilaration with which the adventurous view the approach of adventures. What +would the peers do? All England was asking that question. At Crockford’s, +in the little supper-room, or at the French Hazard table itself, men turned to +put it and to hear the answer. At White’s and Boodle’s, in the hall +of the Athenæum, as they walked before Apsley House, or under the gas-lamps of +Pall Mall, men asked that question again and again. It shared with Pasta and +the slow-coming cholera—which none the less was coming—the +chit-chat of drawing-rooms; and with the next prize fight or with ridicule of +the New Police, the wrangling debates of every tavern and posthouse. Would the +peers throw out the Bill? Would they—would those doting old Bishops in +particular—dare to thwart the People’s will? Would they dare to +withhold the franchise from Birmingham and Manchester, Leeds and Sheffield? On +this husbands took one side, wives the other, families quarrelled. What Croker +thought, what Lord Grey threatened, what the Duke had let drop, what Brougham +had boasted, how Lady Lyndhurst had sneered, or her husband retorted, what the +Queen wished—scraps such as these were tossed from mouth to mouth, +greedily received, carried far into the country, and eventually, changed beyond +recognition, were repeated in awestruck ears, in county ballrooms and at +Sessions. +</p> + +<p> +One member of the Privy Council, who had left his party on the Bill, and whose +vote, it was thought, had turned a division, shot himself. And many another, it +was whispered, never recovered wholly from the strain of those days. +</p> + +<p> +For far more hung upon the Lords’ decision than the mere fate of the +Bill. If they threw it out, what would the Ministry do? And—more +momentous still, and looming larger in the minds of men—what would the +country do? What would Birmingham and Sheffield, Manchester and Leeds do? What +would they do? +</p> + +<p> +Lord Grey, strong in the King’s support, would persevere, said some. He +would bring in the Bill again, and create peers in number sufficient to carry +it. And Macaulay’s squib was flung from club to club, from meeting to +meeting, until it reached the streets: +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>What, though new opposed I be</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Twenty peers shall carry me!</i> +</p> + +<p class="t0"><i>If twenty won’t, thirty will</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>For I am his Majesty’s bouncing Bill</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Ay, his Majesty’s Bill, God bless him! His Majesty’s own Bill! +Hurrah for Lord Grey! Hurrah for Brougham! Hurrah for Lord John, and down with +the Bishops! So the word flew from mouth to mouth, so errand boys yelled it +under the windows of London House, in St. James’s Square, and wherever +aproned legs might be supposed to meet under the mahogany. +</p> + +<p> +But others maintained that Lord Grey would simply resign, and let the +consequences fall on the heads of those who opposed the People’s will. +Those consequences, it was whispered everywhere—and not by the timid and +the rich only—spelled Revolution! Revolution, red and anarchical, was +coming, said many. Was not Scotland ready to rise? Was not the Political Union +of Birmingham threatening to pay no taxes? Were not the Political Unions +everywhere growling and lashing their sides? The winter was coming, and there +would be fires by night and drillings by day, as there had been during the +previous autumn. Through the long dark nights there would be fear and +trembling, and barring of doors, and waiting for the judgment to come. And then +some morning the crackling sound of musketry would awaken Pall Mall and +Mayfair, the mob would seize the Tower and Newgate, the streets would run blood +and the guillotine would rise in Leicester Square or Finsbury Fields. +</p> + +<p> +So widely were these fears spread—fostered as they were by both parties, +by the Tories for the purpose of proving whither Reform was leading the +country, by the Whigs to show to what the obstinacy of the borough-mongers was +driving it—that few were proof against them. So few, that when the Bill +was rejected in the early morning of Saturday, the 8th of October, the Tory +peers, from Lord Eldon downwards, though they had not shrunk from doing their +duty, could hardly be made to believe that they were at liberty to go to their +homes unscathed. +</p> + +<p> +They did so, however. But the first mutterings of the storm soon made +themselves heard. Within twenty-four hours the hearts of many failed them for +fear. The Funds fell at once. The journals appeared in mourning borders. In +many towns the bells were tolled and the shops were shut. The mob of Nottingham +rose and burned the Castle and fired the house of an unpopular squire. The mob +of Derby besieged the gaol and released the prisoners. At Darlington, Lord +Tankerville narrowly escaped with his life; Lord Londonderry was left for dead; +no Bishop dared to wear his apron in public. Everywhere rose the cry of +“No Taxes!” Finally, the rabble rose in immense numbers, paraded +the West End of London, broke the windows of many peers, assaulted others, and +were only driven from Apsley House by the timely arrival of the Life Guards. +The country, amazed and shaken from end to end, seemed to be already in the +grip of rebellion; so that within the week the very Tories hastened to beg Lord +Grey to retain office. Even the King, it was supposed, was shaken; and his +famous distich—his one contribution to the poetry of the country, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>I consider Dissolution<br/> +Tantamount to Revolution</i>, +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +found admirers for its truth, if not for its beauty. +</p> + +<p> +Such a ferment could not but occupy Vaughan’s mind and divert his +thoughts from his own troubles, even from thoughts of Mary. Every day there was +news: every day, in the opinion of many, the sky grew darker. But though the +rejection of the Bill promised him a second short session, and many who sat for +close boroughs chuckled privately over the respite, he was ill-content with a +hand-to-mouth life. He saw that the Bill must pass eventually. He did not +believe that there would be a revolution. It was clear that his only chance lay +in following Wetherell’s advice, and laying his case before one of his +chiefs. +</p> + +<p> +Some days after the division he happened on an opportunity. He was walking down +Parliament Street when he came on a scene, much of a piece of the unrest of the +time. A crowd was pouring out of Downing Street, and in the van of the rabble +he espied the tall, ungainly figure of no less a man than Lord Brougham. +Abreast of the Chancellor, but keeping himself to the wall as if he desired to +dissociate himself from the demonstration, walked another tall figure, also in +black, with shepherd’s plaid trousers. A second glance informed Vaughan +that this was no other than Mr. Cornelius, who had been present at his +interview with Brougham; and accepting the omen, he made up to the Chancellor +just as the latter halted to rid himself of the ragged tail, which had, +perhaps, been more pleasing to his vanity in the smaller streets. +</p> + +<p> +“My friends,” Brougham cried, checking with his hand the +ragamuffins’ shrill attempt at a cheer, “I am obliged to you for +your approval; but I beg to bid you good-day! Assemblages such as these +are——” +</p> + +<p> +“Disgusting!” Cornelius muttered audibly, wrinkling his nose as he +eyed them over his high collar. +</p> + +<p> +“Are apt to cause disorder!” the Chancellor continued, smiling. +“Rest assured that your friends, of whom, if I am the highest in office I +am not the least in good-will, will not desert you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hurrah! God bless you, my lord! Hurrah!” cried the tatterdemalions +in various tones more or less drunken. And some held out their caps. +“Hurrah! If your lordship would have the kindness to——” +</p> + +<p> +“Disgusting!” Cornelius repeated, wheeling about. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan seized the opportunity to intervene. “May I,” he said, +raising his hat and addressing the Chancellor as he turned, “consult you, +my lord, for two minutes as you walk?” +</p> + +<p> +Brougham started on finding a gentleman of his appearance at his elbow; and +looked as if he were somewhat ashamed of the guise in which he had been +detected. “Ah!” he said. “Mr.—Mr. Vaughan? To be sure! +Oh, yes, you can speak to me, what can I do for you? It is,” he added, +with affected humility, “my business to serve.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked doubtfully at Mr. Cornelius, who raised his hat. “I have +no secrets from Mr. Cornelius,” said the Chancellor pleasantly. And then +with a backward nod and a tinge of colour in his cheek, “Gratifying, but +troublesome,” he continued. “Eh? Very troublesome, these +demonstrations! I often long for the old days when I could walk out of +Westminster Hall, with my bag and my umbrella, and no one the wiser!” +</p> + +<p> +“Those days are far back, my lord,” Vaughan said politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well! Ah, well! Perhaps so.” They were walking on by this +time. “I can’t say that since the Queen’s trial I’ve +known much privacy. However, it is something that those whom one serves are +grateful. They——” +</p> + +<p> +“Cry ‘Hosanna’ to-day,” Cornelius said gruffly, with +his eyes fixed steadily before him, “and ‘Crucify him’ +tomorrow!” +</p> + +<p> +“Cynic!” said the Chancellor, with unabated good-humour. “But +even you cannot deny that they are better employed in cheering their friends +than in breaches of the peace? Not that”—cocking his eye at Vaughan +with a whimsical expression of confidence—“a little disorder here +and there, eh, Mr. Vaughan—though to be deplored, and by no one more than +by one in my position—has not its uses? Were there no apprehension of +mob-rule, how many borough-mongers, think you, would vote with us? How many +waverers, like Harrowby and Wharncliffe, would waver? And how, if we have no +little ebullitions here and there, are we to know that the people are in +earnest? That they are not grown lukewarm? That Wetherell is not right in his +statement—of which he’ll hear more than he will like at Bristol, or +I am mistaken—that there is a Tory re-action, an ebb in the tide which so +far has carried us bravely? But of course,” he added, with a faint smile, +“God forbid that we should encourage violence!” +</p> + +<p> +“Amen!” said Mr. Cornelius. And sniffed in a very peculiar manner. +</p> + +<p> +“But to discern that camomile,” the Chancellor continued gaily, +“though bitter to-day makes us better tomorrow, is a different thing +from——” +</p> + +<p> +“Administering a dose!” Vaughan laughed, falling into the great +man’s humour. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure. But enough of that. Now I think of it, Mr. Vaughan,” +he continued, looking at his companion, “I have not had the pleasure of +seeing you since—but I need not remind you of the occasion. You’ve +had good cause to remember it! Yes, yes,” he went on with voluble +complacency—he was walking as well as talking very fast—“I +seldom speak without meaning, or interfere without result. I knew well what +would come of it. It was not for nothing, Mr. Vaughan, that I got down our +Borough List and asked you if you had no thought of entering the House. The +spark—and tinder! For there you are in the House!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Vaughan replied, astonished at the coolness with which the +other unveiled, and even took credit for, the petty intrigue of six months +back. “But——” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” Brougham said, taking him up with a quick, laughing glance, +“you are not yet on the Treasury Bench? That’s it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not yet,” Vaughan answered, good-humouredly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, time and patience and Bellamy’s chops, Mr. Vaughan, will +carry you far, I am sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is on that subject—the subject of time—I venture to +trouble your lordship.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chancellor’s lumpish but singularly mobile features underwent a +change. Caught in a complacent, vain humour, he had forgotten a thing which, +with Vaughan’s last words, recurred to him. “Yes?” he said, +“yes, Mr. Vaughan?” But the timbre of that marvellously flexible +voice with which he boasted that he could whisper so as to be heard to the very +door of the House of Commons, was changed. “Yes, what is it, pray?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is time I require,” Vaughan answered. “And, in fine, I +have done some service, yeoman service, my lord, and I think that I ought not +to be cast aside by the party in whose interest I was returned, and with whose +objects I am in sympathy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cast aside? Tut, tut! What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am told that though the borough for which I sit will continue to +return one member, I shall not have the support of the party in retaining my +seat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed! Indeed!” Brougham answered, “Is it so? I am sorry to +hear that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“Very sorry, Mr. Vaughan.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, with submission, my lord, it is something more than sorrow I +seek,” Vaughan answered, too sore to hide his feelings. “You have +owned very candidly that I derived from you the impulse which has carried me so +far. Is it unreasonable if I venture to turn to you, when advised to see one of +the chiefs of my party?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who,” Brougham asked with a quick look, “gave you that +advice, Mr. Vaughan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Charles Wetherell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Um!” the Chancellor replied through pinched lips. And he stood, +“they had crossed Piccadilly and Berkeley Square, and had reached the +corner of Hill Street, where at No. 5, Brougham lived. +</p> + +<p> +“I repeat, my lord,” Vaughan continued, “is it unreasonable +if I apply to you in these circumstances, rather——” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather than to one of the whips?” Brougham said drily. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I know nothing of the matter, Mr. Vaughan.” +</p> + +<p> +But Vaughan was in no mood to put up with subterfuges. If the other did not +know, he should know. He had been all-powerful, it seemed, to bring him in: was +he powerless to keep him in? “There is a compact, I am told,” he +said, “under which the seat is to be surrendered—for this turn, at +any rate—to my cousin’s nominee.” +</p> + +<p> +Brougham shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Mr. Cornelius. “Dear me, +dear me,” he said. “That’s not a thing of which I can +approve. Far from it! Far from it! But you must see, Mr. Vaughan, that I cannot +meddle in my position with arrangements of that kind. Impossible, my dear sir, +it is clearly impossible!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stared; and with some spirit and more temper, “But the spark, my +lord! I’m sure you won’t forget the spark?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant a gleam of fun shone in the other’s eyes. Then he was +funereal again. “Before the Bill, and after the Bill, are two +things,” he said drily. “Before the Bill all is, all was impure. +And in an impure medium—you understand me, I am sure? You are scientific, +I remember. But after the Bill—to ask me, who in my humble measure, Mr. +Vaughan, may call myself its prime cause—to ask me to infringe its first +principles by interposing between the Electors and their rights, to ask me to +use an influence which cannot be held legitimate—no, Mr. Vaughan, +no!” He shook his head solemnly and finally. And then to Mr. Cornelius, +“Yes, I am coming, Mr. Cornelius,” he said. “I know I am +late.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can wait,” said Mr. Cornelius. +</p> + +<p> +“But I cannot. Good-day, Mr. Vaughan. Good-day,” he repeated, +refusing to see the young man’s ill-humour. “I am sorry that I +cannot help you. Or, stay!” he continued, halting in the act of turning +away. “One minute. I gather that you are a friend of Sir Charles +Wetherell’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has been a friend to me,” Vaughan answered sullenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, he is going to Bristol to hold his sessions—on the 29th, +I think. Go with him. Our fat friend hates me like poison, but I would not have +a hair of his head injured. We have been warned that there will be trouble, and +we are taking steps to protect him. But an able-bodied young soldier by his +side will be no bad thing. And upon my honour,” he continued, eyeing +Vaughan with impudent frankness—impudent in view of all that had gone +before—“upon my honour, I am beginning to think that we spoiled a +good soldier when we—eh!” +</p> + +<p> +“The spark!” Mr. Cornelius muttered grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-day, my lord,” said Vaughan with scant ceremony; his blood +was boiling. And he turned and strode away, scarcely smothering an execration. +The two, who did not appear to be in a hurry after all, remained looking after +him. And presently Mr. Cornelius smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“What amuses you?” Brougham asked, with a certain petulence. For at +bottom, and in cases where no rivalry existed, he was good-natured; and in his +heart he was sorry for the young man. But then, if one began to think of the +pawn’s feelings, the game he was playing would be spoiled. “What is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking,” Mr. Cornelius answered slowly, “of +purity.” He sniffed. “And the Whigs!” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Arthur Vaughan was striding down Bruton Street with every angry +passion up in arms. He was too clever to be tricked twice, and he saw precisely +what had happened. Brougham—well, well was he called Wicked +Shifts!—reviewing the Borough List before the General Election, had let +his eyes fall on Sir Robert’s seats at Chippinge; and looking about, with +his customary audacity, for a means of snatching them, had alighted on +him—and used him for a tool! Now, he was of no farther use. And, as the +loss of his expectations rendered it needless to temporise with him, he was +contemptuously tossed aside. +</p> + +<p> +And this was the game of politics which he had yearned to play! This was the +party whose zeal for the purity of elections and the improvement of all classes +he had shared, and out of loyalty to which he had sacrificed a fortune! He +strode along the crowded pavement of Parliament Street—it was the +fashionable hour of the afternoon and the political excitement kept London +full—his head high, his face flushed. And unconsciously as he shouldered +the people to right and left, he swore aloud. +</p> + +<p> +As he uttered the word, regardless in his anger of the scene about him, his +fixed gaze pierced for an instant the medley of gay bonnets and smiling faces, +moving chariots and waiting footmen, which even in those days filled Parliament +Street—and met another pair of eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The encounter lasted for a second only. Then half a dozen heads and a parasol +intervened. And then—in another second—he was abreast of the +carriage in which Mary Vermuyden sat, her face the prettiest and her bonnet the +daintiest—Lady Worcester had seen to that—of all the faces and all +the bonnets in Parliament Street that day. The landau in which she sat was +stationary at the edge of the pavement; and on the farther side of her reposed +a lady of kind face and ample figure. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant their eyes met again; and Mary’s colour, which had fled, +returned in a flood of crimson, covering brow and cheeks. She leaned from the +carriage and held out her white-gloved hand. “Mr. Vaughan!” she +said. And he might have read in her face, had he chosen, the sweetest and +frankest appeal. “Mr. Vaughan!” +</p> + +<p> +But the moment was unlucky. The devil had possession of him. He raised his hat +and passed on, passed on wilfully. He fancied—afterwards, that is, he +fancied—that she had risen to her feet after he had gone by and called +him a third time in a voice at which the convenances of Parliament Street could +only wink. But he went on. He heard, but he went on. He told himself that all +was of a piece. Men and women, all were alike. He was a fool who trusted any, +believed in any, loved any. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>XXVIII<br/> +ONCE MORE, TANTIVY!</h2> + +<p> +Vaughan had been sore at heart before the meeting in Parliament Street. After +that meeting he was in a mood to take any step which promised to salve his +self-esteem. The Chancellor, Lord Lansdowne, Sir Robert, and—and Mary, +all, he told himself, were against him. But they should not crush him. He would +prove to them that he was no negligible quantity. Parliament was prorogued; the +Long Vacation was far advanced; the world, detained beyond its time, was +hurrying out of town. He, too, would go out of town; and he would go to +Chippinge. There, in defiance alike of his cousin and the Bowood interest, he +would throw himself upon the people. He would address himself to those whom the +Bill enfranchised, he would appeal to the future electors of Chippinge, he +would ask them whether the will of their great neighbours was to prevail, and +the claims of service and of gratitude were to go for nothing. Surely at this +time of day the answer could not be adverse! +</p> + +<p> +True, the course he proposed matched ill with the party notions which still +prevailed. It was a complete breach with the family traditions in which he had +been reared. But in his present mood Vaughan liked his plan the better for +this. Henceforth he would be iron, he would be adamant! And only by a little +thing did he betray that under the iron and under the adamant he carried an +aching heart. When he came to book his place, deliberately, wilfully, he chose +to travel by the Bath road and the White Lion coach, though he could have gone +at least as conveniently by another coach and another route. Thus have men +ever, since they first felt the pangs of love, rejoiced to press the dart more +deeply in the wound. +</p> + +<p> +A dark October morning was brooding over the West End when he crossed +Piccadilly to take his place outside the White Horse Cellar. Now, as on that +distant day in April, when the car of rosy-fingered love had awaited him +ignorant, the coaches stood one behind the other in a long line before the +low-blind windows of the office. But how different was all else! To-day the +lamps were lighted and flickered on wet pavements, the streets were windy and +desolate, the day had barely broken above the wet roofs, and on all a steady +rain was falling. The watermen went to and fro with sacks about their +shoulders, and the guards, bustling from the office with their waybills and the +late parcels, were short of temper and curt of tongue. The shivering +passengers, cloaked to the eyes in boxcoats and wrap-rascals, climbed silently +and sullenly to the roof, and there sat shrugging their shoulders to their +ears. Vaughan, who had secured a place beside the driver, cast an eye on all, +on the long dark vista of the street, on the few shivering passers; and he +found the change fitting. Let it rain, let it blow, let the sun rise niggardly +behind a mask of clouds! Let the world wear its true face! He cared not how +discordantly the guard’s horn sounded, nor how the coachman swore at his +cattle, nor how the mud splashed up, as two minutes after time they jostled and +rattled and bumped down the slope and through the dingy narrows of +Knightsbridge. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps to please him, the rain fell more heavily as the light broadened and +the coach passed through Kensington turnpike. The passengers, crouching inside +their wraps, looked miserably from under dripping umbrellas on a wet +Hammersmith, and a wetter Brentford. Now the coach ploughed through deep mud, +now it rolled silently over a bed of chestnut or sycamore leaves which the +first frost of autumn had brought down. Swish, swash, it splashed through a +rivulet. It was full daylight now; it had been daylight an hour. And, at last, +joyous sight, pleasant even to the misanthrope on the box-seat, not far in +front, through a curtain of mist and rain, loomed Maidenhead—and +breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +The up night-coach, retarded twenty minutes by the weather, rattled up to the +door at the same moment. Vaughan foresaw that there would be a contest for +seats at the table, and, without waiting for the ladder, he swung himself to +the ground, and entered the house. Hastily doffing his streaming overcoats, he +made for the coffee-room, where roaring fires and a plentiful table awaited the +travellers. In two minutes he was served, and isolated by his gloomy thoughts +and almost unconscious of the crowded room and the clatter of plates, he was +eating his breakfast when his next-door neighbour accosted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Beg your pardon, sir,” he said in a meek voice. “Are you +going to Bristol, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked at the speaker, a decent, clean-shaven person in a black +high-collared coat, and a limp white neck-cloth. The man’s face seemed +familiar to him, and instead of answering the question, Vaughan asked if he +knew him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve seen me in the Lobby, sir,” the other answered, +fidgeting in his humility. “I’m Sir Charles Wetherell’s +clerk, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! To be sure!” Vaughan replied. “I thought I knew your +face. Sir Charles opens the Assizes to-morrow, I understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, if they will let him. Do you think that there is much danger, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Danger?” Vaughan answered with a smile. “No serious +danger.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Government did not wish him to go, sir,” the other rejoined +with an air of mystery. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Vaughan said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the Corporation didn’t, for certain, sir,” the man +persisted in a low voice. “They wanted him to postpone the Assizes. But +he doesn’t know what fear is, sir. And now the Government’s ordered +troops to Bristol, and I’m afraid that’ll make ’em worse. +They’re so set against him for saying that Bristol was no longer for the +Bill. And they’re a desperate rough lot, sir, down by the Docks!” +</p> + +<p> +“So I’ve heard,” Vaughan said. “But you may be sure +that the authorities will see that Sir Charles is well guarded!” +</p> + +<p> +The clerk said nothing to that, although it was clear that he was far from +convinced, or easy. And Vaughan returned to his thoughts. But by and by it +chanced that as he raised his eyes he met those of a girl who was passing his +table on her way from the room; and he remembered with a sharp pang how Mary +had passed his table and looked at him, and blushed; and how his heart had +jumped at the sight. Why, there was the very waiting-maid who had gone out with +her! And there, where the April sun had shone on her through the window, she +had sat! And there, three places only from his present seat, he had sat +himself. Three seats only—and yet how changed was all! The unmanly tears +rose very near to his eyes as he thought of it. +</p> + +<p> +He sat so long brooding over this, in that mood in which a man recks little of +time, or of what befalls him, that the guard had to summon him. And even then, +as he donned his coats, with the “boots” fussing about him, and the +coachman grumbling at the delay, his memory was busy with that morning. There, +in the porch, he had stood and heard the young waterman praise her looks! And +there Cooke had stood and denounced the Reform placard! And there—— +</p> + +<p> +“Let go!” growled the coachman, losing patience a last. “The +gentleman’s not coming!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m coming,” he answered curtly. And crossing the pavement +in two strides, he swung himself up hand over hand, as the stableman released +the horses. The coach started as his foot left the box of the wheel. And +something else started—furiously. +</p> + +<p> +His heart. For in the place behind the coachman, in the very seat which Mary +Smith had occupied on that far-off April morning, sat Mary Vermuyden! For an +infinitely small fraction of a second, as he turned himself to drop into his +seat, his eyes swept her face. The rain had ceased to fall, the umbrellas were +furled; for that infinitely short space his eyes rested on her features. Then +his back was turned to her. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes had been fixed elsewhere, her face had been cold—she had not +seen him. So much, in the confused pounding rush of his thoughts, as he sat +tingling in every inch of his frame, he could remember; but nothing else except +that in lieu of the plain Quaker-like dress which Mary Smith had worn—oh, +dress to be ever remembered!—she was wearing rich furs, with a great muff +and a small hat of sable, and was Mary Smith no longer. +</p> + +<p> +Probably she had been there from the start, seated behind him under cover of +the rain and the umbrellas. If so—and he remembered that that seat had +been occupied when he got to his place—she had perceived his coming, had +seen him mount, had been aware of him from the first. She could see him now, +watch every movement, read his self-consciousness in the stiff pose of his +head, perceive the rush of colour which dyed his ears and neck. +</p> + +<p> +And he was planted there, he could not escape. And he suffered. Asked +beforehand, he would have said that his uppermost feeling in such circumstances +would be resentment. But, in fact, he could think of nothing except that +meeting in Parliament Street, and the rudeness with which he had treated her. +If he had not refused to speak to her, if he had not passed her by, rejecting +her hand with disdain, he might have been his own master now; he would have +been free to speak, or free to be silent, as he pleased. And she who had +treated him so ill would have been the one to suffer. But, as it was, he was +hot all over. The intolerable <i>gêne</i> of the situation rested on him and +weighed him down. +</p> + +<p> +Until the coachman called his attention to a passing waggon, and pointed out a +something unusual in its make; which broke the spell and freed his thoughts. +After that he began to feel a little of the wonder which the coincidence +demanded. How came she in the same seat, on the same coach on which she had +travelled before. He could not bring himself to look round and meet her eyes. +But he remembered that a man-servant, doubtless in attendance on her, shared +the hind seat with the clerk who had spoken to him; and the middle-aged woman +who sat with her was doubtless her maid. Still, he knew Sir Robert well enough +to be sure that he would not countenance her journeying, even with this +attendance, on a public vehicle; and therefore, he argued, she must be doing it +without Sir Robert’s knowledge, and probably in pursuance of some whim of +her own. Could it be that she, too, wished to revive the bitter-sweet of +recollection, the memory of that April day? And, to do so, had gone out of her +way to travel on this cold wet morning on the same coach, which six months +before had brought them together? +</p> + +<p> +If so, she must love him in spite of all. And in that case, what must her +feelings have been when she saw him take his place? What, when she knew that +she would not taste the bitter-sweet alone, but in his company? What, when she +foresaw that, through the day she would not pass a single thing of all those +well-remembered things, that milestone which he had pointed out to her, that +baiting-house of which she had asked the name, that stone bridge with the +hundred balustrades which they had crossed in the gloaming—her eyes would +not alight on one of these, without another heart answering to every throb of +hers, and another breast aching as hers ached. +</p> + +<p> +At that thought a subtle attraction, almost irresistible, drew him to her, and +he could have cried to her, under the pain of separation. For it was all true. +Before his eyes those things were passing. There was the milestone which he had +pointed out to her. And there the ruined inn. And here were the streets of +Reading opening before them, and the Market Place, and the Bear Inn, where he +had saved her from injury, perhaps from death. +</p> + +<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:20pt">* * * * * +</p> + +<p> +They were out of the town, they were clear of the houses, and he had not +looked, he had not been able to look at her. Her weakness, her inconstancy +deserved their punishment: but for all her fortune, to recover all that he had +lost and she had gained, he would not have looked at her there. Yet, while the +coach changed horses in the Square before the Bear, he had had a glimpse of +her—reflected in the window of a shop; and he had marked with greedy eyes +each line of her figure and seen that she had wound a veil round her face and +hat, so that, whatever her emotions, she might defy curious eyes. And yet, as +far as he was concerned, she had done it in vain. The veil could not hide the +agitation, could not hide the strained rigidity of her pose, or the convulsive +force with which one hand gripped the other in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +Well, that was over, thank God! For he had as soon seen a woman beaten. The +town was behind them; Newbury was not far in front. And now with shame he began +to savour a weak pleasure in her presence, in her nearness to him, in the +thought that her eyes were on him and her thoughts full of him, and that if he +stretched out his hand he could touch her; that there was that between them, +that there must always be that between them, which time could not destroy. The +coach was loaded, but for him it carried her only: and for Mary he was sure +that he filled the landscape were it as wide as that which, west of Newbury, +reveals to the admiring traveller the whole wide vale of the Kennet. He +thrilled at the thought; and the coachman asked him if he were cold. But he was +far from cold; he knew that she too trembled, she, too, thrilled. And a foolish +exultation possessed him. He had hungry thoughts of her nearness, and her +beauty; and insane plans of snatching her to his breast when she left the +coach, and covering her with kisses though a hundred looked on. He might suffer +for it, he would deserve to suffer for it, it would be an intolerable outrage. +But he would have kissed her, he would have held her to his heart. Nothing +could undo that. +</p> + +<p> +Yet it was only in fancy that he was reckless, for still he did not dare to +look at her. And when they came at last to Marlborough, and drew up at the door +of the Castle Inn, where west-bound travellers dined, he descended hurriedly +and went into the coffee-room to secure a place in a corner, whence he might +see her enter without meeting her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +But she did not enter the house, soon or late. And a vain man might have +thought that she was not only bent on doing everything which she had done on +the former journey, but that it was not without intention that she remained +alone on the coach, exposed to his daring—if he chose to dare. Not a few +indeed, of his fellow-passengers, wandered out before the time, and on the +pretence of examining the façade of the handsome old house, shot sidelong +glances at the young lady, who, wrapped in her furs and veiled to the throat, +sat motionless in the keen October air. But Vaughan was not of these; nor was +he vain. When he found that she did not come in, he decided that she would not +meet him, that she remained on the coach rather than sit in his company; and +forgetting the overture in Parliament Street, he remembered only her fickleness +and weakness. He fell to the depths. She had never loved him, never, never! +</p> + +<p> +On that he almost made up his mind to stay there; and to go on by the next +coach. His presence must be hateful to her, a misery, a torment, he told +himself. It was bad enough to force her to remain exposed to the weather while +others dined; it would be monstrous to go on and continue to make her wretched. +</p> + +<p> +But, before the time for leaving came, he changed his mind, and he went out, +feeling cowed and looking hard. He could not mount without seeing her out of +the corner of his eye; but the veil masked all, and left him no wiser. The sun +had burst through the clouds, and the sky above the curving line of the downs +was blue. But the October air was still chilly, and he heard the maid fussing +about her, and wrapping her up more warmly. Well, it mattered little. At +Chippenham, the carriage with its pomp of postillions and outriders—Sir +Robert was particular about such things—would meet her; and he would see +her no more. +</p> + +<p> +His pride weakened at that thought. She could never be anything to him now; he +had no longer the least notion of kissing her. But at Chippenham, before she +passed out of his life, he would speak to her. Yes, he would speak. He did not +know what he would say, but he would not part from her in anger. He would tell +her that, and bid her good-bye. Later, he would be glad to remember that they +had parted in that way, and that he had forgiven! +</p> + +<p> +While he thought of it they fell swiftly from the lip of the downs, and +rattling over the narrow bridge and through the stone-built streets of Calne, +were out again on the Bath road. After that, though they took Black Dog hill at +a slow pace, they seemed to be at Chippenham in a twinkling. Before he could +calm his thoughts the coach was rattling between houses, and the wide +straggling street was opening before them, and the group assembled in front of +the Angel to see the coach arrive was scattering to right and left. +</p> + +<p> +A glance told him that there was no carriage-and-four in waiting. And because +his heart was jumping so foolishly he was glad to put off the moment of +speaking to her. She would go into the house to wait for the carriage, and when +the coach, with its bustle and its many eyes, had gone its way, he would be +able to speak to her. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, the moment the coach stopped he descended and hastened into the +house. He sent out the “boots” for his valise and betook himself to +the bar-parlour, where he called for something and jested cheerily with the +smiling landlady, who came herself to attend upon him. He kept his back to the +door which Mary must pass to ascend the stairs, for well he knew the parlour of +honour to which she would be ushered. But though he listened keenly for the +rustle of her skirts, a couple of minutes passed and he heard nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not going on, sir?” the landlady asked. She knew too much +of the family politics to ask point-blank if he were going to Chippinge. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied; “no, I”—his attention +wandered—“I am not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope we may have the honour of keeping you tonight, sir?” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I”—was that the coach starting?—“I think I +shall stay the night.” And then, “Sir Robert’s carriage is +not here?” he asked, setting down his glass. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. But two gentlemen have just driven in from Sir Robert’s +in a chaise. They are posting to Bath. One’s Colonel Brereton, sir. The +other’s a young gentleman, short and stout. Quite the gentleman, sir, but +that positive, the postboy told me, and talkative, you’d think he was the +Emperor of China! That’s their chaise coming out of the yard now, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +A thought, keen as a knife-stab, darted through Vaughan’s mind. In three +strides he was out of the bar-parlour, in three more he was at the door of the +Angel. +</p> + +<p> +The coach was in the act of starting, the ostlers were falling back, the guard +was swinging himself up; and Mary Vermuyden was where he had left her, in the +place behind the coachman. And in the box-seat, the very seat which he had +vacated, was Bob Flixton, settling himself in his wraps and turning to talk to +her. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan let fall a word which we will not chronicle. It was true, then! They +were engaged! Doubtless Flixton had come to meet her, and all was over. +Fan-fa-ra! Fan-fa-ra! The coach was growing small in the distance. It veered a +little, a block of houses hid it, Vaughan saw it again. Then in the dusk of the +October evening the descent to the bridge swallowed it, and he turned away +miserable. +</p> + +<p> +He walked a little distance from the door that his face might not be seen. He +did not tell himself that, because the view grew misty before his eyes, he was +taking the blow contemptibly; he told himself only that he was very wretched, +and that she was gone. It seemed as if so much had gone with her; so much of +the hope and youth and fortune, and the homage of men, which had been his when +he and she first saw the streets of Chippenham together and he alighted to talk +to Isaac White, and mounted again to ride on by her side. +</p> + +<p> +He was standing with his back to the inn thinking of this—and not +bitterly, but in a broken fashion—when he heard his name called, and he +turned and saw Colonel Brereton striding after him. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it was you,” Brereton said. But though he had not met +Vaughan for some months, and the two had liked one another, he spoke with +little cordiality, and there was a vague look in his face. “I was not +sure,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“You came with Flixton?” Vaughan said, speaking, on his side also, +rather dully. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and meant to go on with him. But there’s no counting on men +in love,” Brereton continued with more irritation than the occasion +seemed to warrant. “He saw his charmer on the coach, and a vacant +seat—and I may find my way to Bath as I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are to be married, I hear?” Vaughan said in the same dull +tone and with his face averted. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Brereton answered sourly. “What I do +know is that I’m not best pleased that he has left me. I heard Sir +Charles Wetherell was sleeping at your cousin’s last evening, and I +posted there to see him about the arrangements for his entry. But I missed him. +He’s gone to Bath for this evening. Well, I took Flixton with me because +I didn’t know Sir Robert and he did, and he’s supposed to be +playing aide-de-camp to me. But a fine aide-de-camp he’s like to prove, +if this is the way he treats me. You know Wetherell opens the Assizes at +Bristol tomorrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I saw his clerk on my way here.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’ll be trouble, Vaughan!” +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, really! And bad trouble! I wish it was over.” He passed his +hand across his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard something of it in London,” Vaughan answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Not much, I’ll wager,” Brereton rejoined, with a brusqueness +which betrayed his irritation. “They don’t know much, or they +wouldn’t be sending me eighty sabres to keep order in a city of a hundred +thousand people! Enough, you see, to anger, and not enough to intimidate! +It’s just plain madness. It’s madness. But I’ve made up my +mind! I’ve made up my mind!” he repeated, speaking in a tone which +betrayed the tenseness of his nerves. “Not a man will I show if I can +help it! Not a man! And not a shot will I fire, whatever comes of it! +I’ll be no butcherer of innocent folk.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope nothing will come of it,” Vaughan answered, interested in +spite of himself. “You’re in command, sir, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and I wish to heaven I were not! But there, there!” he +continued, pulling himself up as if he kept a watch on himself and feared that +he had said too much. “Enough of my business. What are you doing +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was going to Chippinge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come to Bath with me! I shall see Wetherell, and you know him. You may +be of use to me. There’s half the chaise at your service, and I will tell +you about it, as we go.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan at that moment cared little where he went, and after the briefest +hesitation, he consented. A few minutes later they started together. It +happened that as they drove in the last of the twilight over the long stone +bridge, an open car drawn by four horses and containing a dozen rough-looking +men overtook them and raced them for a hundred yards. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s another!” Brereton said, rising with an oath and +looking after it. “I was told that two had gone through!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it? Who are they?” Vaughan asked, leaning out on his side +to see. +</p> + +<p> +“Midland Union men, come to stir up the Bristol lambs!” Brereton +answered. “They may spare themselves the trouble,” he continued +bitterly. “The fire will need no poking, I’ll be sworn!” +</p> + +<p> +And brought back to the subject, he never ceased from that moment to talk of +it. It was plain to anyone who knew him that a nervous excitability had taken +the place of his usual thoughtfulness. Long before they reached Bath, Vaughan +was sure that, whatever his own troubles, there was one man in the world more +unhappy than himself, more troubled, less at ease; and that that man sat beside +him in the chaise. +</p> + +<p> +He believed that Brereton exaggerated the peril. But if his fears were +well-based, then he agreed that the soldiers sent were too few. +</p> + +<p> +“Still a bold front will do much!” he argued. +</p> + +<p> +“A bold front!” Brereton replied feverishly. “No, but +management may! Management may. They give me eighty swords to control eighty +thousand people! Why, it’s my belief”—and he dropped his +voice and laid his hand on his companion’s arm,—“that the +Government wants a riot! Ay, by G—d, it is! To give the lie to Wetherell +and prove that the country, and Bristol in particular, is firm for the +Bill!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but that’s absurd!” Vaughan answered; though he recalled +what Brougham had said. +</p> + +<p> +“Absurd or not, nine-tenths of Bristol believe it,” Brereton +retorted. “And I believe it! But I’ll be no butcher. Besides, do +you see how I am placed? If in putting down this riot which is in the +Government interest, and is believed to be fostered by them, I exceed my duty +by a jot, I am a lost man! A lost man! Now do you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t think it’s as bad as that,” Vaughan said. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>XXIX<br/> +AUTUMN LEAVES</h2> + +<p> +Miss Sibson paused to listen, but heard nothing. And disappointed, and with a +sigh, she spread a clean handkerchief over the lap of her gown and helped +herself to part of a round of buttered toast. +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll not come,” she muttered. “I was a fool to think +it! An old fool to think it!” And she bit viciously into the toast. +</p> + +<p> +It was long past her usual tea-time, yet she paused a second time to listen, +before she raised her first cup of tea to her lips. A covered dish which stood +on a brass trivet before the bright coal fire gave forth a savoury smell, and +the lamplight which twinkled on sparkling silver and old Nantgarw, discovered +more than the tea-equipage. The red moreen curtains were drawn before the +windows, a tabby cat purred sleepily on the hearth; in all Bristol was no more +cosy or more cheerful scene. Yet Miss Sibson left the savoury dish untouched, +and ate the toast with less than her customary appetite. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall set,” she murmured, “‘The Deceitfulness of +Riches’ for the first copy when the children return. And for the second +‘Fine Feathers Make Fine Birds!’ And”—she continued +with determination, though there was no one to be intimidated—“for +the third, ‘There’s No Fool Like an Old Fool!’” +</p> + +<p> +She had barely uttered the words when she set down her cup. The roll of distant +wheels had fallen on her ears. She listened for a few seconds, then she rose in +haste and rang the bell. “Martha,” she said when the maid appeared, +“are the two warming-pans in the bed?” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure, Ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“And well filled?” Miss Sibson spoke suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“The sheets are as nigh singeing as you’d like, Ma’am,” +the maid answered. “You can smell ’em here! I only hope,” she +continued, with a quaver in her voice, “as we mayn’t smell fire +before long!” +</p> + +<p> +“Smell fiddlesticks!” Miss Sibson retorted. Then “That will +do,” she continued. “I will open the door myself.” +</p> + +<p> +When she did so the lights of the hackney-coach which had stopped before the +house disclosed first Mary Vermuyden in her furs, standing on the step; +secondly, Mr. Flixton, who had placed himself as near her as he dared; and +thirdly and fourthly, flanking them at a distance of a pace or two, a tall +footman and a maid. +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” Miss Sibson exclaimed, dismay in her tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Mary answered, almost crying. “They would come! I said +I wished to come alone. Good-night, Mr. Flixton!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but I—I couldn’t think of leaving you like this!” +the Honourable Bob answered. He had derived a minimum of satisfaction from his +ride on the coach, for Mary had shown herself of the coldest. And if he was to +part from her here he might as well have travelled with Brereton. Besides, what +the deuce was afoot? What was she doing here? +</p> + +<p> +“And Baxter is as bad,” Mary said plaintively. “As for +Thomas——” +</p> + +<p> +“Beg pardon, Ma’am,” the man said, touching his hat, +“but it is as much as my place is worth.” +</p> + +<p> +The maid, a woman of mature years, said nothing, but held her ground, the image +of stolid disapproval. She knew Miss Sibson. But Bristol was strange to her; +and the dark windy square, with its flickering lights, its glimpses of gleaming +water and skeleton masts, and its unseen but creaking windlasses, seemed to +her, fresh from Lady Worcester’s, a most unfitting place for her young +lady. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson cut the knot after her own fashion. “Well, I can’t take +you in,” she said bluffly. “This gentleman,” pointing to Mr. +Flixton, “will find quarters for you at the White Lion or the Bush. And +your mistress will see you to-morrow. Thomas, bring in your young lady’s +trunk. Good-night, sir,” she added, addressing the Honourable Bob. +“Miss Vermuyden will be quite safe with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but I say, Miss Sibson!” he remonstrated. “You +can’t mean to take the moon out of the sky like this, and leave us in the +dark? Miss Vermuyden——” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” Mary said, not a whit placated by the compliment. And +she slipped past Miss Sibson into the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but it’s not safe, you know!” he cried. +“You’re not a hundred yards from the Mansion House here. And if +those beggars make trouble to-morrow—positively there’s no knowing +what will happen!” +</p> + +<p> +“We can take care of ourselves, sir,” Miss Sibson replied curtly. +“Good-night, sir!” And she shut the door in his face. +</p> + +<p> +The Honourable Bob glared at it for a time, but it remained closed and dark. +There was nothing to be done save to go. “D——n the +woman!” he cried. And he turned about. +</p> + +<p> +It was something of a shock to him to find the two servants still at his elbow, +patiently regarding him. “Where are we to go, sir?” the maid asked, +as stolid as before. +</p> + +<p> +“Go?” cried he, staring. “Go? Eh? What? What do you +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we to go, sir, for the night? If you’ll please to show +us, sir. I’m a stranger here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! This is too much!” the Honourable Bob cried, finding himself +on a sudden a family man. “Go? I don’t care if you go +to——” But there he paused. He put the temptation to tell them +to go to blazes from him. After all, they were Mary’s servants. +“Oh, very well! Very well!” he resumed, fuming. “There, get +in! Get in!” indicating the hackney-coach. “And do you,” he +continued, turning to Thomas, “tell him to drive to the White Lion. Was +there ever? That old woman’s a neat artist, if ever I saw one!” +</p> + +<p> +And a moment later Flixton trundled off, boxed in with the mature maid, and +vowing to himself that in all his life he had never been so diddled before. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, within doors—for farce and tragedy are never far +apart—Mary, with her furs loosened, but not removed, was resisting all +Miss Sibson’s efforts to restrain her. “I must go to her!” +she said with painful persistence. “I must go to her at once, if you +please, Miss Sibson. Where is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is not here,” Miss Sibson said, plump and plain. +</p> + +<p> +“Not here!” Mary cried, springing from the chair into which Miss +Sibson had compelled her. “Not here!” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Not in this house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why—why did she tell me to come here?” Mary cried +dumbfounded. +</p> + +<p> +“Her ladyship is next door. No, my dear!” And Miss Sibson +interposed her ample form between Mary and the door. “You cannot go to +her until you have eaten and drunk. She does not expect you, and there is no +need of such haste. She may live a fortnight, three weeks, a month even! And +she must not, my dear, see you with that sad face.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary gave way at that. She sat down and burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +The schoolmistress knew nothing of the encounter in Parliament Street, nothing +of the meeting on the coach. But she was a sagacious woman, and she discerned +something more than the fatigue of the journey, something more than grief for +her mother, in the girl’s depression. She said nothing, however, +contenting herself with patting her guest on the shoulder and gently removing +her wraps and shoes. Then she set a footstool for her in front of the fire and +poured out her tea, and placed hot sweetbread before her, and toast, and Sally +Lunn. And when Mary, touched by her kindness, flung her arms round her neck and +kissed her, she said only, “That’s better, my dear, drink your tea, +and then I will tell you all I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot eat anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, you can! After that you are going to see your mother, and then +you will come back and take a good night’s rest. To-morrow you will do as +you like. Her ladyship is with an old servant next door, through whom she first +heard of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did she not remain in Bath?” Mary asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot tell you,” Miss Sibson answered. “She has whims. If +you ask me, I should say that she thought Sir Robert would not find her here, +and so could not take you from her.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the servants?” Mary said in dismay. “They will tell my +father. And indeed——” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed what, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not wish to hide from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right!” Miss Sibson said. “Quite right, my dear. But I +fancy that that was her ladyship’s reason. Perhaps she thought also that +when she—that afterwards I should be at hand to take care of you. As a +fact,” Miss Sibson continued, rubbing her cheek with the handle of a +teaspoon, a sure sign that she was troubled, “I wish that your mother had +chosen another place. You don’t ask, my dear, where the children +are.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked at her hostess. “Oh, Miss Sibson!” she exclaimed, +conscience-stricken. “You cannot have sent them away for my sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my dear,” Miss Sibson answered, noting with satisfaction that +Mary was making a meal. “No, their parents have removed them. The +Recorder is coming to-morrow, and he is so unpopular on account of this nasty +Bill—which is setting everyone on horseback whether they can ride or +not—and there is so much talk of trouble when he enters, that all the +foolish people have taken fright and removed their children for the week. +It’s pure nonsense, my dear,” Miss Sibson continued comfortably. +“I’ve seen the windows of the Mansion House broken a score of times +at elections, and not another house in the Square a penny the worse! Just an +old custom. And so it will be to-morrow. But the noise may disturb her +ladyship, and that’s why I wish her elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary did not answer, and the schoolmistress, noting her spiritless attitude and +the dark shadows under her eyes, was confirmed in her notion that here was +something beyond grief for the mother whom the girl had scarcely known. And +Miss Sibson felt a tug at her own heartstrings. She was well-to-do and well +considered in Bristol, and she was not conscious that her life was monotonous. +But the gay scrap of romance which Mary’s coming had wrought into the +dull patchwork of days, long toned to the note of Mrs. Chapone, was welcome to +her. Her little relaxations, her cosy whist-parties, her hot suppers to follow, +these she had: but here was something brighter and higher. It stirred a +long-forgotten youth, old memories, the ashes of romance. She loved Mary for +it. +</p> + +<p> +To rouse the girl, she rose from her chair. “Now, my dear,” she +said, “you can go to your room, if you will. And in ten minutes we will +step next door.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked at her with grateful eyes. “I am glad now,” she said, +“I am glad that she came here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” the schoolmistress answered, pursing up her lips. And she +looked at the girl uncertainly. “It’s odd,” she said, +“I sometimes think that you are just—Mary Smith.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am!” the other answered warmly. “Always Mary Smith to +you!” And the old woman took the young one to her arms. +</p> + +<p> +A quarter of an hour later Mary came down, and she was Mary Smith in truth. For +she had put on the grey Quaker-like dress in which she had followed her trunk +from the coach-office six months before. “I thought,” she said, +“that I could nurse her better in this than in my new clothes!” But +she blushed deeply as she spoke: for if she had this thought she had others +also in her mind. She might not often wear that dress, but she would never part +with it. Arthur Vaughan’s eyes had worshipped it; his hands had touched +it. And in the days to come it would lie, until she died, in some locked +coffer, perfumed with lavender, and sweet with the dried rose-leaves of her +dead romance. And on one day in the year she would visit it, and bury her face +in its soft faded folds, and dream the old dreams. +</p> + +<p> +It was but a step to the door of the neighbouring house. But the distance, +though short, steadied the girl’s mind and enabled her to taste that +infinity of the night, that immensity of nature, which, like a fathomless +ocean, islands the littleness of our lighted homes. The groaning of strained +cordage, the creaking of timbers, the far-off rattle of a boom came off the +dark water that lipped the wharves which still fringe three sides of the +Square. Here and there a rare gas-lamp, lately set up, disclosed the half-bare +arms of trees, or some vague opening leading to the Welsh Back. But for all the +two could see, as they glided from the one door to the other, the busy city +about them, seething with so many passions, pregnant with so much danger, +hiding in its entrails the love, the fear, the secrets of a myriad lives, might +have been in another planet. +</p> + +<p> +Mary owned the calming influence of the night and the stars, and before the +door opened to Miss Sibson’s knock, the blush had faded from her cheek. +It was with solemn thoughts that she went up the wide oaken staircase, still +handsome, though dusty and fallen from its high estate. The task before her, +the scene on the threshold of which she trod, brought the purest instincts of +her nature into play. But her guide knocked, someone within the room bade them +enter, and Mary advanced. She saw lights and a bed—a four-poster, heavily +curtained. And half blinded by her tears, she glided towards the bed—or +was gliding, when a querulous voice arrested her midway. +</p> + +<p> +“So you are come!” it said. And Lady Sybil, who, robed in a silken +dressing-gown, was lying on a small couch in a different part of the room, +tossed a book, not too gently, to the floor. “What stuff! What +stuff!” she ejaculated wearily. “A schoolgirl might write as good! +Well, you are come,” she continued. “There,” as Mary, flung +back on herself, bent timidly and kissed her, “that will do! That will +do! I can’t bear anyone near me! Don’t come too near me! Sit on +that chair, where I can see you!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary beat back her tears and obeyed with a quivering lip. “I hope you are +better,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Better!” her mother retorted in the same peevish tone. “No, +and shall not be!” Then, with a shrill scream, “Heavens, child, +what have you got on?” she continued. “What have you done to +yourself? You look like a <i>sœur de Charité!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought that I could nurse you better in this,” Mary faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“Nurse me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Rubbish!” Lady Sybil exclaimed with petulant impatience. +“You nurse? Don’t be silly! Who wants you to nurse me? I want you +to amuse me. And you won’t do that by dressing yourself like a dingy +death’s-head moth! There, for Heaven’s sake,” with a catch in +her voice which went to Mary’s heart, “don’t cry! I’m +not strong enough to bear it. Tell me something! Tell me anything to make me +laugh. How did you trick Sir Robert, child? How did you escape? That will amuse +me,” with a mirthless laugh. “I wish I could see his solemn face +when he hears that you are gone!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary explained that the summons had found her in London; that her father was +not there, but that still she had had to beat down Lady Worcester’s +resistance before she could have her way and leave. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know her,” Lady Sybil said shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“She was very kind to me,” Mary answered. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say,” in the same tone. +</p> + +<p> +“But she would not let me go until I gave her my address.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Sybil sat up sharply. “And you did that?” she shrieked. +“You gave it her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was obliged to give it,” Mary stammered, “or I could not +have left London.” +</p> + +<p> +“Obliged? Obliged?” Lady Sybil retorted, in the same passionate +tone. “Why, you fool, you might have given her fifty addresses! Any +address! Any address but this! There!” Lady Sybil continued sullenly, as +she sank back and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “You’ve +done it now. You’ve excited me. Give me those drops! There! Are you +blind? Those! Those! And—and sit farther from me! I can’t breathe +with you close to me!” +</p> + +<p> +After which, when Mary, almost heartbroken, had given her the medicine, and +seated herself in the appointed place, she turned her face to the wall and lay +silent and morose, uttering no sound but an occasional sigh of pain. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, to eyes that could read, the room told her story, and told it +eloquently. The table beside the couch was strewn with rose-bound Annuals and +Keepsakes, and a dozen volumes bearing the labels of more than one library; +books opened only to be cast aside. Costly toys and embroidered nothings, +vinaigrettes and scent-bottles, lay scattered everywhere; and on other tables, +on the mantelpiece, on the floor, a litter of similar trifles elbowed and +jostled the gloomy tokens of illness. Near the invalid’s hand lay a +miniature in a jewelled frame, while a packet of letters tied with a fragment +of gold lace, and a buhl desk half-closed upon a broken fan told the same tale +of ennui, and of a vanity which survived the charms on which it had rested. The +lesson was not lost on the daughter’s heart. It moved her to purest pity; +and presently, wrung by a sigh more painful than usual, she crept to the couch, +sank on her knees, and pressed her cool lips to the wasted hand which hung from +it. Even then for a time her mother did not move or take notice. But slowly the +weary sighs grew more frequent, grew to sobs—how much less +poignant!—and her weak arm drew Mary’s head to her bosom. +</p> + +<p> +And by-and-by the arm tightened its hold and gripped her convulsively, the sobs +grew deeper and shook the worn form at each respiration; and presently, +“Ah, God, what will become of me?” burst from the depths of the +poor quaking heart, too proud hitherto to make its fear known. “What will +become of me?” +</p> + +<p> +That cry pierced Mary like a knife, but its confession of weakness made mother +and daughter one. Her feeble arms could not avert the approach of the dark +shadow, whose coming terrified though it could not change. But what human love +could do, what patient self-forgetfulness might teach, she vowed that she would +do and teach; and what clinging hands might compass to delay the end, her hands +should compass. When Miss Sibson’s message, informing her that it was +time to return, was brought to her, she shook her head, smiling, and locked the +door. “I shall be your nurse, after all!” she said. “I shall +not leave you.” And before midnight, with a brave contentment, for which +Lady Sybil’s following eyes were warrant, she had taken possession of the +room and all its contents; she had tidied as much as it was good to tidy, she +had knelt to heat the milk or brush the hearth, she had smoothed the pillow, +and sworn a score of times that nothing, no Sir Robert, no father, no force +should tear her from this her duty, this her joy—until the end. +</p> + +<p> +No memory of her dull childhood, or of the days of labour and servitude which +she owed to the dying woman, no thought of the joys of wealth and youth which +she had lost through her, rose to mar the sincerity of her love. Much less did +such reflections trouble her on whose flighty mind they should have rested so +heavily. So far indeed was this from being the case, that when Mary stooped to +some office which the mother’s fastidiousness deemed beneath her, +“How can you do that?” Lady Sybil cried peevishly. +“I’ll not have you do it! Do you hear me, girl? Let some servant +see to it! What else are they for!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I used to do it every day at Clapham,” Mary answered +cheerfully. She had not spoken before, aware of the reproach which her words +conveyed, she could have bitten her tongue. +</p> + +<p> +But Lady Sybil did not wince. “Then why did you do it?” she +retorted, “Why did you do it? Why were you so foolish as to stoop to such +things? I’m sure you didn’t get your poor spirit from me! And +Vermuyden was as stiff as a poker! But there! I remember the prince saying once +that ladies went out of fashion with hoops, and gentlemen with snuffboxes. You +make me think he was right. Oh, clumsy!” she continued, raising her +voice, “now you are turning the light on my face! Do you wish to see me +hideous?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary moved it. “Is that better, mother?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Sybil cast a resentful glance at her. “There, there, let it +be!” she said. “You can’t help it. You’re like your +father. He could never do anything right! I suppose I am doomed to have none +but helpless people about me.” +</p> + +<p> +And so on, and so on. Like many invalids, she was most lively at night, and she +continued to complain through long restless hours, with the candles burning +lower and lower, and the snuffers coming into more frequent request. Until with +the chill before the dawn she fell at last into a fitful sleep; and Mary, +creeping to the close-curtained windows to cool her weary eyes, peeped out and +saw the grey of the morning. Outside, the Square was beginning to discover its +half-bare trees and long straight rows of houses. Through openings, here and +there, the water glimmered mistily; and on the height facing her, the tall +tower of St. Mary Redcliffe rose above the roofs and pointed skywards. Little +did Mary think what the day would bring forth in that grey deserted place on +which she looked; or in what changed conditions, under what stress of mind and +heart, she would, before the sun set twice, view that Square. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>XXX<br/> +THE MAYOR’S RECEPTION IN QUEEN’S SQUARE</h2> + +<p> +The day, of which Mary watched the cloudy opening from her mother’s +window, was drawing to a close; and from a house in the same Square—but +on the north side, whereas Miss Sibson’s was on the west—another +pair of eyes looked out, while a heart, which a few hours before had been as +sore as hers, rose a little at the prospect. Arthur Vaughan, ignorant of her +proximity—to love’s shame be it said—sat in a window on the +first floor of the Mansion House, and, undismayed by the occasional crash of +glass, watched the movements of the swaying, shouting, mocking crowd; a crowd, +numbering some thousands, which occupied the middle space of the Square, as +well as the roadways, clustered upon the Immortal Memory, overflowed into the +side streets, and now joined in one mighty roar of “Reform! +Reform!” now groaned thunderously at the name of Wetherell. Behind +Vaughan in the same room, the drawing-room of the official residence, some +twenty or thirty persons argued and gesticulated; at one time approaching a +window to settle a debated point, at another scattering with exclamations of +anger as a stone fell or some other missile alighted among them. +</p> + +<p> +“Boo! Boo!” yelled the mob below. “Throw him out! Reform! +Reform!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked down on the welter of moving faces. He saw that the +stone-throwers were few, and the daredevils, who at times adventured to pull up +the railings which guarded the forecourt, were fewer. But he saw also that the +mass sympathised with them, egged them on, and applauded their exploits. And he +wondered what would happen when night fell, and wondered again why the +peaceable citizens who wrangled behind him made light of the position. The +glass was flying, here and there an iron bar had vanished from the railings, +night was approaching. For him it was very well. He had accompanied Brereton to +Bristol to see what would happen, and for his part, if the adventure proved to +be of the first class, so much the better. But the good pursy citizens behind +him, who, when they were not deafening the little Mayor with their counsels, +were making a jest of the turmoil, had wives and daughters, goods and houses +within reach. And in their place he felt that he would have been far from easy. +</p> + +<p> +By and by it appeared that some of them shared his feelings. For presently, in +a momentary lull of the babel outside, a voice he knew rose above those in the +room. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing? You call it nothing?” Mr. Cooke—for his was the +voice—cried. “Nothing, that his Majesty’s Judge has been +hooted and pelted from Totterdown to the Guildhall? Nothing, that the Recorder +of Bristol has been hunted like a criminal from the Guildhall to this place! +You call it nothing, sir, that his Majesty’s Commission has been flouted +for six hours past by all the riffraff of the Docks? And with half of decent +Bristol looking on and applauding!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, no!” the little Mayor remonstrated. “Not applauding, +Mr. Cooke!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, applauding!” Cooke retorted with vigour. +</p> + +<p> +“And teach Wetherell a lesson!” someone in the background muttered. +</p> + +<p> +The man spoke low, but Cooke heard the words and wheeled about. “There, +sir, there!” he cried, stuttering in his indignation. “What do you +say to that? Here, in your presence, the King’s Judge is insulted. But I +warn you,” he continued, “I warn you all! You are playing with +fire! You are laughing in your sleeves, but you’ll cry in your shirts! +You, Mr. Mayor, I call upon you to do your duty! I call upon you to summon the +military and give the order to clear the streets before worse comes of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t—I really don’t—think that it is +necessary,” the Mayor answered pacifically. “I have seen as bad as +this at half a dozen elections, Mr. Cooke.” +</p> + +<p> +The Town-clerk, a tall, thin man, who still wore his gown though he had laid +aside his wig, struck in. “Quite true, Mr. Mayor!” he said. +“The fact is, the crowd thinks itself hardly used on these occasions if +it is not allowed to break the windows and do a little mischief on the lower +floor.” +</p> + +<p> +“By G—d, I’d teach it a lesson then!” Cooke retorted. +“It seems to me it is time someone did!” +</p> + +<p> +Two or three expressed the same opinion, though they did so with less decision. +But the main part smiled at Cooke’s heat as at a foolish display of +temper. “I’ve seen as much half a dozen times,” said one, +shrugging his shoulders. “And no harm done!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen worse!” another answered. “And after +all,” the speaker added with a wink, “it is good for the +glaziers.” +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately, Cooke did not hear this last. But Vaughan heard it, and he judged +that the rioters had their backers within as well as without; and that within, +as without, the notion prevailed that the Government would not be best pleased +if the movement were too roughly checked. An old proverb about the wisdom of +dealing with the beginnings of mischief occurred to him. But he supposed that +the authorities knew their business and Bristol, and, more correctly than he, +could gauge the mob and the danger, of both of which they made so light. +</p> + +<p> +Still he wondered. And he wondered more three minutes later. Two servants +brought in lights. Unfortunately the effect of these was to reveal the interior +of the room to the mob, and the change was the signal for a fusillade of stones +so much more serious and violent than anything which had gone before that a +quick <i>sauve qui peut</i> took place. Vaughan was dislodged with the +others—he could do no good by remaining; and in two minutes the room was +empty, and the mob were celebrating their victory with peals of titanic +laughter, accompanied by fierce cries of “Throw him out! Throw out the +d——d Recorder! Reform!” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the company, with one broken head and one or two pale faces, had +taken refuge on the landing behind the drawing-room, the stairs ascending to +which were guarded by a reserve of constables. Vaughan saw that the Mayor and +his satellites were beginning to look at one another, and leaning, quietly +observant, against the wall, he noticed that more than one was shaken. Still +the little Mayor retained his good-humour. “Oh, dear, dear!” he +said indulgently. “This is too bad! Really too bad!” +</p> + +<p> +“We’d better go upstairs,” Sergeant Ludlow, the Town-clerk, +suggested. “We can see what passes as well from that floor as from this, +and with less risk!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but really this is growing serious,” a third said timidly. +“It’s too bad, this.” +</p> + +<p> +He had scarcely spoken, and the Mayor was still standing undecided, as if he +did not quite like the idea of retreat, when two persons, one with his head +bandaged, came quickly up the stairs. “Where’s the Mayor?” +cried the first. And then, “Mr. Mayor, they are pushing us too +hard,” said the second, an officer of special constables. “We must +have help, or they will pull the house about our ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense!” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s not nonsense, sir,” the man answered angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“You must read the Riot Act, sir,” the other, who was the +Under-Sheriff, chimed in. “And the sooner the better, Mr. Mayor,” +he added with decision. “We’ve half a dozen men badly hurt. In my +opinion you should send for the military.” +</p> + +<p> +The group on the landing looked aghast at one another. What, danger? +Really—danger? Half a dozen men badly hurt? Then one made an effort to +carry it off. “Send for the military?” he gasped. “Oh, but +that is absurd! That would only make matters worse!” +</p> + +<p> +The others did not speak, and the Mayor in particular looked upset. Perhaps for +the first time he appreciated the responsibility which lay on his shoulders. +Meanwhile Vaughan saw all; and Cooke also, and the latter laughed maliciously. +“Perhaps you will listen now,” he said with an ill-natured chuckle. +“You would not listen to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear,” the Mayor quavered. “Is it really as serious as +that, Mr. Hare?” He turned to the Town-clerk. “What do you +advise?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I think with Mr. Hare that you had better read the Riot Act, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, I’ll come down! I’ll come down at once,” +the Mayor assented with spirit. “Only,” he continued, looking round +him, “I beg that some gentleman known to be on the side of Reform, will +come with me. Who has the Riot Act?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Burges. Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am here, sir,” replied the gentleman named. “I am quite +ready, Mr. Mayor. If you will say a few words to the crowd; I am sure they will +listen. Let us go down!” +</p> + +<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:20pt">* * * * * +</p> + +<p> +Twenty minutes later the same group, but with disordered clothes and sickly +faces—and as to Mr. Burges, with a broken head—were gathered again +on the landing. In those twenty minutes, despite the magic of the Riot Act, the +violence of the mob had grown rather than diminished. They were beginning to +talk of burning the Mansion House, they were calling for straw, they were +demanding lights. Darkness had fallen, too, and there could be no question now +that the position was serious. The Mayor, who, below stairs, had shown no lack +of courage, turned to the Town-clerk. “Ought I to call out the +military?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I think that we should take Sir Charles Wetherell’s +opinion,” the tall, thin man answered, deftly shifting the burden from +his own shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“The sooner Sir Charles is gone the better, I should say!” Cooke +said bluntly. “If we don’t want to have his blood on our +heads.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am with Mr. Cooke there,” the Under-Sheriff struck in. He was +responsible for the Judge’s safety, and he spoke strongly. “Sir +Charles should be got away,” he continued. “That’s the first +thing to be done. He cannot hold the Assizes, and I say frankly that I will not +be responsible if he stays.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jonah!” someone muttered with a sneering laugh. +</p> + +<p> +The Mayor turned about. “That’s very improper!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very improper to send a Judge who is a politician!” the +voice answered. +</p> + +<p> +“And against the Bill!” a second jeered. +</p> + +<p> +“For shame! For shame!” the Mayor cried. +</p> + +<p> +“And I fancy, sir,” the Under-Sheriff struck in with heat, +“that the gentlemen who have just spoken—I think I can guess their +names—will be sorry before morning! They will find that it is easier to +kindle a fire than to put it out! But—silence, gentlemen! Silence! Here +is Sir Charles!” +</p> + +<p> +Wetherell had that moment opened the door of his private room, of which the +window looked to the back. His face betrayed his surprise on finding twenty or +thirty persons huddled in disorder at the head of the stairs. The two lights +which had survived the flight from the drawing-room flared in the draught of +the shattered windows, and the wavering illumination gave a sinister cast to +the scene. The dull rattle of stones on the floor of the rooms exposed to the +Square—varied at times by a roar of voices or a rush of feet in the hall +below—suggested that the danger was near at hand, and that the assailants +might at any moment break into the building. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless Sir Charles showed no signs of fear. After letting his eyes travel +over the group, “How long is this going on, Mr. Under-Sheriff?” he +asked, plunging his hands deep in his breeches pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sir Charles——” +</p> + +<p> +“They seem,” with a touch of sternness, “to be carrying the +jest rather too far.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cooke,” the Mayor said, “wishes me to call out the +military.” +</p> + +<p> +Wetherell shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “The occasion is +not so serious as to justify that. You cannot say that life is in +danger?” +</p> + +<p> +The Under-Sheriff put himself forward. “I can say, sir,” he +answered firmly, “that yours is in danger. And in serious danger!” +</p> + +<p> +Wetherell planted his feet further apart, and thrust his hands lower into his +pockets. “Oh, no, no,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“It is yes, yes, sir,” the Under-Sheriff replied bluntly. +“Unless you leave the house I cannot be responsible! I cannot, indeed, +Sir Charles.” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, sir! If you don’t wish a very terrible catastrophe to +happen, you must go! By G—d you must!” the Under-Sheriff repeated, +forgetting his manners. +</p> + +<p> +The noise below had swollen suddenly. Cries, blows, and shrieks rose up the +staircase, and announced that at any moment the party above might have to +defend their lives. At the prospect suddenly presented, respect for dignities +took flight; panic seized the majority. Constables, thrusting aldermen and +magistrates aside, raced up the stairs, and bundled down again laden with beds +with which to block the windows: while the picked men who had hitherto guarded +the foot of the staircase left their posts in charge of two or three of the +wounded, who groaned dismally. Apparently the mob had broken into part of the +ground floor, and were with difficulty held at bay. +</p> + +<p> +One of the party struck his hand on the balusters—it was Mr. Cooke. +“By Heavens!” he said, “this is what comes of your +d——d Reform! Your d——d Reform! We shall all be +murdered, every man of us! Murdered!” +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake, Mr. Mayor,” cried a quavering voice, +“send for the military.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay! the soldiers. Send for the soldiers, sir!” echoed two or +three. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I will,” said the Mayor, who was cooler than most. +“Who will go?” +</p> + +<p> +A man volunteered. On which Vaughan, who had so far remained silent, stepped +forward. “Sir Charles,” he said, “you must retire. Your +duties are at an end, and your presence hampers the defence. Permit me to +escort you. I am unknown here, and can pass through the streets.” +</p> + +<p> +Wetherell, as brave, stout and as solid a man as any in England, hesitated. But +he saw that it would soon be everyone for himself; and in that event he was +doomed. The din was waxing louder and more menacing; the group on the stairs +was melting away. In terror on their own account, the officials were beginning +to forget his presence. Several had already disappeared, seeking to save +themselves, this way and that. Others were going. Every moment the confusion +increased, and the panic. He gave way. “You think I ought to go, +Vaughan?” he asked in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I do, sir,” Vaughan answered. And, entering the Recorder’s +room, he brought out Sir Charles’s hat and cloak and hastily thrust them +on him, scarcely anyone else attending to them. As he did this his eye alighted +on a constable’s staff which lay on the floor where its owner had dropped +it. Thinking that, as he was without arms, he might as well possess himself of +it, Vaughan left Wetherell’s side and went to pick it up. At that moment +a roar of sound, as sudden as the explosion of a gun, burst up the staircase. +Two or three cried in a frenzied way that the mob were coming; some fled this +way, some that, a few to windows at the back, more to the upper story, while a +handful obeyed Vaughan’s call to stand and hold the head of the stairs. +For a brief space all was disorder and—save in his +neighbourhood—panic. Then a voice below shouted that the soldiers were +come, and a general “Thank God! Not a moment too soon!” was heard +on all sides. Vaughan made sure that it was true, and then he turned to rejoin +Sir Charles. +</p> + +<p> +But Wetherell had vanished, and no one could say in which direction. Vaughan +hurried upstairs and along the passages in anxious search; but in vain. One +told him that Sir Charles had left by a window at the back; another, that he +had been seen going upstairs with the Under-Sheriff. He could learn nothing +certain; and he was asking himself what he should do next, when the sound of +cheering reached his ear. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” he asked a man who met him as he descended the +stairs from the second floor. +</p> + +<p> +“They are cheering the soldiers,” the man replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to hear it!” Vaughan exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d say so too,” the other rejoined glumly, “if I was +certain on which side the soldiers were! But you’re wanted, sir, in the +drawing-room. The Mayor asked me to find you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” Vaughan said, and without delay he followed the +messenger to the room he had named. Here, with the relics of the fray about +them, he found the Mayor and four or five officials who looked woefully shaken +and flustered. With them were Brereton and the Honourable Bob, both in uniform. +The stone-throwing had ceased, for the front of the house was now guarded by a +double line of troopers in red cloaks. Lights, too, had been brought, and in +the main the danger seemed to be over. But about this council there was none of +that lightheartedness, none of that easy contempt which had characterised the +one held in the same room an hour or two before. The lesson had been learnt in +a measure. +</p> + +<p> +The Mayor looked at Vaughan as he entered. “Is this the gentleman?” +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that is the gentleman who got us together at the head of the +stairs,” a person, a stranger to Vaughan, answered. “If he,” +the man continued, “were put in charge of the constables, who are at +present at sixes and sevens, we might manage something.” +</p> + +<p> +A voice in the background mentioned that it was Mr. Vaughan, the Member for +Chippinge. “I shall be glad to do anything I can,” Vaughan said. +</p> + +<p> +“In support of the military,” the tall, thin Town-clerk interposed, +in a decided tone. “That must be understood. Eh, Mr. Burges?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” the City Solicitor answered. And they both looked at +Colonel Brereton, who, somewhat to Vaughan’s surprise, had not +acknowledged his presence. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, of course,” said the Mayor pacifically. “That is +understood. I am quite sure that Colonel Brereton will use his utmost force to +clear the streets and quiet the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall do what I think right,” Brereton replied, standing up +straight, with his hand on his sword-hilt, and looking, among the disordered +citizens, like a Spanish hidalgo among a troop of peasants. “I shall do +what is right,” he repeated stubbornly; and Vaughan, knowing the man +well, perceived that, quiet as he seemed, he was labouring under strong +excitement. “I shall walk my horses about. The crowd are perfectly +good-humoured, and only need to be kept moving.” +</p> + +<p> +The Town-clerk exchanged a glance with a neighbour. “But do you think, +sir,” he said, “that that will be sufficient? You are aware, I +suppose, that great damage has been done already, and that had your troop not +arrived when it did many lives might have been sacrificed?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is all I shall do,” Brereton answered. “Unless,” +with a faint ring of contempt in his tone, “the Mayor gives me an express +and written order to attack the people.” +</p> + +<p> +The Mayor’s face was a picture. “I?” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I—I could not take that responsibility on myself,” the +Mayor cried. “I couldn’t, I really couldn’t!” he +repeated, taken aback by the burden it was proposed to put on him. “I +can’t judge, Colonel Brereton—I am not a military man—whether +it is necessary or not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should consider it unwise,” Brereton replied formally. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good! Then—then you must use your discretion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so. That’s what I supposed,” Brereton replied, not +masking his contempt for the vacillation of those about him. “In that +case I shall pursue the line of action I have indicated. I shall walk my horses +up and down. The crowd are perfectly good-humoured. What is it, pray?” +</p> + +<p> +He turned, frowning. A man had entered the room and was whispering in the +Town-clerk’s ear. The latter straightened himself with a heated face. +“You call them good-humoured, sir?” he said. “I hear that two +of your men, Colonel Brereton, have just been brought in severely wounded. I do +not know whether you call that good-humour?” +</p> + +<p> +Brereton looked a little discomposed. “They must have brought it on +themselves,” he said, “by some rashness. Your constables have no +discretion.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you should at least clear the Square and the neighbouring +streets,” the Town-clerk persisted. +</p> + +<p> +“I have indicated what I shall do,” Brereton replied, with a gloomy +look. “And I am prepared to be responsible for the safety of the city. If +you wish me to act beyond my judgment, the civil power must give me an express +and written order.” +</p> + +<p> +Still the Mayor and those about him looked uneasy, though they did not dare to +do what Brereton suggested. The howls of the rabble still rang in their ears, +and before their eyes they had the black, gaping casements, through which an +ominous murmur entered. They had waited long before calling in the Military, +they had hesitated long; for Peterloo had erased Waterloo from the memory of an +ungrateful generation, and men, secure abroad and straining after Reform at +home, held a red-coat in small favour, if not in suspicion. But having called +the red-coats in, they looked for something more than this, for some +vindication of the law and the civil power, some stroke which would cast terror +into the hearts of misdoers. The Town-clerk, in particular, had his doubts, and +when no one else spoke he put them into words. +</p> + +<p> +“May I ask,” he said formally, “if you have any orders, +Colonel Brereton, from the Secretary of State or the Horse Guards, which +prevent you from obeying the directions of the magistrates?” +</p> + +<p> +Brereton looked at him sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “I am prepared to obey your orders, stated in +the manner I have laid down. Then the responsibility will not lie with +me.” +</p> + +<p> +But the Mayor stepped back. “I couldn’t take it on myself, sir. +I—God knows what the consequences might be!” He looked round +piteously. “We don’t want another Manchester massacre.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy,” Brereton answered grimly, “that if we have another +Manchester business, it will go ill with those who sign the order! Times are +changed since ’19, gentlemen—and governments! And I think we +understand that. You leave it to me, then, gentlemen?” +</p> + +<p> +No one spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” he continued. “If your constables will do their +duty with discretion—and you could not have a better man to command them +than Mr. Vaughan, but he ought to be going about it now—I will answer for +the peace of the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—but we shall see you again, Colonel Brereton,” the Mayor +cried in some agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“See me, sir?” Brereton answered contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, you can see me, if you wish to! But——” He +shrugged his shoulders, and turned away without finishing the sentence. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, when he heard that, knew that, cool as Brereton seemed, he was not +himself. A moody stubbornness had taken the place of last night’s +excitement; but that was all. And as the party trooped downstairs—he had +requested the Mayor to say a few words, placing the constables under his +control—he swallowed his private feelings and approached Flixton. +</p> + +<p> +“Flixton,” he whispered, throwing what friendliness he could into +his voice. “Do you think Brereton’s right?” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton turned an ill-humoured face towards him, and dragged at his sword-belt. +“Oh, I don’t know,” he said irritably. “It’s his +business, and I suppose he can judge. There’s a deuce of a crowd, I know, +and if we go charging into it we shall be swallowed up in a twinkling!” +</p> + +<p> +“But it has been whispered to me,” Vaughan replied, “that he +told the people on his way here that he’s for Reform. Isn’t it +unwise to let them think that the soldiers may side with them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine talking,” Flixton answered with a sneer. “And God knows +if we had five hundred men, or three hundred, I’d agree. But what can +sixty or eighty men do galloping over slippery pavements in the dark? And if we +fire and kill a dozen, the Government will hang us to clear themselves! And +these d——d nigger-drivers and sugar-boilers behind us would be the +first to swear against us!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan had his own opinion. But they had to part then. Flixton, in his blue +uniform—there were two troops present, one of the 3rd Dragoon Guards in +red, and one of the 14th Dragoons in blue—went out by Brereton’s +side with his spurs ringing on the stone pavement and his sword clanking. He +was not acting with his troop, but as the Colonel’s aide-de-camp. +Meanwhile Vaughan, who could not see the old blue uniform without a pang, went +with the Mayor to marshal the constables. +</p> + +<p> +Of these no more than eighty remained, and with little stomach for the task +before them. This task, indeed, notwithstanding the check which the arrival of +the troopers had given the mob, was far from easy. The ground-floor of the +Mansion House looked like a place taken by storm and sacked. The railings which +guarded the forecourt were gone, and even the wall on which they stood had been +demolished to furnish missiles. The doorways and windows, where they were not +clumsily barricaded, were apertures inviting entrance. In one room lay a pile +of straw ready for lighting. In another lay half a dozen wounded men. +Everywhere the cold wind, blowing off the water of the Welsh Back, entered a +dozen openings and extinguished the flares as quickly as they could be lighted, +casting now one room and now another into black shadow. +</p> + +<p> +But if the men had little heart for further exertions, Vaughan’s manhood +rose the higher to meet the call. Bringing his soldier’s training into +play, in a few minutes he had his force divided into four companies, each under +a leader. Two he held in reserve, bidding them get what rest they could; with +the other two he manned the forecourt, and guarded the flank which lay open to +the Welsh Back. And as long as the troopers rode up and down within a +stone’s-throw all was well. But when the soldiers passed to the other +side of the Square a rush was made on the house—mainly by a gang of the +low Irish of the neighbourhood—and many a stout blow was struck before +the rabble, who thirsted for the strong ale and wine in the cellars, could be +dislodged from the forecourt and driven to a distance. The danger to life was +not great, though the tale of wounded grew steadily; nor could the post of +Chief Constable be held to confer much honour on one who so short a time before +had dreamt of Cabinets and portfolios, and of a Senate hanging on his words. +But the joy of conflict was something to a stout heart, and the sense of +success. Something, too, it was to feel that where he stood his men stood also; +and that where he was not, the Irish, with their brickbats and iron bars, made +a way. There was a big lout, believed by some to be a Brummagem man and a tool +of the Political Union, who more than once led on the assailants; and when +Vaughan found that this man shunned him and chose the side where he was not, +that too was a joy. +</p> + +<p> +“After all, this is what I am good for,” he told himself as he +stood to take breath after a <i>mêlée</i> which was at once the most serious +and the last. “I was a fool to leave the regiment,” he continued, +staunching a trickle of blood which ran from a cut on his cheek bone. +“For, after all, better a good blow than a bad speech! Better, perhaps, a +good blow than all the speeches, good and bad!” And in the heat of the +moment he swung his staff. Then—then he thought of Mary and of Flixton, +and his heart sank, and his joy was at an end. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t think they’ll try us again, sir,” said an old +pensioner, who had constituted himself his orderly, and who had known the neigh +of the war-horse in the Peninsula. “If we had had you at the beginning +we’d have had no need of the old Blues, nor the Third either!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s rubbish!” Vaughan replied. But he owned the +flattery, and his heart warmed to the pensioner, whose prediction proved to be +correct. The crowd melted slowly but certainly after that. By eleven +o’clock there were but a couple of hundred in the Square. By twelve, even +these were gone. A half-dozen troopers, and as many tatterdemalions, slinking +about the dark corners, were all that remained of the combatants; and the +Mayor, with many words, presented Vaughan with the thanks of the city for his +services. +</p> + +<p> +“It is gratifying, Mr. Vaughan,” he added, “to find that +Colonel Brereton was right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Vaughan agreed. And he took his leave, carrying off his +staff for a memento. +</p> + +<p> +He was very weary, and it was not the shortest way to the White Lion, yet his +feet carried him across the dark Square and past the Immortal Memory to the +front of Miss Sibson’s house. It showed no lights to the Square, but in a +first-floor window of the next house he marked a faint radiance as of a shaded +taper, and the outline of a head—doubtless the head of someone looking +out to make sure that the disorder was at an end. He saw, but love was at +fault. No inner voice told him that the head was Mary’s! No thrill +revealed to him that at that very moment, with her brow pressed to the cold +pane, she was thinking of him! None! With a sigh, and a farther fall from the +lightheartedness of an hour before, he went his way. +</p> + +<p> +Broad Street was quiet, but half a dozen persons were gathered outside the +White Lion. They were listening: and one of them told him, as he passed in, +that the Blues, in beating back a party from the Council House, a short time +before, had shot one of the rioters. In the hall he found several groups +debating some point with heat, but they fell silent when they saw him, one +nudging another; and he fancied that they paid especial attention to him. As he +moved towards the office, a man detached himself from them and approached him +with a formal air. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Vaughan, I think?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Arthur Vaughan?” the man, who was a complete stranger to +Vaughan, repeated. “Member of Parliament for Chippinge, I believe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reform Member?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan eyed him narrowly. “If you are one of my constituents,” he +said drily, “I will answer that question.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not one,” the man rejoined, with a little less confidence. +“But it’s my business, nevertheless, to warn you, Mr. Vaughan, in +your own interests, that the part you have been taking here will not commend +you to them! You have been handling the people very roughly, I am told. Very +roughly! Now, I am Mr. Here——” +</p> + +<p> +“You may be Mr. Here or Mr. There,” Vaughan said, cutting him +short—but very quietly. “But if you say another word to me, I will +throw you through that door for your impudence! That is all. Now—have you +any more to say?” +</p> + +<p> +The man tried to carry it off. For there was sniggering behind him. But +Vaughan’s blood was up, the agitator read it in the young man’s +eye, and being a man of words, not deeds, he fell back. Vaughan went up to bed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>XXXI<br/> +SUNDAY IN BRISTOL</h2> + +<p> +It was far from Vaughan’s humour to play the bully, and before he had +even reached his bedroom, which looked to the back, he repented of his +vehemence. Between that and the natural turmoil of his feelings he lay long +waking; and twice, in a stillness which proclaimed that all was well, he heard +the Bristol clocks tell the hour. After all, then, Brereton had been right! For +himself, had the command been his, he would have adopted more strenuous +measures. He would have tried to put fear into the mob before the riot reached +its height. And had he done so, how dire might have been the consequences! How +many homes might at this moment be mourning his action, how many innocent +persons be suffering pain and misery! +</p> + +<p> +Whereas Brereton, the strong, quiet man, resisting importunity, shunning haste, +keeping his head where others wavered, had carried the city through its +trouble, with scarce the loss of a single life. Truly he was one whom +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>Non civium ardor prava jubentium</i>, +</p> + +<p class="t2"><i>Non vultus instantis tyranni</i> +</p> + +<p class="t4"><i>Mente quatit solida!</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +Vaughan thought of him with a new respect, and of himself with a new humility. +He was forced to acknowledge that even in that field of action which he had +quitted, and to which he was now inclined to return, he was not likely to pick +up a marshal’s bâton. +</p> + +<p> +He slept at length, and long and heavily, awaking towards ten o’clock +with aching limbs and a cheek so sore that it brought all that had passed to +instant recollection. He found his hot water at his door, and he dressed slowly +and despondently, feeling the reaction and thinking of Mary, and of that sunny +morning, six months back, when he had looked into Broad Street from a window of +this very house, and dreamed of a modest bonnet and a sweet blushing face. An +hour after that, he remembered, he had happened on the Honourable—oh, +d—— Flixton! All his troubles had started from that unlucky meeting +with him. +</p> + +<p> +He found his breakfast laid in the next room, the coffee and bacon in a Japan +cat by the fire. He ate and drank in an atmosphere of gloomy retrospect. If he +had never met Flixton! If he had not gone to that unlucky dinner at Chippinge! +If he had spoken to her in Parliament Street! If—if—if! The bells +of half a dozen churches were ringing, drumming his regrets into him; and he +stood awhile irresolute, looking through the window. The inn-yard, which was +all the prospect the window commanded, was empty; an old liver-and-white +pointer, scratching itself in a corner, was the only living thing in it. But +while he looked, wondering if the dog had been a good dog in its time, two men +came running into the yard with every sign of haste and pressure. One, in a +yellow jacket, flung himself against a stable door and vanished within, leaving +the door open. The other pounced on a chaise, one of half a dozen ranged under +a shed, and by main force dragged it into the open. +</p> + +<p> +The men’s actions impressed Vaughan with a vague uneasiness. He listened. +Was it fancy, or did he catch the sound of a distant shot? And—there +seemed to be an odd murmur in the air. He seized his hat, put on his caped +coat—for a cold drizzle was falling—and went downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +The hall was empty, but through the open doorway he could see a knot of people, +standing outside, looking up the street. He made for the threshold, and asked +the rearmost of the starers what it was. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, what is it?” the man answered volubly. “Oh, +they’re gone! It’s true enough! And such a crowd as was never seen, +I’m told—stoning them, and shouting ‘Bloody Blues!’ +after them. They’re gone right away to Keynsham, and glad to be there +with whole bones!” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is it?” Vaughan asked impatiently. “What has +happened, my man? Who’re gone?” +</p> + +<p> +The man turned for the first time, and saw who it was. “You have not +heard, sir?” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that the people have risen? And most part pulled down the Mansion +House? Ay, first thing this morning, sir! They say old Pinney, the Mayor, got +out at the back just in time or he’d have been murdered! He’s had +to send the military away—anyways, the Blues who killed the lad last +night on the Pithay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible!” Vaughan exclaimed, turning red with anger. “You +cannot have heard aright.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s as true as true!” the man replied, rubbing his hands in +excitement. “As for me,” he continued, “I was always for +Reform! And this will teach the Lords a lesson! They’ll know our mind +now, and that Wetherell’s a liar, begging your pardon, sir. And the old +Corporation’s not much better. A set of Tories mostly! If the Welsh Back +drinks their cellars dry it won’t hurt me, nor Bristol.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was too sharply surprised to rebuke the man. Could the story be true! +And if it were, what was Brereton doing? He could not have been so foolish as +to halve his force in obedience to the people he was sent to check! But the +murmur in the air was a fact, and past the end of the street men were running +in anything but a Sunday fashion. +</p> + +<p> +He went back to his room and pocketed his staff. Then he descended again and +was on his way out, when a person belonging to the house stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Vaughan,” she said earnestly, “don’t go, sir. You +are known after last night and will come to harm. You will indeed, sir. And you +can do no good. My father says that nothing can be done until to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will take care of myself,” he replied, lightly. But his eyes +thanked her. He pushed his way through the gazers at the door, and set off +towards Queen’s Square. +</p> + +<p> +At every door men and women were standing looking out. In the distance he could +hear cheering, which waxed louder and more insistent as, prudently avoiding the +narrower lanes, he passed down Clare Street to Broad Quay, from which there was +an entrance to the northwest corner of the Square. Alongside the quay, which +was fringed with warehouses and sheds, and from which the huge city crane +towered up, lay a line of brigs and schooners; the masts of the more distant of +these tapering to vanishing points in the mist which lay upon the water. At the +moment, however, Vaughan had no eye for them. He saw them, but his thoughts +were with the rioters, and in a twinkling he was within the Square, and seeing +what was to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +He judged that there were not more than fifteen hundred persons present. Of the +whole about one-half belonged to the lowest class. These were gathered about +the Mansion House, some drinking before it, others bearing up liquor from the +cellars, while others again were tearing out the woodwork of the casements, or +wantonly flinging the last remnants of furniture from the windows. The second +moiety of the crowd, less reckless or of higher position, looked on as at a +show; or now and again, at the bidding of some active rioter, raised a cheer +for Reform, “The King and Reform! Reform!” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing dreadful, nothing awe-inspiring in the sight. Yet it was such +a sight, for an English city on a Sunday morning, that Vaughan’s gorge +rose at it. A hundred resolute men might have put the mob to flight. And +meantime, on every point of vantage, on Redcliffe Parade, eastward of the +Square, on College Green, and Brandon Hill, to the westward of it, thousands +stood looking in silence on the scene, and by their supineness encouraging the +work of destruction. +</p> + +<p> +He thought for a moment of pushing to the front and trying what a few +reasonable words would effect. But as he advanced, his eye caught a gleam of +colour, and in the corner of the Square, most remote from the disorder, he +discovered a handful of dragoons, seated motionless in their saddles, watching +the proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +The folly of this struck him dumb. And he hurried, at a white heat, across the +Square to remonstrate. He was about to speak to the sergeant in charge, when +Flixton, with a civilian cloak masking his uniform, rode up to the men at a +foot-pace. Vaughan turned to him instead. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens, man!” he cried, too hot to mince his words or +remember at the moment what there was between him and Flixton, +“What’s Brereton doing? What has happened! It is not true that he +has sent the Fourteenth away?” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton looked down at him sulkily. “He’s sent ’em to +Keynsham,” he said, shortly. “If he hadn’t, the crowd would +have been out of hand!” +</p> + +<p> +“But what do you call them now?” Vaughan retorted, with angry +sarcasm. “They are destroying a public building in broad daylight! +Aren’t they sufficiently out of hand?” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton shrugged his shoulders, but did not answer. He was flushed and has +manner was surly. +</p> + +<p> +“And your squad here, looking on and doing nothing? They’re worse +than useless!” Vaughan continued. “They encourage the beggars! +They’d be better in their quarters than here! Better at Keynsham,” +he added bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“So I’ve told him,” Flixton answered, taking the last words +literally. “He sent me to see how things are looking. And a +d——d pleasant way this is of spending a wet Sunday!” On +which, without more, having seen, apparently, what he came to see, he turned +his horse to go out of the Square by the Broad Quay. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan walked a few paces beside the horse. “But, Flixton, press +him,” he said urgently; “press him, man, to act! To do +something!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very fine,” the Honourable Bob answered +churlishly, “but Brereton’s in command. And you don’t catch +me interfering. I am not going to take the responsibility off his +shoulders.” +</p> + +<p> +“But think what may happen to-night!” Vaughan urged. Already he saw +that the throng was growing denser and its movements less random. Somewhere in +the heart of it a man was speaking. “Think what may happen after dark, if +they are as bad as this in daylight?” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton looked askance at him. “Ten to one, only what happened last +night,” he answered. “You all croaked then; but Brereton was +right.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan saw that he argued to no purpose. For Flixton, forward and positive in +small things and on the surface, was discovered by the emergency; all that now +remained of his usual self-assertion was a sense of injury. Vaughan inquired, +instead, where he would find Brereton, and as by this time the crowd had +clearly outgrown the control of a single man, he contented himself with walking +round the Square, and learning, by mingling with the fringe, what manner of +spirit moved it. +</p> + +<p> +That spirit, though he heard some ugly threats against Wetherell and the +Bishops and the Lords, was rather a reckless and mischievous than a +bloodthirsty one. To obtain drink, to destroy this or that gaol, and by and by +to destroy all gaols seemed to the crowd the first principles of Reform. +</p> + +<p> +Presently a cry of “To the Bridewell! Come on! To the Bridewell!” +was raised, and led by a dozen hobbledehoys, armed with iron bars plucked from +the railings, a body of some hundreds trooped off, helter-skelter, in the +direction of the prison of that name. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan saw that someone must be induced to act; and to him the following hours +of that wet, dismal Sunday were a waking nightmare. He hurried hither and +thither, from Guildhall to Council House, from Brereton’s lodgings to the +dragoons’ quarters, striving to effect something and always failing; +seeking some cohesion, some decision, some action, and finding none. Always +there had just been a meeting, or was going to be a meeting, or would be a +meeting by and by. The civil power would not act without the military; and the +military did not think itself strong enough to act, but would act if the civil +power would do something which the civil power had made up its mind not to do. +And meantime the supineness of the mass of the citizens was marvellous. He +seemed to be moving endlessly between lines of men who lounged at their doors, +and joked, or waited for the crowd to pass that way. Nothing, it seemed to him, +would rouse these men to a sense of the position. It would be a lesson to +Wetherell, they said. It would be a lesson to the Peers. It would be a lesson +to the Tories. The Bridewell was sacked and fired, the great gaol across the +New Cut was firing, the Gloucester gaol in the north of the city was +threatened. And still it did not occur to these householders, as they looked +down the wet, misty streets, that presently it would be a lesson to them. +</p> + +<p> +But at half-past three, with the dusk on that rainy day scarce an hour off, +there was a meeting at the Guildhall. Still no cohesion, no action. On the +other hand, much recrimination, many opinions. One was for casting all firearms +into the float. Another for arming all, fit or unfit. One was for fetching the +Fourteenth back, another for sending the Third to join them at Keynsham. One +was for appeasing the people by parading a dummy figure of their own Recorder +through the city and burning it on College Green. Another for relying on the +Political Union. In vain Vaughan warned them that the mob would presently +attack private property; in vain he offered, in a few spirited words, to lead +the Special Constables to the rescue of the gaol. The meeting, small to begin +and always divided, dwindled fast. The handful who were ready to follow him +made the support of the military a condition. Everybody said, +“To-morrow!” To-morrow the <i>posse comitatus</i> might be called +out; to-morrow the yeomanry, summoned by the man in the yellow jacket, would be +here! To-morrow the soldiers might act. And in fine—To-morrow! +</p> + +<p> +There was over the door of the Council House of those days a statue of Justice, +lacking the sword and the bandage. Vaughan, passing out in disgust from the +meeting, pointed to it. “There is Bristol, gentlemen,” he said +bitterly. “Your authorities have dropped the sword, and until they regain +it we are helpless. I have done my best.” And, shrugging his shoulders, +he started for Brereton’s lodgings to try a last appeal. +</p> + +<p> +He might well think it necessary. For a night which Bristol was long to +remember was closing down upon the city. Though it was Sunday, the churches +were empty; in few was a second service held. The streets, on the contrary, +were full, in spite of the cold; full of noise and turmoil and disorder; of +bands of men hastening up and down with reckless cries and flaring lights, at +the bidding of leaders as unwitting. In Queen’s Square the rioters were +drinking themselves drunk as at a fair, while amid the falling rain, through +which the last stormy gleams of daylight strove to pass, amid the thickening +dusk, those who all day long had jested at their doors began to turn doubtful +looks on one another. From three points the smoke of fired prisons rose to the +clouds and floated in a dense pall over the city; and men whispered that a +hundred, two hundred, five hundred criminals had been set free. On Clifton +Downs, on Brandon Hill, on College Green, on Redcliffe the thousand gazers of +the morning were doubled and redoubled. But they no longer wore the cynical +faces of the morning. On the contrary there were some who, following with their +eyes the network of waterways laden with inflammable shipping, which pierced +the city in every direction—who, tracing these and the cutthroat alleys +and lanes about them, predicted that the morning would find Bristol a heap of +ruins. And not a few, taking fright at the last moment, precipitately removed +their families to Clifton, and locked up their houses. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, as he walked through the dusk, had those waterways, those lanes, those +alleys, the congested heart of the old city, in his mind. He doubted, even he, +if the hour for action was not past. Nor was he surprised when Brereton met his +appeal with a flat <i>non possumus</i>. He was more struck with the change +which twenty-four hours had wrought in the man. He looked worn and haggard. The +shadows under his eyes were deeper, the eyes shone with a more feverish light. +His dress, too, was careless and disordered, and while he was not still for a +moment, he repeated what he said over and over again as if to persuade himself +of its truth. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally Vaughan laid stress on the damage already done. “But, I tell +you,” Brereton replied angrily, “we are well clear for that! +It’s not a tithe of the harm which would have befallen if I had given +way! I tell you, we’re well clear for that. No, I’ve done, thank +God, I’ve done the only thing it was possible to do. A little too much, +and if I’d succeeded I’d have been hung—for they’re all +against me, they’re all against me, above and below! And if I’d +failed, a thousand lives would have paid the bill! And do you ever consider, +man,” he continued, striking the table, “what a massacre in this +crowded place would be! Think of the shipyards, the dockyards, the quays! The +water pits and the sunk alleys! How could I clear them with ninety swords? How +could I clear them? Eh, with ninety swords? I tell you they never meant me to +clear them.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why not clear the wider streets, sir?” Vaughan persisted, +“and keep a grip on those?” +</p> + +<p> +“No! I say, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet even now, if you were to move your full force to Queen’s +Square, sir, you might clear it. And driven from their headquarters, and taught +that they are not going to have it all their own way, the more prudent would +fall off and go home.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” Brereton answered. “I know the argument. I know it. +But who’s to thank for the whole trouble? Your Blues, who went beyond +their orders last night. The Fourteenth, sir! The Fourteenth! But I’ll +have no more of it. Flixton is of my opinion, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Flixton is an ass!” Vaughan cried incautiously. +</p> + +<p> +“And you think me one too!” Brereton retorted, with so strange a +look that for the first time Vaughan was sure that his mind was tottering. +“Well, think what you like! Think what you like! But I’ll trouble +you not to take that tone here.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>XXXII<br/> +THE AFFRAY AT THE PALACE</h2> + +<p> +A little before the hour at which Vaughan interviewed Brereton, Sir Robert +Vermuyden, the arrival of whose travelling carriage at the White Lion about the +middle of the afternoon had caused some excitement, walked back to the inn. He +was followed by Thomas, the servant who had attended Mary to Bristol, and by +another servant. As he passed through the streets the signs of the times were +not lost upon him; far from it. But the pride of caste was strong upon him, and +he hid his anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +On the threshold of the inn he turned to the servants. “Are you +sure,” he asked for the fourth time, “that that was the house at +which you left her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certain sure, Sir Robert,” Thomas answered earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“And sure—but, ah!” the baronet broke off abruptly, his tone +one of relief. “Here’s Mr. Cooke! Go now, but be within call. Mr. +Cooke,”—he stepped, as he spoke, in front of that gentleman, who +was about to enter the house—“well met!” +</p> + +<p> +Cooke was hot with haste and ire, but at the unexpected sight of Sir Robert he +stood still. “God bless my soul!” he cried. “You here, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. And you know Bristol well. You can help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could help myself!” Cooke cried, forgetting himself in +his excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter is in Bristol.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” the angry merchant replied. “Then she could not be +in a worse place. That is all I can say.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am inclined to agree with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is your Reform!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert stared. “Not my Reform, Mr. Cooke,” he said in a tone of +displeasure. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, Sir Robert,” Cooke rejoined, speaking more +coolly. “I beg your pardon. But what I have suffered to-day is beyond +telling. By G—d, it’s my opinion that there’s only one man +worthy of the name in Bristol! And that’s your cousin, Vaughan!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert struck his stick on the pavement. “Mr. Vaughan?” he +exclaimed. “He is here, then? I feared so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Here? You feared? I tell you he’s the only man to be called a man, +who is here! If it had not been for him and the way he handled the constables +last night we should have been burnt out then instead of to-night! I +don’t know that the gain’s much, but for what it’s worth we +have him to thank!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert frowned. “I am surprised. He behaved well? Indeed!” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“D——d well! D——d well! If there had been half a +dozen like him, we’d be out of the wood!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he staying?” Sir Robert asked after a moment’s +hesitation. “I’ve lost my daughter in the confusion, and I think it +possible that he may know where she is.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is staying here at the Lion,” Cooke answered. “But +he’s been up and down all day trying to put heart into poltroons.” +And he ran over the chief events of the last few hours. +</p> + +<p> +He punctuated the story with oaths and bitter complaints, and perhaps it was +for this reason that Sir Robert, after he had heard the main facts, broke away. +He went through the hall to the bar where the landlord, who knew him well, came +forward and greeted him respectfully. But to Sir Robert’s inquiry as to +Mr. Vaughan’s whereabouts he shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish he was in the house, Sir Robert,” he said in a low voice. +“For he’s a marked man in Bristol since last night. I was in the +Square myself, and it was wonderful what spirit he put into his men. But the +scum and the riffraff who are uppermost to-day say he handled them cruelly, and +my daughter tried to persuade him from going out to-day. But he would go, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert reflected with a gloomy face. “Where are Mr. Flixton’s +quarters?” he asked at last. He might possibly learn something from him. +</p> + +<p> +The man told him, and Sir Robert summoned his servants and went out. It was +dark by this time, but a faint glare shone overhead and there was a murmur in +the air, as if, in the gloom beneath, the heart of the city was palpitating, in +dread of it knew not what. Sir Robert had not far to go. He had barely passed +into College Green when he met Flixton under a lamp. And so it happened that +two minutes later, Vaughan, on his way from Brereton’s lodgings in Unity +Street, came plump upon the two. He might have gone by in ignorance, but as he +passed the taller man looked up, and Vaughan with a shock of surprise +recognised Sir Robert Vermuyden. +</p> + +<p> +Flixton caught sight of Vaughan at the same moment, and “Here’s +your man, Sir Robert,” he cried with a little malice in his tone. +“Here, Vaughan,” he continued, “Here’s Sir Robert +Vermuyden! He’s looking for you. He wants to know——” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert stopped him. “I will speak for myself, Mr. Flixton, if you +please,” he said with the dignity which seldom deserted him. “Mr. +Vaughan,” he continued, with a piercing glance, “where is my +daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan returned his look, frowning. Since the parting in Miss Sibson’s +parlour, the remembrance of which still set his blood in a flame, Sir Robert +and he had not met. Now, in the wet gloom of College Green, under a rare +gaslamp, with turmoil about them, and the murmur of fresh trouble drawing near +through the streets, Sir Robert asked him for his daughter! He could have +laughed. As it was, “I know nothing, sir, of your daughter,” he +replied, in a tone between contempt and anger. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” Sir Robert retorted, “you travelled with her, from +London!” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know that I did?” +</p> + +<p> +“The servants, sir, have told me that you did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then they must also have told you,” Vaughan rejoined keenly, +“that I did not take the liberty of speaking to Miss Vermuyden. And that +I left the coach at Chippenham. That being so, I can only refer you,” he +continued with a sneer, raising his hat and preparing to move on, “to Mr. +Flixton, who went with her the rest of the way to Bristol.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned away. But he had not taken two paces before Sir Robert touched his +shoulder, and with that habit of command which few questioned. “Wait, +sir,” he said, “Wait, if you please. You do not escape me so +easily. You will attend to me one moment, if you please. Mr. Flixton +accompanied Miss Vermuyden, as did her man and maid, to Miss Sibson’s +house. She gave that address to Lady Worcester, in whose care she was; and I +sought her there this afternoon. But she is not there.” Sir Robert +continued, striving to read Vaughan’s face. “The house is empty. So +is the house on either side. I can make no one hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you come to me for news of her?” Vaughan asked in the tone he +had used throughout. He was very sore. +</p> + +<p> +“I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do not think that I am the last person of whom you should ask +tidings of your daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +“She came here,” Sir Robert answered sternly, “to see Lady +Sybil.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stared. The answer seemed to be irrelevant. Then he understood. +“Oh,” he said, “I see. You are still under the impression +that your wife and I are in a conspiracy to delude you? Your daughter also? You +think that she is in the plot? And that she gave the schoolmistress’s +address to deceive you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” Sir Robert cried. But, after all, that was what he did think. +Had he not told himself, more than once, that she was her mother’s +daughter? Had he not told himself that it could not have been by chance that +Vaughan and she met a second time on the coach? He knew that she had left +London and gone to her mother in defiance of him. He knew that. And though she +had entwined herself about his heart, though she had seemed to him all +gentleness, goodness, truth—she was still her mother’s daughter! +Nevertheless, he said “No!”—and said it angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I do not know what you mean!” Vaughan retorted. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe that you can tell me something, if you will.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked at him. “I have nothing to tell you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean, sir, that you will tell me nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +“That, if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +For nearly half a century the old man had found few to oppose him; and now by +good luck he had not time to reply. A man running out of the darkness in the +direction of Unity Street—the open space was full of moving groups, of +alarms and confusion—caught sight of Vaughan’s face, checked +himself and addressed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Vaughan!” he said. “They are coming! They are making for +the Palace! The Bishop must be got away, if he’s not gone! I am fetching +the Colonel! The Mayor is following with all he can get together. If you will +give warning at the Palace, there will be time for his lordship to +escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right!” Vaughan cried, glad to leave his company. And he started +without the loss of a moment. Even so, he had not gone twenty paces down the +Green before the head of the mob entered it from St. Augustine’s, and +passed, with hoarse shouts, along the south side, towards the ancient Archway +which led to the Lower Green. It was a question whether he or they reached the +Archway first; but he won the race by a score of yards. +</p> + +<p> +The view from the Lower Green, which embraced the burning gaol, as well as all +Queen’s Square and the Floating Basin that islanded it, had drawn +together a number of gazers. These impeded Vaughan’s progress, but he got +through them at last, and as the mob burst into the Lower Green he entered the +paved passage leading to the Precincts, hurried along it, turned the dark elbow +near the inner end, and halted before the high gates which shut off the +Cloisters. The Palace door was in the innermost or southeast corner of the +Cloisters. +</p> + +<p> +It was very dark at the end of the passage; and fortunately! For the gates were +fast closed, and before he could, groping, find the knocker, the rabble had +entered the passage behind him and cut off his retreat. The high wall which +rose on either side made escape impossible. Nor was this all. As he awoke to +the trap in which he had placed himself, a voice at his elbow muttered, +“My God, we shall be murdered!” And he learned that Sir Robert had +followed him. +</p> + +<p> +He had no time to remonstrate, nor thought of remonstrance. “Stand flat +against the wall!” he muttered, his fingers closing upon the staff in his +pocket. “It is our only chance!” +</p> + +<p> +He had basely spoken before the leaders of the mob swept round the elbow. They +had one light, a flare borne above them, which shone on their tarpaulins and +white smocks, and on the huge ship-hammers they carried. There was a single +moment of great peril, and instinctively Vaughan stepped before the older man. +He could not have made a happier movement, for it seemed—to the crowd who +caught a glimpse of the two and took them for some of their own party—as +if he advanced against the gates along with their leaders. +</p> + +<p> +The peril indeed, or the worst of it, was over the moment they fell into the +ranks. “Hammers to the front!” was the cry. And Sir Robert and +Vaughan were thrust back into the second line, that those who wielded the +hammers might have room. Vaughan tipped his hat over his face, and the villains +who pressed upon the two and jostled them, and whose cries of “Burn him +out! Burn the old devil out!” were dictated by greed rather than by hate, +were too full of the work in hand to regard their neighbours closely. In three +or four minutes—long minutes they seemed to the two inclosed in that +unsavoury company—the bars gave way, the gates were thrown open, and +Vaughan and Sir Robert, hardly keeping their feet in the rush, were borne into +the Cloisters. +</p> + +<p> +The rabble, with cries of triumph, raced across the dark court to the Palace +door and began to use their hammers on that. Vaughan hoped that the Bishop had +had warning—as a fact he had escaped some hours earlier. At any rate he +and his companion could do no more, and under cover of the darkness they +retreated to the porch of a smaller house which opened on the Cloisters. Here +they were safe for the time; and, his heart opened and his tongue loosed by the +danger through which they had passed, he turned to his companion and +remonstrated with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert,” he said, “this is no place for a man of your +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“England will soon be no place for any man of my years,” the +Baronet answered bitterly. “I would your leaders, sir, were here to see +their work! I would Lord Grey were here to see how well his friends carry out +his hints!” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt if he would be more pleased than you or I!” Vaughan +answered. “In the meantime——” +</p> + +<p> +“The soldiers! Have a care!” The alarm came from the gate by which +they had entered, and Vaughan broke off, with an exclamation of joy. “We +have them now!” he said. “And red-handed! Brereton has only to +close the passage, and he must take them all!” +</p> + +<p> +But the rioters took that view also, and the alarm. And they streamed out +panic-stricken. When the soldiers rode in, Brereton at their head, not more +than twenty or thirty remained in the Precincts. And on that followed the most +remarkable of all the scenes that disgraced Bristol that night; the scene which +beyond others convinced many of the complicity of the troops, if not of the +Government, in the outrage. +</p> + +<p> +Not a man could leave the Palace except with the troops’ good-will. Yet +they let the rascals pass. In vain a handful of constables—who had +arrived on the heels of the military—exerted themselves to seize the +worst offenders, and such as passed with plunder in their hands. The soldiers +discouraged the attempt, and even beat back the constables. “Let them go! +Let them go!” was the cry. And the nimbleness of the scamps in effecting +their escape was greeted with laughter and applause. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan and the companion whom fate had so strangely joined saw it with +indignation. But Vaughan had made up his mind that he would not approach +Brereton again; and he controlled himself, until a blackguard bolting from the +Palace with his arms full of spoil was seized, close to him, by an elderly man, +who seemed to be one of the Bishop’s servants. The two wrestled fiercely, +the servant calling for help, the soldiers looking on and laughing. A moment +and the two fell to the ground, the servant undermost. He uttered a cry of +pain. +</p> + +<p> +That was too much for Vaughan. He sprang forward, dragged the ruffian from his +prey, and with his other hand he drew his staff. He was about to strike his +prisoner—for the man continued to struggle desperately—when a voice +above them shouted “Put that up! Put that up!” And a trooper urged +his horse almost on the top of them, at the same time threatening him with his +naked sword. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan lost his temper at that. “You blackguard!” he cried. +“Stand back. The man is my prisoner!” +</p> + +<p> +For answer the soldier struck at him. Fortunately the blade was turned by his +hat and only the flat alighted on his head. But the man, drunk or reckless, +repeated the blow, and this time would certainly have cut him down if Sir +Robert, with a quickness beyond his years, had not turned aside the stroke with +his walking-cane. At the same time “Are you mad?” he shouted +peremptorily. “Where is your Colonel?” +</p> + +<p> +The tone, rather than the words, sobered the trooper. He swore sulkily, reined +in his horse, and moved back to his fellows. Sir Robert turned to Vaughan, who, +dazed by the blow, was leaning against the porch of the house. “I hope +you are not wounded?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s thanks to you, sir, he’s not killed!” the man +whom Vaughan had rescued, replied; and he hung about him solicitously. +“He’d have cut him to the chin! Ay, to the chin he would!” +with quavering gusto. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was regaining his coolness. He tried to smile. “I hardly +saw—what happened,” he said. “I am only sure I am not hurt. +Just—a rap on the head!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad that it is no worse,” Sir Robert said gravely. +“Very glad!” Now it was over he had to bite his lower lip to +repress its trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“You feel better, sir, now?” the servant asked, addressing Vaughan. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” Vaughan said. But after that he was silent, thinking. +And Sir Robert was silent, too. The soldiers were withdrawing; the constables, +outraged and indignant, were following them, declaring aloud that they were +betrayed. And for certain the walls of the Cathedral had looked down on few +stranger scenes, even in those troubled days when the crosslets of the +Berkeleys first shone from their casements. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan thought of the thing which had happened; and what was he to say? The +position was turned upside down. The obligation was on the wrong person; the +boot was on the wrong foot. If he, the young, the strong, and the injured, had +saved Sir Robert, that had been well enough. But this? It required some +magnanimity to take it gracefully, to bear it with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“I owe you sincere thanks,” he said at last, but awkwardly and with +constraint. +</p> + +<p> +“The blackguard!” Sir Robert cried. +</p> + +<p> +“You saved me, sir, from a very serious injury.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was as much threat as blow!” Sir Robert rejoined. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so,” Vaughan answered. And then he was silent, +finding it hard to say more. But after a pause, “I can only make you one +return,” he said with an effort. “Perhaps you will believe me when +I say, that upon my honour I do not know where your daughter is. I have neither +spoken to her nor communicated with her since I saw her in Queen’s Square +in May. And I know nothing of Lady Sybil.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am obliged to you,” Sir Robert said. +</p> + +<p> +“If you believe me,” Vaughan said. “Not otherwise!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do believe you, Mr. Vaughan.” And Sir Robert said it as if he +meant it. +</p> + +<p> +“Then that is something gained,” Vaughan answered, “besides +the soundness of my head.” Try as he might he felt the position irksome, +and was glad to seek refuge in flippancy. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert removed his hat, and stood in perplexity. “But where can she +be then?” he asked. “If you know nothing of her.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan paused before he answered. Then “I think I should look for her in +Queen’s Square,” he suggested. “In that neighbourhood neither +life nor property will be safe until Bristol comes to its senses. She should be +removed, therefore, if she be there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will take your advice and try the house again,” Sir Robert +answered. “I think you are right, and I am much obliged to you.” +</p> + +<p> +He put his hat on his head, but removed it to salute his cousin. “Thank +you,” he repeated, “I am much obliged to you.” And he +departed slowly across the court. +</p> + +<p> +Halfway to the entrance, he paused, and fingered his chin. He went on +again—again he paused. He took a step or two, turned, hesitated. At last +he came slowly back. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you will go with me?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very good,” Vaughan answered, his voice shaking a little. +Was it possible that Sir Robert meant more than he said? It did seem possible. +</p> + +<p> +But after all they did not go out that way. For, as they approached the broken +gates, shouts of “Reform!” and “Down with the Lords!” +warned them that the rioters were returning. And the Bishop’s servant, +approaching them anew, insisted on taking them through the Palace, and by way +of the garden and a low wall conducted them into Trinity Street. Here they were +close to the Drawbridge which crossed the water to the foot of Clare Street; +and they passed over it, one of them walking with a lighter heart, +notwithstanding Mary’s possible danger, than he had borne for weeks. Soon +they were in Queen’s Square, and, avoiding as far as possible the notice +of the mob, were knocking doggedly at Miss Sibson’s door. But by that +time the Palace, high above them on College Green, had burst into flames, and, +a mark for all the countryside, had flung the red banner of Reform to the +night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>XXXIII<br/> +FIRE</h2> + +<p> +Sir Robert and his companion might have knocked longer and more loudly, and +still to no purpose. For the schoolmistress, prepared to witness a certain +amount of disorder on the Saturday, had been taken aback by the sight which met +her eyes when she rose on Sunday morning. And long before noon she had sent her +servants to their friends, locked up her house, and gone next door, to dispel +by her cheerful face and her comfortable common sense the fears which she knew +would prevail there. The sick lady was not in a state to withstand alarm; Mary +was a young girl and timid; and neither the landlady nor Lady Sybil’s +maid were persons of strong mind. Miss Sibson felt that here was an excellent +occasion for the display of that sturdy indifference with which firm nerves and +a long experience of Bristol elections had endowed her. +</p> + +<p> +“La, my dear,” was her first remark, “it’s all noise +and nonsense! They look fierce, but there’s not a man of them all, that +if I took him soundly by the ear and said, ‘John Thomas Gaisford, I know +you well and your wife! You live in the Pithay, and if you don’t go +straight home this minute I’ll tell her of your goings +on!’—there’s not one of them, my dear,” with a jolly +laugh, “wouldn’t sneak off with his tail between his legs! Hurt us, +my lady? I’d like to see them doing it. Still, it will be no harm if we +lock the door downstairs, and answer no knocks. We shall be cosy upstairs, and +see all that’s to be seen besides!” +</p> + +<p> +These were Miss Sibson’s opinions, a little after noon on the Sunday. +Nor, when the day began to draw in, without abating the turmoil, did she recant +them aloud. But when the servant of the house, who found amusement in listening +at the locked door to the talk of those who passed, came open-eyed to announce +that the people had fired the Bridewell, and were attacking the gaol, Miss +Sibson did rub her nose reflectively. And privately she began to wonder whether +the prophecies of evil, which both parties had sown broadcast, were to be +fulfilled. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s that nasty Brougham!” she said. “Alderman Daniel +told me that he was stirring up the devil; and we’re going to get the +dust. But la, bless your ladyship,” she continued comfortably, “I +know the Bristol lads, and they’ll not hurt us. Just a gaol or two, for +the sake of the frolic. My dear, your mother’ll have her tea, and will +feel the better for it. And we’ll draw the curtains and light the lamps +and take no heed. Maybe there’ll be bones broken, but they’ll not +be ours!” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Sybil, with her face turned away, muttered something about Paris. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, your ladyship knows Paris and I don’t,” the +schoolmistress replied respectfully. “I can fancy anything there. But you +may depend upon it, my lady, England is different. I know old Alderman Daniel +calls Lord John Russell ‘Lord John Robespierre,’ and says +he’s worse than a Jacobin. But I’ll never believe he’d cut +the King’s head off! Never! And don’t you believe it, either, my +lady. No, English are English! There’s none like them, and never will be. +All the same,” she concluded, “I shall set ‘Honour the +King!’ for a copy when the young ladies come back.” +</p> + +<p> +Her views might not have convinced by themselves. But taken with tea and +buttered toast, a good fire and a singing kettle, they availed. Lady Sybil was +a shade easier that afternoon; and, naturally of a high courage, found a +certain alleviation in the exciting doings under her windows. She was gracious +to Miss Sibson, whose outpourings she received with languid amusement; and when +Mary was not looking, she followed her daughter’s movements with mournful +eyes. Uncertain as the wind, she was this evening in her best mood; as patient +as she could be fractious, and as gentle as she was sometimes violent. She +scouted the notion of danger with all Miss Sibson’s decision; and after +tea she insisted that the lights should be shaded, and her couch be wheeled to +the window, in order that, propped high with pillows, she might amuse herself +with the hurly-burly in the Square below. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure,” Miss Sibson commented, “it will do no good to +anyone, this; and many a poor chap will suffer for it by and by. That’s +the worst of these Broughams and Besoms, my lady. It’s the low down that +swallow the dust. It’s very fine to cry ‘King and Reform!’ +and drink the Corporation wine! But it will be ‘Between our sovereign +lord the King and the prisoner at the bar!’ one of these days! And their +throats will be dry enough then!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor misguided people!” Mary murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve all learned the Church Catechism,” the +schoolmistress replied shrewdly. “Or they should have; it’s lucky +for them—ay, you may shout, my lads—that there’s many a slip +between the neck and the rope—Lord ha’ mercy!” +</p> + +<p> +The last words fitted the context well enough; but they fell so abruptly from +her lips that Mary, who was bending over her mother, looked up in alarm. +“What is it?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Only,” Miss Sibson answered with composure, “what I ought to +have said long ago—that nothing can be worse for her ladyship than the +cold air that comes in at the cracks of this window!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not that,” Lady Sybil replied, smiling. “They +have set fire to the Mansion House, Mary. You can see the flames in the room on +the farther side of the door.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary uttered an exclamation of horror, and they all looked out. The Mansion +House was the most distant house on the north, or left-hand, side of the +Square, viewed from the window at which they stood; the house next Miss +Sibson’s being about the middle of the west side. Nearer them, on the +same side as the Mansion House, stood another public building—the Custom +House. And nearer again, being the most northerly house on their own side of +the Square, stood a third—the Excise Office. +</p> + +<p> +They had thus a fair, though a side view, of the front of the Mansion House, +and were able to watch, with what calmness they might, the flames shoot from +one window after another; until, presently, meeting in a waving veil of fire, +they hid—save when the wind blew them aside—all the upper part of +the house from their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +A great fire in the night, the savage, uncontrollable revolt of man’s +tamed servant—is at all times a terrible sight. Nor on this occasion was +it only the horror of the flames, roaring and crackling and pouring forth a +million of sparks, which chained their eyes. For as these rose, they shed an +intense light, not only on the heights of Redcliffe, visible above the east +side of the Square, and on the stately tower which rose from them, but on the +multitude below; on the hurrying forms that, monkey-like, played before the +flames and seemed to feed them, and on a still stranger sight, the expanse of +up-turned faces that, in the rear of the active rioters, extended to the +farthest limit of the Square. +</p> + +<p> +For it was the quiescence, it was the inertness of the gazing crowd which most +appalled the spectators at the window. To see that great house burn and to see +no man stretch forth a hand to quench it, this terrified. “Oh, but it is +frightful! It is horrible!” Mary exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to knock their heads together!” Miss Sibson cried +sternly. “What are the soldiers doing? What is anyone doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“They have hounded on the dogs,” Lady Sybil said slowly—she +alone seemed to view the sight with a dispassionate eye, “and they are +biting instead of barking! That is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dogs?” Miss Sibson echoed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, the dogs of Reform!” Lady Sybil replied cynically. +“Brougham’s dogs! Grey’s dogs! Russell’s dogs! I could +wish Sir Robert were here, it would so please him to see his words +fulfilled!” And then, as in surprise at the thing she had uttered, +“I wonder when I wished to please him before?” she muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but it is frightful!” Mary repeated, unable to remove her eyes +from the flames. +</p> + +<p> +It was frightful; even while they were all sane people in the room, and, +whatever their fears, restrained them. What then was it a moment later, when +the woman of the house burst in upon them, with a maid in wild hysterics +clinging to her, and another on the threshold screaming “Fire! +Fire!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all on fire at the back!” the woman panted. +“It’s on fire, it’s all on fire, my lady, at the back!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all—what?” Miss Sibson rejoined, in a tone which +had been known to quell the pertest of seventeen-year-old rebels. “It is +what, woman? On fire at the back? And if it is, is that a ground for forgetting +your manners? Where is your deportment? Fire, indeed! Are you aware whose room +this is? For shame! And you, silly,” she continued, addressing herself to +the maid, “be silent, and go outside, as becomes you.” +</p> + +<p> +But the maid, though she retreated to the door, continued to scream, and the +woman of the house to wring her hands. “You had better go and see what it +is,” Lady Sybil said, turning to the schoolmistress. For, strange to say, +she who a few hours before had groaned if a coal fell on the hearth, and +complained if her book slid from the couch, was now quite calm. +</p> + +<p> +“They are afraid of their own shadows,” Miss Sibson cried +contemptuously. “It is the reflection they have seen.” +</p> + +<p> +But she went. And as it was but a step to a window overlooking the rear, Mary +went with her. +</p> + +<p> +They looked. And for a moment something like panic seized them. The back of the +house was not immediately upon the quay, but through an opening in the +warehouses which fringed the latter it commanded a view of the water and the +masts, and of the sloping ground which rose to College Green. And high above, +dyeing the Floating Basin crimson, the Palace showed in a glow of fire; fire +which seemed to be on the point of attacking the Cathedral, of which every +pinnacle and buttress, with every chimney of the old houses clustered about it, +stood out in the hot glare. It was clear that the building had been burning +some time, for the roar of the flames could be heard, and almost the hiss of +the water as innumerable sparks floated down to it. +</p> + +<p> +Horror-struck, Mary grasped her companion’s arm. And “Good +Heavens!” Miss Sibson muttered. “The whole city will be +burned!” +</p> + +<p> +“And we are between the two fires,” Mary faltered. An involuntary +shudder might be pardoned her. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, but far enough from them,” the schoolmistress answered, +recovering herself. “On this side, the water makes us safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“And on the other?” +</p> + +<p> +“La, my dear,” Miss Sibson replied confidently. “The folks +are not going to burn their own houses. They are angry with the Corporation. +They hold them all one with Wetherell. And for the Bishop, they’ve so +abused him the last six months that he’s hardly dared to show his wig on +the streets, and it’s no wonder the poor ignorants think him fair game. +But we’re just ordinary folk, and they’ll no more harm us than fly. +But we must go back to your mother.” +</p> + +<p> +They went back, and wisely Miss Sibson made no mystery of the truth; repeating, +however, those arguments against giving way to alarm which she had used to +Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“The poor dear gentleman has lost his house,” she concluded +piously. “But we should be thankful he has another.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Sybil took the news with calmness; her eyes indeed seemed brighter, as if +she enjoyed the excitement. But the frightened woman at the door refused to be +comforted, and underlying the courage of the two who stood by Lady +Sybil’s couch was a secret uneasiness, which every cheer of the crowd +below the windows, every “huzza” which rose from the revellers, +every wild rush from one part of the Square to another tended to strengthen. In +her heart Miss Sibson owned that in all her experience she had known nothing +like this; no disorder so flagrant, so unbridled, so daring. She could carry +her mind back to the days when the cheek of England had paled at the Massacres +of September in Paris. The deeds of ’98 in Ireland, she had read morning +by morning in the journals. The Three Days of July, with their street fighting, +were fresh in all men’s minds—it was impossible to ignore their +bearing on the present conflagration. And if here was not the dawn of +Revolution, if here were not signs of the crash of things, appearances deceived +her. But even so, she was not to be dismayed. She believed that even in +revolutions a comfortable courage, sound sense, and a good appetite went far. +And “I’d like to hear John Thomas Gaisford talk to me of +guillotines!” she thought. “I’d make his ears burn!” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Mary was thinking that, whatever the emergency, her mother was too +ill to be moved. Miss Sibson might be right, the danger might be remote. But it +was barely midnight; and long hours of suspense must be lived through before +morning came. Meanwhile there were only women in the house, and, bravely as the +girl controlled herself, a cry more reckless than usual, an outburst of +cheering more savage, a rush below the windows, drove the blood to her heart. +And presently, while she gazed with shrinking eyes on the crowd, now blood-red +in the glow of the burning timbers, now lost for a moment in darkness, a groan +broke from it, and she saw pale flames appear at the windows of the house next +the Mansion House. They shot up rapidly, licking the front of the buildings. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson saw them at the same moment, and “The villains!” she +exclaimed. “God grant it be an accident!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Sybil laughed her shrill laugh. “The curs are biting bravely!” +she said. “What will Bristol say to this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Show them that they have gone too far!” Miss Sibson answered +stoutly. “The soldiers will act now, and put them in their places, as +they did in Wiltshire in the winter! And high time too!” +</p> + +<p> +But though they watched in tense anxiety for the first sign of action on the +part of the troops, for the first movement of the authorities, they gazed in +vain. The miscreants, who fed the flames and spread them, were few; and in the +Square were thousands who had property to lose, and friends and interests in +jeopardy. If a tithe only of those who looked on, quiescent and despairing, had +raised their hands, they could have beaten the rabble from the place. But no +man moved. The fear of coming trouble, which had been long in the air, +paralysed even the courageous, while the ignorant and the timid believed that +they saw a revolution in progress, and that henceforth the mob would +rule—and woe betide the man who set himself against it! As it had been in +Paris, so it would be here. And so the flames spread, before the eyes of the +terrified women at the window, before the eyes of the inert multitude, from the +house first attacked to its neighbour, and from that to the next and the next. +Until the noise of the conflagration, the crash of sinking walls, the crackling +of beams were as the roar of falling waters, and the Square in that hideous red +light, which every moment deepened, resembled an inferno, in which the devils +of hell played awful pranks, and wherein, most terrible sight of all, thousands +who in ordinary times held the salvation of property to be the first of duties, +stood with scared eyes, passive and cowed. +</p> + +<p> +It was such a scene—and they were only women, and alone in the +house—as the mind cannot imagine and the eye views but once in a +generation, nor ever forgets. In quiet Clifton, and on St. Michael’s +Hill, children were snatched from their midnight slumbers and borne into the +open, that they might see the city stretched below them in a pit of flame, with +the overarching fog at once confining and reflecting the glare. Dundry Tower, +five miles from the scene, shone a red portent visible for leagues; and in +Chepstow and South Monmouth, beyond the wide estuary of the Severn, the light +was such that men could see to read. From all the distant Mendips, and from the +Forest of Dean, miners and charcoal-burners gazed southward with scared faces, +and told one another that the revolution was begun; while Lansdowne Chase sent +riders galloping up the London Road with the news that all the West was up. +Long before dawn on the Monday horsemen and yellow chaises were carrying the +news through the night to Gloucester, to Southampton, to Salisbury, to Exeter, +to every place where scanty companies of foot lay, or yeomanry had their +headquarters. And where these passed, alarming the sleeping inns and +posthouses, panic sprang up upon their heels, and the travellers on the down +nightcoaches marvelled at the tales which met them with the daylight. +</p> + +<p> +If the sight viewed from a distance was so terrible as to appal a whole +countryside, if, on those who gazed at it from vantage spots of safety, and did +not guess at the dreadful details, it left an impression of terror never to be +effaced, what was it to the three women who, in the Square itself, watched the +onward march of the flames towards them, were blinded by the glare, choked by +the smoke, deafened by the roar? Whom distance saved from no feature of the +scene played under their windows: who could shun neither the savage cries of +the drunken rabble, dancing before the doomed houses, nor the sight, scarce +less amazing, of the insensibility which watched the march of the flames and +stretched forth not a finger to stay them! Who, chained by Lady Sybil’s +weakness to the place where they stood, saw house after house go up in flames, +until all the side of the Square adjoining their own was a wall of fire; and +who then were left to guess the progress, swift or slow, which the element was +making towards them! For whom the copper-hued fog above them must have seemed, +indeed, the roof of a furnace, from which escape grew moment by moment less +likely? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>XXXIV<br/> +HOURS OF DARKNESS</h2> + +<p> +Long before this the women of the house had fled, taking Lady Sybil’s +maid with them. And dreadful as was the situation of those who remained, +appalling as were the fears of two of them, they were able to control +themselves; the better because they knew that they had no aid but their own to +look to, and that their companion was helpless. Fortunately Lady Sybil, who had +watched the earlier phases of the riot with the detachment which is one of the +marks of extreme weakness, had at a certain point turned faint, and demanded to +be removed from the window. She was ignorant, therefore, of the approach of the +flames and of the imminence of the peril. She had even, in spite of the uproar, +dozed off, after a few minutes of trying irritation, into an uneasy sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Mary and Miss Sibson were thus left free. But for what? Compelled to watch in +suspense the progress of the flames, driven at times to fancy that they could +feel the heat of the fire, assailed more than once by gusts of fear, as one or +the other imagined that they were already cut off, they could not have held +their ground but for their unselfishness; but for their possession of those +qualities of love and heroism which raise women to the height of occasion, and +nerve them to a pitch of endurance of which men are rarely capable. In the +schoolmistress, with her powdered nose and her portly figure, and her dull past +of samplers and backboards and Mrs. Chapone, there dwelt as sturdy a spirit as +in any of the rough Bristol shipmasters from whom she sprang. She might be fond +of a sweetbread, and a glass of port might not come amiss to her. But the heart +in her was stout and large, and she had as soon dreamed of forsaking her +forlorn companions as those bluff sailormen would have dreamed of striking +their flag to a codfish Don, or to a shipload of mutinous slaves. +</p> + +<p> +And Mary? Perchance the gentlest and the mildest are also the bravest, when the +stress is real. Or perhaps those who have never known a mother’s love +cling to the veriest shred and tatter of it, if it fall in their way. Or +perhaps—but why explain that which all history has proved a hundred times +over—-that love casts out fear. Mary quailed, deafened by the thunder of +the fire, with the walls of the room turning blood-red round her, and the smoke +beginning to drift before the window. But she stood; and only once, assailed by +every form of fear, did her courage fail her, or sink below the stronger nerve +of the elder woman. +</p> + +<p> +That was when Miss Sibson, after watching that latest and most pregnant sign, +the eddying of smoke past the window, spoke out. “I’m going next +door,” she cried in Mary’s ear. “There are papers I must +save; they are all I have for my old age. The rest may go, but I can’t +see them burn when five minutes may save them.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mary clung to her desperately. “Oh!” she cried, +“don’t leave me!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson patted her shoulder. “I shall come back,” she said. +“I shall come back, my dear, never fear. And then we must move your +mother—into the Square if no better can be. Do you come down and let me +in when I knock three times.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Sybil was still dozing, with a woollen wrap about her head to deaden the +noise; and giving way to the cooler brain Mary went down with the +schoolmistress. In the hall the roar of the fire was less, for the only window +was shuttered. But the raucous voices of the mob, moving to and fro outside, +were more clearly heard. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson, however, remained undaunted. “Put up the chain the moment I +am outside,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But are you not afraid?” Mary cried, holding her back. +</p> + +<p> +“Of those scamps?” Miss Sibson replied truculently. “They had +better not touch me!” And she turned the key and slipped out. Nor did she +leave the step until Mary had put up the chain and re-locked the door. +</p> + +<p> +Mary waited—oh, many, many minutes it seemed—in the gloom of the +hall, pierced here and there by a lurid ray; with half her mind on her mother +upstairs, and the other half on the ribald laughter, the drunken oaths and +threats and curses which penetrated from the Square. It was plain that Miss +Sibson had not gone too soon, for twice or thrice the door was struck with some +heavy instrument, and harsh voices called on the inmates to open if they did +not wish to be burned. Uncertain how the fire advanced, Mary heard them with a +sick heart. But she held her ground, until, oh, joy! she heard voices raised in +altercation, and among them the schoolmistress’s. A hand knocked thrice, +she turned the key and let down the chain. The door opened upon her, and on the +steps, with her hand on a man’s shoulder, appeared Miss Sibson. Behind +her and her captive, between them and that background of flame and confusion, +stood a group of four or five men—dock labourers, in tarpaulins and +frocks, who laughed tipsily. +</p> + +<p> +“This lad will help to carry your mother out,” Miss Sibson said +with the utmost coolness. “Come, my lad, and no nonsense! You don’t +want to burn a sick lady in her bed!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t, Missis,” the man grumbled sheepishly. +“But I’m none here for that! I’m none here for that, +and——” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll do it, all the same,” the schoolmistress replied. +“And I want one more. Here, you,” she continued, addressing a +grinning hobbledehoy in a sealskin cap. “I know your face, and +you’ll want someone to speak for you at the Assizes. Come in, you two, +and the rest must wait until the lady’s carried out!” +</p> + +<p> +And thereon, with that strange mixture of humanity and unreasoning fury of +which the night left many examples, the men complied. The two whom she had +chosen entered, the others suffered her to shut the door in their faces. Only, +“You’ll be quick!” one bawled after her. “She’s +afire next door!” +</p> + +<p> +That was the warning that went with them upstairs, and it nerved them for the +task before them. Over that task it were well to draw a veil. The poor sick +woman, roused anew and abruptly to a sense of her surroundings, to the +flickering lights, the smell of smoke, the strange faces, to all the horrors of +that scene rarely equalled in our modern England, shrieked aloud. The courage, +which had before upheld her, deserted her. She refused to be moved, refused to +believe that they were there to save her; she failed even to recognise her +daughter, she resisted their efforts, and whatever Mary could say or do, she +added to the peril of the moment all the misery which frantic terror and +unavailing shrieks could add. They did not know, while they reasoned with her, +and tried to lift her, and strove to cloak her against the outer air, the +minute at which the house might be entered; nor even that it was not already +entered, already in some part on fire. The girl, though her hands were steady, +though she never wavered, though she persisted, was white as paper. And even +Miss Sibson was almost unnerved, when at last nature came to their aid, and +with a frantic protest, a last attempt to thrust them from her, the poor woman +swooned; and the men who had looked on, as unhappy as those engaged, lifted the +couch and bore her down the stairs. Odd are the windings of chance and fate. +These men, in whom every good instinct was awakened by the sight before them, +might, had the schoolmistress’s eye alighted on others, have plundered on +with their fellows; and with the more luckless of those fellows have stood on +the scaffold a month later! +</p> + +<p> +Still, time had been lost. And perforce the men descended slowly, so that as +they reached the hall the door gave way, and admitted a dozen rascals, who +tumbled over one another in their greed. The moment was critical, the inrush of +horrid sounds and sights appalling. But Mary rose to the occasion. With a +courage which from this time remained with her to the end, she put herself +forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you let us pass out?” she said. “My mother is ill. You +do not wish to harm her?” +</p> + +<p> +Now Lady Sybil had made Mary put off the Quaker-like costume in which she had +wished to nurse her, and she had had no time to cover the light muslin dress +she wore. The men saw before them a beautiful creature, white-robed, +bareheaded, barenecked—even the schoolmistress had not snatched up so +much as a cloak—a Una with sweet shining eyes, before whom they fell +aside abashed. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord love you, Miss!” one cried heartily. “Take her out! And +God bless you!” while the others grinned fatuously. +</p> + +<p> +So down the steps and into the turmoil of the seething Square, walled on two +sides by fire, and full of a drunken, frenzied rabble—for all decent +onlookers had fled, awake at last to the result of their quiescence—the +strange procession moved, the girl going first. Tipsy groups, singing and +dancing delirious jigs to the music of falling walls, pillagers hurrying in +ruthless haste from house to house, or quarrelling over their spoils, +householders striving to save a remnant of their goods from dwellings past +saving—all made way for it. Men who swayed on their feet, brandishing +their arms and shouting obscene songs, being touched on the shoulder by others, +stared, and gave place with mouths agape. Even boys, whom the madness of that +night made worse than men, and unsexed women, shrank at sight of it, and were +silent—nay, followed with a strange homage the slender white figure, the +shining eyes, the pure sweet face. +</p> + +<p> +In the worst horrors of the French Revolution it is said that the devotion of a +daughter stayed the hands which were raised to slay her father. Even so, on +this night in Bristol, amid surroundings less bloody, but almost as appalling, +the wildest and the most furious made way for the daughter and the mother. +</p> + +<p> +Led by instinct rather than by calculation, Mary did not pause, or look aside, +but moved onward, until she reached the middle of the Square; until some sixty +or seventy yards divided her charge from the nearest of the burning houses. The +heat was less scorching here, the crowd less compact. A fixed seat afforded +shelter on one side, and by it she signed to the bearers to set the couch down. +The statue stood not far away on the other side, and secured them against the +ugly rushes which were caused from time to time by the fall of a roof or a rain +of sparks. +</p> + +<p> +Mary gazed round her in stupor. And no wonder. The whole of the north side of +the great Square, and a half of the west side—thirty lofty houses in +all—were in flames, or were sinking in red-hot ruin. The long wall of +fire, the canopy of glowing smoke, the ceaseless roar of the element, the +random movements of the forms which, pigmy-like, played between her and the +conflagration, the doom which threatened the whole city, held her awestruck, +spellbound, fascinated. +</p> + +<p> +But even the feelings which she experienced, confronted by that sight, were +exceeded by the emotions of one who had seen her advance, and, at first with +horror, then as he recognised her, with incredulity, had watched the white +figure which threaded its way through this rout of satyrs, this orgy of +recklessness. She had not succeeded in wresting her eyes from the spectacle +before a trembling hand fell on her arm, and the last voice she expected to +hear called her by name. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary!” Sir Robert cried. “Mary! My God! What are you doing +here?” For, taken up with staring at her, he had seen neither who +accompanied her nor what they bore. +</p> + +<p> +A sob of relief and joy broke from her, as she recognised him and flung herself +into his arms and clung to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried. “Oh!” She could say no more at that +moment. But the joy of it! To have at last a man to turn to, a man to lean +upon, a man to look to! +</p> + +<p> +And still he could not grasp the position. “My God!” he repeated in +wonder. “What, child, what are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +But before she could answer him, his eyes sank to the level of the couch, which +the figures about it shaded from the scorching light. And he started—and +stepped back. In a lower voice and a quavering tone he called upon his Maker. +He was beginning to understand. +</p> + +<p> +“We had to bring her out,” she sobbed. “We had to bring her +out. The house is on fire. See!” She pointed to the house beside Miss +Sibson’s, from the upper windows of which smoke was beginning to curl and +eddy. Men were pouring from the door below, carrying their booty and jostling +others who sought to enter. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been here all day?” he asked, passing his hand over his +brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“All day? All day?” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +He covered his eyes with his hand, while Mary, recalled by a touch from Miss +Sibson, knelt beside her mother, to feel her pulse, to rub her hands, to make +sure that life still lingered in the inanimate frame. He had not asked, he did +not ask who it was over whom his daughter hung with so tender a solicitude. He +did not even look at the cloaked figure. But the sidelong glance which at once +sought and shunned, the quivering of his mouth, which his shaking fingers did +not avail to hide, the agitation which unnerved a frame, erect but feeble, all +betrayed his knowledge. And what must have been his thoughts, how poignant his +reflections as he considered that there, there, enveloped in those shapeless +wraps, there lay the bride whom he had wedded with hopes so high a score of +years before! The mother of his child, the wife whom he had last seen in the +pride of her beauty, the woman from whom he had been parted for sixteen years, +and who through all those sixteen years had never been absent from his thoughts +for an hour, nor ever been aught in them but an abiding, clinging, embittering +memory—she lay there! +</p> + +<p> +What wonder, if the scene about them rolled away and he saw her again in the +stately gardens at Stapylton, walking, smiling, talking, flirting, the gayest +of the gay, the lightest of the butterflies, the admired of all? Or if his +heart bled at the remembrance—at that remembrance and many another? Or +again, what wonder if his mind went back to long hours of brooding in his +sombre library, hours given up to the rehearsal of grave remonstrances, vain +reproofs, bitter complaints, all destined to meet with defiance? And if his +head sank lower, his hands trembled more senilely, his breast heaved at this +picture of the irrevocable past? +</p> + +<p> +Of all the strange things wrought in Bristol that night, of all the strangely +begotten brood of riot and fire, and Reform, none were stranger than this +meeting, if meeting that could be called where one was ignorant of the +other’s presence, and he would not look upon her face. For he would not, +perhaps he dared not. He stood with bent head, pondering and absorbed, until an +uprush of sparks, more fiery than usual, and the movement of the crowd to avoid +them, awoke him from his thoughts. Then his eyes fell on Mary’s uncovered +head and neck, and he took the cloak from his own shoulders and put it on her, +with a touch as if he blessed her. She was kneeling beside the couch at the +moment, her head bent to her mother’s, her hair mingling with her +mother’s, but he contrived to close his eyes and would not see his +wife’s face. +</p> + +<p> +After that he moved to the farther side of the couch, where some sneaking +hobbledehoys showed a disposition to break in upon them. And old as he was, and +shaken and weary, he stood sentry there, a gaunt stooping figure, for long +hours, until the prayed-for day began to break above Redcliffe and to discover +the grim relics of the night’s work. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>XXXV<br/> +THE MORNING OF MONDAY</h2> + +<p> +It has been said that midnight of that Sunday saw the alarm speeding along +every road by which the forces of order could hope to be recruited; +nevertheless in Bristol itself nothing was done to stay the work of havoc. A +change had indeed come over the feeling in the city; for to acquiescence had +succeeded the most lively alarm, and to approval, rage and boundless +indignation. But the handful of officials who all day long had striven, +honestly if not very capably, to restore order, were exhausted; and the public +without cohesion or leaders were in no state to make head against the rioters. +So great, indeed, was the confusion that a troop of Gloucestershire Yeomanry +which rode in soon after dark received neither orders nor billets; and being +poorly led, withdrew within the hour. This, with the tumult at Bath, where the +quarters of the Yeomanry were beset by a mob of Reformers, who would not let +them go to the rescue, completed the isolation of the city. +</p> + +<p> +One man only, indeed, in the midst of that welter, had it in his power to +intervene with effect. And he could not be found. From Queen’s Square to +Leigh’s Bazaar, where the Third Dragoons stood inactive by their horses; +from Leigh’s to the Recruiting Office on College Green, where a couple of +non-commissioned officers stood inactive; from the Recruiting Office to his +lodgings in Unity Street, men, panting and protesting, in terror for their +property, hurried in vain nightmare pursuit of that man. For to such men it +seemed impossible that in face of the damage already done, of thirty houses in +flames, of a mob which had broken all bounds, of a city disturbed to its +entrails, he could still refuse to act. +</p> + +<p> +But to go to Unity Street was one thing, and to gain speech with Brereton was +another. He had gone to bed. He was asleep. He was not well. He was worn out +and was resting. The seekers, with the roar of the fire in their ears and ruin +staring them in the face, heard these incredible things, and went away, +swearing profanely. Nor did anyone, it would seem, gain speech with him, until +the small hours were well advanced. Then Arthur Vaughan, unable to abide by the +vow he had taken not to importune him, arrived, he, too, furious, at the door, +and found a knot of gentlemen clamouring for admission. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan had parted from Sir Robert Vermuyden some hours earlier, believing +that, bad as things were, he might make head against the rioters, if he could +rally his constables. But he had found no one willing to act without the +soldiery; and he was here in the last resort, determined to compel Colonel +Brereton to move, if it were by main force. For Vaughan had the law-keeping +instincts of an Englishman and his blood boiled at the sights he had seen in +the streets, at the wanton destruction of property, at the jeopardy of life, at +the women made homeless, at the men made paupers. Nor was it quite out of his +thoughts that if anything could harm the cause of Reform it was these deeds +done in its name, these outrages fulfilling to the letter the worst which its +enemies had predicted of it! +</p> + +<p> +He spoke a few words to the persons who, angry and nonplussed, were wrangling +at the door, then he pushed his way in, deaf to the remonstrances of the woman +of the house. He did not believe, he could not believe the excuse +given—that Brereton was in bed. Nero, fiddling while Rome burned, seemed +nought beside that! And his surprise was great when, opening the sitting-room +door, he saw before him only the Honourable Bob; who, standing on the +hearth-rug, met his indignant look with one of forced and sickly amusement. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens!” Vaughan cried, staring at him. “What are you +doing here? Where’s the Chief?” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton shrugged his shoulders. “There,” he said irritably, +“it’s no use blaming me! Man alive, if he won’t, he +won’t! And it’s his business, not mine!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’d make it mine!” Vaughan retorted. “Where is +he?” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton flicked his thumb in the direction of an inner door. “He’s +there,” he said. “He’s there safe enough! For the rest, it is +easy to find fault! Very easy for you, my lad! You’re no longer in the +service.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are a good many will leave the service for this!” Vaughan +replied; and he saw on the instant that the shot told. Flixton’s face +fell, he opened his mouth to reply. But disdaining to listen to excuses, of +which the speaker’s manner betrayed the shallowness, Vaughan opened the +bedroom door and passed in. +</p> + +<p> +To his boundless astonishment Brereton was really in bed, with a light beside +him. Asleep he probably was not, for he rose at once to a sitting posture and, +with wild and dishevelled hair, confronted the intruder with a mingling of +wrath and discomfiture in his looks. His sword and an undress cap, blue with a +silver band, lay beside the candle on the table, and Vaughan saw that though in +his shirt-sleeves he was not otherwise undressed. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Vaughan!” he cried. “What, if you please, does this +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I am here to ask you!” Vaughan answered, his face +flushed with indignation. He was too angry to pick his words. “Are you, +can you be aware, sir, what is done while you sleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sleep?” Brereton rejoined, with a sombre gleam in his eyes. +“Sleep, man? God knows it is the last thing I do!” He clapped his +hand to his brow and for a moment remained silent, holding it there. Then, +“Sleep has been a stranger to me these three nights!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Then what do you do here?” Vaughan answered, in astonishment. And +looked round the room as if he might find his answer there. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” Brereton rejoined, with a look half suspicious, half cunning. +“That is another matter. But never mind! Never mind! I know what I am +doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Know——” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, well!” the soldier replied, bringing his feet to the floor, +but continuing to keep his seat on the bed. “Very well, sir, I assure +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked aghast at him. “But, Colonel Brereton,” he rejoined, +“do you consider that you are the only person in this city able to act? +That without you nothing can be done and nothing can be ventured?” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” Brereton returned, with the same shrewd look, “is +just what I do consider! Without me they cannot act! They cannot venture. And +I—go to bed!” +</p> + +<p> +He chuckled at it, as at a jest; and Vaughan, checked by the oddity of his +manner, and with a growing suspicion in his mind, knew not what to think. For +answer, at last, “I fear that you will not be able to go to bed, Colonel +Brereton,” he said gravely, “when the moment comes to face the +consequences.” +</p> + +<p> +“The consequences?” +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot think that a city such as this can be destroyed, and no one +be called to account?” +</p> + +<p> +“But the civil power——” +</p> + +<p> +“Is impotent!” Vaughan answered, with returning indignation, +“in the face of the disorder now prevailing! I warn you! A little more +delay, a little more license, let the people’s passions be fanned by +farther impunity, and nothing, nothing, I warn you, Colonel Brereton,” he +continued with emphasis, “can save the major part of the city from +destruction!” +</p> + +<p> +Brereton rose to his feet, a certain wildness in his aspect. “Good +God!” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean it! Do you really mean +it, Vaughan? But—but what can I do?” He sank down on the bed again, +and stared at his companion. “Eh? What can I do? Nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything!” +</p> + +<p> +He sprang to his feet. “Everything! You say everything?” he cried, +and his tone rose shrill and excited. “But you don’t know!” +he continued, lowering his voice as quickly as he had raised it and laying his +hand on Vaughan’s sleeve—“you don’t know! You +don’t know! But I know! Man, I was set in command here on purpose. If I +acted they counted on putting the blame on me. And if I didn’t +act—they would still put the blame on me.” +</p> + +<p> +His cunning look shocked Vaughan. +</p> + +<p> +“But even so, sir,” he answered, “you can do your +duty.” +</p> + +<p> +“My duty?” Brereton repeated, raising his voice again. “And +do you think it is my duty to precipitate a useless struggle? To begin a civil +war? To throw away the lives of my own men and cut down innocent folk? To fill +the streets with blood and slaughter? And the end the same?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, sir, I do,” Vaughan answered sternly. “If by so doing a +worse calamity may be averted! And, for your men’s lives, are they not +soldiers? For your own life, are you not a soldier? And will you shun a +soldier’s duty?” +</p> + +<p> +Brereton clapped his hand to his brow, and, holding it there, paced the room in +his shirt and breeches. +</p> + +<p> +“My God! My God!” he cried, as he went. “I do not know what +to do! But if—if it be as bad as you say——” +</p> + +<p> +“It is as bad, and worse!” +</p> + +<p> +“I might try once more,” looking at Vaughan with a troubled, +undecided eye, “what showing my men might do? What do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan thought that if he were once on the spot, if he saw with his own eyes +the lawlessness of the mob, he might act. And he assented. “Shall I pass +on the order, sir,” he added, “while you dress?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think you may. Yes, certainly. Tell the officer commanding to +march his men to the Square and I’ll meet him there.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan waited for no more. He suspected that the burden of responsibility had +proved too heavy for Brereton’s mind. He suspected that the Colonel had +brooded upon his position between a Whig Government and a Whig mob until the +notion that he was sent there to be a scapegoat had become a fixed idea; and +with it the determination that he would not be forced into strong measures, had +become also a fixed idea. +</p> + +<p> +Such a man, if he was to be blamed, was to be pitied also. And Vaughan, even in +the heat of his indignation, did pity him. But he entertained no such feeling +for the Honourable Bob, and in delivering the order to him he wasted no words. +After Flixton had left the room, however, he remembered that he had noted a +shade of indecision in the aide’s manner. And warned by it, he followed +him. “I will come with you to Leigh’s,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Better come all the way,” Flixton replied, with covert insolence. +“We’ve half a dozen spare horses.” +</p> + +<p> +The next moment he was sorry he had spoken. For, “Done with you!” +Vaughan cried. “There’s nothing I’d like better!” +</p> + +<p> +Flixton grunted. He had overreached himself, but he could not withdraw the +offer. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan was by his side, and plainly meant to accompany him. +</p> + +<p> +Let no man think that the past is done with, though he sever it as he will. The +life from which he has cut himself off in disgust has none the less cast the +tendrils of custom about his heart, which shoot and bud when he least expects +it. Vaughan stood in the doorway of the stable while the men bridled. He viewed +the long line of tossing heads, and the smoky lanthorns fixed to the +stall-posts; he sniffed the old familiar smell of “Stables.” And he +felt his heart leap to the past. Ay, even as it leapt a few minutes later, when +he rode down College Green, now in darkness, now in glare, and heard beside him +the familiar clank of spur and scabbard, the rattle of the bridle-chains, and +the tramp of the shod hoofs. On the men’s left, as they descended the +slope at a walk, the tall houses stood up in bright light; below them on the +right the Float gleamed darkly; above them, the mist glowed red. Wild hurrahing +and an indescribable babel of shouts, mingled with the rushing roar of the +flames, rose from the Square. When the troop rode into it with the first dawn, +they saw that two whole sides—with the exception of a pair of +houses—were burnt or burning. In addition a monster warehouse was on fire +in the rear, a menace to every building to windward of it. +</p> + +<p> +The Colonel, with Flixton attending him, fell in on the flank, as the troop +entered the Square. But apparently—since he gave no orders—he did +not share the tingling indignation which Vaughan experienced as he viewed the +scene. A few persons were still engaged in removing their goods from houses on +the south side; but save for these, the decent and respectable had long since +fled the place, and left it a prey to all that was most vile and dangerous in +the population of a rough seaport. The rabble, left to themselves, and +constantly recruited as the news flew abroad, had cast off the fear of +reprisals, and believed that at last the city was their own. Vaughan saw that +if the dragoons were to act with effect they must act at once. Nor was he alone +in this opinion. The troop had not ridden far into the open before he was +shocked, as well as astonished, by the appearance of Sir Robert Vermuyden, who +stumbled across the Square towards them. He was bareheaded—for in an +encounter with a prowler who had approached too near he had lost his hat; he +was without his cloak, though the morning was cold. His face, too, unshorn and +haggard, added to the tragedy of his appearance; yet in a sense he was himself, +and he tried to steady his voice, as, unaware of Vaughan’s presence, he +accosted the nearest trooper. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is in command, my man?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Flixton, who had also recognised him, thrust his horse forward. “Good +Heavens, Sir Robert!” he cried. “What are you doing here? And in +this state?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind me,” the Baronet replied. “Are you in +command?” +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Brereton had halted his men. He came forward. “No, Sir +Robert,” he said. “I am. And very sorry to see you in this +plight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take no heed of me, sir,” Sir Robert replied sternly. Through how +many hours, hours long as days, had he not watched for the soldiers’ +coming! “Take no heed of me, sir,” he repeated. “Unless you +have orders to abandon the loyal people of Bristol to their fate—act! +Act, sir! If you have eyes, you can see that the mob are beginning to fire the +south side on which the shipping abuts. Let that take fire and you cannot save +Bristol!” +</p> + +<p> +Brereton looked in the direction indicated, but he did not answer. Flixton did. +“We understand all that,” he said, somewhat cavalierly. “We +see all that, Sir Robert, believe me. But the Colonel has to think of many +things; of more than the immediate moment. We are the only force in Bristol, +and——” +</p> + +<p> +“Apparently Bristol is no better for you!” Sir Robert replied with +tremulous passion. +</p> + +<p> +So far Vaughan, a horse’s length behind Brereton and his aide, heard what +passed; but with half his mind. For his eyes, roving in the direction whence +Sir Robert had come, had discerned, amid a medley of goods and persons huddled +about the statue, in the middle of the Square, a single figure, slender, erect, +in black and white, which appeared to be gazing towards him. At first he +resisted as incredible the notion which besieged him—at sight of that +figure. But the longer he looked the more sure he became that it was, it was +Mary! Mary, gazing towards him out of that welter of miserable and shivering +figures, as if she looked to him for help! +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps he should have asked Sir Robert’s leave, to go to her. Perhaps +Colonel Brereton’s to quit the troop, which he had volunteered to +accompany. But he gave no thought to either. He slipped from his saddle, flung +the reins to the nearest man, and, crossing the roadway in three strides, he +made towards her through the skulking groups who warily watched the dragoons, +or hailed them tipsily, and in the name of Reform invited them to drink. +</p> + +<p> +And Mary, who had risen in alarm to her feet, and was gazing after her father, +her only hope, her one protection through the night, saw Vaughan coming, tall +and stern, through the prowling night-birds about her, as if she had seen an +angel! She said not a word, when he came near and she was sure. Nor did he say +more than “Mary!” But he threw into that word so much of love, of +joy, of relief, of forgiveness—and of the appeal for +forgiveness—that it brought her to his arms, it left her clinging to his +breast. All his coldness in Parliament Street, his cruelty on the coach, her +father’s opposition, all were forgotten by her, as if they had not been! +</p> + +<p> +And for him, she might have been the weakest of the weak, and fickle and +changeable as the weather, she might have been all that she was +not—though he had yet to learn that and how she had carried herself that +night—but he knew that in spite of all he loved her. She had the old +charm for him! She was still the one woman in the world for him! And she was in +peril. But for that there is no knowing how long he might have held her. That +thought, however, presently overcame all others, made him insensible even to +the sweetness of that embrace, ay, even put words in his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“How come you here?” he cried. “How come you here, +Mary?” +</p> + +<p> +She freed herself and pointed to her mother. “I am with her,” she +said. “We had to bring her here. It was all we could do.” +</p> + +<p> +He lowered his eyes and saw what she was guarding; and he understood something +of the tragedy of that night. From the couch came a low continuous moaning +which made the hair rise on his head. He looked at Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“She is insensible,” she said quietly. “She does not know +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must remove her!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him, and from him to that part of the Square where the rioters +wrought still at their fiendish work. And she shuddered. “Where can we +take her?” she answered. “They are beginning to burn that side +also.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we must remove them!” he answered sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s sense!” a hearty voice cried at his elbow. “And +the first I’ve heard this night!” On which he became aware of Miss +Sibson, or rather of a stout body swathed in queer wrappings, who spoke in the +schoolmistress’s tones, and though pale with fatigue continued to show a +brave face to the mischief about her. “That’s talking!” she +continued. “Do that, and you’ll do a man’s work!” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you have courage if I leave you?” he asked. And when Mary, +bravely but with inward terror, answered “Yes,” he told her in +brief sentences—with his eyes on the movements in the Square—what +to do, if the rabble made a rush in that direction, and what to do, if the +troops charged too near them, and how, by lying down, to avoid danger if the +crowd resorted to firearms, since untrained men fired high. Then he touched +Miss Sibson on the arm. “You’ll not leave her?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“God bless the man, no!” the schoolmistress replied. “Though, +for the matter of that, she’s as well able to take care of me as I of +her!” +</p> + +<p> +Which was not quite true. Or why in after-days did Miss Sibson, at many a cosy +whist-party and over many a glass of hot negus, tell of a particular box on the +ear with which she routed a young rascal, more forward than civil? Ay, and +dilate with boasting on the way his teeth had rattled, and the gibes with which +his fellows had seen him driven from the field? +</p> + +<p> +But, if not quite true, it satisfied Vaughan. He went from them in a cold heat, +and finding Sir Robert, still at words and almost at blows with the officers, +was going to strike in, when another did so. Daylight was slowly overcoming the +glare of the fire and dispelling the shadows which had lain the deeper and more +confusing for that glare. It laid the grey of reality upon the scene, showing +all things in their true colours, the ruins more ghastly, the pale licking +flames more devilish. The fire, which had swept two sides of the Square, +leaving only charred skeletons of houses, with vacant sockets gaping to the +sky, was now attacking the third side, of which the two most westerly houses +were in flames. It was this, and the knowledge of its meaning, that, before +Vaughan could interpose, flung at Colonel Brereton a man white with passion, +and stuttering under the pressure of feelings too violent for utterance. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see? Do you see?” he cried brandishing his fist in +Brereton’s face—it was Cooke. “You traitor! If the fire +catches the fourth house on that side, it’ll get the shipping! The +shipping, d’you hear, you Radical? Then the Lord knows what’ll +escape? But, thank God, you’ll hang! You’ll—if it gets to the +fourth house, I tell you, it’ll catch the rigging by the Great Crane! Are +you going to move?” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan did not wait for Brereton’s answer. “We must charge, +Colonel Brereton!” he cried, in a voice which burst the bonds of +discipline, and showed that he was determined that others should burst them +also. “Colonel Brereton,” he repeated, setting his horse in motion, +“we must charge without a moment’s delay!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait!” Brereton answered hoarsely. “Wait! Let +me——” +</p> + +<p> +“We must charge!” Vaughan replied, his face pale, his mind made up. +And turning in his saddle he waved his hand to the men. “Forward!” +he cried, raising his voice to its utmost. “Trot! Charge, men, and charge +home!” +</p> + +<p> +He spurred his horse to the front, and the whole troop, some thirty strong, set +in motion by the magic of his voice, followed him. Even Brereton, after a +moment’s hesitation, fell in a length behind him. The horses broke into a +trot, then into a canter. As they bore down along the south side upon the +southwest corner, a roar of rage and alarm rose from the rioters collected +there; and scores and hundreds fled, screaming, and sought safety to right and +left. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan had time to turn to Brereton, and cry, “I beg your pardon, sir; I +could not help it!” The next moment he and the leading troopers were upon +the fleeing, dodging, ducking crowd; were upon them and among them. Half a +dozen swords gleamed high and fell, the horses did the rest. The rabble, taken +by surprise, made no resistance. In a trice the dragoons were through the mob, +and the roadway showed clear behind them. Save where here and there a man rose +slowly and limped away, leaving a track of blood at his heels. +</p> + +<p> +“Steady! Steady!” Vaughan cried. “Halt! Halt! Right +about!” and then, “Charge!” +</p> + +<p> +He led the men back over the same ground, chasing from it such as had dared to +return, or to gather upon the skirts of the troop. Then he led his men along +the east side, clearing that also and driving the rioters in a panic into the +side streets. Resistance worthy of the name there was none, until, having led +the troop back across the open Square and cleared that of the skulkers, he came +back again to the southwest corner. There the rabble, rallying from their +surprise, had taken up a position in the forecourts of the houses, where they +were protected by the railings. They met the soldiers with a volley of stones, +and half a dozen pistol-shots. A horse fell, two or three of the men were hit; +for an instant there was confusion. Then Vaughan spurred his horse into one of +the forecourts, and, followed by half a dozen troopers, cleared it, and the +next and the next; on which, volunteers who sprang up, as by magic, at the +first act of authority, entered the houses, killed one rioter, flung out the +rest, and extinguished the flames. Still the more determined of the rascals, +seeing the small number against them, clung to the place and the forecourts; +and, driven from one court, retreated to another, and still protected by the +railings, kept the troopers at bay with missiles. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan, panting with his exertions, took in the position, and looked round for +Brereton. +</p> + +<p> +“We must send for the Fourteenth, sir!” he said. “We are not +enough to do more than hold them in check.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is nothing else for it now,” Brereton replied, with a gloomy +face and in such a tone that the very men shrank from looking at him; +understanding, the very dullest of them, what his feelings must be, and how +great his shame, who, thus superseded, saw another successful in that which it +had been his duty to attempt. +</p> + +<p> +And what were Vaughan’s feelings? He dared not allow himself the luxury +of a glance towards the middle of the Square. Much less—but for a +different reason—had he the heart to meet Brereton’s eyes. +“I’m not in uniform, sir,” he said. “I can pass through +the crowd. If you think fit, and will give me the order, I’ll fetch them, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Brereton nodded without a word, and Vaughan wheeled his horse to start. As he +pushed it clear of the troop he passed Flixton. +</p> + +<p> +“That was capital!” the Honourable Bob cried heartily. +“Capital! We’ll handle ’em easily now, till you come +back!” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan did not answer, nor did he look at Flixton; his look would have +conveyed too much. Instead, he put his horse into a trot along the east side of +the Square, and, regardless of a dropping fire of stones, made for the opening +beside the ruins of the Mansion House. At the last moment, he looked back, to +see Mary if it were possible. But he had waited too long, he could distinguish +only confused forms about the base of the statue; and he must look to himself. +His road to Keynsham lay through the lowest and most dangerous part of the +city. +</p> + +<p> +But though the streets were full of rough men, navigators and seamen, whose +faces were set towards the Square, and who eyed him suspiciously as he rode by +them, none made any attempt to stop him. And when he had crossed Bristol Bridge +and had gained the more open outskirts towards Totterdown, where he could urge +his horse to a gallop, the pale faces of men and women at door and window +announced that it was not only the upper or the middle class which had taken +fright, and longed for help and order. Through Brislington and up Durley Hill +he pounded; and it must be confessed that his heart was light. Whatever came of +it, though they court-martialled him, were that possible, though they tried +him, he had done something, he had done right, and he had succeeded. Whatever +the consequences, whatever the results to himself, he had dared; and his +daring, it might be, had saved a city! Of the charge, indeed, he thought +nothing, though she had seen it. It was nothing, for the danger had been of the +slightest, the defence contemptible. But in setting discipline at defiance, in +superseding the officer commanding the troops, in taking the whole +responsibility on his own shoulders—a responsibility which few would have +dreamed of taking—there he had dared, there he had played the man, there +he had risen to the occasion! If he had been a failure in the House, here, by +good fortune, he had not been a failure. And she would know it. Oh, happy +thought! And happy man, riding out of Bristol with the murk and smoke and fog +at his back, and the sunshine on his face! +</p> + +<p> +For the sun was above the horizon as, with full heart, he rode down the hill +into Keynsham, and heard the bugle sound “Boots and saddles!” and +poured into sympathetic ears—-and to an accompaniment of strong +words—the tale of the night’s doings. +</p> + +<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:20pt">* * * * * +</p> + +<p> +An hour later he rode in with the Fourteenth and heard the Blues welcomed with +thanksgiving, in the very streets which had stoned them from the city +twenty-four hours before. By that time the officer in command of the main body +of the Fourteenth at Gloucester had posted over, followed by another troop, +and, seeing the state of things, had taken his own line and assumed, though +junior to Colonel Brereton, the command of the forces. +</p> + +<p> +After that the thing became a military evolution. One hour, two hours at most, +and twenty charges along the quays and through the streets sufficed—at +the cost of a dozen lives—to convince the most obstinate of the rabble of +several things. <i>Imprimis</i>, that the reign of terror was not come. On the +contrary, that law and order, and also Red Judges, survived. That Reform did +not spell fire and pillage, and that at these things even a Reforming +Government could not wink. In a word, by noon of that day, Monday, and many and +many an hour before the ruins had ceased to smoke, the bubble which might have +been easily burst before was pricked. Order reigned in Bristol, patrols were +everywhere, two thousand zealous constables guarded the streets. And though +troops still continued to hasten by every road to the scene, though all England +trembled with alarm, and distant Woolwich sent its guns, and Greenwich horsed +them, and the Yeomanry of six counties mustered on Clifton Down, or were +quartered on the public buildings, the thing was nought by that time. Arthur +Vaughan had pricked it in the early morning light when he cried +“Charge!” in Queen’s Square. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>XXXVI<br/> +FORGIVENESS</h2> + +<p> +The first wave of thankfulness for crowning blessings or vital escapes has a +softening quality against which the hearts of few are wholly proof. Old things, +old hopes, old ties, old memories return on that gentle flood tide to eyes and +mind. The barriers raised by time, the furrows of ancient wrong are levelled +with the plain, and the generous breast cries “<i>Non nobis!</i> Not to +us only be the benefit!” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lansdowne, with something of this kind in her thoughts and pity in her +heart, sat eying Miss Sibson in a silence which disclosed nothing, and which +the schoolmistress found irksome. Miss Sibson could beard Sir Robert at need; +but of the great of her own sex—and she knew Lady Lansdowne for a very +great lady, indeed—her sturdy nature went a little in awe. Had her +ladyship encroached indeed, Miss Sibson would have known how to put her in her +place. But a Lady Lansdowne perfectly polite and wholly silent imposed on her. +She rubbed her nose and was glad when the visitor spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert has not seen her, then?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson smoothed out the lap of her dress. “No, my lady, not since +she was brought into the house. Indeed, I can’t say that he saw her +before, for he never looked at her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think that I could see her?” +</p> + +<p> +The schoolmistress hesitated. “Well, my lady,” she said, “I +am afraid that she will hardly live through the day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he must see her,” Lady Lansdowne replied quickly. And Miss +Sibson observed with surprise that there were tears in the great lady’s +eyes. “He must see her. Is she conscious?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s so-so,” Miss Sibson answered more at her ease. After +all, the great lady was human, it seemed. “She wanders, and thinks that +she is in France, my lady; believes there’s a revolution, and that they +are come to take her to prison. Her mind harps continually on things of that +kind. And not much wonder either! But, then again she’s herself. So that +you don’t know from one minute to another whether she’s sensible or +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor thing!” Lady Lansdowne murmured. “Poor woman!” +Her lips moved without sound. Presently, “Her daughter is with +her?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“She has scarcely left her for a minute since she was carried in,” +Miss Sibson answered warmly. And to her eyes, too, there rose something like a +tear. “Only with difficulty have I made her take the most necessary rest. +But if your ladyship pleases, I will ask whether she will see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do so, if you please.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sibson retired for this purpose, and Lady Lansdowne, left to herself, rose +and looked from the window. As soon as it had been possible to move her, the +dying woman had been carried into the nearest house which had escaped the +flames, and Lady Lansdowne, gazing out, looked on the scene of conflict, saw +lines of ruins, still asmoke in parts, and discerned between the scorched limbs +of trees, from which the last foliage had fallen, the blackened skeletons of +houses. A gaping crowd was moving round the Square, under the eyes of special +constables, who, distinguished by white bands on their arms, guarded the +various entrances. Hundreds, doubtless, who would fain have robbed were there +to stare; but for the most part the guilty shunned the scene, and the gazers +consisted mainly of sightseers from the country, or from Bath, or of knots of +merchants and traders and the like who argued, some that this was what came of +Reform, others that not Reform but the refusal of Reform was to blame for it. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she saw Sir Robert’s stately figure threading its way through +the crowd. He walked erect, but with effort; yet though her heart swelled with +pity, it was not with pity for him. He would have his daughter and in a few +days, in a few weeks, in a few months at most, the clouds would pass and leave +him to enjoy the clear evening of his days. +</p> + +<p> +But for her whom he had taken to his house twenty years before in the bloom of +her beauty, the envied, petted, spoiled child of fortune, who had sinned so +lightly and paid so dearly, and who now lay distraught at the close of all, +what evening remained? What gleam of light? What comfort at the last? +</p> + +<p> +In her behalf, the heart which Whig pride, and family prejudice, and the cares +of riches had failed to harden, swelled to bursting. “He must forgive +her!” she ejaculated. “He shall forgive her!” And gliding to +the door she stayed Mary, who was in the act of entering. +</p> + +<p> +“I must see your father,” she said. “He is mounting the +stairs now. Go to your mother, my dear, and when I ring, do you come!” +</p> + +<p> +What Mary read in her face, of feminine pity and generous purpose, need not be +told. Whatever it was, the girl seized the woman’s hand, kissed it with +wet eyes, and fled. And when Sir Robert, ushered upstairs by Miss Sibson, +entered the room and looked round for his daughter, he found in her stead the +wife of his enemy. +</p> + +<p> +On the instant he remembered the errand on which she had sought him six months +before, and he was quick to construe her presence by its light, and to feel +resentment. The wrong of years, the daily, hourly wrong, committed not against +him only but against the innocent and the helpless, this woman would have him +forgive at a word; merely because the doer, who had had no ruth, no pity, no +scruples, hung on the verge of that step which all, just and unjust, must take! +And some, he knew, standing where he stood, would forgive; would forgive with +their lips, using words which meant nought to the sayer, though they soothed +the hearers. But he was no hypocrite; he would not forgive. Forgive? Great +Heaven, that any should think that the wrongs of a lifetime could be forgiven +in an hour! At a word! Beside a bed! As soon might the grinding wear of years +be erased from the heart, the wrinkles of care from the brow, the snows of age +from the head! As easily might a word give back to the old the spring and flame +and vigour of their youth! +</p> + +<p> +Something of what he thought impressed itself on his face. Lady Lansdowne +marked the sullen drop of his eyebrows, and the firm set of the lower face; but +she did not flinch. “I came upon your name,” she said, “in +the report of the dreadful doings here—in the ‘Mercury,’ this +morning. I hope, Sir Robert, I shall be pardoned for intruding.” +</p> + +<p> +He murmured something, as much no as yes, and with a manner as frigid as his +breeding permitted. And standing—she had reseated herself—he +continued to look at her, his lips drawn down. +</p> + +<p> +“I grieve,” she continued, “to find the truth more sad than +the report.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know that you can help us,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” she rejoined, looking at him softly, “you will not +let me help you. Sir Robert——” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Lansdowne!” He broke in abruptly, using her name with +emphasis, using it with intention. “Once before you came to me. Doubtless +you remember. Now, let me say at once, that if your errand to-day be the same, +and I think it likely that it is the same——” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not the same,” she replied with emotion which she did not +try to hide. “It is not the same! For then there was time. And now there +is no time. Let a day, it may be an hour, pass, and at the cost of all you +possess you will not be able to buy that which you can still have for +nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is that?” he asked, frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“An easy heart.” He had not looked for that answer, and he started. +“Sir Robert,” she continued, rising from her seat, and speaking +with even deeper feeling, “forgive her! Forgive her, I implore you. The +wrong is past, is done, is over! Your daughter is restored——” +</p> + +<p> +“But not by her!” he cried, taking her up quickly. “Not by +her act!” he repeated sternly, “or with her will! And what has she +done that I should forgive? I, whose life she blighted, whose pride she +stabbed, whose hopes she crushed? Whom she left solitary, wifeless, childless +through the years of my strength, the years that she cannot, that no one can +give back to me? Through the long summer days that were a weariness, and the +dark winter days that were a torpor? Yet—yet I could forgive her, Lady +Lansdowne, I could forgive her, I do forgive her that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert!” +</p> + +<p> +“That, all that!” he continued, with a gesture and in a tone of +bitterness which harmonised but ill with the words he uttered. “All that +she ever did amiss to me I forgive her. But—but the child’s wrong, +never! Had she relented indeed, at the last, had she of her own motion, of her +own free will given me back my daughter, had she repented and undone the wrong, +then—but no matter! she did not! She did not one,” he repeated with +agitation, “she did not any of these things. And I ask, what has she done +that I should forgive her?” +</p> + +<p> +She did not answer him at once, and when she did it was in a tone so low as to +be barely audible. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot answer that,” she said. “But is it the only +question? Is there not another question, Sir Robert—not what she has +done, or left undone, but what you—forgive me and bear with me—have +left undone, or done amiss? Are you—you clear of all spot or trespass, +innocent of all blame or erring? When she came to you a young girl, a young +bride—and, oh, I remember her, the sunshine was not brighter, she was a +child of air rather than of earth, so fair and heedless, so capricious, and yet +so innocent!—did you in the first days never lose patience? Never fail to +make allowance? Never preach when wisdom would have smiled, never look grave +when she longed for lightness, never scold when it had been better to laugh? +Did you never forget that she was a score of years younger than you, and a +hundred years more frivolous? Or”—Lady Lansdowne’s tone was a +mere whisper now—“if you are clear of all offence against her, are +you clear of all offence against any, of all trespass? Have you no need to be +forgiven, no need, no——” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice died away into silence. She left the appeal unfinished. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert paced the room. And other scenes than those on which he had taught +himself to brood, other days than those later days of wasted summers and +solitary winters, of dulness and decay, rose to his memory. Sombre moods by +which it had pleased him—at what a cost!—to make his displeasure +known. Sarcastic words, warrant for the facile retort that followed, curt +judgments and ill-timed reproofs; and always the sense of outraged dignity to +freeze the manner and embitter the tone. +</p> + +<p> +So much, so much which he had forgotten came back to him as he walked the room +with averted face! While Lady Lansdowne waited with her hand on the bell. +Minutes were passing, minutes; who knew how precious they might be? And with +them was passing his opportunity. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke at last. “I will see her,” he said huskily. +</p> + +<p> +And on that Lady Lansdowne performed a last act of kindness. She said nothing, +bestowed no thanks. But when Mary entered—pale, yet with that composure +which love teaches the least experienced—she was gone. Nor as she drove +in all the pomp of her liveries and outriders through Bath, through Corsham, +through Chippenham, did those who ran out to watch my lady’s four greys +go by, see her face as the face of an angel. But Lady Louisa, flying down the +steps to meet her—four at a time and hoidenishly—was taken to her +arms, unscolded; and knew by instinct that this was the time to pet and be +petted, to confess and be forgiven, and to learn in the stillness of her +mother’s room those thrilling lessons of life, which her governess had +not imparted, nor Mrs. Fairchild approved. +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>But more than wisdom sees, love knows.<br/> +What eye has scanned the perfume of the rose?<br/> +Has any grasped the low grey mist which stands<br/> +Ghost-like at eve above the sheeted lands?</i> +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Meanwhile Sir Robert paused on the threshold of the room—<i>her</i> room, +which he had first entered two-and-twenty years before. And as the then and the +now, the contrast between the past and the present, forced themselves upon him, +what could he do but pause and bow his head? In the room a voice, her voice, +yet unlike her voice, high, weak, never ceasing, was talking as from a great +distance, from another world; talking, talking, never ceasing. It filled the +room. Yet it did not come from a world so distant as he at first fancied, +hearing it; a world that was quite aloof. For when, after he had listened for a +time in the shadow by the door, his daughter led him forward, Lady +Sybil’s eyes took note of their approach, though she recognised neither +of them. Her mind was still busy amid the scenes of the riot; twisting and +weaving them, it seemed, into a piece with old impressions of the French +Terror, made on her mind in childhood by talk heard at her nurse’s knee. +</p> + +<p> +“They are coming! They are coming now,” she muttered, her bright +eyes fixed on his. “But they shall not take her. They shall not take +her,” she repeated. “Hide behind me, Mary. Hide, child! Don’t +tremble! They shan’t take you. One neck’s enough and mine is +growing thin. It used not to be thin. But that’s right. Hide, and +they’ll not see you, and when I am gone you’ll escape. Hush! Here +they are!” And then in a louder tone, “I am ready,” she said, +“I am quite ready.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary leant over her. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother!” she cried, unable to bear the scene in silence. +“Mother! Don’t you know me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” the dying woman answered, a look of terror crossing her +face. “Hush, child! Don’t speak! I’m ready, gentlemen; I will +go with you. I am not afraid. My neck is small, and it will be but a +squeeze.” And she tried to raise herself in the bed. +</p> + +<p> +Mary laid gentle hands on her, and restrained her. “Mother,” she +said. “Mother! Don’t you know me? I am Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +But Lady Sybil, heedless of her, looked beyond her, with fear and suspicion in +her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I know you. I know you. I know +you. But who is—that? Who is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“My father. It is my father. Don’t you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +But still, “Who is it? Who is it?” Lady Sybil continued to ask. +“Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +“What does he want? What does he want? What does he want?” the +dying woman asked in endless, unreasoning repetition. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert had entered the room in the full belief that with the best of wills +it would be hard, it would be well-nigh impossible to forgive; to forgive his +wife with more than the lips. But when he heard her, weak and helpless as she +was, thinking of another; when he understood that she who had done so great a +wrong to the child was willing to give up her own life for the child; when he +felt the sudden drag at his heart-strings of many an old and sacred +recollection, shared only by her, and which that voice, that face, that form +brought back, he fell on his knees by the bed. +</p> + +<p> +She shrank from him, terrified. “What does he want?” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Sybil,” he said, in a husky voice, “I want your forgiveness, +Sybil, wife! Do you hear me? Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me, late as +it is?” +</p> + +<p> +Strange to say, his voice pierced the confusion which filled the sick brain. +She looked at him steadily and long; and she sighed, but she did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Sybil,” he repeated in a quavering voice. “Do you not know +me? Don’t you remember me? I am your husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” she muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“This is your daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Our daughter,” he repeated. “Our daughter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary?” she murmured. “Mary?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled faintly on him. Mary’s head was touching his, but she did not +answer. She remained looking at them. They could not tell whether she +understood, or was slipping away again. He took her hand and pressed it gently. +“Do you hear me?” he said. “If I was harsh to you in the old +days, if I made mistakes, if I wronged you, I want you—wife, say that you +forgive me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—forgive you,” she murmured. A faint gleam of mischief, of +laughter, of the old Lady Sybil, shone for an instant in her eyes, as if she +knew that she had the upper hand. “I forgive you—everything,” +she murmured. Yes, for certain now, she was slipping away. +</p> + +<p> +Mary took her other hand. But she did not speak again. And before the watch on +the table beside her had ticked many times she had slipped away for good, with +that gleam of triumph in her eyes—forgiving. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a>XXXVII<br/> +IN THE MOURNING COACH</h2> + +<p> +It is a platitude that the flood is followed by the ebb. In the heat of action, +and while its warmth cheered his spirits, Arthur Vaughan felt that he had done +something. True, what he had done brought him no nearer to making his political +dream a reality. Not for him the promise, +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> +<p class="t0"><i>It shall be thine in danger’s hour<br/> +To guide the helm of Britain’s power<br/> +And midst thy country’s laurelled crown<br/> +To twine a garland all thy own</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue"> +Yet he had done something. He had played the man when some others had not +played the man. +</p> + +<p> +But now that the crisis was over, and he had made his last round, now that he +had inspected for the last time the patrols over whom he was set, seen order +restored on the Welsh Back, and panic driven from Queen’s Square, he +owned the reaction. There is a fatigue which one night’s rest fails to +banish; and low in mind and tired in body, he felt, when he rose late on +Tuesday afternoon, that he had done nothing worth doing; nothing that altered +his position in essentials. +</p> + +<p> +For a time, indeed, he had fancied that things were changed. Sir Robert had +requested his assistance, and allowed him to share his search; and though it +was possible that the merest stranger, cast by fortune into the same adventure, +had been as welcome, it was also possible that the Baronet viewed him with a +more benevolent eye. And Mary—Mary, too, had flown to his arms as to a +haven; but in such a position, amid surroundings so hideous, was that +wonderful? Was it not certain that she would have behaved in the same way to +the merest acquaintance if he brought her aid and protection? +</p> + +<p> +The answer might be yes or no! What was certain was that it could not avail +him. For between him and her there stood more than her father’s aversion, +more than the doubt of her affection, more than the unlucky borough, of which +he had despoiled Sir Robert. There were her possessions, there was the +suspicion which Sir Robert had founded on them—on Mary’s gain and +his loss—there was the independence, which he must surrender, and which +pride and principle alike forbade him to relinquish. +</p> + +<p> +In the confusion of the night Vaughan had almost forgotten and quite forgiven. +Now he saw that the thing, though forgotten, though forgiven, was there. He +could not owe all to a man who had so misconstrued him, and who might +misconstrue him again. He could not be dependent on one whose views, thoughts, +prejudices, were opposed to his own. No, the night and its doing must stand +apart. He and she had met, they had parted. He had one memory more, and nothing +was changed. +</p> + +<p> +In this mood the fact that the White Lion regarded him as a hero brought him no +comfort. Neither the worshipping eyes of the young lady who had tried to +dissuade him from going forth on the Sunday, nor the respectful homage which +dogged his movements, uplifted him. He had small appetite for his solitary +dinner, and was languidly reading the “Bristol Mercury,” when a +name was brought up to him, and a letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentleman will wait your pleasure, sir,” the man said. +</p> + +<p> +He broke open the letter, and felt the blood rise to his face as his eyes fell +on the signature. The few lines were from his cousin, and ran as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">Dear Sir</span>,—I feel it my duty to inform you, +as a connection of the family, that Lady Sybil Vermuyden died at five minutes +past three o’clock this afternoon. Her death, which I am led to believe +could in no event have been long delayed, was doubtless hastened by the +miserable occurrences of the last few days. +</p> + +<p> +“I have directed Isaac White to convey this intimation to your hands, and +to inform you from time to time of the arrangements made for her +ladyship’s funeral, which will take place at Stapylton. I have the honour +to be, sir, +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:40%"> +“Your obedient servant, +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:55%"> +“<span class="sc">Robert Vermuyden.</span>” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan laid the letter down with a groan. As he did so he became aware that +Isaac White was in the room. “Halloa, White,” he said. “Is +that you?” +</p> + +<p> +White looked at him with unconcealed respect. “Yes, sir,” he said. +“Sir Robert bade me wait on you in person without delay. If I may +venture,” he continued, “to compliment you on my own account, +sir—a very great honour to the family, Mr. Vaughan—in all the west +country, I may say——” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan stopped him, and said something of Lady Sybil’s death; adding +that he had never seen her but once. +</p> + +<p> +“Twice, begging your pardon,” White answered, smiling. “Do +you remember I met you at Chippenham before the election, Mr. Vaughan? Well, +sir, she came up to the coach, and as good as touched your sleeve, poor lady, +while I was talking to you. Of course, she knew that her daughter was on the +coach.” +</p> + +<p> +“I learned afterwards that Lady Sybil travelled by it that day,” +Vaughan replied. Then with a frown he took up the letter. “Of +course,” he continued, “I have no intention of attending the +funeral.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I think his honour wishes much——” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no possible reason,” Vaughan said doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, sir,” White answered anxiously. “You are not +aware, I am sure, how highly Sir Robert appreciates your gallant conduct +yesterday. No one in Bristol can view it in a stronger light. It is a happy +thing he witnessed it. He thinks, indeed, that but for you her ladyship would +have died in the crowd. Moreover——” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s enough, White,” Vaughan said coldly. “It is not +so much what Sir Robert thinks now, too, as what he thought formerly.” +</p> + +<p> +“But indeed, sir, his honour’s opinion of that matter, +too——” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s enough, White,” the young gentleman repeated, rising +from his seat. He was telling himself that he was not a dog to be kicked away +and called to heel again. He would forgive, but he would not return. “I +don’t wish to discuss the matter,” he added with an air of +finality. +</p> + +<p> +And White did not venture to say more. +</p> + +<p> +He did wisely. For Vaughan, left to himself, had not reflected two minutes +before he felt that he had played the churl. To make amends, he called at the +house to inquire after the ladies at an hour next morning when they could not +be stirring. Having performed that duty, and having learned that no inquiry +into the riots would be opened for some days—and also that a proposal to +give him a piece of gold plate was under debate at the Commercial Rooms, he +fled, pride and love at odds in his breast. +</p> + +<p> +It is possible that in Sir Robert’s heart, also, there was a battle going +on. On the eve of the funeral he sat alone in the library at Stapylton, that +room in which he had passed so many unhappy hours, and with which the later +part of his life seemed bound up. Doubtless, as he sat, he gave solemn thought +to the past and the future. The room was no longer dusty, the furniture was no +longer shabby; there were fresh flowers on his table; and by his great leather +chair, a smaller chair, filled within the last few minutes, had its place. Yet +he could not forget what he had suffered there; how he had brooded there. And +perhaps he thanked God, amid his more solemn thoughts, that he was not glad +that she who had plagued him would plague him no more. All that her friend had +urged in her behalf, all that was brightest and best in his memories of her, +this generous whim, that quixotic act rose, it may be supposed, before him. And +the picture of her fair young beauty, of her laughing face in the bridal veil +or under the Leghorn, of her first words to him, of her first acts in her new +home! And but that the tears of age flow hardly, it is possible that he would +have wept. +</p> + +<p> +Presently—perhaps he was not sorry for it—a knock came at the door +and Isaac White entered. He came to take the last instructions for the morrow. +A few words settled what remained to be settled, and then, after a little +hesitation, “I promised to name it to you, sir,” White said. +“I don’t know what you’ll say to it. Dyas wishes to walk with +the others.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert winced. “Dyas?” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“He says he’s anxious to show his respect for the family, in every +way consistent with his opinions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Opinions?” Sir Robert echoed. “Opinions? Good Lord! A +butcher’s opinions! Who knows but some day he’ll have a butcher to +represent him? Or a baker or a candlestick-maker! If ever they have the ballot, +that’ll come with it, White.” +</p> + +<p> +White waited, but as the other said no more, “You won’t forbid him, +sir?” he said, a note of appeal in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, let him come,” Sir Robert answered wearily. “I +suppose,” he continued, striving to speak in the same tone, +“you’ve heard nothing from his—Member?” +</p> + +<p> +“From—oh, from Mr. Vaughan, sir? No, sir. But Mr. Flixton is +coming.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert muttered something under his breath, and it was not flattering to +the Honourable Bob. Then he turned his chair and held his hands over the blaze. +“That will do, White,” he said. “That will do.” And he +did not look round until the agent had left the room. +</p> + +<p> +But White was certain that even on this day of sad memories, with the ordeal of +the morrow before him, Arthur Vaughan’s attitude troubled his patron. And +when, twenty-four hours later, the agent’s eyes travelling round the vast +assemblage which regard for the family had gathered about the grave, fell upon +Arthur Vaughan, and he knew that he had repented and come, he was glad. +</p> + +<p> +The young Member held himself a little apart from the small group of family +mourners; a little apart also from the larger company whom respect or social +ties had brought thither. Among these last, who were mostly Tories, many were +surprised to see Lord Lansdowne and his son. But more, aware of the breach +between Mr. Vaughan and his cousin, and of the former’s peculiar position +in the borough, were surprised to see him. And these, while their thoughts +should have been elsewhere, stole furtive glances at the sombre figure; and +when Vaughan left, still alone and without speaking to any, followed his +departure with interest. In those days of mutes and crape-coloured staves, +mourning cloaks and trailing palls, it was not the custom for women to bury +their dead. And Vaughan, when he had made up his mind to come, knew that he ran +no risk of seeing Mary. +</p> + +<p> +That he might escape with greater case, he had left his post-chaise at a +side-gate of the park. The moment the ceremony was over, he made his way to it, +now traversing beds of fallen chestnut and sycamore leaves, now striding across +the sodden turf. The solemn words which he had heard, emphasised as they were +by the scene, the grey autumn day, the lonely park, and the dark groups +threading their way across it, could not hold his thoughts from Mary. She would +be glad that he had come. Perhaps it was for that reason that he had come. +</p> + +<p> +He had passed through the gate of the park and his foot was on the step of the +chaise, when he heard White’s voice, calling after him. He turned and saw +the agent hurrying desperately after him. White’s mourning suit was tight +and new and ill made for haste; and he was hot and breathless. For a moment, +“Mr. Vaughan! Mr. Vaughan!” was all he could say. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan turned a reluctant, almost a stern face to him. Not that he disliked +the agent, but he thought that he had got clear. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” he asked, without removing his foot from the step. +</p> + +<p> +White looked behind him. “Sir Robert, sir,” he said, “has +something to say to you. The carriage is following. If you’ll be good +enough,” he continued, mopping his face, “to wait a moment!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert cannot wish to see me at such a time,” Vaughan +answered, between wonder and impatience. “He will write, +doubtless.” +</p> + +<p> +“The carriage should be in sight,” was White’s answer. As he +spoke it came into view; rounding the curve of a small coppice of beech trees, +it rolled rapidly down a declivity, and ascended towards them as rapidly. +</p> + +<p> +A moment and it would be here. Vaughan looked uncertainly at his post-boy. He +wished to catch the York House coach at Chippenham, and he had little time to +spare. +</p> + +<p> +It was not the loss of time, however, that he really had in his mind. But he +could guess, he fancied, what Sir Robert wished to say; and he did not deny +that the old man was generous in saying it at such a moment, if that were his +intention. But his own mind was made up; he could only repeat what he had said +to White. It was not a question of what Sir Robert had thought, or now thought, +but of what <i>he</i> thought. And the upshot of all his thoughts was that he +would not be dependent upon any man. He had differed from Sir Robert once, and +the elder had treated the younger man with injustice, and contumely; that might +occur again. Indeed, taking into account the difference in their political +views in an age when politics counted for much, it was sure to occur again. But +his mind was made up that it should not occur to him. Unhappy as the resolution +made him, he would be free. He would be his own man. He would remember nothing +except that that night had changed nothing. +</p> + +<p> +It was with a set face, therefore, that he watched the carriage draw near. +Apparently it was a carriage which had conveyed guests to the funeral, for the +blinds were drawn. +</p> + +<p> +“It will save time, if it takes you a mile on your way,” White +said, with some nervousness. “I will tell your chaise to follow.” +And he opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan raised his hat, and stepped in. It was only when the door was closing +behind him and the carriage starting anew at a word from White, that he saw +that it contained, not Sir Robert Vermuyden, but a lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary!” he cried. The name broke from him in his astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him with self-possession, and a gentle, unsmiling gravity. She +indicated the front seat, and “Will you sit there?” she said. +“I can talk to you better, Mr. Vaughan, if you sit there.” +</p> + +<p> +He obeyed her, marvelling. The blind on the side on which she sat was raised a +few inches, and in the subdued light her graceful head showed like some fair +flower rising from the depth of her mourning. For she wore no covering on her +head, and he might have guessed, had he had any command of his thoughts, that +she had sprung as she was into the nearest carriage. Amazement, however, put +him beyond thinking. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes met his seriously. “Mr. Vaughan,” she said, “my +presence must seem extraordinary to you. But I am come to ask you a question. +Why did you tell me six months ago that you loved me if you did not?” +</p> + +<p> +He was as deeply agitated as she was quiet on the surface. “I told you +nothing but the truth,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But yes! A hundred times, yes!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are altered? That is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” he cried. “Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet—things are changed? My father wrote to you, did he not, +three days ago? And said as much as you could look to him to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He said——” +</p> + +<p> +“He withdrew what he had uttered in an unfortunate moment. He withdrew +that which, I think, he had never believed in his heart. He said as much as you +could expect him to say?” she repeated, her colour mounting a little, her +eyes challenging him with courageous firmness. +</p> + +<p> +“He said,” Vaughan answered in a low voice, “what I think it +became him to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“You understood that his feelings were changed towards you?” +</p> + +<p> +“To some extent.” +</p> + +<p> +She drew a deep breath and sat back. “Then it is for you to speak,” +she said. +</p> + +<p> +But before, agitated as he was, he could speak, she leant forward again. +“No,” she said, “I had forgotten. I had forgotten.” And +the slight quivering of her lips, a something piteous in her eyes, reminded him +once more, once again—and the likeness tugged at his heart—of the +Mary Smith who had paused on the threshold of the inn at Maidenhead, alarmed +and abashed by the bustle of the coffee-room. “I had forgotten! It is not +my father you cannot forgive—it is I, who am unworthy of your +forgiveness? You cannot make allowance,” she continued, stopping him by a +gesture, as he opened his mouth to speak, “for the weakness of one who +had always been dependent, who had lived all her life under the dominion of +others, who had been taught by experience that, if she would eat, she must +first obey. You can make no allowance, Mr. Vaughan, for such an one placed +between a father, whom it was her duty to honour, and a lover to whom she had +indeed given her heart, she knew not why—but whom she barely knew, with +whose life she had no real acquaintance, whose honesty she must take on trust, +because she loved him? You cannot forgive her because, taught all her life to +bend, she could not, she did not stand upright under the first trial of her +faith?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he cried violently. “No! No! It is not that!” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” she said. “You do forgive her then? You have forgiven +her? The more as to-day she is not weak. The earth is not level over my +mother’s grave, some may say hard things of me—but I have come to +you to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless you!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +She drew a deep breath and sat back. “Then,” she said, with a sigh +as of relief, “it is for you to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a gravity in her tone, and so complete an absence of all +self-consciousness, all littleness, that he owned that he had never known her +as she was, had never measured her true worth, had never loved her as she +deserved to be loved. Yet—perhaps because it was all that was left to +him—he clung desperately to the resolution he had formed, to the position +which pride and prudence alike had bidden him to take up. +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to say?” he asked hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, if you love me, if you forgive me,” she answered softly, +“do you leave me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you not understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“In part, I can. But not altogether. Will you explain? I—I +think,” she continued with a movement of her flower-like head, that for +gentle dignity he had never seen excelled, “I have a right to an +explanation.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know of what Sir Robert accused me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to justify him? You know what was the difference which came between +us, which first divided us? And what I thought right then, I still think right. +Am I to abandon it? You know what I bore. Am I to live on the bounty of one who +once thought so ill of me, and may think as ill again? Of one who, differing +from me, punished me so cruelly? Am I to sink into dependence, to sacrifice my +judgment, to surrender my political liberty into the hands of one +who——” +</p> + +<p> +“Of my father!” she said gravely. +</p> + +<p> +He could not, so reminded, say what he had been going to say, but he assented +by a movement of the head. And after an interval of silence, “I +cannot,” he cried passionately, “I cannot, even to secure my +happiness, run that risk!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked from the window of the carriage, and in a voice which shook a +little, “No,” she said, “I suppose not.” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent and he suffered. He dared not meet her eyes. Why had she sought +this interview? Why had she chosen to torment him? Ah, if she knew, if she only +knew what pain she was inflicting upon him! +</p> + +<p> +But apparently she did not know. For by and by she spoke again. +“No,” she said. “I suppose not. Yet have you +thought”—and now there was a more decided tremor in her +voice—“that that which you surrender is not all there is at stake? +Your independence is precious to you, and you have a right, Mr. Vaughan, to +purchase it even at the cost of your happiness. But have you a right to +purchase it at the cost of another’s? At the cost of mine? Have you +thought of my happiness?” she continued, “or only of +yours—and of yourself? To save your independence—shall I say, to +save your pride?—you are willing to set your love aside. But have you +asked me whether I am willing to pay my half of the price? My heavier half? +Whether I am willing to set my happiness aside? Have you thought of—me at +all?” +</p> + +<p> +If he had not, then, when he saw how she looked at him, with what eyes, with +what love, as she laid her hand on his arm, he had been more than man if he had +resisted her long! But he still fought with himself, and with her; staring with +hard, flushed face straight before him, telling himself that by all that was +left to him he must hold. +</p> + +<p> +“I think, I think,” she said gently, yet with dignity, “you +have not thought of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But your father—Sir Robert——” +</p> + +<p> +“He is an ogre, of course,” she cried in a tone suddenly changed. +“But you should have thought of that before, sir,” she continued, +tears and laughter in her voice. “Before you travelled with me on the +coach! Before you saved my life! Before you—looked at me! For you can +never take it back. You can never give me myself again. I think that you must +take me!” +</p> + +<p> +And then he did not resist her any longer. And the carriage was stayed; and +orders were given. And, empty and hugely overpaid, the yellow post-chaise +ambled on to Chippenham; and bearing two inside, and a valise on the roof, the +mourning coach drove slowly and solemnly back to Stapylton. As it wound its way +over the green undulations of the park, the rabbits that ran, and then stopped, +cocking their scuts, to look at it, saw nothing strange in it. Nor the +fallow-deer of the true Savernake breed, who, before they fled through the +dying bracken, eyed it with poised heads. Nay, the heron which watched its +approach from the edge of the Garden Pool, and did not even deign to drop a +second leg, saw nothing strange in it. Yet it bore for all that the strangest +of all earthly passengers, and the strongest, and the bravest, and the +fairest—and withal, thank God, the most familiar. For it carried Love. +And love the same yet different, love gaunt and grey-haired, yet kind and warm +of heart, met it at the door and gave it welcome. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a>XXXVIII<br/> +THREADS AND PATCHES</h2> + +<p> +Though England had not known for fifty years an outbreak so formidable or so +destructive as that of which the news was laid on men’s breakfast-tables +on the Tuesday morning, it had less effect on the political situation than +might have been expected. It sent, indeed, a thrill of horror through the +nation. And had it occurred at an earlier stage of the Reform struggle, before +the middle class had fully committed itself to a trial of strength with the +aristocracy, it must have detached many more of the timid and conservative of +the Reformers. But it came too late. The die was cast; men’s minds were +made up on the one side and the other. Each saw events coloured to his wish. +And though Wetherell and Croker, and the devoted band who still fought manfully +round those chieftains, called heaven and earth to witness the first-fruits of +the tree of Reform, the majority of the nation preferred to see in these +troubles the alternative to the Bill—the abyss into which the whole +country would be hurled if that heaven-sent measure were not passed. +</p> + +<p> +On one thing, however, all were agreed. The outrage was too great to be +overlooked. The law must be vindicated, the lawbreakers must be punished. To +this end the Government, anxious to clear themselves of the suspicion of +collusion, appointed a special Commission, and sent it to Bristol to try the +rioters; and four poor wretches were hanged, a dozen were transported, and many +received minor sentences. Having thus, a little late in the day, taught the +ignorant that Reform did not spell Revolution after the French pattern, the +Cabinet turned their minds to the measure again. And in December they brought +in the Third Reform Bill, with the fortunes and passage of which this story is +not at pains to deal. +</p> + +<p> +But of necessity the misguided creatures who kindled the fires in Queen’s +Square on that fatal Sunday, and swore that they would not leave a gaol +standing in England, were not the only men who suffered. Sad as their plight +was, there was one whose plight—if pain be measured by the capacity to +feel—was sadder. While they were being tried in one part of Bristol, +there was proceeding in another part an inquiry charged with deeper tragedy. +Not those only who had done the deed, but those who had suffered them to do it, +must answer for it. And the fingers of all pointed to one man. The magistrates +might escape—the Mayor indeed had done his duty creditably, if to little +purpose; for war was not their trade, and the thing at its crisis had become an +affair of war. But Colonel Brereton could not shield himself behind that plea: +so many had behaved poorly that the need to bring one to book was the greater. +</p> + +<p> +He was tried by court-martial, and among the witnesses was Arthur Vaughan. By +reason of his position, as well as of the creditable part he had played, the +Member for Chippinge was heard by the Court with more than common attention; +and he moved all who listened to him by his painful anxiety to set the +accused’s conduct in the best light; to show that what was possible by +daylight on the Monday morning might not have been possible on the Sunday +night, and that the choice from first to last was between two risks. No +question of Colonel Brereton’s courage—for he had served abroad +with credit, nay, with honour—entered into the inquiry; and it was proved +that a soldier’s duty in such a case was not well defined. But afterwards +Vaughan much regretted that he had not laid before the Court the opinion he had +formed at the time—that during the crisis of the riots Brereton, obsessed +by one idea, was not responsible for his actions. For, sad to say, on the fifth +day of the inquiry, sinking under a weight of mental agony which a man of his +reserved and melancholy temper was unable to support, the unfortunate officer +put an end to his life. Few have paid so dearly for an error of judgment and +the lack of that coarser fibre which has enabled many an inferior man to do his +duty. The page darkens with his fate, too tragical for such a theme as this. +And if by chance these words reach the eye of any of his descendants, theirs be +the homage due to the memory of a signal misfortune and an honourable but +hapless man. +</p> + +<p> +Of another and greater personage whose life touched Arthur Vaughan’s once +and twice, and of whom, with all his faults, it was never said by his worst +enemy that he feared responsibility or shunned the post of danger, a brief word +must suffice. If Lord Brougham did not live to see that complete downfall of +the great Whig houses which he had predicted, he lived to see their power +ruinously curtailed. He lived to see their influence totter under the blow +which the Repeal of the Corn Laws dealt the landed interest, he lived to see +the Reform Bill of 1867, he lived almost to see the <i>coup de grâce</i> given +to their leadership by the Ballot Act. And in another point his prophecy came +true. As it had been with Burke and Sheridan and Tierney, it was with him. His +faults were great, as his merits were transcendent; and presently in the time +of his need his highborn associates remembered only the former. They took +advantage of them to push him from power; and he spent nearly forty years, the +remnant of his long life, in the cold shade of Opposition. The most brilliant, +the most versatile, and the most remarkable figure of the early days of the +century, whose trumpet voice once roused England as it has never been roused +from that day to this, and whose services to education and progress are +acknowledged but slightly even now, paid for the phenomenal splendour of his +youth by long years spent in a changed and changing world, jostled by a +generation forgetful or heedless of his fame. To us he is but the name of a +carriage; remembered otherwise, if at all, for his part in Queen +Caroline’s trial. While Wetherell, that stout fighter, Tory of the +Tories, witty, slovenly, honest man, whose fame was once in all mouths, whose +caricature was once in all portfolios, and whose breeches made the fortune of +many a charade, is but the shadow of a name. +</p> + +<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:20pt">* * * * * +</p> + +<p> +The year had waned and waxed, and it was June again. At Stapylton the oaks were +coming to their full green; the bracken was lifting its million heads above the +sod, and by the edge of the Garden Pool the water voles sat on the leaves of +the lilies and clean their fur. Arthur Vaughan—strolling up and down with +his father-in-law, not without an occasional glance at Mary, recumbent on a +seat on the lawn—looked grave. +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy,” he said presently, “that we shall learn the fate +of the Bill to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very like, very like,” Sir Robert answered, in an offhand fashion, +as if the subject were not to his taste. And he turned about and by the aid of +his stick expounded his plan for enlarging the flower garden. +</p> + +<p> +But Vaughan returned to the subject. “If not to-day, to-morrow,” he +said. “And that being so, I’ve wanted for some time, sir, to ask +you what you wish me to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“To do?” +</p> + +<p> +“As to the seat at Chippinge.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert’s face expressed his annoyance. “I told you—I told +you long ago,” he replied, “that I should never interfere with your +political movements.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have kept your word, sir. But as Lord Lansdowne cedes the seat +to you for this time, I assume——” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know why you assume anything!” Sir Robert retorted +irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“I assume only that you will wish me to seek another seat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly don’t wish you to lead an idle life,” Sir Robert +answered. “When the younger men of our class do that, when they cease to +take an interest in political life, on the one side or the other, our power +will, indeed, be ended. Nothing is more certain than that. But for Chippinge, I +don’t choose that a stranger should hold a seat close to my own door. You +might have known that! For the party, I have taken steps to furnish Mr. Cooke, +a man whose opinions I thoroughly approve, with a seat elsewhere; and I have +therefore done my duty in that direction. For the rest, the mischief is done. I +suppose,” he continued in his driest tones, “you won’t want +to bring in another Reform Bill immediately?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” Vaughan answered gratefully. “Nor do I think that +we are so far apart as you assume. The truth is, Sir Robert, that we all fear +one of two things, and according as we fear the one or the other we are dubbed +Whigs or Tories.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are your two things?” +</p> + +<p> +“Despotism, or anarchy,” Vaughan replied modestly. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert sniffed. “You don’t refine enough,” he said, +pleased with his triumph. “We all fear despotism; you, the despotism of +the one: I, a worse, a more cruel, a more hopeless despotism, the despotism of +the many! That’s the real difference between us.” +</p> + +<p> +Vaughan looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. +“But—what is that, sir?” He raised his hand. The deep note of +a distant gun rolled up the valley from the town. +</p> + +<p> +“The Lords have passed the Bill,” Sir Robert replied. “They +are celebrating the news in Chippinge. Well, I am not sorry that my day is +done. I give you the command. See only, my boy,” he continued, with a +loving glance at Mary, who had risen, and, joined by Miss Sibson, was coming to +the end of the bridge to meet them, “see only that you hand it on to +others—I do not say as I give it to you, but as little impaired as may +be.” +</p> + +<p> +And again, as Mary called to them to know what it was, the sound of the gun +rolled up the valley—the knell of the system, good or bad, under which +England had been ruled so long. The battle of which Brougham had fired the +first shot in the Castle Yard at York was past and won. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Boom!</i> +</p> + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIPPINGE BOROUGH ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eadfab1 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #38871 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38871) diff --git a/old/38871-8.txt b/old/38871-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f1e85d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/38871-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16456 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chippinge Borough, by Stanley J. Weyman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Chippinge Borough + +Author: Stanley J. Weyman + +Release Date: February 13, 2012 [EBook #38871] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIPPINGE BOROUGH *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by +Google Books (The Library of the University of Michigan) + + + + + + + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + 1. Page scan source: + http://books.google.com/books?id=DxcrAAAAMAAJ + + 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. + + + + + + + Chippinge Borough + + + BY + + STANLEY J. WEYMAN + + Author of "The Long Night," Etc. + + + + + + NEW YORK + McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. + MCMVI + + + + + + + _Copyright_, 1906, _by_ + McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. + + + + + + Copyright, 1905, 1905, by Stanley J. Weyman. + + + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER + + I. The Dissolution. + + II. The Spirit of the Storm. + + III. Two Letters. + + IV. Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! + + V. Rosy-fingered Dawn. + + VI. The Patron of Chippinge. + + VII. The Winds of Autumn. + + VIII. A Sad Misadventure. + + IX. The Bill for Giving Everybody Everything. + + X. The Queen's Square Academy for Young Ladies. + + XI. Don Giovanni Flixton. + + XII. A Rotten Borough. + + XIII. The Vermuyden Dinner. + + XIV. Miss Sibson's Mistake. + + XV. Mr. Pybus's Offer. + + XVI. Less than a Hero. + + XVII. The Chippinge Election. + + XVIII. The Chippinge Election (_Continued_). + + XIX. The Fruits of Victory. + + XX. A Plot Unmasked. + + XXI. A Meeting of Old Friends. + + XXII. Women's Hearts. + + XXIII. In the House. + + XXIV. A Right and Left. + + XXV. At Stapylton. + + XXVI. The Scene in the Hall. + + XXVII. Wicked Shifts. + + XXVIII. Once More, Tantivy! + + XXIX. Autumn Leaves. + + XXX. The Mayor's Reception in Queen's Square. + + XXXI. Sunday in Bristol. + + XXXII. The Affray at the Palace. + + XXXIII. Fire. + + XXXIV. Hours of Darkness. + + XXXV. The Morning of Monday. + + XXXVI. Forgiveness. + + XXXVII. In the Mourning Coach. + + XXXVIII. Threads and Patches. + + + + + + + CHIPPINGE BOROUGH + + + + + + + I + + THE DISSOLUTION + + +Boom! + +It was April 22, 1831, and a young man was walking down Whitehall in +the direction of Parliament Street. He wore shepherd's plaid trousers +and the swallow-tail coat of the day, with a figured muslin cravat +wound about his wide-spread collar. He halted opposite the Privy +Gardens, and, with his face turned skywards, listened until the sound +of the Tower guns smote again on the ear and dispelled his doubts. To +the experienced, his outward man, neat and modestly prosperous, +denoted a young barrister of promise or a Treasury clerk. His figure +was good, he was above the middle height, and he carried himself with +an easy independence. He seemed to be one who both held a fair opinion +of himself and knew how to impress that opinion on his fellows; yet +was not incapable of deference where deference was plainly due. He was +neither ugly nor handsome, neither slovenly nor a _petit-matre_; +indeed, it was doubtful if he had ever seen the inside of Almack's. +But his features were strong and intellectual, and the keen grey eyes +which looked so boldly on the world could express both humour and good +humour. In a word, this young man was one upon whom women, even great +ladies, were likely to look with pleasure, and one woman--but he had +not yet met her--with tenderness. + +Boom! + +He was only one among a dozen, who within the space of a few yards had +been brought to a stand by the sound; who knew what the salute meant, +and in their various ways were moved by it. The rumour which had flown +through the town in the morning that the King was about to dissolve +his six-months-old Parliament was true, then! so true that already in +the clubs, from Boodle's to Brooks's, men were sending off despatches, +while the long arms of the semaphore were carrying the news to the +Continent. Persons began to run by Vaughan--the young man's name was +Arthur Vaughan; and behind him the street was filling with a multitude +hastening to see the sight, or so much of it as the vulgar might see. +Some ran towards Westminster without disguise. Some, of a higher +station, walked as fast as dignity and their strapped trousers +permitted; while others again, who thought themselves wiser than their +neighbours, made quickly for Downing Street and the different openings +which led into St. James's Park, in the hope of catching a glimpse of +the procession before the crowd about the Houses engulfed it. + +Nine out of ten, as they ran or walked--nay, it might be said more +truly, ninety-nine out of a hundred--evinced a joy quite out of the +common, and such as no political event of these days produces. One +cried, "Hip! Hip! Hip!"; one flung up his cap; one swore gaily. +Strangers told one another that it was a good thing, bravely done! And +while the whole of that part of the town seemed to be moving towards +the Houses, the guns boomed on, proclaiming to all the world that the +unexpected had happened; that the Parliament which had passed the +People's Bill by one--a miserable one in the largest House which had +ever voted--and having done that, had shelved it by some shift, some +subterfuge, was meeting the fate which it deserved. + +No man, be it noted, called the measure the Reform Bill, or anything +but the Bill, or, affectionately, the People's Bill. But they called +it that repeatedly, and in their enthusiasm, exulted in the fall of +its enemies as in a personal gain. And though here and there amid the +general turmoil a man of mature age stood aside and scowled on the +crowd as it swept vociferating by him, such men were but as straws in +a backwater of the stream--powerless to arrest the current, and liable +at any moment to be swept within its influence. + +That generation had seen many a coach start laurel-clad from St. +Martin's and listened many a time to the salvoes that told of +victories in France or Flanders. But it was no exaggeration to say +that even Waterloo had not flung abroad more general joy, nor sown the +dingy streets with brighter faces, than this civil gain. For now--now, +surely--the People's Bill would pass, and the people be truly +represented in Parliament! Now, for certain, the Bill's ill-wishers +would get a fall! And if every man--about which some doubts were +whispered even in the public-houses--did not get a vote which he could +sell for a handful of gold, as his betters had sold their votes time +out of mind, at least there would be beef and beer for all! Or, if not +that, something indefinite, but vastly pleasant. Few, indeed, knew +precisely what they wished and what they were going to gain, but + + + _Hurrah for Mr. Brougham!_ + _Hurrah for Gaffer Grey!_ + _Hurrah for Lord John!_ + + +Hurrah, in a word, for the Ministry, hurrah for the Whigs! And above +all, three cheers for the King, who had stood by Lord Grey and +dissolved this niggling, hypocritical Parliament of landowners. + +Meanwhile the young man who has been described resumed his course; but +slowly, and without betraying by any marked sign that he shared the +general feeling. Still, he walked with his head a little higher than +before; he seemed to sniff the battle; and there was a light in his +eyes as if he saw a wider arena before him. "It is true, then," he +muttered. "And for to-day I shall have my errand for my pains. He will +have other fish to fry, and will not see me. But what of that! Another +day will do as well." + +At this moment a ragamuffin in an old jockey-cap attached himself to +him, and, running beside him, urged him to hasten. + +"Run, your honour," he croaked in gin-laden accents, "and you'll 'ave +a good place! And I'll drink your honour's health, and Billy the +King's! Sure he's the father of his country, and seven besides. Come +on, your honour, or they'll be jostling you!" + +Vaughan glanced down and shook his head. He waved the man away. + +But the lout looked only to his market, and was not easily repulsed. +"He's there, I tell you," he persisted. "And for threepence I'll get +you to see him. Come on, your honour! It's many a Westminster election +I've seen, and beer running, from Mr. Fox, that was the gentleman had +always a word for the poor man, till now, when maybe it's your +honour's going to stand! Anyway, it's, Down with the mongers!" + +A man who was clinging to the wall at the corner of Downing +Street waved his broken hat round his head. "Ay, down with the +borough-mongers!" he cried. "Down with Peel! Down with the Dook! Down +with 'em all! Down with everybody!" + +"And long live the Bill!" cried a man of more respectable appearance +as he hurried by. "And long live the King, God bless him!" + +"They'll know what it is to balk the people now," chimed in a fourth. +"Let 'em go back and get elected if they can. Ay, let 'em!" + +"Ay, let 'em! Mr. Brougham'll see to that!" shouted the other. "Hurrah +for Mr. Brougham!" + +The cry was taken up by the crowd, and three cheers were given for the +Chancellor, who was so well known to the mob by the style under which +he had been triumphantly elected for Yorkshire that his peerage was +ignored. + +Vaughan, however, heard but the echo of these cheers. Like most young +men of his time, he leant to the popular side. But he had no taste for +the populace in the mass; and the sight of the crowd, which was fast +occupying the whole of the space before Palace Yard and even surging +back into Parliament Street, determined him to turn aside. He shook +off his attendant and, crossing into Whitehall Place, walked up and +down, immersed in his reflections. + +He was honestly ambitious, and his thoughts turned naturally on the +influence which this Bill--which must create a new England, and for +many a new world--was likely to have on his own fortunes. The owner of +a small estate in South Wales, come early to his inheritance, he had +sickened of the idle life of an officer in peacetime; and after three +years of service, believing himself fit for something higher, he had +sold his commission and turned his mind to intellectual pursuits. He +hoped that he had a bent that way; and the glory of the immortal +three, who thirty years before had founded the "Edinburgh Review," +and, by so doing, made this day possible, attracted him. Why should +not he, as well as another, be the man who, in the Commons, the +cockpit of the nation, stood spurred to meet all comers--in an uproar +which could almost be heard where he walked? Or the man who, in the +lists of Themis, upheld the right of the widow and the poor man's +cause, and to whom judges listened with reluctant admiration? Or best +of all, highest of all, might he not vie with that abnormal and +remarkable man who wore at once the three crowns, and whether as +Edinburgh Reviewer, as knight of the shire for York, or as Chancellor +of England, played his part with equal ease? To be brief, it was +prizes such as these, distant but luminous, that held his eyes, +incited him to effort, made him live laborious days. He believed that +he had ability, and though he came late to the strife, he brought his +experience. If men living from hand to mouth and distracted by +household cares could achieve so much, why should not he who had his +independence and his place in the world? Had not Erskine been such +another? He, too, had sickened of barrack life. And Brougham and the +two Scotts, Eldon and Stowell. To say nothing of this young Macaulay, +whose name was beginning to run through every mouth; and of a dozen +others who had risen to fame from a lower and less advantageous +station. + +The goal was distant, but it was glorious. Nor had the eighteen months +which he had given to the study of the law, to attendance at the +Academic and at a less ambitious debating society, and to the output +of some scientific feelers, shaken his faith in himself. He had not +yet thought of a seat at St. Stephen's; for no nomination had fallen +to him, nor, save from one quarter, was likely to fall. And his +income, some six hundred a year, though it was ample for a bachelor, +would not stretch to the price of a seat at five thousand for the +Parliament, or fifteen hundred for the Session--the quotations which +had ruled of late. A seat some time, however, he must have; it was a +necessary stepping-stone to the heights he would gain. And the subject +in his mind as he paced Whitehall Place was the abolition of the close +boroughs and the effect which the transfer of electoral power to the +middle-class would have on his chances. + +A small thing--no more than a quantity of straw laid thickly before +one of the houses--brought his thoughts down to the present. By a +natural impulse he raised his eyes to the house; by a coincidence, +less natural, a hand, even as he looked, showed itself behind one of +the panes of a window on the first floor, and drew down the blind. +Vaughan stood after that, fascinated, and watched the lowering of +blind after blind. And the solemn contrast between his busy thoughts +and that which had even then happened in the house--between that which +lay behind the darkened windows and the bright April sunshine about +him, the twittering of the sparrows in the green, and the tumult of +distant cheering--went home to him. + +He thought of the lines, so old and so applicable: + + + _Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium_ + _Versatur urna, serius, ocius_, + _Sors exitura, et nos in ternum_ + _Exilium impositura cymb_. + + +He was still rolling the words on his tongue with that love of the +classical rhythm which was a mark of his day--and returns no more than +the taste for the prize-ring which was coeval with it--when the door +of the house opened and a man came clumsily and heavily out, closed +the door behind him, and, with his head bent low and the ungainly +movements of an automaton, made off down the street. + +The man was very stout as well as tall, his dress slovenly and +disordered. His hat was pulled awry over his eyes, and his hands were +plunged deep in his breeches pockets. Vaughan saw so much. Then the +door opened again, and a face, unmistakably that of a butler, looked +out. + +The servant's eyes met his, and though the man neither spoke nor +beckoned, his eyes spoke for him. Vaughan crossed the way to him. +"What is it?" he asked. + +The man was blubbering. "Oh, Lord; oh, Lord!" he said. "My lady's gone +not five minutes, and he'll not be let nor hindered! He's to the +House, and if the crowd set upon him he'll be murdered. For God's +sake, follow him, sir! He's Sir Charles Wetherell, and a better master +never walked, let them say what they like. If there's anybody with +him, maybe they'll not touch him." + +"I will follow him," Vaughan answered. And he hastened after the stout +man, who had by this time reached the corner of the street. + +Vaughan was surprised that he had not recognised Wetherell. For in +every bookseller's window caricatures of the "Last of the +Boroughbridges," as the wits called him, after the pocket borough for +which he sat, were plentiful as blackberries. Not only was he the +highest of Tories, but he was a martyr in their cause; for, +Attorney-General in the last Government, he had been dismissed for +resisting the Catholic Claims. Since then he had proved himself, of +all the opponents of the Bill, the most violent, the most witty, and, +with the exception of Croker perhaps, the most rancorous. At this date +he passed for the best hated man in England; and representative to the +public mind of all that was old-fashioned and illiberal and exclusive. +Vaughan knew, therefore, that the servant's fears were not unfounded, +and with a heart full of pity--for he remembered the darkened +house--he made after him. + +By this time Sir Charles was some way ahead and already involved in +the crowd. Fortunately the throng was densest opposite Old Palace +Yard, whence the King was in the act of departing; and the space +before the Hall and before St. Stephen's Court--the buildings about +which abutted on the river--though occupied by a loosely moving +multitude, and presenting a scene of the utmost animation, was not +impassable. Sir Charles was in the heart of the crowd before he was +recognised; and then his stolid unconsciousness and the general +good-humour, born of victory, served him well. He was too familiar a +figure to pass altogether unknown; and here and there a man hissed +him. One group turned and hooted after him. But he was within a dozen +yards of the entrance of St. Stephen's Court, with Vaughan on his +heels, before any violence was offered. There a man whom he happened +to jostle recognised him and, bawling abuse, pushed him rudely; and +the act might well have been the beginning of worse things. But +Vaughan touched the man on the shoulder and looked him in the face. "I +shall know you," he said quietly. "Have a care!" And the fellow, +intimidated by his words and his six feet of height, shrank into +himself and stood back. + +Wetherell had barely noticed the rudeness. But he noted the +intervention by a backward glance. "Much obliged," he grunted. "Know +you, too, again, young gentleman." And he went heavily on and passed +out of the crowd into the court, followed by a few scattered hisses. + +Behind the officers of the House who guarded the entrance a group of +excited talkers were gathered. They were chiefly members who had just +left the House and had been brought to a stand by the sight of the +crowd. On seeing Wetherell, surprise altered their looks. "Good G--d!" +cried one, stepping forward. "You've come down, Wetherell?" + +"Ay," the stricken man answered without lifting his eyes or giving the +least sign of animation. "Is it too late?" + +"By an hour. There's nothing to be done. Grey and Bruffam have got the +King body and soul. He was so determined to dissolve, he swore that +he'd come down in a hackney-coach rather than not come. So they say!" + +"Ay!" + +"But I hope," a second struck in, in a tone of solicitude, "that as +you are here, Lady Wetherell has rallied." + +"She died a quarter of an hour ago," he muttered. "I could do no more. +I came here. But as I am too late, I'll go back." + +Yet he stood awhile, as if he had no longer anything to draw him one +way more than another; with his double chin and pendulous cheeks +resting on his breast and his leaden eyes sunk to the level of the +pavement. And the others stood round him with shocked faces, from +which his words and manner had driven the flush of the combat. +Presently two members, arguing loudly, came up, and were silenced by a +glance and a muttered word. The ungainly attitude, the ill-fitting +clothes, did but accentuate the tragedy of the central figure. They +knew--none better--how fiercely, how keenly, how doggedly he had +struggled against death, against the Bill. + +And yet, had they thought of it, the vulgar caricatures that had hurt +her, the abuse that had passed him by to lodge in her bosom, would +hurt her no more! + +Meanwhile, Vaughan, as soon as he had seen Sir Charles within the +entrance reserved for members, had betaken himself to the main door of +the Hall, a few paces to the westward. He had no hope that he would +now be able to perform the errand on which he had set forth; for the +Chancellor, for certain, would have other fish to fry and other people +to see. But he thought that he would leave a card with the usher, so +that Lord Brougham might know that he had not failed to come, and +might make a fresh appointment if he still wished to see him. + +Of the vast congeries of buildings which then encased St. Stephen's +Chapel and its beautiful but degraded cloisters, little more than the +Hall is left to us. The Hall we have, and in the main in the condition +in which the men of that generation viewed it; as Canning viewed it, +when with death in his face he paced its length on Peel's arm, and +suspecting, perhaps, that they two would meet no more, proved to +all men the good-will he bore his rival. Those among us whose memories +go back a quarter of a century, and who can recall its aspect in +term-time, with three score barristers parading its length, and thrice +as many suitors and attorneys darting over its pavement--all under the +lofty roof which has no rival in Europe--will be able to picture it as +Vaughan saw it when he entered. To the bustle attending the courts of +law was added on this occasion the supreme excitement of the day. In +every corner, on the steps of every court, eager groups wrangled and +debated; while above the hubbub of argument and the trampling of feet, +the voices of ushers rose monotonously, calling a witness or enjoining +order. + +Vaughan paused beside the cake-stall at the door and surveyed the +scene. As he stood, one of two men who were pacing near saw him, and +with a whispered word left his companion and came towards him. + +"Mr. Vaughan," he said, extending his hand with bland courtesy, "I +hope you are well. Can I do anything for you? We are dissolved, but a +frank is a frank for all that--to-day." + +"No, I thank you," Vaughan answered. "The truth is, I had an +appointment with the Chancellor for this afternoon. But I suppose he +will not see me now." + +The other's eyebrows met, with the result that his face looked less +bland. He was a small man, with keen dark eyes and bushy grey +whiskers, and an air of hawk-like energy which sixty years had not +tamed. He wore the laced coat of a sergeant at law, powdered on the +shoulders, as if he had but lately and hurriedly cast off his wig. +"Good G--d!" he said. "With the Chancellor!" And then, pulling himself +up, "But I congratulate you. A student at the Bar, as I believe you +are, Mr. Vaughan, who has appointments with the Chancellor, has +fortune indeed within his grasp." + +Vaughan laughed. "I fear not," he said. "There are appointments and +appointments, Sergeant Wathen. Mine is not of a professional nature." + +Still the sergeant's face, do what he would, looked grim. He had his +reasons for disliking what he heard. "Indeed!" he said drily. "Indeed! +But I must not detain you. Your time," with a faint note of sarcasm, +"is valuable." And with a civil salutation the two parted. + +Wathen went back to his companion. "Talk of the Old One!" he said. "Do +you know who that is?" + +"No," the other answered. They had been discussing the coming +election. "Who is it?" + +"One of my constituents." + +His friend laughed. "Oh, come," he said. "I thought you had but one, +sergeant--old Vermuyden." + +"Only one," Wathen answered, his eyes travelling from group to group, +"who counts; or rather, who did count. But thirteen who poll. And +that's one of them." He glanced frowning in the direction which +Vaughan had taken. "And what do you think his business is here, +confound him?" + +"What?" + +"An appointment with old Wicked Shifts." + +"With the Chancellor? Pheugh!" + +"Ay," the sergeant answered morosely, "you may whistle. There's some +black business on foot, you may depend upon it. And ten to one it's +about my seat. He's a broom," he continued, tugging at the whiskers +which the late King had stamped with the imprimatur of fashion, "that +will make a clean sweep of us if we don't take care. Whatever he does, +there's something behind it. Some bedchamber plot, or some intrigue to +get A. out and put B. in. If it was a charwoman's place he wanted, +he'd not ask for it and get it. That wouldn't please him. But he'd +tunnel and tunnel and tunnel--and so he'd get it." + +"Still," the other replied, with secret amusement--for he had no seat, +and the woes of our friends, especially our better-placed friends, +have their comic side--"I thought that you had a safe thing, Wathen? +That old Vermuyden's nomination at Chippinge was as good as an order +on the Bank of England?" + +"It was," Wathen answered drily. "But with the country wild for the +Bill, there's no saying what may happen anywhere. Safe!" he continued, +with a snarl. "Was there ever a safer seat than Westbury? Or a man who +had a place in better order than old Lopes, who owned it, and died +last month; taken from the evil to come, Jekyll said, for he never +could have existed in a world without rotten boroughs! It's not far +from Chippinge, so I know--know it well. And I tell you his system was +beautiful--beautiful! Yet when Peel was there--after he had rattled on +the Catholic Claims and been thrown out at Oxford, Lopes made way for +him, you remember?--he would not have got in, no, by G--d, he wouldn't +have got in if there had been a man against him. And the state in +which the country was then, though there was a bit of a Protestant +cry, too, wasn't to compare with what it will be now. That man"--he +shook his fist stealthily in the direction of the Chancellor's +Court--"has lighted a fire in England that will never be put out till +it has consumed King, Lords, and Commons--ay, every stick and stone of +the old Constitution. You take my word for it. And to think--to +think," he added still more savagely, "that it is the Whigs have done +this. The Whigs! who own more than half the land in the country; who +are prouder and stiffer than old George the Third himself; who +wouldn't let you nor me into their Cabinet to save our lives. By the +Lord," he concluded with gusto, "they'll soon learn the difference!" + +"In the meantime--there'll be dead cats and bad eggs flying, you +think?" + +Wathen groaned. "If that were the end of it," he said, "I'd not mind." + +"Still, with it all, you are pretty safe, I suppose?" + +"With that fellow closeted with the Chancellor? No, no!" + +"Who is the young spark!" the other asked carelessly. "He looked a +decentish kind of fellow. A little of the prig, perhaps." + +"He's that!" Wathen answered. "A d----d prig. What's more, a cousin of +old Vermuyden's. And what's worse, his heir. That's why they put him +in the corporation and made him one of the thirteen. Thought the vote +safe in the family, you see? And cheaper?" He winked. "But there's no +love lost between him and old Sir Robert. A bed for a night once a +year, and one day in the season among the turnips, and glad to see +your back, my lad! That's about the position. Now I wonder if Brougham +is going to try--but Lord! there's no guessing what is in that man's +head! He's fuller of mischief than an egg of meat!" + +The other was about to answer when one of the courts, in which a case +of some difficulty had caused a late sitting, discharged its noisy, +wrangling, perspiring crowd. The two stepped aside to avoid the +evasion, and did not rsum their talk. Wathen's friend made his way +out by the main door near which they had been standing; while the +sergeant, with looks which mirrored the gloom that a hundred Tory +faces wore on that day, betook himself to the robing-room. There he +happened upon another unfortunate. They fell to talking, and their +talk ran naturally upon the Chancellor, upon old Grey's folly in +letting himself be led by the nose by such a rogue; finally, upon the +mistakes of their own party. They differed on the last topic, and in +that natural and customary state we may leave them. + + + + + II + + THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM + + +The Court of Chancery, the preserve for nearly a quarter of a +century of Eldon and Delay, was the farthest from the entrance on the +right-hand side of the Hall--a situation which enabled the Chancellor +to pass easily to that other seat of his labours, the Woolsack. Two +steps raised the Tribunals of the Common Law above the level of the +Hall. But as if to indicate that this court was not the seat of +anything so common as law, but was the shrine of that more august +conception, Patronage, and the altar to which countless divines of the +Church of England looked with unwinking devotion, a flight of six or +eight steps led up to the door. + +The privacy thus secured had been much to the taste of Lord Eldon. +Doubt and delay flourish best in a close and dusty atmosphere; and if +ever there was a man to whom that which was was right, it was "Old +Bags." Nor had Lord Lyndhurst, his immediate successor, quarrelled +with an arrangement which left him at liberty to devote his time to +society and his beautiful wife. But the man who now sat in the marble +chair was of another kind from either of these. His worst enemy could +not lay dulness to his charge; nor could he who lectured the +Whitbreads on brewing, who explained their art to opticians, who vied +with Talleyrand in the knowledge of French literature, who wrote +eighty articles for the first twenty numbers of the "Edinburgh +Review," be called a sluggard. Confident of his powers, Brougham loved +to display them; and the wider the arena the better he was pleased. +His first sitting had been graced by the presence of three royal +dukes, a whole Cabinet, and a score of peers in full dress. Having +begun thus auspiciously, he was not the man to vegetate in the gloom +of a dry-as-dust court, or to be content with an audience of suitors, +whom equity, blessed word, had long stripped of their votes. + +Again and again during the last six months, by brilliant declamations +or by astounding statement, he had filled his court to the last inch. +The lions in the Tower, the tombs in the Abbey, the New Police--all +were deserted; and countryfolk flocked to Westminster, not to hear the +judgments of the highest legal authority in the land, but to see with +their own eyes the fugleman of reform--the great orator, whose voice, +raised at the Yorkshire election, had found an echo that still +thundered in the ears and the hearts of England. + +"I am for Reform!" he had said in the castle yard of York; and the +people of England had answered: "So are we; and we will have it, +or----" + +The lacuna they had filled, not with words, but with facts stronger +than words--with the flames of Kentish farmhouses and Wiltshire +factories; with political unions counting their numbers by scores of +thousands; with midnight drillings and vague and sullen murmurings; +above all, with the mysterious terror of some great change which was +to come--a terror that shook the most thoughtless and affected even +the Duke, as men called the Duke of Wellington in that day. For was +not every crown on the Continent toppling? + +Vaughan did not suppose that, in view of the startling event of the +day, he would be admitted. But the usher, who occupied a high stool +outside the great man's door, no sooner read his card than he slid to +the ground. "I think his lordship will see you, sir," he murmured +blandly; and he disappeared. + +He was back on the instant, and, beckoning to Vaughan to follow him, +he proceeded some paces along a murky corridor, which the venerable +form of Eldon seemed still to haunt. Opening a door, he stood aside. + +The room which Vaughan saw before him was stately and spacious, and +furnished with quiet richness. A deep silence, intensified by the fact +that the room had no windows, but was lighted from above, reigned in +it--and a smell of law-calf. Here and there on a bookcase or a +pedestal stood a marble bust of Bacon, of Selden, of Blackstone. And +for a moment Vaughan fancied that these were its only occupants. On +advancing further, however, he discovered two persons, who were +writing busily at separate side-tables; and one of them looked up and +spoke. + +"Your pardon, Mr. Vaughan!" he said. "One moment, if you please!" + +He was almost as good as his word, for less than a minute later he +threw down the pen, and rose--a gaunt figure in a black frockcoat, and +with a black stock about his scraggy neck--and came to meet his +visitor. + +"I fear that I have come at an untimely moment, my lord," Vaughan +said, a little awed in spite of himself by what he knew of the man. + +But the other's frank address put him at once at his ease. "Politics +pass, Mr. Vaughan," the Chancellor answered lightly, "but science +remains." He did not explain, as he pointed to a seat, that he loved, +above all things, to produce startling effects; to dazzle by the ease +with which he flung off one part and assumed another. + +Henry Brougham--so, for some time after his elevation to the peerage, +he persisted in signing himself--was at this time at the zenith of his +life, as of his fame. Tall, but lean and ungainly, with a long neck +and sloping shoulders, he had one of the strangest faces which genius +has ever worn. His clownish features, his high cheek-bones, and queer +bulbous nose are familiar to us; for, something exaggerated by the +caricaturist, they form week by week the trailing mask which mars the +cover of "Punch." Yet was the face, with all its ugliness, singularly +mobile; and the eyes, the windows of that restless and insatiable +soul, shone, sparkled, laughed, wept, with incredible brilliance. That +which he did not know, that which his mind could not perform--save sit +still and be discreet--no man had ever discovered. And it was the +knowledge of this, the sense of the strange and almost uncanny +versatility of the man, which for a moment overpowered Vaughan. + +The Chancellor seated himself opposite his visitor, and placed a hand +on each of his wide-spread knees. He smiled. + +"My friend," he said, "I envy you." + +Vaughan coloured shyly. "Your lordship has little cause," he answered. + +"Great cause," was the reply, "great cause! For as you are I +was--and," he chuckled, as he rocked himself to and fro, "I have not +found life very empty or very unpleasant. But it was not to tell you +this that I asked you to wait on me, Mr. Vaughan, as you may suppose. +Light! It is a singular thing that you at the outset of your +career--even as I thirty years ago at the same point of mine--should +take up such a parergon, and alight upon the same discovery." + +"I do not think I understand." + +"In your article on the possibility of the permanence of +reflection--to which I referred in my letter, I think?" + +"Yes, my lord, you did." + +"You have restated a fact which I maintained for the first time more +than thirty years ago! In my paper on colours, read before the Royal +Society in--I think it was '96." + +Vaughan stared. His colour rose slowly. "Indeed?" he said, in a tone +from which he vainly strove to banish incredulity. + +"You have perhaps read the paper?" + +"Yes, I have." + +The Chancellor chuckled. "And found nothing of the kind in it?" he +said. + +Vaughan coloured still more deeply. He felt that the position was +unpleasant. "Frankly, my lord, if you ask me, no." + +"And you think yourself," with a grin, "the first discoverer?" + +"I did." + +Brougham sprang like a boy to his feet, and whisked his long, lank +body to a distant bookshelf. Thence he took down a much-rubbed +manuscript book. As he returned he opened this at a place already +marked, and, laying it on the table, beckoned to the young man to +approach. "Read that," he said waggishly, "and confess, young sir, +that there were chiefs before Agamemnon." + +Vaughan stooped over the book, and having read looked up in +perplexity. "But this passage," he said, "was not in the paper read +before the Royal Society in '96?" + +"In the paper read? No. Nor yet in the paper printed? There, too, you +are right. And why? Because a sapient dunder-head who was in authority +requested me to omit this passage. He did not believe that light +passing through a small hole in the window-shutter of a darkened room +impresses a view of external objects on white paper; nor that, as I +suggested, the view might be made permanent if cast instead on ivory +rubbed with nitrate of silver!" + +Vaughan was dumbfounded, and perhaps a little chagrined. "It is most +singular!" he said. + +"Do you wonder now that I could not refrain from sending for you?" + +"I do not, indeed." + +The Chancellor patted him kindly on the shoulder, and by a gesture +made him rsum his seat. "No, I could not refrain," he continued; +"the coincidence was too remarkable. If you come to sit where I sit, +the chance will be still more singular." + +Vaughan coloured with pleasure. "Alas!" he said, smiling, "one +swallow, my lord, does not made a summer." + +"Ah, my friend," with a benevolent look. "But I know more of you than +you think. You were in the service, I hear, and left it. _Cedant arma +tog_, eh?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I, too, after a fashion. Thirty years ago I served a gun with +Professor Playfair in the Volunteer Artillery of Edinburgh. God +knows," he continued complacently, "if I had gone on with it, where I +should have landed! Where the Duke is, perhaps! More surprising things +have happened." + +Vaughan did not know whether to take this, which was gravely and even +sentimentally spoken, for jest or earnest. He did not speak. And +Brougham, seated in his favourite posture, with a hand on either knee, +his lean body upright, and the skirts of his black coat falling to the +floor on either side of him, resumed. "I hear, too, that you have done +well at the Academic," he said, "and on the right side, Mr. Vaughan. +Light? Ay, always light, my friend, always light! Let that be our +motto. For myself," he continued earnestly, "I have taken it in hand +that this poor country shall never lack light again; and by God's help +and Johnny Russell's Bill I'll bring it about! And not the +phosphorescent light of rotten boroughs and corrupt corporations, Mr. +Vaughan. No, nor the blaze of burning stacks, kindled by wretched, +starving, ignorant--ay, above all, Mr. Vaughan, ignorant men! But the +light of education, the light of a free Press, the light of good +government and honest representation; so that, whatever they lack, +henceforth they shall have voices and means and ways to make their +wants known. You agree with me? But I know you do, for I hear how well +you have spoken on that side. Mr. Cornelius," turning and addressing +the gentleman who still continued to write at his table, "who was it +told us of Mr. Vaughan's speech at the Academic?" + +"I don't know," Mr. Cornelius answered gruffly. + +"No?" the Chancellor said, not a whit put out. "He never knows +anything!" And then, throwing one knee over the other, he regarded +Vaughan with closer attention. "Mr. Vaughan," he said, "have you ever +thought of entering Parliament?" + +Vaughan's heart bounded, and his face betrayed his emotions. Good +heavens, was the Chancellor about to offer him a Government seat? He +scarcely knew what to expect or what to say. The prospect, suddenly +opened, blinded him. He muttered that he had not as yet thought of it. + +"You have no connection," Brougham continued, "who could help you to a +seat? For if so, now is the time. Presently there will be a Reformed +Parliament and a crowd of new men, and the road will be blocked by the +throng of aspirants. You are not too young. Palmerston was not so old +when Perceval offered him a seat in the Cabinet." + +The words, the tone, the assumption that such things were for +him--that he had but to hold out his hand and they would fall into +it--dropped like balm into the young man's soul. Yet he was not sure +that the other was serious, and he made a tremendous effort to hide +the emotion he felt. "I am afraid," he said, with a forced smile, +"that I, my lord, am not Lord Palmerston." + +"No?" Brougham answered with a faint sneer. "But not much the worse +for that, perhaps. So that if you have any connection who commands a +seat, now is the time." + +Vaughan shook his head. "I have none," he said, "except my cousin, Sir +Robert Vermuyden." + +"Vermuyden of Chippinge?" the Chancellor exclaimed, in a voice of +surprise. + +"The same, my lord." + +"Good G--d!" Brougham cried. It was not a mealy-mouthed age. And he +leant back and stared at the young man. "You don't mean to say that he +is your cousin?" + +"Yes." + +The Chancellor laughed grimly. "Oh, dear, dear!" he said. "I am afraid +that he won't help us much. I remember him in the House--an old high +and dry Tory. I am afraid that, with your opinions, you've not much to +expect of him. Still--Mr. Cornelius," to the gentleman at the table, +"oblige me with Oldfield's 'House of Commons,' the Wiltshire volume, +and the private Borough List. Thank you. Let me see--ah, here it is!" + +He proceeded to read in a low tone, skipping from heading to heading: +"Chippinge, in the county of Wilts, has returned two members since the +twenty-third of Edward III. Right of election in the Alderman and the +twelve capital burgesses, who hold their places for life. Number of +voters, thirteen. Patron, Sir Robert Vermuyden, Bart., of Stapylton +House. + +"Umph, as I thought," he continued, laying down the book. "Now what +does the list say?" And, taking it in turn from his knee, he read: + +"In Schedule A for total disfranchisement, the population under 2000. +Present members, Sergeant Wathen and Mr. Cooke, on nomination of Sir +Robert Vermuyden; the former to oblige Lord Eldon, the latter by +purchase. Both opponents of Bill; nothing to be hoped from them. The +Bowood interest divides the corporation in the proportion of four to +nine, but has not succeeded in returning a member since the election +of 1741--on petition. The heir to the Vermuyden interest is----" He +broke off sharply, but continued to study the page. Presently he +looked over it. + +"Are you the Mr. Vaughan who inherits?" he asked gravely. + +"The greater part of the estates--yes." + +Brougham laid down the book and rubbed his chin. "Under those +circumstances," he said, after musing a while, "don't you think that +your cousin could be persuaded to return you as an independent +member?" + +Vaughan shook his head with decision. + +"The matter is important," the Chancellor continued slowly, and as if +he weighed his words. "I cannot precisely make a promise, Mr. Vaughan; +but if your cousin could see the question of the Bill in another +light, I have little doubt that any object in reason could be secured +for him. If, for instance, it should be necessary in passing the Bill +through the Upper House to create new--eh?" + +He paused, looking at Vaughan, who laughed outright. "Sir Robert would +not cross the park to save my life, my lord," he said. "And I am sure +he would rather hang outside the White Lion in Chippinge marketplace +than resign his opinions or his borough!" + +"He'll lose the latter, whether or no," Brougham answered, with a +touch of irritation. "Was there not some trouble about his wife? I +think I remember something." + +"They were separated many years ago." + +"She is alive, is she not?" + +"Yes." + +Brougham saw, perhaps, that the subject was not palatable, and he +abandoned it. With an abrupt change of manner he flung the books from +him with the recklessness of a boy, and raised his sombre figure to +its height. "Well, well," he said, "I hoped for better things; but I +fear, as Tommy Moore sings-- + + + "_He's pledged himself, though sore bereft + Of ways and means of ruling ill, + To make the most of what are left + And stick to all that's rotten still!_ + + +And by the Lord, I don't say that I don't respect him. I respect every +man who votes honestly as he thinks." And grandly, with appropriate +gestures, he spouted: + + + "_Who spurns the expedient for the right + Scorns money's all-attractive charms, + And through mean crowds that clogged his flight + Has nobly cleared his conquering arms_. + + +That's the Attorney-General's. He turns old Horace well, doesn't he?" + +Vaughan coloured. Young and candid, he could not bear the thought of +taking credit where he did not deserve it. "I fear," he said +awkwardly, "that would bear rather hardly on me if we had a contest at +Chippinge, my lord. Fortunately it is unlikely." + +"How would it bear hardly on you?" Brougham asked, with interest. + +"I have a vote." + +"You are one of the twelve burgesses?" in a tone of surprise. + +"Yes, by favour of Sir Robert." + +The Chancellor, smiling gaily, shook his head. "No," he said, "no; I +do not believe you. You do yourself an injustice. Leave that sort of +thing to older men, to Lyndhurst, if you will, d----d Jacobin as he +is, preening himself in Tory feathers, and determined whoever's in +he'll not be out; or to Peel. Leave it! And believe me you'll not +repent it. I," he continued loftily, "have seen fifty years of life, +Mr. Vaughan, and lived every year of them and every day of them, and I +tell you that the thing is too dearly bought at that price." + +Vaughan felt himself rebuked; but he made a fight. "And yet," he said, +"are there no circumstances, my lord, in which such a vote may be +justified?" + +"A vote against your conscience--to oblige someone?" + +"Well, yes." + +"A Jesuit might justify it. There is nothing which a Jesuit could not +justify, I suppose. But though no man was stronger for the Catholic +Claims than I was, I do not hold a Jesuit to be a man of honour. And +that is where the difference lies. There! But," he continued, with an +abrupt change from the lofty to the confidential, "let me tell you a +fact, Mr. Vaughan. In '29--was it in April or May of '29, Mr. +Cornelius?" + +"I don't know to what you refer," Mr. Cornelius grunted. + +"To be sure you don't," the Chancellor replied, without any loss of +good-humour; "but in April or May of '29, Mr. Vaughan, the Duke +offered me the Rolls, which is 7000 a year clear for life, and +compatible with a seat in the Commons. It would have suited me better +in every way than the Seals and the House of Lords. It was the prize, +to be frank with you, at which I was aiming; and as at that time the +Duke was making his right-about-face on the Catholic question, and was +being supported by our side, I might have accepted it with an +appearance of honour and consistency. But I did not accept it. I did +not, though my refusal injured myself, and did no one any good. But +there, I am chattering." He broke off, with a smile, and held out his +hand. "However, + + + "_Est et fideli tuta silentio + Merces!_ + + +You won't forget that, I am certain. And you may be sure I shall +remember you. I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Mr. +Vaughan. Decide on the direction, politics or the law, in which you +mean to push, and some day let me know. In the meantime follow the +light! Light, more light! Don't let them lure you back into old Giant +Despair's cave, or choke you with all the dead bones and rottenness +and foulness they keep there, and that, by God's help, I'll sweep out +of the world before it's a year older!" + +And still talking, he saw Vaughan, who was murmuring his +acknowledgments, to the door. + +When that had closed on the young man Brougham came back, and, +throwing wide his arms, yawned prodigiously. "Now," he said, "if +Lansdowne doesn't effect something in that borough, I am mistaken." + +"Why," Cornelius muttered curtly, "do you trouble about the borough? +Why don't you leave those things to the managers?" + +"Why? Why, first because the Duke did that last year, and you see the +result--he's out and we're in. Secondly, Corny, because I am like the +elephant's trunk, that can tear down a tree or pick up a pin." + +"But in picking up a pin," the other grunted, "it picks up a deal of +something else." + +"Of what?" + +"Dirt!" + +"Old Pharisee!" the Chancellor cried. + +Mr. Cornelius threw down his pen, and, turning in his seat, opened +fire on his companion. "Dirt!" he reiterated sternly. "And for what? +What will be the end of it when you have done all for them, clean and +dirty? They'll not keep you. They use you now, but you're a new man. +What, you--_you_ think to deal on equal terms with the Devonshires and +the Hollands, the Lansdownes and the Russells! Who used Burke, and +when they had squeezed him tossed him aside? Who used Tierney till +they wore him and his fortune out? Who would have used Canning, but he +did not trust them, and so they worried him--though they were all dumb +dogs before him--to his death. Ay, and presently, when you have served +their turn, they will cast you aside." + +"They will not dare!" Brougham cried. + +"Pshaw! You are Samson, but you are shorn of your strength. They have +been too clever for you. While you were in the Commons they did not +dare. Harry Brougham was their master. So they lured you, poor fool, +into the trap, into the Lords, where you may spout, and spout, and +spout, and it will have as much effect as the beating of a bird's +wings against the bars of its cage!" + +"They will not dare!" Brougham reiterated. + +"You will see. They will throw you aside." + +Brougham walked up and down the room, his eyes glittering, his quaint, +misshapen features working passionately. + +"They will throw you aside," Mr. Cornelius repeated, watching him +keenly. "You are a man of the people. You are in earnest. You are +honestly in favour of retrenchment, of education, of reform. But to +these Whigs--save and except to Althorp, who is that _lusus natur_, +an honest man, and to Johnny Russell, who is a fanatic--these are +but catchwords, stalking-horses, the means by which, after the +dull old fashion of their fathers and their grandfathers and their +great-grandfathers, they think to creep into power. Reform, if reform +means the representation of the people by the people, the rule of the +people by the people, or by any but the old landed families--why, the +very thought would make them sick!" + +Brougham stopped in his pacing to and fro. "You are right," he said +sombrely. + +"You acknowledge it?" + +"I have known it--here!" And, drawing himself to his full height, he +clapped his hand to his breast. "I have known it here for months. Ay, +and though I have sworn to myself that they would not dare to treat me +as they treated Burke, and Sheridan, and Tierney, and as they would +have treated Canning, I knew it was a lie, my lad; I knew they would. +My mother--ay, my old mother, sitting by the chimneyside, out of the +world there, knew it, and warned me." + +"Then why did you go into the Lords?" Cornelius asked. "Why be lured +into the gilded cage, where you are helpless?" + +"Because, mark you," Brougham replied sternly, "if I had not, they had +not brought in this Bill. And we had waited, and the people had +waited, another twenty years, maybe!" + +"And so you went into the prison-house shorn of your strength?" + +Brougham looked at him with a gleam of ferocity in his brilliant eyes. +"Ay," he said, "I did. And by that act," he continued, stretching his +long arms to their farthest extent, "mark you, mark you, never forget +it, I avenged all--not only all I may suffer at their hands, but all +that every slave who ever ground in their mill has suffered, the +slights, the grudged meticulous office, the one finger lent to +shake--all, all! I went into the prison-house, but when I did so I +laid my hands upon the pillars. And their house falls, falls. I +hear it--I hear it falling even now about their ears. They may +throw me aside. But the house is falling, and the great Whig +families--pouf!--they are not in the heaven above, or in the earth +beneath, or in the water that is under the earth. You call Reform +their stalking-horse? Ay, but it is into their own Troy that they +have dragged it; and the clatter of strife which you hear is the +death-knell of their power. They have let in the waves of the sea, and +dream fondly that they can say where they shall stop and what they +shall not touch. They may as well speak to the tide when it flows; +they may as well command the North Sea in its rage; they may as well +bid Hume be silent, or Wetherell be sane. You say I am spent, +Cornelius; and so I am, it may be. I know not. But this I know. Never +again will the families say 'Go!' and he goeth, and 'Do!' and he +doeth, as in the old world that is passing--passing even at this +minute, passing with the Bill. No," he continued, flinging out his +arms with passion; "for when they thought to fool me, and to shut me +dumb among dumb things behind the gilded wires, I knew--I knew that I +was dragging down their house upon their heads." + +Mr. Cornelius stared at him. "By G--d!" he said, "I believe you are +right. I believe that you are a cleverer man than I thought you were." + + + + + III + + TWO LETTERS + + +The Hall was empty when Vaughan came forth; and as the young man +strode down its echoing length there was nothing save his own +footsteps on the pavement to distract his mind from the scene in which +he had taken part. He was excited and a little uplifted, as was +natural. The promises made, if they were to be counted as promises, +were of the vague and indefinite character which it is as easy to +evade as to fulfil. But the Chancellor had spoken to him as to an +equal and treated him as one who had but to choose a career to succeed +in it, and to win the highest prizes which it could bestow. This was +flattering; nor was it to a young man who had little experience of the +world, less flattering to be deemed the owner of a stake in the +country, and a person through whom offers of the most confidential and +important character might be properly made. + +He walked to his rooms in Bury Street with a pleasant warmth at his +heart. And at the Academic that evening, where owing to the events of +the day there was a fuller house than had ever been known, and a +fiercer debate, he championed the Government and upheld the +dissolution in a speech which not only excelled his previous efforts, +but was a surprise to those who knew him best. Afterwards he +recognised that his peroration had been only a paraphrase of +Brougham's impassioned "Light! More Light!" and that the whole owed +more than he cared to remember to the same source. But, after all, why +not? It was not to be expected that he could at once rise to the +heights of the greatest of living orators. And it was much that he had +made a hit; that as he left the room he was followed by all eyes. + +Nor did a qualm worthy of the name trouble him until the morning of +the 27th, five days later--a Wednesday. Then he found beside his +breakfast plate two letters bearing the postmark of Chippinge. + +"What's afoot?" he muttered. But he had a prevision before he broke +the seal of the first. And the contents bore out his fears. The letter +ran thus: + + + "Stapylton, Chippinge. + +"Dear Sir--I make no apology for troubling you in a matter in which +your interest is second only to mine and which is also of a character +to make apology beside the mark. It has not been necessary to require +your presence at Chippinge upon the occasion of former elections. But +the unwholesome ferment into which the public mind has been cast by +the monstrous proposals of Ministers has nowhere been more strongly +exemplified than here, by the fact that, for the first time in half a +century, the right of our family to nominate the members for the +Borough is challenged. Since the year 1783 no serious attempt has +been made to disturb the Vermuyden interest. And I have yet to learn +that--short of this anarchical Bill, which will sweep away all the +privileges attaching to property--such an attempt can be made with any +chance of success. + +"I am informed nevertheless that Lord Lansdowne, presuming on a small +connection in the Corporation, intends to send at least one candidate +to the poll. Our superiority is so great that I should not, even so, +trouble you to be present, were it not an object to discourage these +attempts by the exhibition of our full strength, and were it not still +more important to do so at a time when the existence of the Borough +itself is at stake. + +"Isaac White will apprise you of the arrangements to be made and will +keep you informed of all matters which you should know. Be good enough +to let Mapp learn the day and hour of your arrival, and he will see +that the carriage and servants meet the coach at Chippenham. Probably +you will come by the York House. It is the most convenient. + + "I have the honour to be + + "Your sincere kinsman, + + "Robert Vermuyden. + + +"To Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, Esquire, + +"17 Bury Street, St. James's." + + +Vaughan's face grew long, and his fork hung suspended above his plate, +as he perused the old gentleman's epistle. When all was read he laid +it down, and whistled. "Here's a fix!" he muttered. And he thought of +his speech at the Academic; and for the first time he was sorry that +he had made it. "Here's a fix!" he repeated. "What's to be done?" + +He was too much disturbed to go on with his breakfast, and he tore +open the other letter. It was from Isaac White, his cousin's attorney +and agent. It ran thus: + + + "High Street, Chippinge, + + "April 25, 1831. + + "_Chippinge Parliamentary Election_. + +"Sir.--I have the honour to inform you, as upon former occasions, that +the writ in the above is expected and that Tuesday the 3rd day of May +will be appointed for the nomination. It has not been needful to +trouble you heretofore, but on this occasion I have reason to believe +that Sir Robert Vermuyden's candidates will be opposed by nominees in +the Bowood Interest, and I have therefore, honoured Sir, to intimate +that your attendance will oblige. + +"The Vermuyden dinner will take place at the White Lion on Monday the +2nd, when the voters and their friends will sit down at 5 P. M. The +Alderman will preside, and Sir Robert hopes that you will be present. +The procession to the Hustings will leave the White Lion at ten on +Tuesday the 3d, and a poll, if demanded, will be taken after the usual +proceedings. + +"Any change in the order of the arrangements will be punctually +communicated to you. + + "I have the honour to be, Sir, + + "Your humble obedient servant, + + "Isaac White. + +"Arthur V. Vaughan, Esq., +(late H.M.'s 14th Dragoons), + +"17 Bury Street, London." + + +Vaughan flung the letter down and resumed his breakfast moodily. It +was a piece of shocking ill-fortune, that was all there was to be +said. + +Not that he really regretted his speech! It had committed him a little +more deeply, but morally he had been committed before. It is a poor +conscience that is not scrupulous in youth; and he was convinced, or +almost convinced, that if he had never seen the Chancellor he would +still have found it impossible to support Sir Robert's candidates. + +For he was sincere in his support of the Bill; a little because it +flattered his intellect to show himself above the prejudices of the +class to which he belonged; more, because he was of an age to view +with resentment the abuses which the Bill promised to sweep away. A +Government truly representative of the people, such as this Bill must +create, would not tolerate the severities which still disgraced the +criminal law. It would not suffer the heartless delays which made the +name of Chancery synonymous with ruin. Under it spring-guns and +man-traps would no longer scare the owner from his own coverts. The +poor would be taught, the slave would be freed. Above all, whole +classes of the well-to-do would no longer be deprived of a voice in +the State. No longer would the rights of one small class override the +rights of all other classes. + +He was at an age, in a word, when hope invites to change; and he was +for the Bill. "Ay, by Jove, I am!" he muttered, casting the die in +fancy, "and I'll not be set down! It will be awkward! It will be +odious! But I must go through with it!" + +Still, he was sorry. He sprang from the class which had profited by +the old system--that system under which some eight-score men returned +a majority of the House of Commons. He had himself the prospect of +returning two members. He could, therefore enter, to a degree--at +times to a greater degree than he liked,--into the feelings with which +the old-fashioned and the interested, the prudent and the timid, +viewed a change so great and so radical. But his main objection was +personal. He hated the necessity which forced him to cross the wishes +and to trample on the prejudices of an old man whom he regarded with +respect, and even with reverence: a solitary old man, the head of his +family, to whom he owed the very vote he must withhold; and who would +hardly, even by the logic of facts, be brought to believe that one of +his race and breeding could turn against him. + +Still it must be done; the die was cast. The sooner, therefore, it was +done, the better. He would go down to Stapylton at once, while his +courage was high; and he would tell Sir Robert. Then, whatever came of +it, he would have nothing with which to reproach himself. In the heat +of resolve he felt very brave and very virtuous; and the moment he +rose from breakfast he went to the coach office, and finding that the +York House, the fashionable Bath, coach was full for the following +day, he booked an outside seat on the Bristol White Lion Coach, which +also passed through Chippenham. From Chippenham, Chippinge is distant +a short nine miles. + +That evening proved to be memorable; for the greater part of London +was illuminated by the Reformers in honour of the Dissolution; not +without rioting and drunkenness, violence on the part of the mob, and +rage on the side of the minority. When Vaughan passed through the +streets before six next morning, on his way to the White Horse +Cellars, traces of the night's work still remained; and where the +early sun fell on them showed ugly and grisly and menacing enough. A +moderate reformer might well have blenched at the sight, and +questioned--as many did question--whither this was tending. But +Vaughan was late; the coach, one out of three which were waiting to +start, was horsed. He had only eyes, as he came hurriedly up, for the +seat he had reserved behind the coachman. + +It was empty, and so far his fears were vain. But it annoyed him to +find that his next-door neighbour was a young lady travelling alone. +She had the seat on the near side. + +He climbed up quickly, and to reach his place had to pass before her. +The space between the seat and the coachman's box was narrow, and as +she rose to allow him to pass she glanced up. Their eyes met; Vaughan +raised his hat in mute apology, and took his seat. He said no word. +But a miracle had happened, as miracles do happen, when the world is +young. In his mind, as he sat down, he was not repeating, "What a +nuisance!" but was saying, "What eyes! What a face! And, oh, heaven, +what beauty! What blush-rose cheeks! What a lovely mouth!" + + + _For 'twas from eyes of liquid blue + A host of quivered Cupids flew, + And now his heart all bleeding lies + Beneath the army of the eyes_. + + +He gazed gravely at the group of watermen and night-birds who stood in +the roadway below waiting to see the coach start. And apparently he +was unmoved. Apparently he was the same Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan who +had passed round the boot of the coach to reach the ladder and his +place. But he was not the same. His thoughts were no longer querulous, +full of the haste he had made, and the breakfast he had to make; but +of a pair of gentle eyes which had looked for one instant into his, of +a modest face, sweet and shy, of a Quaker-like bonnet that ravished as +no other bonnet had ever ravished the most susceptible! + +He was still gazing at the group of loiterers, without seeing them, +when he became aware that an elderly woman plainly but respectably +dressed, who was standing by the forewheel of the coach, was looking +up at him, and trying to attract his attention. Seeing that she had +caught his eye she spoke: + +"Gentleman! Gentleman!" she said--but in a restrained voice, as if she +did not wish to be generally heard. "The young lady's address! Please +say that she's not left it! For the laundress!" + +He turned and made sure that there was only one of the sex on the +coach. Then--to be honest, not without a tiny flutter at his heart--he +addressed his neighbour. "Pardon me," he said "but there is someone +below who wants your address." + +She turned her eyes on him and his heart gave a perceptible jump. "My +address?" she echoed in a voice as sweet as her face. "I think that +there must be some mistake." And then for a moment she looked at him +as if she doubted his intentions. + +The doubt was intolerable. "It's for the laundress," he said. "See, +there she is!" + +The girl rose to look over the side of the coach and perforce leant +across him. He saw that she had the slenderest waist and the prettiest +figure--he had every opportunity of seeing. Then the coach started +with a jerk, and if she had not steadied herself by laying her hand on +his shoulder, she must have relapsed on his knees. As it was she fell +back safely into her seat. She blushed. + +"I beg your pardon," she said. + +But he was looking back. He had his eye on the woman, who remained in +the roadway, pointing after the coach and apparently asking a +bystander some question respecting it--perhaps where it stopped. +"There she is!" he exclaimed. "The woman with the umbrella! She is +pointing after us." + +His neighbour looked back but made nothing of it. "I know no one in +London," she said a little primly--but with sweet primness--"except +the lady at whose house I stayed last night. And she is not able to +leave the house. It must be a mistake." And with a gentle reserve +which had in it nothing of coquetry, she turned her face from him. + +Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! They were away, bowling down the slope of +broad empty Piccadilly with the four nags trotting merrily, and the +April sun gilding the roofs of the houses, and falling aslant on the +verdure of the Green Park. Then merrily up the rise to Hyde Park +Corner, where the new Grecian Gates looked across at the equally new +arch on Constitution Hill; and where Apsley House, the residence of +"the Duke," hiding with its new coat of Bath stone the old brick +walls, peeped through the trees at the statue of Achilles, erected ten +years back in the Duke's honour. + +But, alas! what was this? Wherefore the crowd that even at this early +hour was large enough to fill the roadway and engage the attention of +the New Police? Vaughan looked and saw that every blind in Apsley +House was lowered, and that more than half of the windows were +shattered. And the little French gentleman who, to the coachman's +disgust, had taken the box-seat, saw it too; nay, had seen it before, +for he had come that way to the coach office. He pointed to the +silent, frowning mansion, and snapped his fingers. + +"That is your reward for your Vellington!" he cried, turning in his +excitement to the two behind him. "And his lady, I am told, she lie +dead behind the broken vindows! They did that last night, your +_canaille!_ But he vill not forget! And when the refolution +come--bah--he vill have the iron hand! He vill be the Emperor and he +vill repay!" + +No one answered; they treated him with silent British scorn. But they +one and all stared back at the scene, at the grim blind house in the +early sunshine, and the gaping crowd--as long as it remained in sight. +And some, no doubt, pondered the sight. But who, with a pretty face +beside him and a long day's drive before him, a drive by mead and +shining river, over hill and down, under the walls of grey churches +and by many a marketplace and cheery inn-yard--who would long dwell on +changes past or to come? Or fret because in the womb of time might lie +that "refolution" of which the little Frenchman spoke? + + + + + IV + + TANTIVY! TANTIVY! TANTIVY! + + +The White Lion coach was a light coach carrying only five passengers +outside, and merrily it swept by Kensington Church, whence the +travellers had a peep of Holland House--home of the Whigs--on their +right. And then in a twinkling they were swinging through +Hammersmith, where the ale-houses were opening and lusty girls were +beginning to deliver the milk. They passed through Turnham, through +Brentford, awakening everywhere the lazy with the music of their horn. +They saw Sion House on their left, and on their right had a glimpse of +the distant lawns of Osterley--the seat of Lady Jersey, queen of +Almack's, and the Holland's rival. Thence they travelled over Hounslow +Heath, and by an endless succession of mansions and lawns and orchards +rich at this season with apple blossom, and framing here and there a +view of the sparkling Thames. + +Vaughan breathed the air of spring and let his eyes dwell on scene +after scene; and he felt that it was good to be young and to sit +behind fast horses. He stole a glance at his neighbour and judged by +the brightness of her eyes, her parted lips and rapt expression, that +she felt with him. And he would have said something to her, but he +could think of nothing worthy of her. At last: + +"It's a beautiful morning," he ventured, and cursed his vapidity. + +But she did not seem to find bathos in the words. "It is, indeed!" she +answered with an enthusiasm which showed that she had forgotten her +doubts of him. "And," she added simply, "I have not been on a coach +since I was a child!" + +"Not on a coach?" he cried in astonishment. + +"No. Except on the Clapham Stage. And that is not a coach like this!" + +"No, perhaps it is not," he said. And he thought of her, and--oh, +Lord!--of Clapham! And yet after all there was something about her, +about her grey, dove-like dress and her gentleness, which smacked of +Clapham. He wondered who she was and what she was; and he was still +wondering when she turned her eyes on him, and, herself serenely +unconscious, sent a tiny shock through him. + +"I enjoy it the more," she said, "because I--I am not usually free in +the morning." + +"Oh, yes!" + +He could say no more; not another word. It was the stupidest thing in +the world, but he was tongue-tied. Seeing, however, that she had +turned from him and was absorbed in the view of Windsor rising stately +amid its trees, he had the cleverness to steal a glance at the neat +little basket which nestled at her feet. Surreptitiously he read the +name on the label. + + + Mary Smith + Miss Sibson's + Queen's Square, Bristol. + + +Mary Smith! Just Mary Smith! For the moment--it is not to be +denied--he was sobered by the name. It was not a romantic name. It was +anything but high-sounding. The author of "Tremayne" or "De Vere," +nay, the author of "Vivian Grey"--to complete the trio of novels which +were in fashion at the time--would have turned up his nose at it. But +what did it matter? He desired no more than to make himself agreeable +for the few hours which he and this beautiful creature must pass +together--in sunshine and with the fair English landscape gliding by +them. And that being so, what need he reck what she called herself or +whence she came. It was enough that under her modest bonnet her ears +were shells and her eyes pure cornflowers, and that a few pleasant +words, a little April dalliance--if only that Frenchman would cease to +peep behind him and grin--would harm neither the one nor the other. + +But opportunities let slip do not always recur. As he turned to +address her they rose the ascent of Maidenhead Bridge, had on either +hand a glimpse of the river framed in pale green willows, and halted +with sweating horses before the King's Arms. The boots advanced, amid +a group of gazers, and reared a ladder against the coach. "Half an +hour for breakfast, gentlemen!" he cried briskly. And through the +windows of the inn the travellers had a view of a long table whereat +the passengers on the up night-coach were already feasting. + +Our friends hastened to descend, but not so fast that Vaughan failed +to note the girl's look of uncertainty, almost of distress. He guessed +that she was not at ease in a scene so bustling and so new to her. And +the thought gave him the courage that he needed. + +"Will you allow me to find you a place at the table?" he said. "I know +this inn and they know me. Guard, the ladder here!" And he took her +hand--oh, such a little, little hand!--and aided her in her descent. + +"Will you follow me?" he said. And he made way for her through the +knot of starers who cumbered the doorway. But once in the coffee-room +he had, cunning fellow, an inspiration. "Find this lady a seat!" he +commanded one of the attendant damsels. And when he had seen her +seated and the coffee set before her, he took himself deliberately to +the other end of the room. But whether he did so out of pure respect +for her feelings, or because he thought--and hugged himself on the +thought--that he would be missed, he did not himself know. Nor was he +so much a captive, though he counted how many rolls she ate, and +looked a dozen times to see if she looked at him, as to be unable to +make an excellent breakfast. + +The cheery, noisy throng at the tables, the brisk coming and going of +the servants, the smell of hot coffee, the open windows, and the +sunshine outside--where the fresh team of the up night-coach were +already tossing their heads impatiently--he wondered how it all struck +her, new to such scenes and to this side of life. And then while he +wondered he saw that she had risen from the table and was going out +with one of the waiting-maids. To reach the door she had to pass near +him; and, oh bliss, her eyes found him--and she blushed. She blushed, +ye heavens! He saw it clearly, and he sat thinking about it until, +though the coach was not due to start for another five minutes and he +might count on the guard summoning him, he was taken with fear lest +some one should steal his seat. And he hurried out. + +She was alone on the top of the coach, and a youthful waterman, one of +the crowd of loiterers below, was making eyes at her to the delight of +his companions. When Vaughan came forth, "I'd like to be him," the wag +said, winking with vulgar gusto. And the bystanders grinned at the +good-looking young man who stood in the doorway buttoning up his +box-coat. The position might soon have become embarrassing to her if +not to him; but in the nick of time the eye of an inside passenger, +who had followed him through the doorway, alighted on a huge placard +which hung behind the coach. + +"Take that down!" the stranger cried loudly and pompously. And in a +moment all eyes were upon him. He prodded with his umbrella at the +offending bill. "Do you hear me? Take it down, sir," he repeated, +turning to the guard. He was a portly man, reddish about the gills. +"Take it down, sir, or I will! It is disgraceful! I shall report this +conduct to your employers." + +The guard hesitated. "It don't harm you, sir," he pleaded, anxious, it +was clear, to propitiate a man who would presently be good for half a +crown. + +"Don't harm me?" the choleric gentleman retorted. "Don't harm me? +What's that to do with it? What right--what right have you, man, to +put party filth like that on a public vehicle in which I pay to ride? +'The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the Bill!' D--n the Bill, +sir!" with violence. "Take it down! Take it down at once!" he +repeated, as if his order closed the matter. + +The guard frowned at the placard, which bore, largely printed, the +legend which the gentleman found so little to his taste. He rubbed his +head. "Well, I don't know, sir," he said. And then--the crowd about +the coach was growing--he looked at the driver. "What do you say, +Sammy?" he asked. + +"Don't touch it," growled the driver, without deigning to turn his +head. + +"You see, sir, it is this way," the guard ventured civilly. "Mr. +Palmer has a Whig meeting at Reading to-day and the town will be full. +And if we don't want rotten eggs and broken windows--we'll carry +that!" + +"I'll not travel with it!" the stout gentleman answered positively. +"Do you hear me, man? If you don't take it down I will!" + +"Best not!" cried a voice from the little crowd about the coach. And +when the angry gentleman turned to see who spoke, "Best not!" cried +another behind him. And he wheeled about again, so quickly that the +crowd laughed. This raised his wrath to a white heat. + +He grew purple. "I shall have it taken down!" he said. "Guard, remove +it!" + +"Don't touch it," growled the driver--one of a class noted in that day +for independence and surly manners. "If the gent don't choose to +travel with it, let him stop here and be d--d!" + +"Do you know," the insulted passenger cried, "that I am a Member of +Parliament?" + +"I'm hanged if you are!" coachee retorted. "Nor won't be again!" + +The crowd roared at this repartee. The guard was in despair. "Anyway, +we must go on, sir," he said. And he seized his horn. "Take your +seats, gents! Take your seats!" he cried. "All for Reading! I'm sorry, +sir, but I've to think of the coach." + +"And the horses!" grumbled the driver. "Where's the gent's sense?" + +They all scrambled to their seats except the ex-member. He stood, +bursting with rage and chagrin. But at the last moment, when he saw +that the coach would really go without him, he swallowed his pride, +plucked open the coach-door, and amid the loud jeers of the crowd, +climbed in. The driver, with a chuckle, bade the helpers let go, and +the coach swung cheerily away through the streets of Maidenhead, the +merry notes of the horn and the rattle of the pole-chains drowning the +cries of the gutter-boys. + +The little Frenchman turned round. "You vill have a refolution," he +said solemnly. "And the gentleman inside he vill lose his head." + +The coachman, who had hitherto looked askance at Froggy, as if he +disdained his neighbourhood, now squinted at him as if he could not +quite make him out. "Think so?" he said gruffly. "Why, Mounseer?" + +"I have no doubt," the Frenchman answered glibly. "The people vill +have, and the nobles vill not give! Or they vill give a leetle--a +leetle! And that is the worst of all. I have seen two refolutions!" he +continued with energy. "The first when I was a child--it is forty +years! My bonne held me up and I saw heads fall into the basket--heads +as young and as lofly as the young Mees there! And why? Because the +people would have, and the King, he give that which is the worst of +all--a leetle! And the trouble began. And then the refolution of last +year--it was worth to me all that I had! The people would have, and +the Polignac, our Minister--who is the friend of your Vellington--he +would not give at all! And the trouble began." + +The driver squinted at him anew. "D'you mean to say," he asked, "that +you've seen heads cut off?" + +"I have seen the white necks, as white and as small as the Mees there; +I have seen the blood spout from them; bah! like what you call pump! +Ah, it was ogly, it was very ogly!" + +The coachman turned his head slowly and with difficulty, until he +commanded a full view of Vaughan's pretty neighbour; at whom he gazed +for some seconds as if fascinated. Then he turned to his horses and +relieved his feelings by hitting one of the wheelers below the trace; +while Vaughan, willing to hear what the Frenchman had to say, took up +the talk. + +"Perhaps here," he said, "those who have will give, and give enough, +and all will go well." + +"Nefer! Nefer!" the Frenchman answered positively. "By example, the +Duke whose chteau we pass--what you call it--Jerusalem House?" + +"Sion House," Vaughan answered, smiling. "The Duke of Northumberland." + +"By example he return four members to your Commons House. Is it not +so? And they do what he tell them. He have this for his nefew, and +that for his niece, and the other thing for his _matre d'htel!_ And +it is he and the others like him who rule the country! Gives he up all +that? To the _bourgeoisie?_ Nefer! Nefer!" he continued with emphasis. +"He will be the Polignac! They will all be the Polignacs! And you will +have a refolution. And by-and-by, when the _bourgeoisie_ is frightened +of the _canaille_ and tired of the blood-letting, your Vellington he +will be the Emperor. It is as plain as the two eyes in the face! So +plain for me, I shall not take off my clothes the nights!" + +"Well, King Billy for me!" said the driver. "But if he's willing, +Mounseer, why shouldn't the people manage their own affairs?" + +"The people! The people! They cannot! Your horses, will they govern +themselves? Will you throw down the reins and leave it to them, up +hill, down hill? The people govern themselves Bah!" And to express his +extreme disgust at the proposition, the Frenchman, who had lost his +all with Polignac, bent over the side and spat into the road. "It is +no government at all!" + +The driver looked darkly at his horses as if he would like to see them +try it on. "I am afraid," said Vaughan, "that you think we are in +trouble either way then, whether the Tories give or withhold?" + +"Eizer way! Eizer way!" the Frenchman answered _con amore_. "It is +fate! You are on the edge of the what you call it--_chute!_ And you +must go over! We have gone over. We have bumped once, twice! We shall +bump once, twice more, _et voil_--Anarchy! Now it is your turn, sir. +The government has to be--shifted--from the one class to the other!" + +"But it may be peacefully shifted?" + +The little Frenchman shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "I have nefer +seen the government shifted without all that that I have told you. +There will be the guillotine, or the barricades. For me, I shall not +take off my clothes the nights!" + +He spoke with a sincerity so real and a persuasion so clear that even +Vaughan was a little shaken, and wondered if those who watched the +game from the outside saw more than the players. As for the coachman: + +"Dang me," he said that evening to his cronies in the tap of the White +Lion at Bristol, "if I feel so sure about this here Reform! We want +none of that nasty neck-cutting here! And if I thought Froggy was +right I'm blest if I wouldn't turn Tory!" + +And for certain the Frenchman voiced what a large section of the timid +and the well-to-do were thinking. For something like a hundred and +fifty years a small class, the nobility and the greater gentry, +turning to advantage the growing defects in the representation--the +rotten boroughs and the close corporations--had ruled the country +through the House of Commons. Was it to be expected that the basis of +power could be shifted in a moment? Or that all these boroughs and +corporations, in which the governing class were so deeply interested, +could be swept away without a convulsion; without opening the +floodgates of change, and admitting forces which no man could measure? +Or, on the other side, was it likely that, these defects once seen and +the appetite of the middle class for power once whetted, their claims +could be refused without a struggle from which the boldest must +flinch? No man could say for certain, and hence these fears in the +air. The very winds carried them. They were being discussed in that +month of April not only on the White Lion coach, not on the Bath road +only, but on a hundred coaches, and a hundred roads over the length +and breadth of England. Wherever the sway of Macadam and Telford +extended, wherever the gigs of "riders" met, or farmers' carts stayed +to parley, at fair and market, sessions and church, men shook their +heads or raised their voices in high debate; and the word _Reform_ +rolled down the wind! + +Vaughan soon overcame his qualms; for his opinions were fixed. But he +thought that the subject might serve him with his neighbour, and he +addressed her. + +"You must not let them alarm you," he said. "We are still a long way, +I fancy, from guillotines or barricades." + +"I hope so," she answered. "In any case I am not afraid." + +"Why, if I may ask?" + +She glanced at him with a gleam of humour in her eyes. "Little shrubs +feel little wind," she murmured. + +"But also little sun, I fear," he replied. + +"That does not follow," she said, without raising her eyes again. +"Though it is true that I--I am so seldom free in a morning that a +journey such as this, with the sunshine, is like heaven to me." + +"The morning is a delightful time," he said. + +"Oh!" she cried, as if she now knew that he felt with her. "That is +it! The afternoon is different." + +"Well, fortunately, you and I have--much of the morning left." + +She made no reply to that, and he wondered in silence what was the +employment which filled her mornings and fitted her to enjoy with so +keen a zest this early ride. The Gloucester up-coach was coming to +meet them, the guard tootling merrily on his horn, and a blue and +yellow flag--the Whig colours--flying on the roof of the coach, which +was crowded with smiling passengers. Vaughan saw the girl's eyes +sparkle as the two coaches passed one another amid a volley of +badinage; and demure as she was, he was sure that she had a store of +fun within. He wished that she would remove her cheap thread gloves +that he might see if her hands were as white as they were small. She +was no common person, he was sure of that; her speech was correct, +though formal, and her manner was quiet and refined. And her eyes--he +must make her look at him again! + +"You are going to Bristol?" he said. "To stay there?" + +Perhaps he threw too much feeling into his voice. At any rate the tone +of her answer was colder. "Yes," she said, "I am." + +"I am going as far as Chippenham," he volunteered. + +"Indeed!" + +There! He had lost all the ground he had gained. She thought him a +possible libertine, who aimed at putting himself on a footing of +intimacy with her. And that was the last thing--confound it, he meant +that to do her harm was the last thing he had in his mind. + +It annoyed him that she should think anything of that kind. And he +cudgelled his brain for a subject at once safe and sympathetic, +without finding one. But either she was not so deeply offended as he +fancied, or she thought him sufficiently punished. For presently she +addressed him; and he saw that she was ever so little embarrassed. + +"Would you please to tell me," she said, in a low voice, "how much I +ought to give the coachman?" + +Oh. bless her! She did not think him a horrid libertine. "You?" he +said audaciously. "Why nothing, of course." + +"But--but I thought it was usual?" + +"Not on this road," he answered, lying resolutely. "Gentlemen are +expected to give half a crown, others a shilling. Ladies nothing at +all. Sam," he continued, rising to giddy heights of invention, "would +give it back to you, if you offered it." + +"Indeed!" He fancied a note of relief in her tone, and judged that +shillings were not very plentiful. Then, "Thank you," she added. "You +must think me very ignorant. But I have never travelled." + +"You must not say that," he returned. "Remember the Clapham Stage!" + +She laughed at the jest, small as it was; and her laugh gave him the +most delicious feeling--a sort of lightness within, half exhilaration, +half excitement. And of a sudden, emboldened by it, he was grown so +foolhardy that there is no knowing what he would not have said, if the +streets of Reading had not begun to open before them and display a +roadway abnormally thronged. + +For Mr. Palmer's procession, with its carriages, riders, and flags, +was entering ahead of them; and the train of tipsy rabble which +accompanied it blocked King Street, and presently brought the coach to +a stand. The candidate, lifting his cocked hat from time to time, was +a hundred paces before them and barely visible through a forest of +flags and banners. But a troop of mounted gentry in dusty black, and +smiling dames in carriages--who hardly masked the disgust with which +they viewed the forest of grimy hands extended to them to shake--were +under the travellers' eyes, and showed in the sunlight both tawdry and +false. Our party, however, were not long at ease to enjoy the +spectacle. The crowd surrounded the coach, leapt on the steps, and +hung on to the boot. And presently the noise scared the horses, which +at the entrance to the marketplace began to plunge. + +"The Bill! The Bill!" cried the rabble. And with truculence called on +the passengers to assent. "You lubbers," they bawled, "shout for the +Bill! Or we'll have you over!" + +"All right! All right!" replied Sammy, controlling his horses as well +as he could. "We're all for the Bill here! Hurrah!" + +"Hurrah! Palmer for ever, Tories in the river!" cried the mob. +"Hurrah!" + +"Hurrah!" echoed the guard, willing to echo anything. "The Bill for +ever! But let us pass, lads! Let us pass! We're for the Bear, and +we've no votes." + +"Britons never will be slaves!" shrieked a drunken butcher as the +marketplace opened before them. The space was alive with flags and gay +with cockades, and thronged by a multitude, through which the +candidate's procession clove its way slowly. "We'll have votes now! +Three cheers for Lord John!" + +"Hurrah! Hurrah!" + +"And down with Orange Peel!" squeaked a small tailor in a high +falsetto. + +The roar of laughter which greeted the sally startled the horses +afresh. But the guard had dropped down by this time and fought his way +to the head of one of the leaders; and two or three good-humoured +fellows seconded his efforts. Between them the coach was piloted +slowly but safely through the press; which, to do it justice, meant +only to exercise the privileges which the Election season brought with +it. + + + + + V + + ROSY-FINGERED DAWN + + +"_Beaucoup de bruit, pas de mal!_" Vaughan muttered in his neighbour's +ear; and saw with as much surprise as pleasure that she understood. + +And all would have gone well but for the imprudence of the inside +passenger who had distinguished himself by his protest against the +placard. The coach was within a dozen paces of the Bear, the crowd was +falling back from it, the peril, if it had been real, seemed past, the +most timid was breathing again, when he thrust out his foolish head, +and flung a taunt--which those on the roof could not hear--at the +rabble. + +Whatever the words, their effect was disastrous. A bystander caught +them up and repeated them, and in a trice half-a-dozen louts flung +themselves on the door and strove to drag it open, and get at the man; +while others, leaning over their shoulders, aimed missiles at the +inside passengers. + +The guard saw that more than the glass of his windows was at stake; +but he could do nothing. He was at the leaders' heads. And the +passengers on the roof, who had risen to their feet to see the fray, +were as helpless. Luckily the coachman kept his head and his reins. +"Turn 'em into the yard!" he yelled. "Turn 'em in!" + +The guard did so, almost too quickly. The frightened horses wheeled +round, and, faster than was prudent, dashed under the low arch, +dragging the swaying coach after them. + +There was a cry of "Heads! Heads!" and then, more imperatively, +"Heads! Stoop! Stoop!" + +The warning was needed. The outsides were on their feet engrossed in +the struggle at the coach door. And so quickly did the coach turn +that--though a score of spectators in the street and on the balcony of +the inn saw the peril--it was only at the last moment that Vaughan and +the two passengers at the back, men well used to the road, caught the +warning, and dropped down. And it was only at the very last moment +that Vaughan felt rather than saw that the girl was still standing. He +had just time, by a desperate effort, and amid a cry of horror--for to +the spectators she seemed to be already jammed between the arch and +the seat--to drag her down. Instinctively, as he did so, he shielded +her face with his arm; but the horror was so near that, as they swept +under the low brow, he was not sure that she was safe. + +He was as white as she was, when they emerged into the light again. +But he saw that she was safe, though her bonnet was dragged from her +head; and he cried unconsciously, "Thank God! Thank God!" Then, with +that hatred of a scene which is part of the English character, he put +her quickly back into her seat again, and rose to his feet, as if he +wished to separate himself from her. + +But a score of eyes had seen the act; and however much he might wish +to spare her feelings, concealment was impossible. + +"Christ!" cried the coachman, whose copper cheeks were perceptibly +paler. "If your head's on your shoulders, Miss, it is to that young +gentleman you owe it. Don't you ever go to sleep on the roof of a +coach again! Never! Never!" + +"Here, get a drop of brandy!" cried the landlady, who, from one of the +doors flanking the archway, had seen all. "Do you stay where you are, +Miss," she continued, "and I'll send it up to you." + +Then amid a babel of exclamations and a chorus of blame and praise, +the ladder was brought, and Vaughan made haste to descend. A waiter +tripped out with the brown brandy and water on a tray; and the young +lady, who had not spoken, but had remained, sitting white and still, +where Vaughan had placed her, sipped it obediently. Unfortunately the +landlady's eyes were sharp; and as Vaughan passed her to go into the +house--for the coach must be driven up the yard and turned before they +could set off again--she let fall a cry. + +"Lord, sir!" she said, "your hand is torn dreadful! You've grazed +every bit of skin off it!" + +He tried to silence her; and failing, hurried into the house. She +fussed after him to attend to him; and Sammy, who was not a man of the +most delicate perceptions, seized the opportunity to drive home his +former lesson. "There, Miss," he said solemnly, "I hope that'll teach +you to look out another time! But better his hand than your head. +You'd ha' been surely scalped!" + +The girl, a shade whiter than before, did not answer. And he thought +her, for so pretty a wench, "a right unfeelin' un!" + +Not so the Frenchman. "I count him a very locky man!" he said +obscurely. "A very locky man." + +"Well," the coachman answered with a grunt, "if you call that +lucky----" + +"_Vraiment! Vraiment!_ But I--alas!" the Frenchman answered with an +eloquent gesture, "I have lost my all, and the good fortunes are no +longer for me!" + +"Fortunes!" the coachman muttered, looking askance at him. "A fine +fortune, to have your hand flayed! But where's"--recollecting +himself--"where's that there fool that caused the trouble! D--n me, if +he shall go any further on my coach. I'd like to double-thong him, and +it'd serve him right!" + +So when the ex-M.P. presently appeared, Sammy let go his tongue to +such purpose that the political gentleman; finding himself in a +minority of one, retired into the house and, with many threats of what +he would do when he saw the management, declined to go on. + +"And a good riddance of a d--d Tory!" the coachman muttered. "Think +all the world's made for them! Fifteen minutes he's cost us already! +Take your seats, gents, take your seats! I'm off!" + +Vaughan, with his hand hastily bandaged, was the last to come out. He +climbed as quickly as he could to his place, and, without looking at +his neighbour, he said some common-place word. She did not reply, and +they swept under the arch. For a moment the sight of the thronged +marketplace diverted him. Then he looked at her, and he saw that she +was trembling. + +If he was not quite so wise as the Frenchman, having had no _bonnes +fortunes_ to speak of, he had, nevertheless, keen perceptions. And he +guessed that the girl, between her maiden shyness and her womanly +gratitude, was painfully placed. It could not be otherwise. A girl who +had spent her years, since childhood, within the walls of a school at +Clapham, first as genteel apprentice, and then as assistant; who had +been taught to consider young men as roaring lions with whom her own +life could have nothing in common, and from whom it was her duty to +guard the more giddy of her flock; who had to struggle at once +with the shyness of youth, the modesty of her sex, and her +inexperience--above all, perhaps with that dread of insult which +becomes the instinct of lowly beauty--how was she to carry herself in +circumstances so different from any which she had ever imagined? How +was she to express a tithe of the feelings with which her heart was +bursting, and which overwhelmed her as often as she thought of the +hideous death from which he had snatched her? + +She could not; and with inborn good taste she refrained from the +commonplace word, the bald acknowledgment, in which a shallow nature +might have taken refuge. On his side, he guessed some part of this, +and discerned that if he would relieve her he must himself speak. +Accordingly, when they had left the streets behind them and were +swinging merrily along the Newbury Road, he leant towards her. + +"May I beg," he said in a low voice, "that you won't think of what has +happened? The coachman would have done as much, and scolded you! I +happened to be next you. That was all." + +In a strangled voice, "But your hand," she faltered. "I fear--I----" +She shuddered, unable to go on. + +"It is nothing!" he protested. "Nothing! In three days it will be +well!" + +She turned her eves on him, eyes which possessed an eloquence of which +their owner was unconscious. "I will pray for you," she murmured. "I +can do no more." + +The pathos of her simple gratitude was such that Vaughan could not +laugh it off. "Thank you," he said quietly. "We shall then be more +than quits." And having given her a few moments in which to recover +herself, "We are nearly at Speenhamland," he resumed cheerfully. +"There is the George and Pelican! It's a great baiting-house for +coaches. I am afraid to say how much corn and hay they give out in a +day. They have a man who does nothing else but weigh it out." And so +he chattered on, doing his utmost to talk of indifferent matters in an +indifferent tone. + +She could not repulse him after what had passed. And now and then, by +a timid word, she gave him leave to talk. Presently he began to speak +of things other than those under their eyes, and when he thought that +he had put her at her ease, "You understand French?" he said looking +at her suddenly. + +"I spoke it as a child," she answered. "I was born abroad. I did not +come to England until I was nine." + +"To Clapham?" + +"Yes. I have been employed in a school there." + +Prudently he hastened to bring the talk back to the road again. And +she took courage to steal a look at him when his eyes were elsewhere. +He seemed so strong and gentle and courteous; this unknown creature +which she had been taught to fear. And he was so thoughtful of her! He +could throw so tender a note into his voice. Beside d'Orsay or +Alvanley--but she had never heard of them--he might have passed muster +but tolerably; but to her he seemed a very fine gentleman. She had a +woman's eye for the fineness of his linen, and the smartness of his +waistcoat--had not Sir James Graham, with his chest of Palermo stuffs, +set the seal of Cabinet approval on fancy waistcoats? Nor was she +blind to the easy carriage of his head, and his air of command. + +And there she caught herself up: reflecting with a blush that it was +by the easy path of thoughts such as these that the precipice was +approached; that so it was the poor and pretty let themselves be led +from the right road. Whither was she travelling? In what was this to +end? She trembled. And if they had not at that moment swung out of +Savernake Forest and sighted the red roofs of Marlborough, lying warm +and sung at the foot of the steep London Hill, she did not know what +she should have done, since she could not repulse him. + +They rattled in merry style through the town, the leaders cantering, +the bars swinging, the guard tootling, the sun shining; past a score +of inn signs before which the heavy stages were baiting; past the two +churches, while all the brisk pleasantness of this new, this living +world, appealed to her to go its way. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! Swerving to +the right they pulled up bravely, with steaming horses, before the +door of the far-famed Castle Inn. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! "Half an hour +for dinner, gentlemen!" + +"Now," said Vaughan, thinking that all was well, or rather declining +to think of anything but her shy glances and the delightful present. +"You must cut my meat for me!" + +She did not reply, and he saw that her eyes went to the basket at her +feet. He guessed that she wished to avoid the expense of dining. "Or, +perhaps, you are not coming in?" he said. + +"I did not intend to do so," she replied. "I suppose," she continued +timidly, "that I may stay here?" + +"Certainly. You have something with you?" + +"Yes." + +He nodded pleasantly and left her; and she remained in her seat. As +she ate, the target for many a sly glance of admiration, she was +divided between gratitude and self-reproach; now thinking of him with +a quickened heart, now taking herself to task for her weakness. The +result was that when he strode out, confident and at ease, and looked +up at her with laughing eyes, she blushed furiously--to her own +unspeakable mortification. + +Vaughan was no Lothario, and for a moment the telltale colour took him +aback. Then he told himself that at Chippenham, less than twenty miles +down the road, he was leaving her. It was absurd to suppose that, in +the short space which remained, either could be harmed. And he mounted +gaily, and masking his knowledge of her emotion with a skill which +surprised himself, he chatted pleasantly, unaware that with every word +he was stamping the impression of her face, her long eyelashes, her +graceful head, her trick of this and that, more deeply upon his +memory. While she, reassured by the same thought that they would part +in an hour--and in an hour what harm could happen?--closed her eyes +and drank the sweet draught--the sweeter for its novelty, and for the +bitter which lurked at the bottom of the cup. Meantime Sammy winked +sagely at his horses, and the Frenchman cast envious glances over his +shoulders, and Silbury Hill, Fyfield, and the soft folds of the downs +swept by, and on warm commons and southern slopes the early bees +hummed above the gorse. + +Here was Chippenham at last; and the end was come. He must descend. A +hasty touch, a murmured word, a pang half-felt; she veiled her eyes. +If her colour fluttered and she trembled, why not? She had cause to be +grateful to him. And if he felt as his foot touched the ground that +the world was cold, and the prospect cheerless, why not, when he had +to face Sir Robert, and when his political embarrassments, forgotten +for a time, rose nearer and larger? + +It had often fallen to him to alight before the Angel at Chippenhan. +From boyhood he had known the wide street, in which the fairs were +held, the red Georgian houses, and the stone bridge of many arches +over the Avon. But he had never seen these things, he had never +alighted there, with less satisfaction than on this day. + +Still this was the end. He raised his hat, saluted silently, and +turned to speak to the guard. In the act he jostled a person who was +approaching to accost him. Vaughan stared. "Hallo, White!" he said. "I +was coming to see you." + +White's hat was in his hand. "Your servant, sir," he said. "Your +servant, sir. I am glad to be here to meet you, Mr. Vaughan." + +"But you didn't expect me?" + +"No, sir, no; I came to meet Mr. Cooke, who was to arrive by this +coach. But I do not see him." + +A light broke in upon Vaughan. "Gad! he must be the man we left behind +at Reading," he said. "Is he a peppery chap?" + +"He might be so called, sir," the agent answered with a smile. "I +fancied that you knew him." + +"No. Sergeant Wathen I know; not Mr. Cooke. Any way, he's not come, +White." + +"All the better, sir, if I can get a message to him by the up-coach. +For he's not needed. I am glad to say that the trouble is at an end. +My Lord Lansdowne has given up the idea of contesting the borough, and +I came over to tell Mr. Cooke, thinking that he might prefer to go on +to Bristol. He has a house at Bristol." + +"Do you mean," Vaughan said, "that there will be no contest?" + +"No, sir, no. Not now. And a good thing, too. Upset the town for +nothing! My lord has no chance, and Pybus, who is his lordship's man +here, he told me himself----" + +He paused with his mouth open, and his eyes on a tall lady wearing a +veil, who, after standing a couple of minutes on the further side of +the street, was approaching the coach. To enter it she had to pass by +him, and he stared, as if he saw a ghost. "By Gosh!" he muttered under +his breath. And when, with the aid of the guard, she had taken her +seat inside, "By Gosh!" he muttered again, "if that's not my +lady--though I've not seen her for ten years--I've the horrors!" + +He turned to Vaughan to see if he had noticed anything. But Vaughan, +without waiting for the end of his sentence, had stepped aside to tell +a helper to replace his valise on the coach. In the bustle he had +noted neither White's emotion nor the lady. + +At this moment he returned. "I shall go on to Bristol for the night, +White," he said. "Sir Robert is quite well?" + +"Quite well, sir, and I shall be happy to tell him of your promptness +in coming." + +"Don't tell him anything," the young man said, with a flash of +peremptoriness. "I don't want to be kept here. Do you understand, +White? I shall probably return to town to-morrow. Anyway, say +nothing." + +"Very good, sir," White answered. "But I am sure Sir Robert would be +pleased to know that you had come down so promptly." + +"Ah, well, you can let him know later. Good-bye, White." + +The agent, with one eye on the young squire and one on the lady, whose +figure was visible through the small coach-window, seemed to be about +to refer to her. But he checked himself. "Good-bye, sir," he said. +"And a pleasant journey! I'm glad to have been of service, Mr. +Vaughan." + +"Thank you, White, thank you," the young man answered. And he swung +himself up, as the coach moved. A good-natured nod, and--Tantivy! +Tantivy! Tantivy! The helpers sprang aside, and away they went down +the hill, and over the long stone bridge, and so along the Bristol +road; but now with the shades of evening beginning to spread on the +pastures about them, and the cawing rooks, that had been abroad all +day on the uplands, streaming across the pale sky to the elms beside +the river. + +But _varium et mutabile femina_. When he turned, eager to take up the +fallen thread, Clotho could not have been more cold than his +neighbour, nor Atropos with her shears more decisive. "I've had good +news," he said, as he settled his coat about him. "I came down with a +very unpleasant task before me. And it is lifted from me." + +"Indeed!" + +"So I am going on to Bristol instead of staying at Chippenham." + +No answer. + +"It is a great relief to me," he continued cheerfully. + +"Indeed!" She spoke in the most distant of voices. + +He raised his brows in perplexity. What had happened to her? She had +been so grateful, so much moved, a few minutes before. The colour had +fluttered in her cheek, the tear had been visible in her eye, she had +left her hand the fifth of a second in his. And now! + +Now she was determined that she would blush and smile and be kind no +more. She was grateful--God knew she was grateful, let him think what +he would. But there were limits. Her weakness, as long as she believed +that Chippenham must part them, had been pardonable. But if he had it +in his mind to attend her to Bristol, to follow her or haunt her--as +she had known foolish young cits at Clapham to haunt the more giddy of +her flock--then her mistake was clear; and his conduct, now merely +suspicious, would appear in its black reality. She hoped that he was +innocent. She hoped that his change of plan at Chippenham had been no +subterfuge; that he was not a roaring lion. But appearances were +deceitful and her own course was plain. + +It was the plainer, as she had not been blind to the respect with +which all at the Angel had greeted her companion; even White, a man of +substance, with a gold chain and seals hanging from his fob, had stood +bareheaded while he talked to him. It was plain that he was a fine +gentleman; one of those whom young persons in her rank of life must +shun. + +So he drew scarcely five words out of her in as many miles. At last, +thrice rebuffed, "I am afraid you are tired," he said. Was it for this +that he had chosen to go on to Bristol? + +"Yes," she answered. "I am rather tired. If you please I would prefer +not to talk." + +He was a little huffed then, and let her be; nor did he guess, though +he was full of conjectures about her, how she hated her seeming +ingratitude. But there was nought else for it; better seem thankless +now than be worse hereafter. For she was growing frightened. She was +beginning to have more than an inkling of the road by which young +things were led to be foolish. Her ear retained the sound of his +voice though he was silent. The fashion in which he had stooped to +her--though he was looking another way now--clung to her memory. +His laugh, though he was grave now, rang for her, full of glee and +good-fellowship. She could have burst into tears. + +They stayed at Marshfield to take on the last team. And she tried to +divert her mind by watching a woman in a veil who walked up and down +beside the coach, and seemed to return her curiosity. But she tried to +little purpose, for she felt strained and weary, and more than ever +inclined to cry. Doubtless the peril through which she had passed had +shaken her. + +So that she was thankful when, after descending perilous Tog Hill, +they saw from Kingswood heights the lights of Bristol shining through +the dusk; and she knew that she was at her journey's end. To arrive in +a strange place on the edge of night is trying to anyone. But to +alight friendless and alone, amid the bustle of a city, and to know +that new relations must be created and a new life built up--this may +well raise in the most humble and contented bosom a feeling of +loneliness and depression. And doubtless that was why Mary Smith, +after evading Vaughan with a success beyond her hopes, felt as she +followed her modest trunk through the streets that--but she bent her +head to hide the unaccustomed tears. + + + + + VI + + THE PATRON OF CHIPPINGE + + +Much about the time that the "Spectator" was painting in Sir Roger the +most lovable picture of an old English squire which our gallery +contains, Cornelius Vermuyden, of a younger branch of the Vermuydens +who drained the fens, was making a fortune in the Jamaica trade. +Having made it in a dark office at Bristol, and being, like all +Dutchmen, of a sedentary turn, he proceeded to found a family, +purchase a borough, and, by steady support of Whig principles and the +Protestant succession, to earn a baronetcy in the neighbouring county +of Wilts. + +Doubtless the first Vermuyden had things to contend with, and at +assize ball and sessions got but two fingers from the De Coverleys and +their long-descended dames. But he went his way stolidly, married his +son into a family of like origin--the Beckfords--and, having seen +little George II. firmly on the throne, made way for his son. + +This second Sir Cornelius rebuilt Stapylton, the house which his +father had bought from the decayed family of that name, and after +living for some ten years into the reign of Farmer George, vanished in +his turn, leaving Cornelius Robert to succeed him, Cornelius George, +the elder son, having died in his father's lifetime. + +Sir Cornelius Robert was something after the pattern of the famous Mr. +Onslow-- + + + _What can Tommy Onslow do? + He can drive a chaise and two. + What can Tommy Onslow more? + He can drive a chaise and four._ + + +Yet he fitted the time, and, improving his father's pack of +trencher-fed hounds by a strain of Mr. Warde's blood, he hunted the +country so conscientiously that at his death a Dutch bottle might have +been set upon his table without giving rise to the slightest +reflection. He came to an end, much lamented, with the century, and +Sir Robert, fourth and present baronet, took over the estates. + +By that time, rid of the foreign prenomen, well allied by three good +marriages, and since the American war of true blue Tory leanings, and +thorough Church and King principles, the family was able to hold up +its head among the best in the south of England. There might be some +who still remembered that-- + + + _Saltash was a borough town + When Plymouth was a breezy down_. + + +But the property was good, the borough safe, and any time these twenty +years their owner might have franked his letters "Chippinge" had he +willed it. As it was, he passed, almost as much as Mr. Western in the +east or Sir Thomas Acland in the west, for the type of a country +gentleman. The most powerful Minister gave him his whole hand; and at +county meetings, at Salisbury or Devizes, no voice was held more +powerful, nor any man's hint more quickly taken than Sir Robert +Vermuyden's. + +He was a tall and very thin man, of almost noble aspect, with a nose +after the fashion of the Duke's, and a slight stoop. In early days he +had been something of a beau, though never of the Prince's following, +and he still dressed finely and with taste. With a smaller sense of +personal dignity, or with wider sympathies, he might have been a +happier man. But he had married too late--at forty-five; and the four +years which followed, and their sequel, had darkened the rest of his +life, drawn crow's-feet about his eyes and peevish lines about his +mouth. Henceforth he had lived alone, nursing his pride; and the +solitude of this life--which was not without its dignity, since no +word of scandal touched it--had left him narrow and vindictive, a man +just but not over-generous, and pompous without complacency. + +The neighbourhood knew that he and Lady Sybil--he had married the +beautiful daughter of the last Earl of Portrush--had parted under +circumstances which came near to justifying divorce. Some held that he +had divorced her; but in those days an Act of Parliament was +necessary, and no such Act stood on the Statute-book. Many thought +that he ought to have divorced her. And while the people who knew that +she still lived and still plagued him were numerous, few save Isaac +White were aware that it was because his marriage had been made and +marred at Bowood--and not purely out of principle--that Sir Robert +opposed the very name of Lansdowne, and would have wasted a half of +his fortune to wreck his great neighbour's political power. + +Not that his Tory principles were not strong. During five Parliaments +he had filled one of his own seats, and had spoken from time to time +after a dignified fashion, with formal gestures and a copious +sprinkling of classical allusions. The Liberal Toryism of Canning had +fallen below his ideal, but he had continued to sit until the betrayal +of the party by Peel and the Duke--on the Catholic Claims--drove him +from the House in disgust, and thenceforth Warren's Hotel, his +residence when in town, saw him but seldom. He had fancied then that +nothing worse could happen; that the depths were plumbed, and that he +and those who thought with him might punish the traitor and take +no harm. With the Duke of Cumberland, the best hated man in +England--which was never tired of ridiculing his moustachios--Eldon, +Wetherell, and the ultra-Tories, he had not rested until he had seen +the hated pair flung from office; nor was any man more surprised and +confounded when the result of the work began to show itself. The +Whigs, admitted to power by this factious movement, and after an exile +so long that Byron could write of them-- + + + _Naught's permanent among the human race + Except the Whigs not getting into place_ + + +--brought in no mild and harmless measure of reform, promising little +and giving nothing, such as foe and friend had alike expected; but a +measure of reform so radical that O'Connell blessed it, and Cobbett +might have fathered it: a measure which, if it passed, would sweep +away Sir Robert's power and the power of his class, destroy his +borough, and relegate him to the common order of country squires. + +He was at first incredulous, then furious, then aghast. To him the +Bill was not only the doom of his own influence but the knell of the +Constitution. Behind it he saw red revolution and the crash of things. +Lord Grey was to him Mirabeau, Lord John was Lafayette, Brougham was +Danton; and of them and of their kind, when they had roused the +many-headed, he was sure that the end would be as the end of the +Gironde. + +He was not the less furious, not the less aghast, when the moderates +of his party pointed out that he had himself to thank for the +catastrophe. From the refusal to grant the smallest reform, from the +refusal to transfer the franchise of the rotten borough of Retford to +the unrepresented city of Birmingham--a refusal which he had urged his +members to support--the chain was complete; for in consequence of that +refusal Mr. Huskisson had left the Duke's Cabinet. The appointment of +Mr. Fitzgerald to fill his seat had rendered the Clare election +necessary. O'Connell's victory at the Clare election had converted +Peel and the Duke to the necessity of granting the Catholic Claims. +That conversion had alienated the ultra-Tories, and among these Sir +Robert. The opposition of the ultra-Tories had expelled Peel and the +Duke from power--which had brought in the Whigs--who had brought in +the Reform Bill. + +_Hinc ill lacrim!_ For, in place of the transfer of the franchise of +one rotten borough to one large city--a reform which now to the most +bigoted seemed absurdly reasonable--here were sixty boroughs to be +swept away, and nearly fifty more to be shorn of half their strength, +a Constitution to be altered, an aristocracy to be dethroned! + +And Calne, Lord Lansdowne's pocket borough, was spared! + +Sir Robert firmly believed that the limit had been fixed with an eye +to Calne. They who framed the Bill, sitting in wicked, detestable +confabulation, had fixed the limit of Schedule B so as to spare Calne +and Tavistock--_Arcades ambo_, Whig boroughs both. Or why did they +just escape? In the whole matter it was this, strangely enough, which +troubled him most sorely. For the loss of his own borough--if the +worst came to the worst--he could put up with it. He had no +children, he had no one to come after him except Arthur Vaughan, the +great-grandson of his grandmother. But the escape of Calne, this clear +proof of the hypocrisy of the righteous Grey, the blatant Durham, the +whey-faced Lord John, the demagogue Brougham--this injustice kept him +in a state of continual irritation. + +He was thinking of this as he paced slowly up and down the broad walk +beside the Garden Pool, at Stapylton--a solitary figure dwarfed by the +great elms. The placid surface of the pool, which mirrored the shaven +lawns beyond it and the hoary church set amidst the lawns, the silence +about him, broken only by the notes of song-birds or a faint yelp from +the distant kennels, the view over the green undulations of park and +covert--all vainly appealed to him to-day, though on summer evenings +his heart took sad and frequent leave of them. For that which +threatened him every day jostled aside for the present that which must +happen one day. The home of his fathers might be his for some years +yet, but shorn of its chief dignity, of its pride, its mastery; while +Calne--Calne would survive, to lift still higher the fortunes of those +who had sold their king and country, and betrayed their order. + +Daily a man and horse awaited the mail-coach at Chippenham that he +might have the latest news; and, seeing a footman hurrying towards him +from the house, he supposed that the mail was in. But when the man, +after crossing the long wooden bridge which spanned the pool, +approached with no diminution of speed, he remembered that it was too +early for the post; and hating to be disturbed in his solitary +reveries, he awaited the servant impatiently. + +"What it is?" he asked. + +"If you please, Sir Robert, Lady Lansdowne's carriage is at the door." + +Only Sir Robert's darkening colour betrayed his astonishment. He had +made his feelings so well known that none but the most formal +civilities now passed between Stapylton and Bowood. + +"Who is it?" + +"Lady Lansdowne, Sir Robert. Her ladyship bade us say that she wishes +to see you urgently, sir." The man, as well as the master, knew that +the visit was unusual. + +The baronet was a proud man, and he bethought him that the +drawing-rooms, seldom used and something neglected, were not in the +state in which he would wish his enemy's wife to see them. "Where have +you put her ladyship?" he asked. + +"In the hall, Sir Robert." + +"Very good. I will come." + +The man hastened away over the bridge, and Sir Robert followed, more +at leisure, but still quickly. When he had passed the angle of the +church which stood in a line with the three blocks of building, +connected by porticos, which formed the house, and which, placed on a +gentle eminence, looked handsomely over the park, he saw that a +carriage with four greys ridden by postillions and attended by two +outriders stood before the main door. In the carriage, her face shaded +by the large Tuscan hat of the period, sat a young lady reading. She +heard Sir Robert's footstep, and looked up, and in some embarrassment +met his eyes. + +He removed his hat. "It is Lady Louisa, is it not?" he said, looking +gravely at her. + +"Yes," she said; and she smiled prettily at him. + +"Will you not go into the house?" + +"Thank you," she replied, with a faint blush; "I think my mother +wishes to see you alone, Sir Robert." + +"Very good." And with a bow, cold but perfectly courteous, he turned +and passed up the broad, shallow steps, which were of the same +time-tinted lichen-covered stone as the rest of the building. Mapp, +the butler, who had been looking out for him, opened the door, and he +entered the hall. + +In his heart, which was secretly perturbed, was room for the wish that +he had been found in other than the high-buttoned gaiters and breeches +of his country life. But he suffered no sign of that or of his more +serious misgivings to appear, as he advanced to greet the still +beautiful woman, who sat daintily warming one sandalled foot at the +red embers on the hearth. She was far from being at ease herself. +Warnings which her husband had addressed to her at parting recurred +and disturbed her. But it is seldom that a woman of the world betrays +her feelings, and her manner was perfect as he bent low over her hand. + +"It is long," she said gently, "much longer than I like to remember, +Sir Robert, since we met." + +"It is a long time," he answered gravely; and when she had reseated +herself he sat down opposite her. + +"It is an age," she said slowly; and she looked round the hall, with +its panelled walls, its deep window-seats, and its panoply of +fox-masks and antlers, as if she recalled the past, "It is an age," +she repeated. "Politics are sad dividers of friends." + +"I fear," he replied, in a tone as cold as courtesy permitted, "that +they are about to be greater dividers." + +She looked at him quickly, with appeal in her eyes. "And yet," she +said, "we saw more of you once." + +"Yes." He was wondering much, behind the mask of his civility, what +had drawn her hither. He knew that it could be no light, no passing +matter which had brought her over thirteen miles of Wiltshire roads to +call upon a man with whom intercourse had been limited, for years +past, to a few annual words, a formal invitation as formally declined, +a measured salutation at race or ball. She must have a motive, and a +strong one. It was only the day before that he had learned that Lord +Lansdowne meant to drop his foolish opposition at Chippinge; was it +possible that she was here to make a favour of this? And perhaps a +bargain? If that were her errand, and my lord had sent her, thinking +to make refusal less easy, Sir Robert felt that he would know how to +answer. He waited. + + + + + VII + + THE WINDS OF AUTUMN + + +Lady Lansdowne looked pensively at the tapering sandal which she held +forward to catch the heat. "Time passes so very, very quickly," she +said with a sigh. + +"With some," Sir Robert answered. "With others," he bowed, "it stands +still." + +His gallantry did not deceive her. She knew it for the salute which +duellists exchange before the fray, and she saw that if she would do +anything she must place herself within his guard. She looked at him +with sudden frankness. "I want you to bear with me for a few minutes, +Sir Robert," she said in a tone of appeal. "I want you to remember +that we were once friends, and, for the sake of old days, to believe +that I am here to play a friend's part. You won't answer me? Very +well. I do not ask you to answer me." She pointed to the space above +the mantel. "The portrait which used to hang there?" she said. "Where +is it? What have you done with it? But there, I said I would not ask, +and I am asking!" + +"And I will answer!" he replied. This was the last, the very last +thing for which he had looked; but he would show her that he was not +to be overridden. "I will tell you," he repeated. "Lady Lansdowne, I +have destroyed it." + +"I do not blame you," she rejoined. "It was yours to do with as you +would. But the original--no, Sir Robert," she said, staying him +intrepidly--she had taken the water now, and must swim--"you shall not +frighten me! She was, she is your wife. But not yours, not your +property to do with as you will, in the sense in which that +picture--but there, I am blaming where I should entreat. I----" + +He stayed her by a peremptory gesture. "Are you here--from her?" he +asked huskily. + +"I am not." + +"She knows?" + +"No, Sir Robert, she does not." + +"Then why,"--there was pain, real pain mingled with the indignation in +his tone--"why, in God's name, Madam, have you come?" + +She looked at him with pitying eyes. "Because," she said, "so many +years have passed, and if I do not say a word now I shall never say +it. And because--there is still time, but no more than time." + +He looked at her fixedly. "You have another reason," he said. "What is +it?" + +"I saw her yesterday. I was in Chippenham when the Bristol coach +passed, and I saw her face for an instant at the window." + +He breathed more quickly; it was evident that the news touched him +home. But he would not blench nor lower his eyes. "Well?" he said. + +"I saw her for a few seconds only, and she did not see me. And of +course--I did not speak to her. But I knew her face, though she was +changed." + +"And because"--his voice was harsh--"you saw her for a few minutes at +a window, you come to me?" + +"No, but because her face called up the old times. And because we are +all growing older. And because she was--not guilty." + +He started. This was getting within his guard with a vengeance. "Not +guilty?" he cried in a tone of extreme anger. And he rose. But as she +did not move he sat down again. + +"No," she replied firmly. "She was not guilty." + +His face was deeply red. For a moment he looked at her as if he would +not answer her, or, if he answered, would bid her leave his house. +Then, "If she had been," he said grimly, "guilty, Madam, in the sense +in which you use the word, guilty of the worst, she had ceased to be +my wife these fifteen years, she had ceased to bear my name, ceased to +be the curse of my life!" + +"Oh, no, no!" + +"It is yes, yes!" And his face was dark. "But as it was, she was +guilty enough! For years"--he spoke more rapidly as his passion +grew--"she made her name a byword and dragged mine in the dirt. She +made me a laughing-stock and herself a scandal. She disobeyed me--but +what was her whole life with me, Lady Lansdowne, but one long +disobedience? When she published that light, that foolish book, and +dedicated it to--to that person--a book which no modest wife should +have written, was not her main motive to harass and degrade me? Me, +her husband? While we were together was not her conduct from the first +one long defiance, one long harassment of me? Did a day pass in which +she did not humiliate me by a hundred tricks, belittle me by a hundred +slights, ape me before those whom she should not have stooped to know, +invite in a thousand ways the applause of the fops she drew round her? +And when"--he rose, and paced the room--"when, tried beyond patience +by what I heard, I sent to her at Florence and bade her return to me, +and cease to make herself a scandal with that person, or my house +should no longer be her home, she disobeyed me flagrantly, wilfully, +and at a price she knew! She went out of her way to follow him to +Rome, she flaunted herself in his company, ay, and flaunted herself in +such guise as no Englishwoman had been known to wear before! And after +that--after that----" + +He stopped, proud as he was, mastered by his feelings; she had got +within his guard indeed. For a while he could not go on. And she, +picturing the old days which his passionate words brought back, days +when her children had been infants, saw, as it had been yesterday, the +young bride, beautiful as a rosebud and wild and skittish as an Irish +colt--and the husband staid, dignified, middle-aged, as little in +sympathy with his captive's random acts and flighty words as if he had +spoken another tongue. + +Thus yoked, and resisting the lightest rein, the young wife had shown +herself capable of an infinity of folly. Egged on by the plaudits of a +circle of admirers, she had now made her husband ridiculous by +childish familiarities: and again, when he found fault with these, by +airs of public offence, which covered him with derision. But beauty's +sins are soon forgiven; and fretting and fuming, and leading a +wretched life, he had yet borne with her, until something which she +chose to call a passion took possession of her. "The Giaour" and "The +Corsair" were all the rage that year; and with the publicity with +which she did everything she flung herself at the head of her soul's +affinity; a famous person, half poet, half dandy, who was staying at +Bowood. + +The world which knew her decided that the affair was more worthy of +laughter than of censure, and laughed immoderately. But to the +husband--the humour of husbands is undeveloped--it was terrible. She +wrote verses to the gentleman, and he to her; and she published, with +ingenuous pride, the one and the other. Possibly this or the laughter +determined the admirer. He fled, playing the innocent neas; and her +lamentations, crystallising in the shape of a silly romance which made +shop-girls weep and great ladies laugh, caused a separation between +the husband and wife. Before this had lasted many months the illness +of their only child brought them together again; and when, a little +later, the doctors advised a southern climate, Sir Robert reluctantly +entrusted the girl to her. She went abroad with the child, and the +parents never met again. + +Lady Lansdowne, recalling the story, could have laughed with her mind +and wept with her heart; scenes so absurd under the leafy shades of +Bowood or Lacock jostled the tragedy; and the ludicrous--with the +husband an unwilling actor in it--so completely relieved the pathetic! +But her bent towards laughter was short. Sir Robert, unable to bear +her eyes, had turned away; and she must say something. + +"Think," she said gently, "how young she was!" + +"I have thought of it a thousand times!" he retorted. "Do you +suppose," turning on her with harshness, "that there is a day on which +I do not think of it!" + +"So young!" + +"She had been three years a mother!" + +"For the dead child's sake, then," she pleaded with him, "if not for +hers." + +"Lady Lansdowne!" There were both anger and pain in his voice as he +halted and stood before her. "Why do you come to me? Why do you +trouble me? Why? Is it because you feel yourself--responsible? Because +you know, because you feel, that but for you my home had not been left +to me desolate? Nor a foolish life been ruined?" + +"God forbid!" she said solemnly. And in her turn she rose in +agitation; moved for once out of the gracious ease and self-possession +of her life, so that in the contrast there was something unexpected +and touching. "God forbid!" she repeated. "But because I feel that I +might have done more. Because I feel that a word from me might have +checked her, and it was not spoken. True, I was young, and it might +have made things worse--I do not know. But when I saw her face at the +window yesterday--and she was changed, Sir Robert--I felt that I might +have been in her place, and she in mine!" Her voice trembled. "I might +have been lonely, childless, growing old; and alone! Or again, if I +had done something, if I had spoken as I would have another speak, +were the case my girl's, she might have been as I am! Now," she added +tremulously, "you know why I came. Why I plead for her! In our world +we grow hard, very hard; but there are things which touch us still, +and her face touched me yesterday--I remembered what she was." She +paused a moment, and then, "After long years," she continued softly, +"it cannot be hard to forgive; and there is still time. She did +nothing that need close your door, and what she did is forgotten. +Grant that she was foolish, grant that she was wild, indiscreet, what +you will--she is alone now, alone and growing old, Sir Robert, and if +not for her sake, for the sake of your dead child----" + +He stopped her by a peremptory gesture, but for the moment he seemed +unable to speak. At length, "You touch the wrong chord," he said +hoarsely. "It is for the sake of my dead child I shall never, never +forgive her! She knew that I loved it. She knew that it was all to me. +It grew worse! Did she tell me? It was in danger; did she warn me? No! +But when I heard of her disobedience, of her folly, of things which +made her a byword, and I bade her return, or my house should no longer +be her home, then, then she flung the news of the child's death at me, +and rejoiced that she had it to fling. Had I gone out then and found +her in the midst of her wicked gaiety, God knows what I should have +done! I did try to go. But the Hundred Days had begun, I had to +return. Had I gone, and learned that in her mad infatuation she had +neglected the child, left it to servants, let it fade, I think--I +think, Madam, I should have killed her!" + +Lady Lansdowne raised her hands. "Hush! Hush!" she said. + +"I loved the child. Therefore she was glad when it died, glad that she +had the power to wound me. Its death was no more to her than a weapon +with which to punish me! There was a tone in her letter--I have it +still--which betrayed that. And, therefore--therefore, for the child's +sake, I will never forgive her!" + +"I am sorry," she murmured in a voice which acknowledged defeat. "I am +very sorry." + +He stood for a moment gazing at the blank space above the fireplace; +his head sunk, his shoulders brought forward. He looked years older +than the man who had walked under the elms. At length he made an +effort to speak in his usual tone. "Yes," he said, "it is a sorry +business." + +"And I," she said slowly, "can do nothing." + +"Nothing," he replied. "Time will cure this, and all things." + +"You are sure that there is no mistake?" she pleaded. "That you are +not judging her harshly?" + +"There is no mistake." + +Then she saw the hopelessness of argument and held out her hand. + +"Forgive me," she said simply. "I have given you pain, and for +nothing. But the old days were so strong upon me--after I saw +her--that I could not but come. Think of me at least as a friend, and +forgive me." + +He bowed low over her hand, but he gave her no assurance. And seeing +that he was mastering his agitation, and fearing that if he had +leisure to think he might resent her interference, she wasted no time +in adieux. She glanced round the well-remembered hall--the hall once +smart, now shabby--in which she had seen the flighty girl play many a +mad prank. Then she turned sorrowfully to the door, more than +suspecting that she would never pass through it again. + +He had rung the bell, and Mapp, the butler, and the two men were in +attendance. But he handed her to the carriage himself, and placed her +in it with old-fashioned courtesy, and with the same scrupulous +observance stood bareheaded until it moved away. None the less, his +face by its set expression betrayed the nature of the interview; and +the carriage had scarcely swept clear of the grounds and entered the +park when Lady Louisa turned to her mother. + +"Was he very angry?" she asked, eager to be instructed in the +mysteries of that life which she was entering. + +Lady Lansdowne essayed to snub her. "My dear," she said, "it is not a +fit subject for you." + +"Still, mother dear, you might tell me. You told me something, and it +is not fair to turn yourself into Mrs. Fairchild in a moment. Besides, +while you were with him I came on a passage so beautiful, and so pat, +it almost made me cry." + +"My dear, don't say 'pat,' say 'apposite.'" + +"Then apposite, mother," Lady Louisa answered. "Do you read it. There +it is." + +Lady Lansdowne sniffed, but suffered the book to be put into her hand. +Lady Louisa pointed with enthusiasm to a line. "Is it a case like +that, mother?" she asked eagerly. + + + _But never either found another + To free the hollow heart from paining. + They stood aloof, the scars remaining, + Like cliffs which had been rent asunder. + A dreary sea now flows between, + But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, + Shall wholly do away, I ween, + The marks of that which once hath been_. + + +The mother handed the book back to the daughter without looking at +her. "No," she said; "I don't think it is a case like that." + +But a moment later she wiped her eyes furtively, and then she told her +daughter more, it is to be feared, than Mrs. Fairchild would have +approved. + + + * * * * * + + +Sir Robert, when they were gone, went heavily to the library, a +panelled room looking to the back, in which it was his custom to sit. +For many years he had passed some hours of every day, when he was at +home, in that room; and until now it had never occurred to his mind +that it was dull or shabby. But it was old Mapp's habit to lower the +blinds for his master's after-luncheon nap, and they were still down; +and the half light which filtered in was like the sheet which rather +accentuates than hides the sharp features of the dead. The faded +engravings and the calf-bound books which masked the walls, the +escritoire, handsome and massive, but stained with ink and strewn with +dog's eared accounts, the leathern-covered chair long worn out of +shape by his weight, the table beside it with yesterday's "Standard," +two or three volumes of the "Anti-Jacobin," and the "Quarterly," a +month old and dusty--all to his opened eyes wore a changed aspect. +They spoke of the slow decay of years, unchecked by a woman's eye, a +woman's hand. They told of the slow degradation of his lonely life. +They indicated a like change in himself. + +He stood a few moments on the hearth, looking about him with a +shocked, pained face. The months and the years had passed irrevocably, +while he sat in that chair, poring in a kind of lethargy over those +books, working industriously at those accounts. Asked, he had answered +that he was growing old, and grown old. But he had never for a moment +comprehended, as he comprehended now, that he was old. He had never +measured the difference between this and that; between those days +troubled by a hundred annoyances, vexations, cares, when in spite of +all he had lived, and these days of sullen stagnancy and mere +vegetation. + +He found the room, he found the reflection, intolerable. And he went +out, took with an unsteady hand his garden hat and returned to that +broad walk under the elms beside the pool which was his favourite +lounge. Perhaps he fancied that the wonted scene would deaden the pain +of memory and restore him to his wonted placidity. But his thoughts +had been too violently broken. His hands shook, hid lip trembled with +the tearless passion of later life. And when his agitation began to +die down and something like calmness supervened, this did but enable +him to feel more keenly the pangs, not of remorse, but of regret; of +bitter, unavailing regret for all the things of which the woman who +had lain on his bosom had robbed his life. + +Stapylton stood in a side valley projected among the low green hills +which fringe the vale of the Wiltshire Avon. From where he stood all +within sight, the gentle downs above the house, the arable land which +fringed them, the rich pastures below--all, mill and smithy and inn, +snug farm and thatched cottage, called him lord. Nay, from the south +end of the pool, where a wicket gave entrance to the park--whence also +a side view of the treble front of the house could be obtained--the +spire of Chippinge church was visible, rising from its ridge in the +Avon alley; and to the base of that spire all was his, all had been +his father's and his grandfather's. But not an acre, not a rood, would +be his child's. + +This was no new thought. It was a thought that had saddened him on +many and many a summer evening when the shadow of the elms lay far +across the sward, and the silence of the stately house, the pale +water, the far-stretching farms whispered of the passing of the +generations, of the passage of time, of the inevitable end. Where he +walked his father had walked; and soon he would go whither his father +had gone. And the heir would walk where he walked, listen to the same +twilight carollings, hear the first hoot of the distant owl. + + + _Cedes coemptis saltibus, el domo + Villaque, flavus quam Tiberis lavit, + Cedes, et exstructis in altum + Divitiis potietur heres_. + + +But no heir of his blood. No son of his. No man of the Vermuyden name. +And for that he had to thank her. + +It was this which to-day gave the old thought new poignancy. For that +he had to thank her. Truly, in the words wrung from him by the +bitterness of his feelings, she had left his house unto him desolate. +If even the little girl had lived, the child would have succeeded; and +that had been something, that had been much. But the child was dead; +and in his heart he laid her death at his wife's door. And a stranger, +or one in essentials a stranger, the descendant by a second marriage +of his grandmother, Katherine Beckford, was the heir. + +Presently the young man would succeed and the old chattels would be +swept away to cottage or lumber-room. The old horses would be shot, +the old dogs would be hanged, the old servants discharged, perhaps the +very trees under which he walked and which he loved would be cut down. +The house, the stables, the kennels, all but the cellars would be +refurnished; and in the bustle and glitter of the new _rgime_, begun +in the sunshine, the twilight of his own latter days would be +forgotten in a month. + + + _We die and are forgotten, 'tis Heaven's decree, + And thus the lot of others will be the lot of me!_ + + +Sunday by Sunday he had read those lines on the grave of a kinsman, a +man whom he had known. He had often repeated them, he could as soon +forget them as his prayers. To-day the old memories and the old times, +which Lady Lansdowne had made to rise from the dead, gave them a new +meaning and a new bitterness. + + + + + VIII + + A SAD MISADVENTURE + + +Arthur Vaughan was not a little relieved by the tidings which Isaac +White had conveyed to him at Chippenham. The news freed him from a +duty which did not appear the less distasteful because it was no +longer inevitable. To cast against Sir Robert the vote which he owed +to Sir Robert must have exposed him to odium, whatever the matter at +stake. But at this election, at which the issue was, aye or no, was +the borough to be swept away or not, to vote "aye" was an act from +which the least sensitive must have shrunk, and which the most honest +must have performed with reluctance. Add the extreme exasperation of +public feeling, of which every day and every hour brought to light the +most glaring proofs, and he had been fortunate indeed if he had not +incurred some general blame as well as the utmost weight of Sir +Robert's displeasure. + +He was spared all this, and he was thankful. Yet, when he rose on the +morning after his arrival at Bristol, his heart was not as light as a +feather. On the contrary, as he looked from the window of the White +Lion into the bustle of Broad Street, he yawned dolefully; admitting +that life, and particularly the prospect before him, of an immediate +return to London, was dull. Why go back? Why stay here? Why do +anything? The Woolsack? Bah! The Cabinet? Pooh! They were but gaudy +baits for the shallow and the hard-hearted. Moreover, they were so +distant, so unattainable, that pursuit of them seemed the merest +moonshine; more especially on this fine April morning, made for +nothing but a coach ride through an enchanted country, by the side of +the sweetest face, the brightest eyes, the most ravishing figure, the +prettiest bonnet that ever tamed the gruffest of coachmen. + +Heigh-ho! If it were all to do over again how happy would he be! How +happy had he been, and not known it, the previous morning! It was +pitiful to think of him in his ignorance, with that day, that blissful +day, before him. + +Well, it was over. And he must return to town. For he would play no +foolish tricks. The girl was not in his rank in life, and he could not +follow her without injury to her. He was no preacher, and he had lived +for years among men whose lives, if not worse than the lives of their +descendants, wore no disguise; who, if they did not sin more, sinned +more openly. But he had a heart, and to mar an innocent life for his +pleasure had shocked him; even if the girl's modesty and self-respect, +disclosed by a hundred small things, had not made the notion of +wronging her abhorrent. None the less he took his breakfast in a kind +of dream, whispered "Mary!" three times in different tones, and, being +suddenly accosted by the waiter, was irritable. + +With all this he was wise enough to know his own weakness, and that +the sooner he was out of Bristol the better. He sent to the Bush +office to book a place by the midday coach to town; and then only, +when he had taken the irrevocable step, he put on his hat to kill the +intervening time in Bristol. + +Unfortunately, as he crossed the hall, intending to walk towards +Clifton, he heard himself named; and turning, he saw that the speaker +was the lady in black, and wearing a veil, whom he had remarked +walking up and down beside the coach, while the horses were changing +at Marshfield. + +"Mr. Vaughan?" she said. + +He raised his hat, much surprised. "Yes," he answered. He fancied that +she was inspecting him very closely through her veil. "I am Mr. +Vaughan." + +"Pardon me," she continued--her voice was refined and low--"but they +gave me your name at the office. I have something which belongs to the +lady who travelled with you yesterday, and I am anxious to restore +it." + +He blushed; nor could he have repressed the blush if his life had hung +upon it. "Indeed?" he murmured. His confusion did not permit him to +add another word. + +"Doubtless it was left in the coach," the lady explained, "and was +taken to my room with my luggage. Unfortunately I am leaving Bristol +at once, within a few minutes, and I cannot myself return it. I shall +be much obliged if you will see that she has it safely." + +She spoke as if the thing were a matter of course. But Vaughan had now +recovered himself. "I would with pleasure," he said; "but I am myself +leaving Bristol at midday, and I really do not know how--how I can do +it." + +"Then perhaps you will arrange the matter," the lady replied in a tone +of displeasure. "I have sent the parcel to your room and I have not +time to regain it. I must go at once. There is my maid! Good morning!" +And with a distant bow she glided from him, and disappeared through +the nearest doorway. + +He stood where she had left him, looking after her in bewilderment. +For one thing he was sure that she was a stranger, and yet she had +addressed him in the tone of one who had a right to be obeyed. Then +how odd it was! What a coincidence! He had made up his mind to end the +matter, to go and walk the Hot Wells like a good boy; and this +happened and tempted him! + +Yes, tempted him. + +He would---- But he could not tell what he would do until he had seen +if the parcel were really in his room. The parcel! The mere thought +that it was hers sent a foolish thrill through him. He would go and +see, and then---- + +But he was interrupted. There were people standing or sitting round +the hall, a low-ceiled, dark wainscoted room, with sheaves of +way-bills hung against the square pillars, and theatre notices +flanking the bar window. As he turned to seek his rooms a hand gripped +his arm and twitched him round, and he met the grinning face of a man +in his old regiment, Bob Flixton, commonly called the Honourable Bob. + +"So I've caught you, my lad," said he. "This is mighty fine. Veiled +ladies, eh? Oh, fie! fie!" + +Vaughan, innocent as he was, was a little put out. But he answered +good-humouredly, "What brought you here, Flixton?" + +"Ay, just so! Very unlucky, ain't it?" grinning. "Fear I'll cut you +out, eh? You're a neat artist, I must say." + +"I don't know the good lady from Eve!" + +"Tell that to---- But here, let me make you known to Brereton," +hauling him towards a gentleman who was seated in one of the window +recesses. "Old West Indian man, in charge of the recruiting district, +and a good fellow, but a bit of a saint! Colonel," he rattled on, as +they joined the gentleman, "here's Vaughan, once of ours, become a +counsellor, and going to be Lord Chancellor. As to the veiled lady, +mum, sir, mum!" with an exaggerated wink. + +Vaughan laughed. It was impossible to resist Bob's impudent +good-humour. He was a fair young man, short, stout, and inclining to +baldness, with a loud, hearty voice, and a manner which made those who +did not know him for a peer's son, think of a domestic fowl with a +high opinion of itself. He was for ever damning this and praising that +with unflagging decision; a man with whom it was impossible to be +displeased, and in whom it was next to impossible not to believe. Yet +at the mess-table it was whispered that he did not play his best when +the pool was large; nor had he ever seen service, save in the lists of +love, where his reputation stood high. + +His companion, Vaughan saw, was of a different stamp. He was tall and +lean, with the air and carriage of a soldier, but with features of a +refined and melancholy cast, and with a brooding sadness in his eyes +which could not escape the most casual observer. He was somewhat +sallow, the result of the West Indian climate, and counted twenty +years more than Flixton, for whom his gentle and quiet manner formed +an admirable foil. He greeted Vaughan courteously, and the Honourable +Bob forced our hero into a seat beside them. + +"That's snug!" he said. "And now mum's the word, Vaughan. We'll not +ask you what you're doing here among the nigger-nabobs. It's clear +enough." + +Vaughan explained that the veiled lady was a stranger who had come +down in the coach with him, and that, for himself, it was election +business which had brought him. + +"Old Vermuyden?" returned the Honourable Bob. "To be sure! Man you've +expectations from! Good old fellow, too. I know him. Go and see him +one of these days. Gad, Colonel, if old Sir Robert heard your views +he'd die on the spot! D----n the Bill, he'd say! And I say it too!" + +"But afterwards?" Brereton returned, drawing Vaughan into the argument +by a courteous gesture. "Consider the consequences, my dear fellow, if +the Bill does not pass." + +"Oh, hang the consequences!" + +"You can't," drily. "You can hang men--we've been too fond of hanging +them--but not consequences! Look at the state of the country; +everywhere you will find excitement, and dangerous excitement. +Cobbett's writings have roused the South; the papers are full of +rioters and special commission to try them! Not a farmer can sleep for +thinking of his stacks, nor a farmer's wife for thinking of her +husband. Then for the North; look at Birmingham and Manchester and +Glasgow, with their Political Unions preaching no taxation without +representation. Or, nearer home, look at Bristol here, ready to drown +the Corporation, and Wetherell in particular, in the Float! Then, if +that is the state of things while they still expect the Bill to pass, +what will be the position if they learn it is not to pass? No, no! You +may shrug your shoulders, but the three days in Paris will be nothing +to it." + +"What I say is, shoot!" Flixton answered hotly. "Shoot! Shoot! Put 'em +down! Put an end to it! Show 'em their places! What do a lot of d----d +shopkeepers and peasants know about the Bill? Ride 'em down! Give 'em +a taste of the Float themselves! I'll answer for it a troop of the +14th would soon bring the Bristol rabble to their senses!" + +"I should be sorry to see it tried," Brereton answered, shaking his +head. "They took that line in France last July, and you know the +result. You'll agree with me, Mr. Vaughan, that where Marmont failed +we are not likely to succeed. The more as his failure is known. The +three days of July are known." + +"Ay, by the Lord," the Honourable Bob cried. "The revolution in France +bred the whole of this trouble!" + +"The mob there won, and the mob here know it. In my opinion," Brereton +continued, "conciliation is our only card, if we do not want to see a +revolution." + +"Hang your conciliation! Shoot, I say!" + +"What do you think, Mr. Vaughan?" + +"I think with you, Colonel Brereton," Vaughan answered, "that the only +way to avoid such a crisis as has befallen France is to pass the Bill, +and to set the Constitution on a wider basis by enlisting as large a +number as possible in its defence." + +"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" from Flixton. + +"On the other hand," Vaughan continued, "I would put down the +beginnings of disorder with a strong hand. I would allow no +intimidation, no violence. The Bill should be passed by argument." + +"Argument? Why, d----n me, intimidation is your argument!" the +Honourable Bob struck in, with more acuteness than he commonly +evinced. "Pass the Bill or we'll loose the dog! At 'em, Mob, good dog! +At 'em! That's your argument!" triumphantly. "But I'll be back in a +minute." And he left them. + +Vaughan laughed. Brereton, however, seemed to be unable to take the +matter lightly. "Do you really mean, Mr. Vaughan," he said, "that if +there were trouble, here, for instance, you would not hesitate to give +the order to fire?" + +"Certainly, sir, if it could not be put down with the cold steel." + +The Colonel shook his head despondently. "I don't think I could," he +said. "I don't think I could. You have not seen war, and I have. And +it is a fearful thing. Bad enough abroad, infinitely worse here. The +first shot--think, Mr. Vaughan, of what it might be the beginning! +What hundreds and thousands of lives might hang upon it! How many +scores of innocent men shot down, of daughters made fatherless!" He +shuddered. "And to give such an order on your own responsibility, when +the first volley might be the signal for a civil war, and twenty-four +hours might see a dozen counties in a blaze! It is horrible to think +of! Too horrible! It's too much for one man's shoulders! Flixton +would do it--he sees no farther than his nose! But you and I, Mr. +Vaughan--and on one's own judgment, which might be utterly, fatally +wrong! My God, no!" + +"Yet there must be a point," Vaughan replied, "at which such an order +becomes necessary; becomes mercy!" + +"Ay," Brereton answered eagerly; "but who is to say when that point is +reached; and that peaceful methods can do no more? Or, granted that +they can do no more, that provocation once given, your force is +sufficient to prevent a massacre! A massacre in such a place as this!" + +Vaughan saw that the idea had taken possession of the other's mind, +and, aware that he had distinguished himself more than once on foreign +service, he wondered. It was not his affair, however; and "Let us hope +that the occasion may not arise," he said politely. + +"God grant it!" Brereton replied. And then again, to himself and more +fervently, "God grant it!" he muttered. The shadow lay darker on his +face. + +Vaughan might have wondered more, if Flixton had not returned at that +moment and overwhelmed him with importunities to dine with him the +next evening. "Gage and Congreve of the 14th are coming from +Gloucester," he said, "and Codrington and two or three yeomanry chaps. +You must come. If you don't, I'll quarrel with you and call you out! +It'll do you good after the musty, fusty, goody-goody life you've been +leading. Brereton's coming, and we'll drink King Billy till we're +blind!" + +Vaughan hesitated. He had taken his place on the coach, but--but after +all there was that parcel. He must do something about it. It seemed to +be his fate to be tempted, yet--what nonsense that was! Why should he +not stay in Bristol if he pleased? + +"You're very good," he said at last. "I'll stay." + +Yet on his way to his room he paused, half-minded to go. But he was +ashamed to change his mind again, and he strode on, opened his door, +and saw the parcel, a neat little affair, laid on the table. + +It bore in a clear handwriting the address which he had seen on the +basket at Mary Smith's feet. But, possibly because an hour of the +Honourable Bob's company had brushed the bloom from his fancy, it +moved him little. He looked at it with something like indifference, +felt no inclination to kiss it, and smiled at his past folly as he +took it up and set off to return it to its owner. He had exaggerated +the affair and his feelings; he had made much out of little, and a +romance out of a chance encounter. He could smile now at that which +had moved him yesterday. Certainly: + + + _Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, + 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range + The Court, camp, Church, the vessel and the mart, + Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange + Pride, fame, ambition to fill up his heart_. + + +And the Honourable Bob, with his breezy self-assertion, had brought +this home to him and, with a puff of everyday life, had blown the +fantasy away. + +He was still under this impression when he reached Queen's Square, +once the pride of Bristol, and still, in 1831, a place handsome and +well inhabited. Uniformly and substantially built, on a site +surrounded on three sides by deep water, it lay, indeed, rather +over-near the quays, of which, and of the basins, it enjoyed a view +through several openings. But in the reign of William IV. merchants +were less averse from living beside their work than they are now. The +master's eye was still in repute, and though many of the richest +citizens had migrated to Clifton, and the neighbouring Assembly Rooms +in Prince's Street had been turned into a theatre, the spacious +square, with its wide lawn, its lofty and umbrageous elms, its colony +of rooks, and, last of all, its fine statue of the Glorious and +Immortal Memory, was still the abode of many respectable people. In +one corner stood the Mansion House; a little further along the same +side the Custom House; and a third public department, the Excise, also +had offices here. + +The Cathedral and the Bishop's Palace, on College Green, stood, as the +crow flies, scarce a bow-shot from the Square; on which they looked +down from the westward, as the heights of Redcliffe looked down on it +from the east. But marsh as well as water divided the Square from +these respectable neighbours; nor, it must be owned, was this the only +drawback. The centre of the city's life, but isolated on three sides +by water, the Square was as easily reached from the worse as from the +better quarters, and owing to the proximity of the Welsh Back, a +coasting quay frequented by the roughest class, it was liable in times +of excitement to abrupt and boisterous inroads. + +Vaughan entered the Square by Queen Charlotte Street, and had +traversed one half of its width when his nonchalance failed him. Under +the elms, in the corner which he was approaching, were a dozen +children. They were at play, and overlooking them from a bench, with +their backs to him, sat two young persons, the one in that mid-stage +between childhood and womanhood when the eyes are at their sharpest +and the waist at its thickest, the other, Mary Smith. + +The colour rose to his brow, and to his surprise he found that he was +not indifferent. Nor was the discovery that the back of her head and +an inch of the nape of her neck had this effect upon him the worst. He +had to ask himself what, if he was not indifferent, he was doing +there, sneaking on the skirts of a ladies' school. What were his +intentions, and what his aim? For to healthy minds there is something +distasteful in the notion of an intrigue connected, ever so remotely, +with a girls' school. Nor are conquests gained on that scene laurels +of which even a Lothario is over-proud. If Flixton saw him, or some +others of the gallant Fourteenth! + +And yet, in the teeth of all this, and under the eyes of all Queen's +Square, he must do his errand. And sheepish within, brazen without, he +advanced and stood beside her. She heard his step, and, unsuspicious +as the youngest of her flock, looked up to see who came--looked, and +saw him standing within a yard of her, with the sunshine falling +through the leaves on his wavy, fair hair. For the twentieth part of a +second he fancied a glint of glad surprise in her eyes. Then, if +anything could have punished him, it was the sight of her confusion; +it was the blush of distress which covered her face as she rose to her +feet. + +Oh, cruel! He had pursued her, when to pursue was an insult! He had +followed her when he should have known that in her position a breath +of scandal was ruin! And oh, the round eyes of the round-faced child +beside her! + +"I must apologise," he murmured humbly, "but I am not trespassing upon +you without a cause. I--I think that this is yours." And rather +lamely, for the distress in her face troubled him, he held out the +parcel. + +She put her hand behind her, and as stiffly as Miss Sibson--of the +Queen's Square Academy for Young Ladies of the Genteel and +Professional Classes--could have desired. "I do not understand, sir," +she said. She was pale and red by turns, as the round eyes saw. + +"You left this in the coach." + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"You left this in the coach," he repeated, turning very red himself. +Was it possible that she meant to repudiate her own property because +he brought it? "It is yours, is it not?" + +"No." + +"It is not!" in incredulous astonishment. + +"No." + +"But I am sure it is," he persisted. Confound it, this was a little +overdoing modesty! He had no desire to eat the girl! "You left it +inside the coach, and it has your address upon it. See!" And he tried +to place it in her hands. + +But she drew back with a look of reprobation of which he would not +have believed her eyes capable. "It is not mine, sir," she said. "Be +good enough to leave us!" And then, drawing herself up, mild creature +as she was, "You are intruding, sir," she said. + +Now, if Vaughan had really been guilty of approaching her upon a +feigned pretext, he had certainly retired on that with his tail +between his legs. But being innocent, and both incredulous and angry, +he stood his ground, and his eyes gave back some of the reproach which +hers darted. + +"I am either mad or it is yours," he said stubbornly, heedless of the +ring of staring children who, ceasing to play, had gathered round +them. "It bears your name and address, and it was left in the coach by +which you travelled yesterday. I think, Miss Smith, you will be sorry +afterwards if you do not take it." + +She fancied that his words imported a bribe; and in despair of ridding +herself of him, or in terror of the tale which the children would +tell, she took her courage in both hands. "You say that it is mine?" +she said, trembling visibly. + +"Certainly I do," he answered. And again he held it out to her. + +But she did not take it. Instead, "Then be good enough to follow +me," she replied, with something of the prim dignity of the +school-mistress. "Miss Cooke, will you collect the children and bring +them into the house?" + +And, avoiding his eyes, she led the way across the road to the door of +one of the houses. He followed, but reluctantly, and after a moment of +hesitation. He detested the scene which he now foresaw, and bitterly +regretted that he had ever set foot inside Queen's Square. To be +suspected of thrusting an intrigue upon a little schoolmistress, to be +dragged, with a pack of staring, chattering children in his train, +before some grim-faced duenna--he, a man of years and affairs, with +whom the Chancellor of England did not scorn to speak on equal terms! +It was hateful; it was an intolerable position. Yet to turn back, to +say that he would not go, was to acknowledge himself guilty. He +wished--he wished to heaven that he had never seen the girl. Or at +least that he had had the courage, when she first denied the thing, to +throw the parcel on the seat and go. + +It was not an heroic frame of mind; but neither was the position +heroic. And something may be forgiven him in the circumstances. + +Fortunately the trial was short. She opened the door of the house, and +on the threshold he found himself face to face with a tall, bulky +woman, with a double chin, and an absurdly powdered nose, who wore a +cameo of the late Queen Charlotte on her ample bosom. Miss Sibson had +viewed the encounter from an upper window, and her face was a picture +of displeasure, slightly tempered by powder. + +"What is this?" she asked, in an intimidating voice. "Miss Smith, what +is this, if you please?" + +Perhaps Mary, aware that her place was at stake, was desperate. At any +rate she behaved with a dignity which astonished Vaughan. "This +gentleman, Madam," she explained, speaking with firmness though her +face was on fire, "travelled with me on the coach yesterday. A few +minutes ago he appeared and addressed me, and insisted that the--the +parcel he carries is mine, and that I left it in the coach. It is not +mine, and I have not seen it before." + +Miss Sibson folded her arms upon her ample person. The position was +not altogether new to her. + +"Sir," she said, eying the offender majestically, "have you any +explanation to offer--of this extraordinary conduct?" + +He had, indeed. As clearly as his temper permitted he told his tale, +his tone half ironical, half furious. + +When he paused, "Who do you say gave it to you?" Miss Sibson asked in +a deep voice. + +"I do not know her name. A lady who travelled in the coach." + +Miss Sibson's frown grew even deeper. "Thank you," she replied, "that +will do. I have heard enough, and I understand. I understand, sir. Be +good enough to leave the house." + +"But, Madam----" + +"Be good enough to leave the house," she repeated. "That is the door," +pointing to it. "That is the door, sir! Any apology you may wish to +make, you can make by letter to me. To me, you understand! I think one +were not ill-fitting!" + +He lost his temper altogether at that, and he flung the parcel with +violence, and with a violent word, on a chair. "Then at any rate I +shall not take that, for it's not mine!" he cried. "You may keep it, +Madam!" + +And he flung out, his retreat hampered and made humiliating by the +entrance of the pupils, who, marshalled by the round-eyed one, and all +round-eyed themselves, blocked the doorway at that unlucky moment. He +broke through them without ceremony, though they represented the most +respectable families in Bristol, and with his head bent he strode +wrathfully across the Square. + +To be turned out of a girls' boarding-school! To be shown the door +like some wretched philandering schoolboy, or a subaltern in his first +folly! He, the man of the world, of experience, of ambition! The man +with a career! He was furious. + +"The little cat!" he cried as he went. "I wish I had never seen her +face! What a fool, what a fool I was to come!" + +Unheroic words and an unheroic mood. But though there were heroes +before Agamemnon, it is not certain that there were any after George +the Fourth. At any rate, any who, like that great man, were heroic +always and in all circumstances. + +Probably Vaughan would have forgiven the little cat had he known that +she was at that moment weeping very bitterly, with her face plunged +into the pillow of her not over-luxurious bed. For she was young, and +a woman. And because, in her position, the name of love was taboo; +because to her the admiring look, which to a more fortunate sister was +homage, was an insult; because the _petits soins_, the flower, the +note, the trifle that to another were more precious than jewels, were +not for her, it did not follow that she was not flesh and blood, that +she had not feeling, affection, passion. True, the pang was soon +deadened, for habit is strong. True, the bitter tears were soon dried, +for employers like not gloomy looks. True, she soon cried shame on her +own discontent, for she was good as gold. And yet to be debarred, in +the tender springtime, from the sweet scents, the budding blooms, the +gay carols, to have but one April coach-ride in a desert of days, is +hard--is very hard. Mary Smith, weeping on her hopeless pillow--not +without thought of the cruel arch stooping to crush her, the cruel +fate from which he had snatched her, not without thought of her own +ingratitude, her black ingratitude--felt that it was hard, very hard. + + + + + IX + + THE BILL FOR GIVING EVERYBODY + EVERYTHING! + + +It is difficult to describe and impossible to exaggerate the heat of +public feeling which preceded the elections of '31. Four-fifths of the +people of this country believed that the Bill--from which they +expected so much that a satirist has aptly given it the title at the +head of this chapter--had been defeated in the late House by a trick. +That trick the King, God bless him, had punished by dissolving the +House. It remained for the people to show their sense of the trick by +returning a very different House; such a House as would not only pass +the Bill, but pass it by a majority so decisive that the Lords, and +particularly the Bench of Bishops, whose hostility was known, would +not dare to oppose the public will. + +But as no more than a small proportion of these four-fifths had votes, +they were forced to act, if they would make their will obeyed, +indirectly; in one place by the legitimate pressure of public opinion, +in another by bribery, in a third by intimidation, in a fourth, and a +fifth, and a sixth by open violence; everywhere by the unspoken threat +of revolution. And hence arose the one good, sound, and firm argument +against the Bill which the Tory party enjoyed. + +One or two of their other arguments are not without interest, if only +as the defence set up for a system so anomalous as to seem to us +incredible--a system under which Gatton, with no inhabitants, returned +two members, and Sheffield, with something like a hundred thousand +inhabitants, returned none; under which Dunwich, long drowned under +the North Sea, returned two members, and Birmingham returned none; +under which the City of London returned four and Lord Lonsdale +returned nine; under which Cornwall, with one-fourth of the population +of Lancashire, returned thrice as many representatives; under which +the South vastly outweighed the North, and land mightily outweighed +all other property. + +Moreover, in no two boroughs was the franchise the same. One man lived +in a hovel and had a vote; his neighbour lived in a mansion and had no +vote. Frequently the whole of the well-to-do townsfolk were voteless. +Then, while any man with five thousand pounds might buy a seat, nor +see the face of a single elector, on the other hand, the poll might be +kept open for fifteen days, and a single county election might cost +two hundred thousand pounds. Bribery, forbidden in theory, was +permitted in practice. The very Government bribed under the rose, and +it was humorously said that all that a man's constituents required was +to be satisfied of the _impurity_ of his intentions! + +An anomalous system; yet its defenders had something to say for it. + +First, that narrow as the franchise seemed, every class found +somewhere in England its mouthpiece. At Preston, where all could vote +who slept in the borough the previous night, the poorest class; in the +potwalloping boroughs where a fireplace gave a vote, the next class; +in a city like Westminster, the ratepayers; in the counties, the +freeholders; in the universities, the clergy. And so on, the argument +being that the very anomalies of the system provided a mixed +representation without giving the masses a preponderant voice. + +Secondly, they said that it insured a House of ability, by enabling +young men of parts, but small means, to obtain seats. Those who put +this forward flourished a long list of statesmen who had come in for +nomination boroughs. It began with Pitt and ended with Macaulay--a +feather plucked from the enemy's wing; and Burke stood for much in it. +It became one of the commonplaces of the struggle. + +The third contention was of greater weight. It was that, with all its +abuses, the old system had worked well. This argument, too, had its +commonplace. The proverb, _stare super antiquas vias_, was thundered +from a thousand platforms, coupled with copious references to the +French wars, and to the pilot who had weathered the storm. This was +the argument of the old, and the rich, and the timid--of those who +clung to top-boots in the daytime and to pantaloons in the evening. +But as the struggle progressed it came to be merged in the one sound +argument to which reference has been made. + +"If you do not pass the Bill," said the Whigs, "there will be a +revolution." + +"Possibly," the Tories rejoined. "And whom have we to thank for that? +Who, using the French Revolution of last July as a fulcrum, have +unsettled the whole country? And now, having disturbed everything, +tell us that we must grant to force what is not due to reason? You! +But if the Bill is to pass, not because it is a good Bill, but because +the mob desire it, where will this end? Pass Bills out of fear, and +where will you end? Presently there will arise a ranting adventurer, +more violent than Brougham, a hoary schemer more unscrupulous than +Grey, an angry boy, outscolding Durham, a pedant more bloodless than +Lord John, an honest fanatic blinder than Althorp! And when _they_ +threaten _you_ with the terrors of the mob, what will you say?" + +To which the Whigs could only reply that the people must be trusted; +and--and that the Bill must pass, or not only coronets but crowns +would be flying. + +Dry arguments nowadays; but in those days alive, and to the party on +its defence--the party which found itself thrust against the wall, +that its pockets might be emptied--of vital interest. From scores of +platforms candidates, leaning forward, bland and smiling, with one +hand under the coat-tails and the other gently pumping, pumping, +pumping, enunciated them--old hands these; or, red in the face, +thundered them, striking fist into palm and overawing opposition; or, +hopeless amid the rain of dead cats and stale eggs, muttered them in a +reporter's ear, since the hootings of the crowd made other utterance +impossible. But ever as the contest went on, the smiling candidate +grew rarer; for day by day the Tories, seeing their cause hopeless, +seeing even Whigs, such as Sir Thomas Acland in Devonshire and Mr. +Wilson Patten in Lancashire, cast out if they were lukewarm, grew more +desperate, cried more loudly on high heaven, asserted more frantically +that justice was dead on the earth. All this, while those who believed +that the Bill was going to give everything to everybody pushed their +advantage without mercy. Many a borough which had not known a contest +for a generation, many a county, was fought and captured. No Tory felt +safe; no bargain, though signed and sealed, held good; no patron, +though he had held his income from his borough as secure as any part +of his property, could say that his voters would dare to go to the +poll. + +This last was the apprehension in the mind of Isaac White, Sir Robert +Vermuyden's agent, as on the day after Lady Lansdowne's visit he drove +his gig and fast-trotting cob up the avenue. The treble front of the +house looked down on him from its gentle eminence; its windows blinked +in the afternoon sunshine, and the mellow tints of the stone +harmonised with the russet bloom which in April garbs the poplar and +the later-bursting trees. Tradition said that the second baronet had +built a wing for each of his two sons. After the death of the elder, +however, the east wing had been devoted to kitchens and offices, and +the west to a splendid hospitality. In these days the latter wing was +so seldom used that it had almost fallen into decay. Laurels grew up +before the side windows and darkened them, and bats lived in the dry +chimneys. The rooms above stairs were packed with the lumber of the +last century, with the old wig-boxes, the old travelling-trunks, the +old harpsichords, even an old sedan chair; while the lower rooms, +swept and bare, and hung with flat, hard portraits, enjoyed an evil +reputation in the servants' quarters, where many a one could tell of +skirts that rustled unseen, and dead feet that trod the polished +floors. + +But to Isaac White all this was nought. He had seen the house in every +aspect; and to-day his mind was filled with other things--with votes +and voters, with some anxiety on his own account and more on his +patron's. What would Sir Robert say if aught went wrong at Chippinge? +True, the loss of the borough seemed barely possible; it had been held +securely for many years. But the times were so stormy, public feeling +ran so high, the mob was so rough, that nothing seemed impossible, in +view of the stress to which the soundest candidates were exposed. If +Mr. Bankes stood to fail in Dorset, if Mr. Duncombe had small chance +in Yorkshire, if Sir Edward Knatchbull was a lost man in Kent, if Mr. +Hart Davies was no better in Bristol, if no man but an out-and-out +Reformer could count on success, who was safe? + +White's grandfather, his father, he himself had lived and thriven by +the system which he saw tottering to its fall. He belonged to it, he +was part of it; did he not mark his allegiance to it by wearing +top-boots in the daytime and shorts in full dress? And he was +prepared--were it only out of gratitude to the ladder by which he had +risen--to stand by it and by his patron to the last. But, strange +anomaly, White was at heart a Cobbett man. His sneaking sympathies +were, in his own despite, with the class from which he sprang. He saw +commons filched from the poor, while the labourers fell on the rates. +He saw large taxes wrung from the country to be spent in the town. He +saw the severity of the laws, and especially the game laws. He saw +absentee rectors and starving curates. He saw the dumb impotence of +nine-tenths of the people; and he felt that the system under which +these things had grown up was wrong. But wrong or right, he was part +of it, he was pledged to it; and all the theories in the world, and +all the "Political Registers" which he digested of an evening, would +not induce him to betray it. + +Notwithstanding, he feared that in the matter of the borough he had +not been quite so wide-awake as became him; or Pybus, the Bowood man, +would not have stolen a march upon him. His misgivings grew as he came +in sight of the door, and saw Sir Robert on the flight of steps which +led to it. Apparently the baronet had seen him, for as White drove up +a servant appeared to lead the mare to the stables. + +Sir Robert looked her over as she was led away. "The grey looks well, +White," he said. She was of his breeding. + +"Yes, Sir Robert. Give me a good horse and they may have the +new-fangled railroads that like them. But I am afraid, sir----" + +"One moment!" The servant was out of hearing, and the baronet's tone, +as he caught White up, betrayed agitation. "Who is that looking over +the Lower Wicket, White?" he continued. "She has been there a quarter +of an hour, and--and I can't make her out." + +His tone surprised White, who looked and saw at a distance of a +hundred paces the figure of a woman leaning on the wicket-gate nearest +the stables. She was motionless, and he had not looked many seconds +before he caught the thought in Sir Robert's mind. "He's heard," he +reflected, "that her ladyship is in the neighbourhood, and it has +alarmed him." + +"I cannot see at this distance, sir," he answered prudently, "who it +is." + +"Then go and ask her her business," Sir Robert said, as indifferently +as he could. "She has been there a long time." + +White went, a little excited himself; but half-way to the woman, who +continued to gaze at the house as if unconscious of his approach, he +discovered that, whoever she was, she was not Lady Sybil. She was +stout, middle-aged, plain; and he took a curt tone with her when he +came within earshot. "What are you doing here?" he said. "That's the +way to the servants' hall." + +The woman looked at him. "You don't know me, Mr. White?" she said. + +He looked hard in return. "No," he answered bluntly, "I don't." + +"Ah, well, I know you," she replied. "More by token----" + +He cut her short. "Have you any message?" he asked. + +"If I have, I'll give it myself," she retorted drily. "Truth is, I'm +in two minds about it. What you have, you have, d'you see, Mr. White; +but what you've given ain't yours any more. Anyway----" + +"Anyway," impatiently, "you can't stay here!" + +"Very good," she replied, "very good. As you are so kind, I'll take a +day to think of it." And with a cool nod she turned her back on the +puzzled White, and went off down the park towards the town. + +He went back to Sir Robert. "She's a stranger, sir," he said; "and, I +think, a bit gone in the head. I could make nothing of her." + +Sir Robert drew a deep breath. "You're sure she was a stranger?" he +said. + +"She's no one I know, sir. After one of the men, perhaps." + +Sir Robert straightened himself. He had spent a bad ten minutes gazing +at the distant figure. "Just so," he said. "Very likely. And now what +is it, White?" + +"I've bad news, sir, I'm afraid," the agent said, in an altered tone. + +"What is it?" + +"It's that d----d Pybus, sir! I'm afraid that, after all----" + +"They're going to fight?" + +"I'm afraid, Sir Robert, they are." + +The old gentleman's eyes gleamed. "Afraid, sir, afraid?" he cried. "On +the contrary, so much the better. It will cost me some money, but I +can spare it; and it will cost them more, and nothing for it. Afraid? +I don't understand you." + +The agent, standing on the step below him, coughed dubiously. "Well, +sir," he said, "what you say is reasonable. But----" + +"But! But what?" + +"There is so much excitement in the country at this time----" + +"So much greediness in the country," Sir Robert retorted, striking his +stick upon the stone steps. "So much unscrupulousness, sir; so many +liars promising, and so many fools listening; so much to get, and so +many who would like it! There's all that, if you please; but for +excitement, I don't know"--with a severe look--"what you mean, or what +it has to do with us." + +"I am afraid, sir, there is bad news from Devon, where it is said our +candidate is retiring." + +"A good man, but weak; neither one side nor the other." + +"And from Dorset, sir, where they say Mr. Bankes will be beaten." + +"I'll not believe it," Sir Robert answered positively. "I'll never +believe it. Mr. Bankes beaten in Dorset! Absurd! Why do you listen to +such tales? Why do you listen? By G--d, White, what is the matter with +you? Or how does it touch us if Mr. Bankes is beaten? Nine votes to +four! Nine will still be nine, and four four, if he be beaten. When +you can make four to be more than nine you may come whining to me!" + +White coughed. "Dyas, the butcher----" + +"What of him?" + +"Well, Sir Robert, I am afraid he has been getting some queer +notions." + +"Notions?" the baronet echoed in astonishment. + +"He has been listening to someone, and--and thinks he has views on the +Bill." + +Sir Robert exploded. "Views!" he cried. "Views! The butcher with +views! Why, damme, White, you must be mad! Mad! Since when have +butchers taken to politics, or had views?" + +"I don't know anything about that, sir," White mumbled. + +Sir Robert struck his stick fiercely on a step. "But I do! I do! And I +know this," he continued, "that for twenty years he's had thirty +pounds a year to vote as I tell him. By gad, I never heard such a +thing in my life! Never! You don't mean to tell me that the man thinks +the vote's his own to do what he likes with?" + +"I am afraid," the agent admitted reluctantly, "that that is what he's +saying, sir." + +Sir Robert's thin face turned a dull red. "I never heard of such +impudence in all my life," he said, "never! A butcher with views! And +going to vote for them! Why, damme," he continued, with angry sarcasm, +"we'll have the tailors, the bakers, and the candlestickmakers voting +their own way next. Good G--d! What does the man think he's had thirty +pounds a year for for all these years, if not to do as he is bid?" + +"He's behaving very ill, sir," White said, severely, "very ill." + +"Ill!" Sir Robert cried; "I should think he was, the scoundrel!" And +he foamed over afresh, though we need not follow him. When he had +cooled somewhat, "Well," he said, "I can turn him out, and that I'll +do, neck and crop! By G--d, I will! I'll ruin him. But there, it's the +big rats set the fashion and the little ones follow it. This is +Spinning Jenny's work. I wish I had cut off my hand before I voted for +him. Well, well, well!" And he stood a moment in bitter contemplation +of Sir Robert Peel's depravity. It was nothing that Sir Robert was +sound on reform. By adopting the Catholic side on the claims he--he, +whose very nickname was Orange Peel--had rent the party. And all these +evils were the result! + +The agent coughed. + +Sir Robert, who was no fool, looked sharply at him. "What!" he said +grimly. "Not another renegade?" + +"No, sir," White answered timidly. "But Thrush, the pig-killer--he's +one of the old lot, the Cripples, that your father put into the +corporation----" + +"Ay, and I wish I had kept them cripples." Sir Robert growled. "All +cripples! My father was right, and I was a fool to think better men +would do as well, and do us credit. In his time there were but two of +the thirteen could read and write; but they did as they were bid. They +did as they were bid. And now--well, man, what of Thrush?" + +"He was gaoled yesterday by Mr. Forward, of Steynsham, for assault." + +"For how long?" + +"For a fortnight, sir." + +Sir Robert nearly had a fit. He reared himself to his full height, and +glared at White. "The infernal rascal!" he cried. "He did it on +purpose!" + +"I've no doubt, sir, that it determined them to fight," the agent +answered. "With Dyas they are five. And five to seven is not +such--such odds that they may not have some hope of winning." + +"Five to seven!" Sir Robert repeated; and at an end of words, at an +end of oaths, could only stare aghast. "Five to seven!" he muttered. +"You're not going to tell me--there's something more." + +"No, sir, no; that's the worst," White answered, relieved that his +tale was told. "That's the worst, and may be bettered. I've thought it +well to postpone the nomination until Wednesday the 4th, to give +Sergeant Wathen a better chance of dealing with Dyas." + +"Well, well!" Sir Robert muttered. "It has come to that. It has come +to dealing with such men as butchers, to treating them as if they had +minds to alter and views to change. Well, well!" + +And that was all Sir Robert could say. And so it was settled; the +Vermuyden dinner for the 2nd, the nomination and polling for the 4th. +"You'll let Mr. Vaughan know," Sir Robert concluded. "It's well we can +count on somebody." + + + + + X + + THE QUEEN'S SQUARE ACADEMY FOR + YOUNG LADIES + + +Miss Sibson sat in state in her parlour in Queen's Square. Rather more +dignified of mien than usual, and more highly powdered of nose, the +schoolmistress was dividing her attention between the culprit in the +corner, the elms outside--between which fledgeling rooks were making +adventurous voyages--and the longcloth which she was preparing for the +young ladies' plain-sewing; for in those days plain-sewing was still +taught in the most select academies. Nor, while she was thus engaged +in providing for the domestic training of her charges, was she without +assurance that their minds were under care. The double doors which +separated the schoolroom from the parlour were ajar, and through the +aperture one shrill voice after another could be heard, raised in +monotonous perusal of Mrs. Chapone's "Letters to a Young Lady upon the +Improvement of the Mind." + +Miss Sibson wore her best dress, of black silk, secured half-way down +the bodice by the large cameo brooch. But neither this nor the reading +in the next room could divert her attention from her duties. + +"The tongue," she enunciated with great clearness, as she raised the +longcloth in both hands and carefully inspected it over her glasses, +"is an unruly member. Ill-nature," she continued, slowly meting off a +portion, and measuring a second portion against it, "is the fruit of a +bad heart. Our opinions of others"--this with a stern look at Miss +Hilhouse, fourteen years old, and in disgrace--"are the reflections of +ourselves." + +The young lady, who was paying with the backboard for a too ready wit, +put out the unruly member, and, narrowly escaping detection, looked +inconceivably sullen. + +"The face is the mirror to the mind," Miss Sibson continued +thoughtfully, as she threaded a needle against the light. "I hope, +Miss Hilhouse, that you are now sorry for your fault." + +Miss Hilhouse maintained a stolid silence. Her shoulders ached, but +she was proud. + +"Very good," said Miss Sibson placidly; "very good! With time comes +reflection." + +Time, a mere minute, brought more than reflection. A gentleman walked +quickly across the fore-court to the door, the knocker fell sharply, +and Miss Hilhouse's sullenness dropped from her. She looked first +uncomfortable, then alarmed. "Please, may I go now?" she muttered. + +Wise Miss Sibson paid no heed. "A gentleman?" she said to the maid who +had entered. "Will I see him? Procure his name." + +"Oh, Miss Sibson," came from the corner in an agonised whisper, +"please may I go?" Fourteen standing on a stool with a backboard could +not bear to be seen by the other sex. + +Miss Sibson looked grave. "Are you sincerely sorry for your fault?" +she asked. + +"Yes." + +"And will you apologise to Miss Smith for your--your gross rudeness?" + +"Ye-es." + +"Then go and do so," Miss Sibson replied; "and close the doors after +you." + +The girl fled. And simultaneously Miss Sibson rose, with a mixture of +dignity and blandness, to receive Arthur Vaughan. The schoolmistress +of that day who had not manner at command had nothing; for deportment +ranked among the essentials. And she was quite at her case. The same +could not be said of the gentleman. But that his pride still smarted, +but that the outrage of yesterday was fresh, but that he drew a savage +satisfaction from the prospect of the apologies he was here to +receive, he had not come. Even so, he had told himself more than once +that he was a fool to come; a fool to set foot in the house. He was +almost sure that he had done more wisely had he burned the letter in +which the schoolmistress informed him that she had an explanation to +offer--and so had made an end. + +But if in place of meeting him with humble apologies, this confounded +woman were going to bear herself as if no amends were due, he had +indeed made a mistake. + +Yet her manner said almost as much as that. "Pray be seated, sir," she +said; and she indicated a chair. + +He sat down stiffly, and glowered at her. "I received your note," he +said. + +She smoothed her ample lap, and looked at him more graciously. "Yes," +she said, "I was relieved to find that the unfortunate occurrence of +yesterday was open to another explanation." + +"I have yet," he said curtly, "to hear the explanation." Confound the +woman's impudence! + +"Exactly," she said slowly. "Exactly. Well, it turns out that the +parcel you left behind you when you"--for an instant a smile broke the +rubicund placidity of her face--"when you retired so hurriedly +contained a pelisse." + +"Indeed?" he said drily. + +"Yes; and a letter." + +"Oh?" + +"Yes; a letter from a lady who has for some years taken an interest in +Miss Smith. The pelisse proved to be a gift from her." + +"Then I fail to see----" + +"Exactly," Miss Sibson interposed blandly, indeed too blandly. "You +fail to see why you came to be selected as the bearer? So do I. +Perhaps you can explain that." + +"No," he answered shortly. "Nor is that my affair. What I fail to see, +Madam, is why Miss Smith did not at once suspect that the present came +from the lady in question." + +"Because," Miss Sibson replied, "the lady was not known to be in this +part of England; and because you, sir, maintained that Miss Smith had +left the parcel in the coach." + +"I maintained what I was told." + +"But it was not the fact. However, let that pass." + +"No," Vaughan retorted, with some warmth. "For it seems to me, Madam, +very extraordinary that in a matter which was capable of so simple an +explanation you should have elected to insult a stranger--a stranger +who----" + +"Who was performing no more than an office of civility, you would +say?" + +"Precisely." + +"Well--yes." Miss Sibson spoke slowly, and was silent for a moment +after she had spoken. Then, somewhat abruptly, "You are an usher, I +think," she said, "at Mr. Bengough's?" + +Vaughan almost jumped in his chair. "I, Madam?" he cried. "Certainly +not!" + +"Not at Mr. Bengough's?" + +"Certainly not!" he repeated, with indignation. Was the woman mad? An +usher? Good heavens! + +"I know your name," she said slowly. "But----" + +"I came from London the day before yesterday. I am staying at the +White Lion, and I am late of the 14th Dragoons." + +She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, indeed," she said. "Is that so? Well," +rubbing a little of the powder from her nose with a needlecase, and +looking at him very shrewdly, "I think," she continued, "that that is +the answer to your question." + +Vaughan stared. + +"I do not understand you," he said. + +"Then I must speak more plainly. Were you an usher at Mr. Bengough's +your civility--civility, I think you called it?--to my assistant had +passed very well, Mr. Vaughan. But the civility of a gentleman, late +of the 14th Dragoons, fresh from London, and staying at the White +Lion, to a young person in Miss Smith's position is apt, as in this +case--eh?--to lead to misconstruction." + +"You do me an injustice!" he said, reddening to the roots of his hair. + +"Possibly, possibly," Miss Sibson said. But on that, without warning, +she gave way to a fit of silent laughter, which caused her portly form +to shake like a jelly. It was a habit with her, attributed by some to +her private view of Mrs. Chapone's famous letters on the improvement +of the mind; by others, to that knowledge of the tricks and turns of +her sex with which thirty years of schoolkeeping had endowed her. + +No doubt the face of rueful resentment with which Arthur Vaughan +regarded her did not shorten the fit. But at last, "Young gentleman," +she said, "you do not deceive me! You did not come here to-day merely +to hear an old woman make an apology." + +He tried to maintain an attitude of dignified surprise. But her jolly +laugh, her shrewd red face were too much for him. His eyes fell. "Upon +my honour," he said, "I meant nothing." + +She shook with fresh laughter. "It is just of that I complain, sir," +she said. + +"You can trust me." + +"I can trust Miss Smith," she retorted, shaking her head. "Her I know, +though our acquaintance is of the shortest. Still, I know her from top +to toe. You, young gentleman, I don't know. Mind," she continued, with +good-nature, "I don't say that you meant any harm when you came +to-day. But I'll wager you thought that you'd see her." + +Vaughan laughed out frankly. Her humour had conquered him. "Well," he +said audaciously, "and am I not to see her?" + +Miss Sibson looked at him, and rubbed a little more powder from her +nose. "Umph!" she said doubtfully. "If I knew you I'd know what to say +to that. A pretty girl, eh?" she added with her head on one side. + +He smiled. + +"And a good one! And if you were the usher at Mr. Bengough's I'd ask +no more, but I'd send for her. But----" + +She stopped. Vaughan said nothing, but a little out of countenance +looked at the floor. + +"Just so, just so," Miss Sibson said, as quietly as if he had answered +her. "Well, I am afraid I must not send for her." + +He looked at the carpet. "I have seen so little of her," he said. + +"And I daresay you are a man of property?" + +"I am independent." + +"Well, well, there it is." Miss Sibson smoothed out the lap of her +silk dress. + +"I do not think," he said, in some embarrassment, "that five minutes' +talk would hurt her." + +"Umph!" + +He laughed--an awkward laugh. "Come, Miss Sibson," he said. "Let us +have the five minutes, and let us both have the chance." + +She looked out of the window, and rubbed her glasses reflectively. +"Well," she said at length, as if she had not quite made up her mind, +"I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Vaughan. I did not intend to be +so, but you have met me half-way, and I believe you to be a gentleman. +The truth is, I should not have gone as far with you as I have +unless"--she looked at him suddenly--"I had had a character of you." + +"Of me?" he cried in astonishment. + +"Yes." + +"From Miss Smith?" + +Miss Sibson smiled at his simplicity. "Oh, no," she said; "you are +going to see the character." And with that the schoolmistress drew +from her workbox a small slip of paper, which she unfolded and gave to +him. "It is from the lady," she said, "who made use of you yesterday." + +He took it in much astonishment. On the inner side of the paper, which +was faintly scented, he read a dozen words in a fine handwriting: + +"Mary Smith, from her fairy godmother. The bearer may be trusted." + +Vaughan stared at the paper in undiminished surprise. "I don't +understand," he said. "Who is the lady, and what does she know of me?" + +"I cannot tell you, nor can Miss Smith," Miss Sibson replied. "Who, +indeed, has seen her only twice or thrice, at long intervals, and has +not heard her name. But Miss Smith's education--she has never known +her parents--was defrayed, I presume, by this godmother. And once a +year Miss Smith has been in the habit of receiving a gift, of some +value to a young person in her position, accompanied by a few words in +that handwriting." + +Vaughan stared. "And," he said, "you draw the inference +that--that----" + +"I draw no inference," Miss Sibson replied drily, "save that I have +authority from--shall I say her godmother--to trust you farther than I +should have trusted you. That is the only inference I draw. But I have +one thing to add," she continued. "Miss Smith did not enter my +employment in an ordinary way. My late assistant left me abruptly. +While I was at a loss an attorney of character in this city called on +me and said that a client desired to place a young person in safe +hands; that she was a trained teacher, and must live by teaching, but +that care was necessary, since she was very young, and had more than +her share of good looks. He hinted, Mr. Vaughan, at the inference +which you, I believe, have already drawn. And--and that is all." + +Vaughan looked thoughtfully at the carpet. + +Miss Sibson waited awhile. At last: "The point is," she said shrewdly, +"do you still wish to have the five minutes?" + +Arthur Vaughan hesitated. He knew that he ought, that it was his duty, +to say "No." But something in the woman's humorous eye challenged him, +and recklessly--for the gratification of a moment--he said: "Yes, if +you please, I will see her." + +"Very good, very good," Miss Sibson answered slowly. She had not been +blind to the momentary hesitation. "Then I will send her to you to +make her apologies. Only be kind enough to remember that she does not +know that you have seen that slip of paper." + +He assented, and with a good-natured nod Miss Sibson rose and went +heavily from the room. Not for nothing was she held in Bristol a woman +of sagacity, whose game of whist it was a pleasure to watch; nor +without reason had that attorney of character, of whom we have heard, +chosen 'her _in custodiam puell_. + +Vaughan waited, and to be frank, his heart beat more quickly than +usual. He knew that he was doing a foolish thing, though he had +refused to commit himself; and an unworthy thing, though Miss Sibson, +perhaps for her own reasons, had winked at it. He knew that he had no +right to see the girl if he did not mean her well; and how could he +mean her well when he had no intention of marrying her? For, for a man +with his career in prospect to marry a girl in her position--to say +nothing of the stigma which no doubt lay upon her birth--was a folly +of which none but boys and old men were capable. + +He listened, ill at ease, already repenting. The voices in the next +room, reduced to a faint murmur by the closed doors, ceased. She was +being told. She was being sent to him. He coloured. Yes, he was +ashamed of himself. He rose and went to the window, and wished that he +had said "No"; that he had taken himself off. What was he doing here +at his time of life--the most sane and best balanced time of life--in +this girls' school? It was unworthy of him. + +The door opened, and he forgot his unworthiness, he forgot all. The +abnormal attraction, allurement, charm, call it what you will, which +had overcome him when she turned her eyes on him on the coach overcame +him again--and tenfold. He thought that it must lie in her eyes, +gentle as a dove's. And yet he did not know. He had not seen her +indoors before, and her hair gathered in a knot at the back of her +head was a Greek surprise to him; while her blushes, the quivering of +her mouth, her figure slender but full of grace, and high-girdled +after the mode of the day--all, all were so perfect, so enticing, that +he knew not where the magic lay. + +But magic there was. And such magic that though he had prepared +himself, and though the last thing in his thoughts was to insult her, +he forgot himself. As she paused, her hand still resting on the door, +her face downcast and distressed, "Good G--d," he cried, "how +beautiful you are!" + +And she saw that he meant no insult, that the words burst from him +spontaneously. But not the less for that was their effect on her. She +turned white, her very heart seeming to stop, she appeared to be about +to swoon. While he, forgetting all but her shrinking beauty, devoured +her with his eyes. + +Until he remembered himself. Then he turned from her to the window. +"Forgive me!" he cried. "I did not know what I said. You came on me so +suddenly; you looked so beautiful----" + +He stopped; he could not go on. + +And she was trembling from head to foot; but she made an effort to +escape back to the commonplace. "I came," she stammered--it was clear +that she hardly knew what she was saying--"Miss Sibson told me to come +to say that I--I was sorry, sir, that I--I misjudged you yesterday." + +"Yesterday? Yesterday?" he cried, almost angrily. "Bah, it is an age +since yesterday!" + +She could make no answer to that, though she knew well what he meant. +If she answered him it was only by suffering him to gaze at her in an +eloquent silence--a silence in which his eyes cried again and again, +"How beautiful you are!" While her eyes, downcast, under trembling +lashes, her heart beaten down, defenceless, cried only for "Quarter, +quarter!" + +They were yards apart. The table, and on it Miss Sibson's squat +workbox and a pile of longcloth, was between them. Miss Sibson herself +could have desired nothing more proper. And yet-- + + + _Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield, + Thy lord at length is forced to yield. + Vain, vain is every outward care, + The foe's within and triumphs there!_ + + +It was all over. In her ears would ring for ever his words of +worship--the cry of the man to the woman, "How beautiful you are!" She +would thrill with pleasure when she thought of them, and burn with +shame, and never, never, never be the same again! And for him, with +that cry forced from him, love had become present, palpable, real, and +the idea of marriage real also; an idea to be withstood, to be +combated, to be treated as foolish, Byronic, impossible. But an idea +which would not leave him any more than the image of her gentle +beauty, indelibly stamped on his brain, would leave him. He might +spend some days or some weeks in doubt and wretchedness. But from that +moment the odds were against him--he was young, and passion had never +had her way with him--as seriously against him as against the army +that with spies and traitors in its midst moves against an united foe. + +Not a word that was _convenant_ had passed between them, though so +much had passed, when a hasty footstep crossed the forecourt, and +stopped at the door. The knocker fell sharply twice, and recalled them +to realities. + +"I--I must go," she faltered, wresting herself from the spell of his +eyes. "I have said what I--I hope you understand, and I--it is time I +went." How her heart was beating! + +"Oh, no, no!" + +"Yes, I must go!" + +Too late! A loud voice in the passage, a heavy step, announced a +visitor. The door flew open, and there entered, pushing the startled +maid aside, the Honourable Bob Flixton, at the height of his glory, +loud, impudent, and unabashed. + +"Run to earth, my lad!" he cried boisterously. "Run to earth! Run----" + +He broke off, gaping, as his eyes fell upon poor Mary, who, in making +way for him, had partly hidden herself behind the door. He whistled +softly, in great amazement, and "Hope I don't intrude," he continued. +And he grinned; while Vaughan, looking blackest thunder at him, could +find no words that were adequate. To think that this loud-voiced, +confident fool, the Don Giovanni of the regiment, had stumbled on his +pearl! + +"Well, well, well!" the Honourable Bob resumed, casting down his eyes +as if he were shocked. And again: "I hope I don't intrude," he +continued--it was the parrot cry of that year. "I didn't know. I'll +take myself off again"--he whistled low--"as fast as I can." + +But Vaughan felt that to let him go thus, to spread the tale with a +thousand additions and innuendoes, was worst of all. "Wait, if you +please," he said, with a note of sternness in his tone. "I am coming +with you, Flixton. Good-morning, Miss Smith." + +"See here, won't you introduce me?" cried the irrepressible Bob. + +"No!" Vaughan answered curtly, and without staying to reflect. "You +will kindly tell Miss Sibson, Miss Smith, that I am obliged, greatly +obliged to her. Now come, Flixton! I have done my business, and we are +not wanted here." + +"I come reluctantly," said Bob, allowing himself to be dragged out, +but not until he had cast a last languishing look at the beauty. And +on the doorstep, "Sly dog, sly dog!" he said. "To think that in +Bristol, where pretty girls are as scarce as mushrooms in March, there +should be such an angel! Damme, an angel! And you the discoverer. It +beats all!" + +"Shut up," Vaughan answered angrily. "You know nothing about it!" And +then, still more sourly, "See here, Flixton, I take it ill of you +following me here. It was too cool, I say." + +But the Honourable Bob was not quick to quarrel. "I saw you go in, +dear chap," he cried heartily. "I wanted to tell you that the hour of +dinner was changed. See? Did my own errand, and coming back thought +I'd--truth was, I fancied you'd some little game on hand." + +"Nothing of the kind!" + +The Honourable Bob stopped. "Honour bright? Honour bright?" he +repeated eagerly. "Mean to say, Vaughan, you're not on the track of +that little filly?" + +Vaughan scowled. "Not in the way you mean," he said sternly. "You make +a mistake. She's a good girl." + +Flixton winked. "Heard that before, my lad," he said, "more than once. +From my grandmother. I'll take my chance of that." + +Vaughan in his heart would have been glad to fall upon him and pommel +him. But there were objections to that course. On the other hand, his +feelings had cooled in the last few minutes, and he was far from +prepared to announce offhand that he was going to marry the beauty. So +"No, you will not, Flixton," he said. "Let it go! Do you hear? The +fact is," he continued, in some embarrassment, "I'm in a sort of +fiduciary relation to the young lady, and--and I am not going to see +her played with. That's the fact." + +"Fiduciary relation?" the Honourable Bob retorted, in perplexity. +"What the deuce is that? Never heard of it! D'you mean, man, that you +are--eh?--related to her? Of course, if so----" + +"No, I am not related to her." + +"Then----" + +"But I'm not going to see her made a fool of, that's all!" + +An idea struck the Honourable Bob. He stared. "See here," he said in a +tone of horror, "you ain't--you ain't thinking of marrying her?" + +Vaughan's cheeks burned. "May be, and may be not," he said curtly. +"But either way, it is my business!" + +"But surely you're not! Man alive!" + +"It is my business, I say!" + +"Of course, of course, if it is as bad as that," Flixton answered with +a grin. "But--hope I don't intrude, Vaughan, but ain't you making a +bit of a fool of yourself? What'll old Vermuyden say, eh?" + +"That's my business too!" Vaughan answered haughtily. + +"Just so, just so; and quite enough for me. All I say is--if you are +not in earnest yourself, don't play the dog in the manger!" + + + + + XI + + DON GIOVANNI FLIXTON + + +In the political world the last week of April and the first week of +May of that year were fraught with surprises. It is probable that they +saw more astonished people than are to be found in England in an +ordinary twelvemonth. The party which had monopolised power for half a +century, and to that end and the advancement of themselves, their +influence, their friends, and their dependants, had spent the public +money, strained the law, and supported the mob, were incredibly, nay, +were bitterly surprised when they saw all these engines turned against +them; when they found dependants falling off and friends growing cold; +above all, when they found that rabble, which they had so often +directed, aiming its yells and brickbats against their windows. + +But it is unlikely that any Tory of them all was more surprised by the +change in the political aspect than Arthur Vaughan--when he came to +think of it--by the position in which he had put himself. Certainly he +had taken no step that was not revocable. He had said nothing +positive; his honour was not engaged. But he had said a good deal. On +the spur of the moment, moved by the strange attraction which the girl +had for him, he had spoken after a fashion which only farther speech +could justify. And then, not content with that, as if fortune were +determined to make sport of his discretion, he had been led by another +impulse--call it generosity, call it jealousy, call it what you +will--to say more to Bob Flixton than he had said to her. + +He had done this who had hitherto held himself a little above the +common run of men. Who had chalked out his career and never doubted +that he had the strength to follow it. Who had not been content to +wait, idle and dissipated, for a dead man's shoes, but in the pride of +a mind which he believed to be the master of his passions had set his +face towards the high prizes of the senate and the forum. He, who if +he could not be Fox, would be Erskine. Who would be anything, in a +word, except the empty-headed man of pleasure, or the plain dullard +satisfied to sit in a corner with a little. + +He, who had planned such a future, now found himself on the brink--ay, +on the very point--of committing as foolish an act as the most +thoughtless could commit. He was proposing to marry a girl below him +in station, still farther below him in birth, whom he had only known +three days, whom he had only seen three times! And all because she had +beautiful eyes, and looked at him--Heavens, how she had looked at him! + +He went hot as he pictured her with her melting eyes, hanging towards +him a little as the ivy inclines to the oak. And then he turned cold. +And cold, he considered what he was going to do! + +Of course he was not going to marry her. + +No doubt he had said to her more than he had the right to say. But his +honour was not engaged. The girl was not the worse for him; even if +that which he had read in her eyes were true, she would get over it as +quickly as he would. But marry her, give way to a feeling doubtless +evanescent, let himself be swayed by a fancy at which he would laugh a +year later--no! No! He was not so weak. He had not only his career to +think of, but the family honours which would be his one day. What +would old Vermuyden say if he impaled a baton sinister with the family +arms, added a Smith to the family alliances, married the nameless, +penniless teacher in a girls' school? + +No, of course, he was not going to marry her. He had said what he had +said to the Honourable Bob merely to shield her from a Don Juan. He +had not meant it. He would go for a long fatiguing walk and put the +notion and the girl out of his head, and come back cured of his folly, +and make a merry night of it with the old set. And to-morrow--no, the +morrow was Sunday--on Monday he would return to London and to all the +chances which the changing political situation must open to an +ambitious man. He regretted that he had not taken the Chancellor's +hint and sought for a seat in the House. + +But the solitary ramble in the valley of the Avon, which was a +hundredfold more beautiful in those days than in these, because less +spoiled by the hand of man, a ramble by the Logwood Mills, with their +clear-running weedy stream, by King's Weston and Leigh Woods--such a +ramble, tuneful with the songs of birds and laden with the scents of +spring, may not be the surest cure for that passion, which + + + _is not to be reasoned down or lost + In high ambition or a thirst for greatness!_ + + +At any rate he returned uncured, and for the first part of the +Honourable Bob's dinner was wildly merry. After that, and suddenly, he +fell into a moody silence which his host was not the last to note. + +Fortunately with the removal of the cloth and the first brisk journey +of the decanters came news. A waiter brought it. Hart Davies, the Tory +candidate for Bristol, and for twenty years its popular member, had +withdrawn, seeing his chance hopeless. The retirement was unexpected, +and it caused so much surprise that the party could think of nothing +else. Nine-tenths of those present were Tories, and Flixton proposed +that they should sally forth and vent their feelings by smashing the +windows of the Bush, the Radical headquarters; a feat performed many a +time before with no worse consequences than a broken head or two. But +Colonel Brereton set his foot sharply on the proposal. + +"I'll put you under arrest if you do," he said. "I'm senior officer of +the district, and I'll not have it, Flixton! Do you think that this is +the time, you madmen," he continued, looking round the table and +speaking with indignation, "to provoke the rabble, and get the throats +of half Bristol cut?" + +"Oh, come, Colonel, it is not as bad as that!" Flixton remonstrated. + +"You don't know how bad it is," Brereton answered, his brooding eyes +kindling. And he developed anew his fixed idea that the forces of +disorder, once provoked, were irresistible; that the country was at +their mercy, and that only by humouring them, a course suggested also +by humanity, could the storm be weathered. + +The company consisted, for the most part, of reckless young subalterns +flushed with wine. They listened out of respect to his rank, but they +winked and grinned behind his back; until, half conscious of ridicule, +he grew angry. On ordinary occasions Flixton would have been the worst +offender. But he had the grace to remember that the Colonel was his +guest, and he sought to turn the subject. + +"Come, come!" he cried, hammering the table and pushing the bottle. +"Let the Colonel alone. For Heaven's sake shelve the cursed Bill! I'm +sick of it! It's the death of all fun and jollity. I'll give you a +sentiment: 'The Fair when they are Kind, and the Kind when they are +Fair.' Fill up! Fill up, all, and drink it!" + +They echoed the toast in various tones, sober or fuddled. And some +began to grow excited. A glass was shattered and flung noisily into +the fire. A new one was called for, also noisily. + +"Now, Bill," Flixton continued to his right-hand neighbour, "it's your +turn! Give us something spicy!" And he hammered the table. "Captain +Codrington's sentiment." + +"Let's have a minute!" pleaded the gentleman assailed. + +"Not a minute," boisterously. "See, the table's waiting for you! +Captain Codrington's sentiment!" + +Men of small genius kept a written list, and committed some lines to +memory before dinner. The Captain was one of these. But the call on +him was sudden, and he sought, with an agonised mind, for one which +would seem in the least degree novel. At last, with a sigh of relief, +"_Maids and Missuses!_" he cried. + +"Ay, ay, Maids and Missuses!" the Honourable Bob echoed, raising his +glass. "And especially," he whispered, calling his neighbour's +attention to Vaughan by a shove, "schoolmissuses! Schoolmissuses, my +lad! Here, Vaughan," he continued aloud, "you must drink this, and no +heeltaps!" + +Vaughan caught his name and awoke from a reverie. "Very good," he +said, raising his glass. "What is it?" + +"Maids and Missuses!" the Honourable Bob replied, with a wink at his +neighbour. And then, incited by the fumes of the wine he had taken, he +rose to his feet and raised his glass. "Gentlemen," he said, +"gentlemen!" + +"Silence," they cried. "Silence! Silence for Bob's speech." + +"Gentlemen," he resumed, a spark of malice in his eyes, "I've a piece +of news to give you! It's news that--that's been mighty slyly kept by +a gentleman here present. Devilish close he's kept it, I'll say that +for him! But he's a neat hand that can bamboozle Bob Flixton, and I've +run him to earth, run him to earth this morning and got it out of +him." + +"Hear! Hear! Bob! Go on, Bob; what is it?" from the company. + +"You are going to hear, my Trojans! And no flam! Gentlemen, charge +your glasses! I've the honour to inform you that our old friend and +tiptopper, Arthur Vaughan, otherwise the Counsellor, has got himself +regularly put up, knocked down, and sold to as pretty a piece of the +feminine as you'll see in a twelvemonth! Prettiest in Bristol, 'pon +honour," with feeling, "be the other who she may! Regular case +of--" and in irresistibly comic accents, with his head and glass alike +tilted, he drolled, + + + "_There first for thee my passion grew, + Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen; + Thou wast the daughter of my tu- + tor, law professor at the U- + niversity of Gttingen!_ + + +'Niversity of Gttingen! Don't laugh, gentlemen! It's so! He's entered +on the waybill, book through to matrimony, and"--the Honourable Bob +was undoubtedly a little tipsy--"and it only remains for us to give +him a good send-off. So charge your glasses, and----" + +Brereton laid his hand on his arm. He was sober and he did not like +the look on Vaughan's disgusted face. "One moment, Flixton," he said; +"is this true, Mr. Vaughan?" + +Vaughan's brow was as black as thunder. He had never dreamt that, +drunk or sober, Flixton would be guilty of such a breach of +confidence. He hesitated. Then, "No!" he said. + +"It's not true?" Codrington struck in. "You are not going to be +married, old chap?" + +"No!" + +"But, man," Flixton hiccoughed, "you told me so--or something like +it---only this morning." + +"You either misunderstood me," Vaughan answered, in a tone so distinct +as to be menacing, "for you have said far more than I said. Or, if you +prefer it, I've changed my mind. In either case it is my business! And +I'll trouble you to leave it alone!" + +"Oh, if you put it--that way, old chap?" + +"I do put it that way!" + +"And any way," Brereton said, interposing hurriedly, "this is no time +for marrying! I've told you boys before, and I tell you again----" + +And he plunged into a fresh argument on the old point. Two or three +joined issue, grinning. And Vaughan, as soon as attention was diverted +from him, slipped away. + +He was horribly disgusted, and sunk very low in his own eyes. He +loathed what he had done. He had not, indeed, been false to the girl, +for he had given her no promise. He had not denied her, for her name +had not been mentioned. And he had not gone back on his resolution, +for he had never formed one seriously. Yet in a degree he had done all +these things. He had played a shabby part by himself and by the girl. +He had been meanly ashamed of her. And though his conduct had followed +the lines which he had marked out for himself, he hoped that he might +never again feel so unhappy, and so poor a thing, as he felt as he +walked the streets and cursed his discretion. + +Discretion! Cowardice was the right name for it. Because the girl, the +most beautiful, pure, and gentle creature on whom his eyes had ever +rested, was called Mary Smith, and taught in a school, he disavowed +her and turned his back on her. + +He did not know that he was suffering what a man, whose mind has so +far governed his heart, must suffer when the latter rebels. In +planning his life he had ignored his heart; now he must pay the +penalty. He went to bed at last, but not to sleep. Instead he lived +the scene over and over again, now wondering what he ought to have +done; now brooding on what Flixton must think of him; now on what she, +whose nature, he was sure, was as perfect as her face, would think of +him, if she knew. How she would despise him! + +The next day was Sunday, and he spent it, in accordance with a +previous promise, with Brereton, at his pleasant home at Newchurch, a +mile from the city. Though the most recent of his Bristol +acquaintances, Brereton was the most congenial; and a dozen times +Vaughan was on the point of confiding his trouble to him. He was +deterred by the melancholy cast of Brereton's character, which gave +promise of no decisive advice. And early in the evening he took leave +of his host and strolled towards the Downs, balancing _I would_ +against _I will not_; now facing the bleak of a prudent decision, now +thrilling with foolish rapture, as he pondered another event. Lord +Eldon had married young and with as little prudence; it had not +impeded his rise, nor Erskine's. Doubtless Sir Robert Vermuyden would +say that he had disgraced himself; but he cared little for that. What +he had to combat was the more personal pride of the man who, holding +himself a little wiser than his fellows, cannot bear to do a thing +that in the eyes of the foolish may set him below them! + +Of course he came to no decision; though he wandered on Brandon Hill +until the Float at his feet ceased to mirror the lights, and Bristol +lay dark below him. And Monday found him still hesitating. Thrice he +started to take his place on the coach. And thrice he turned back, +hating himself for his weakness. If he could not overcome a foolish +fancy, how could he hope to scale the heights of the Western Circuit, +or hurl Coleridge and Follett from their pride of place? Or, still +harder task, how would he dare to confront in the House the cold eye +of Croker or of Goulburn? No, he could not hope to do either. He had +been wrong in his estimate of himself. He was a poor creature, unable +to hold his own amongst his fellows, impotent to guide his own life! + +He was still contesting the matter when, a little before noon, he +espied Flixton in the act of threading his way through the busy crowd +of Broad Street. The Honourable Bob was wearing hessians, and a +high-collared green riding-coat, with an orange vest and a soft +many-folded cravat. In fine, he was so smart that suspicion entered +Vaughan's head; and on its heels--jealousy. + +In a twinkling he was on Flixton's track. Broad Street, the heart of +Bristol, was thronged, for Hart Davies's withdrawal was in the air and +an election crowd was abroad. Newsboys with their sheets, tipsy +ward-leaders, and gossiping merchants jostled one another. The beau's +green coat, however, shone conspicuous, + + + _Glorious was his course, + And long the track of light he left behind him!_ + + +and before Vaughan had asked himself if he were justified in +following, pursued and pursuer were over Bristol Bridge, and making, +by way of the Welsh Back--a maze of coal-hoys and dangling cranes--for +Queen's Square. + +Vaughan doubted no longer, weighed the propriety of his course no +longer. For a cool-headed man of the world, who asked nothing better +than to master a silly fancy, he was foolishly perturbed. He made on +with a grim face; but a dray loading at a Newport coal-hulk drew +across his path, and Flixton was pacing under the pleasant elms and +amid the groups that loitered up and down the sunlit Square, before +Vaughan came within hail, and called him by name. + +Flixton turned then, saw who it was, and grinned--nothing abashed. +"Well," he said, tipping his hat a little to one side, "well, old +chap! Are you let out of school too?" + +Vaughan had already discovered Mary Smith and her little troop under +the trees in the farthest corner. But he tried to smile--and did so, a +little awry. "This is not fair play, Flixton," he said. + +"That is just what I think it is," the Honourable Bob answered +cheerfully. "Eh, old chap? Neat trick of yours the other day, but not +neat enough! Thought to bamboozle me and win a clear field! Neat! But +no go, I found you out and now it is my turn. That's what I call fair +play." + +"Look here, Flixton," Vaughan replied--he was fast losing his +composure--"I'm not going to have it. That's plain." + +The Honourable Bob stared. "Oh!" he answered. "Let's understand one +another. Are you going to marry the girl after all?" + +"I've told you----" + +"Oh, you've told me, yes, and you've told me, no. The question is, +which is it?" + +Vaughan controlled himself. He could see Mary out of the corner of his +eye, and knew that she had not yet taken the alarm. But the least +violence might attract her attention. "Whichever it be," he said +firmly, "is no business of yours." + +"If you claim the girl----" + +"I do not claim her, Flixton. I have told you that. But----" + +"But you mean to play the dog in the manger?" + +"I mean to see," Vaughan replied sternly, "that you don't do her any +harm." + +Flixton hesitated. Secretly he held Vaughan in respect; and he would +have postponed his visit to Queen's Square had he foreseen that that +gentleman would detect him. But to retreat now was another matter. The +duel was still in vogue; barely two years before the Prime Minister +had gone out with a brother peer in Battersea Fields; barely twenty +years before one Cabinet Minister had shot another on Wimbledon +Common. He could not, therefore, afford to show the white feather, and +though he hesitated, it was not for long. "You mean to see to that, do +you?" he retorted. + +"I do." + +"Then come and see," he returned flippantly. "I'm going to have a chat +with the young lady now. That's not murder, I suppose?" And he turned +on his heel and strolled across the turf towards the group of which +Mary was the centre. + +Vaughan followed with black looks; and when Mary Smith, informed of +their approach by one of the children, turned a startled face towards +them, he was at Flixton's shoulder, and pressing before him. + +But the Honourable Bob had the largest share of presence of mind, and +he was the first to speak. "Miss Smith," he said, raising his hat with +_aplomb_, "I--you remember me, I am sure?" + +Vaughan pushed before him; and before the girl could speak--for +jealousy is a fine spoiler of manners, "This gentleman," he said, +"wishes to see----" + +"To see----" said Flixton, with a lower bow. + +"Miss Sibson!" Vaughan exclaimed. + +The children stared; gazing up into the men's faces with the +undisguised curiosity of childhood. Fortunately the Mary Smith who had +to confront these two was no longer the Mary Smith whom Vaughan's +appearance had stricken with panic three days before. For one thing, +she knew Miss Sibson better, and feared her less. For another, her +fairy godmother--the gleam of whose gifts never failed to leave a hope +of change, a prospect of something other than the plodding, endless +round--had shown a fresh sign. And last, not least, a more potent +fairy, a fairy whose wand had power to turn Miss Sibson's house into a +Palace Beautiful, and Queen's Square, with its cawing rooks and +ordered elms, into an enchanted forest, had visited her. + +True, Vaughan had left her abruptly--to cool her burning cheeks and +still her heart as she best might! But he had said what she would +never forget, and though he had left her doubting, he had left her +loving. And so the Mary who found herself addressed by two gallants +was much less abashed than she who on Friday had had to do with one. + +Still she was astonished by their address; and she showed this, +modestly and quietly. "If you wish to see Miss Sibson," she +said--instinctively she looked at Vaughan's companion--"I will send +for her." And she was in the act of turning, with comparative ease, to +despatch one of the children on the errand, when the Honourable Bob +interposed. + +"But we don't want Miss Sibson--now," he said. "A man may change his +mind as well as a woman! Eh, old chap?" turning to his friend with +simulated good-humour. "I'm sure you will say so, Miss Smith." + +She wondered what their odd manner to one another meant. And, to add +to her dignity, she laid her hand on the shoulder of one of her +charges and drew her closer. + +"Moreover, I'm sure," Flixton continued--for Vaughan after his first +hasty intervention, stood sulkily silent--"I'm sure Mr. Vaughan will +agree with me----" + +"I?" + +"Oh, yes he will, Miss Smith, because he is the most changeable of men +himself! A weathercock, upon my honour!" And he pointed to the tower +of St. Mary, which from the high ground of Redcliffe Parade on the +farther side of the water, looks down on the Square. "Never of the +same mind two days together!" + +Vaughan snubbed him savagely. "Be good enough to leave me out!" he +said. + +"There!" the Honourable Bob answered, laughing, "he wants to stop my +mouth! But I'm not to be stopped. Of all men he's the least right to +say that I mustn't change my mind. Why, if you'll believe me, Miss +Smith, no farther back than Saturday morning he was all for being +married! 'Pon honour! Went away from here talking of nothing else! In +the evening he was just as dead the other way! Nothing was farther +from his thoughts. Shuddered at the very idea! Come, old chap, don't +look fierce!" And he grinned at Vaughan. "You can't deny it!" + +Vaughan could have struck him; the trick was so neat and so malicious. +Fortunately a man who had approached the group touched Vaughan's elbow +at this critical moment, and diverted his wrath. "Express for you, +sir," he said. "Brought by chaise, been looking for you everywhere, +sir!" + +Vaughan smothered the execration which rose to his lips, snatched the +letter from the man, and waved him aside. Then, swelling with rage, he +turned upon Flixton. But before he could speak the matter was taken +out of his hands. + +"Children," said Mary Smith in a clear, steady voice, "it is time we +went in. The hour is up, collect your hoops. I think," she continued, +looking stiffly at the Honourable Bob, "you have addressed me under a +misapprehension, sir, intending to address yourself to Miss Sibson. +Good-morning! Good-morning!" with a slight and significant bow which +included both gentlemen. And taking a child by either hand, she turned +her back on them, and with her little flock clustering about her, and +her pretty head held high, she went slowly across the road to the +school. Her lips were trembling, but the men could not see that. And +her heart was bursting, but only she knew that. + +Without that knowledge Vaughan was furiously angry. It was not only +that the other had got the better of him by a sly trick; but he +was conscious that he had shown himself at his worst--stupid when +tongue-tied, and rude when he spoke. Still, he controlled himself +until Mary was out of earshot, and then he turned upon Flixton. + +"What right--what right," he snarled, "had you to say what I would do! +And what I would not do? I consider your conduct----" + +"Steady, man!" Flixton, who was much the cooler of the two, said. He +was a little pale. "Think before you speak. You would interfere. What +did you expect? That I was going to play up to you?" + +"I expected at least----" + +"Ah, well, you can tell me another time what you expected. I have an +engagement now and must be going," the Honourable Bob said. "See you +again!" And with a cool nod he turned on his heel, and assured that, +whatever came of the affair, he had had the best of that bout, he +strode off. + +Vaughan was only too well aware of the same fact; and but that he held +himself in habitual control, he would have followed and struck his +rival. As it was, he stood a moment looking blackly after him. Then, +sobered somewhat, though still bitterly chagrined, he took his way +towards his hotel, carrying in his oblivious hand the letter which had +been given him. Once he halted, half-minded to return to Miss Sibson's +and to see Mary and explain. He took, indeed, some steps in the +backward direction. But he reflected that if he went he must speak, +and plainly. And, angry as he was, furiously in love as he was, was he +prepared to speak? + +He was not prepared. And while he stood doubting between that eternal +would, and would not, his eyes fell on the letter in his hand. + + + + + XII + + A ROTTEN BOROUGH + + +Chippinge, Sir Robert Vermuyden's borough, was in no worse case than +two-thirds of the small boroughs of that day. Still, of its great men +Cowley might have written: + + + _Nothing they but dust can show, + Or bones that hasten to be so._ + + +And of its greatness he might have said the same. The one and the +other belonged to the past. + +The town occupies a low, green hill, dividing two branches of the Avon +which join their waters a furlong below. Built on the ridge and +clinging to the slopes of this eminence the stone-tiled houses look +pleasantly over the gentle undulations of the Wiltshire pastures--no +pastures more green; and at a distance are pleasantly seen from them. +But viewed more closely--at the date of which we write--the +picturesque in the scene became mean or incongruous. Of the Mitred +Abbey that crowned the hill and had once owned these fertile slopes +there remained but the maimed hulk, patched and botched, and long +degraded to the uses of that parish church its neighbour, of which +nothing but the steeple survived. The crown-shaped market cross, once +a dream of beauty in stone, still stood, but battered and defaced; +while the Abbot's gateway, under which sovereigns had walked, was sunk +to a vile lock-up, the due corrective of the tavern which stood cheek +by jowl with it. + +Still, to these relics, grouped as they were upon an open triangular +green, the hub of the town, there clung in spite of all some shadow of +greatness. The stranger whose eye fell on the doorway of the Abbey +Church, with its whorls of sculptured images, gazed and gazed again +with a sense of wondering awe. But let him turn his back on these +buildings, and his eye met, in cramped street and blind alley, a lower +depth. Everywhere were things once fine, sunk to base uses; old stone +mansions converted into tenements; the solid houses of medival +burghers into crazy taverns; fretted cloisters into pigsties and +hovels; a Gothic arch propped the sagging flank of a lath-and-plaster +stable. Or if anything of the beauty of a building survived, it was +masked by climbing penthouses; or, like the White Lion, the old inn +which had been the Abbot's guesthouse, it was altered out of all +likeness to its former self. For the England of '31, gross and +matter-of-fact, was not awake to the value of those relics of a noble +past which generations of intolerance had hurried to decay. + +Doubtless in this mouldering, dusty shell was snug, warm living. +Georgian comfort had outlived the wig and the laced coat, and though +the influence of the Church was at its lowest ebb, and morals were not +much higher, inns were plenty and flourished, and in the panelled +parlours of the White Lion or the Heart and Hand was much good eating, +followed by deep drinking. The London road no longer passed through +the town; the great fair had fallen into disuse. But the cloth trade, +by which Chippinge had once thriven, had been revived, and the town +was not quite fallen. Still, of all its former glories, it retained +but one intact. It returned two members to Parliament. That which +Birmingham and Sheffield had not, this little borough of eighteen +hundred souls enjoyed. Fallen in all other points, it retained, or +rather its High Steward, Sir Robert Vermuyden, retained the right of +returning, by the votes of its Alderman and twelve capital burgesses, +two members to the Commons' House. + +And Sir Robert could not by any stretch of fancy bring himself to +believe that the town would willingly part with this privilege. Why +should it strip itself? he argued. It enjoyed the honour vicariously, +indeed. But did he not year by year pay the Alderman and eight of the +capital burgesses thirty pounds apiece for their interest, a sum which +quickly filtered through their pockets and enriched the town, besides +taking several of the voters off the rates? Did he not also at +election times set the taps running and distribute a moderate largesse +among the commonalty, and--and in fact do everything which it behoved +a liberal and enlightened patron to do? Nay, had he not, since his +accession, raised the status of the voters, long and vulgarly known as +"The Cripples," so that they, who in his father's time had been, +almost without exception, drunken illiterates, were now to the extent +of at least one half, men of respectable position? + +No, Sir Robert wholly declined to believe that Chippinge had any wish +for a change so adverse to its interests. The most he would admit was +that there might be some slight disaffection in the place, due to that +confounded Bowood, which was for ever sapping and mining and seeking +to rob its neighbours. + +But even he was presently to be convinced that there was a very odd +spirit abroad in this year '31. The new police and the new steam +railways and this cholera of which people were beginning to talk, were +not the only new things. There were new ideas in the air; and the +birds seemed to carry them. They took possession not only of the +troublesome and discontented--poachers whom Sir Robert had gaoled, or +the sons of men whom his father had pressed--but of the most unlikely +people. Backs that had never been aught but pliant grew stiff. Men who +had put up with the old system for more years than they could remember +grew restive. Others, who had all their lives stood by while their +inferiors ruled the roost, discovered that they had rights. Nay--and +this was the strangest thing of all--some who had thriven by the old +management and could not hope to gain by a change revolted, after the +fashion of Dyas the butcher, and proved the mastery of mind over +matter. Not many, indeed, these; martyrs for ideas are rare. But their +action went for much, and when later the great mass of the voteless +began to move, there were rats in plenty of the kind that desert +sinking ships. By that time he was a bold man who in tavern or +workshop spoke for the rule of the few, to which Sir Robert fondly +believed his borough to be loyal. + +His agent had never shared that belief, fortunately for him; or he had +had a rude awakening on the first Monday in May. It was customary for +the Vermuyden interest to meet the candidates on the Chippenham road, +half an hour before the dinner hour, and to attend them in procession +through the town to the White Lion. Often this was all that the +commonalty saw of an election, and a little horseplay was both +expected and allowed. In old days, when the "Cripples" had belonged to +the very lowest class, their grotesque appearance in the van of the +gentlemanly interest had given rise to many a home-jest. The crowd +would follow them, jeering and laughing, and there would be some +pushing, and a drunken man or two would fall. But all had passed in +good humour; the taps had been running in one interest, the ale was +Sir Robert's, and the crowd envied while they laughed. + +White, as he stood on the bridge reviewing the first comers, wished he +might have no worse to expect to-day. But he did not hope as much. The +town was crowded, and the streets down to the bridge were so cumbered +with moving groups that it was plain the procession would have to push +its way. For certain, too, many of the people did not belong to +Chippinge. With the townsfolk White knew he could deal. He did not +believe that there was a Chippinge man who, eye to eye with him, would +cast a stone. But here were yokels from Calne and Bowood, who knew not +Sir Robert; with Bristol lambs and men as dangerous, and not a few +Radicals from a distance, rabid with zeal and overflowing with +promises. Made up of such elements the crowd hooted from time to time, +and there was a threat in the sound that filled White with misgivings. + +Nor was this the worst. The cloth factory stood close to the bridge. +The procession must pass it. And the hands employed in it, hostile to +a man, were gathered before the doorway, in their aprons and paper +caps, waiting to give the show a reception. They had much to say +already, their jeers and taunts filling the air; but White had a +shrewd suspicion that they had worse missiles in their pockets. + +Still, he had secured the attendance of a score of sturdy fellows, +sons of Sir Robert's farmers, and these, with a proportion of the +tagrag and bobtail of the town, gave a fairly solid aspect to his +party. Nor was the jeering all on one side, though that deep and +unpleasant groaning which now and again rolled down the street was +wholly Whiggish. + +Alas, it was when the agent came to analyse his men that he had most +need of the smile that deceives. True, the rector was there and the +curate of Eastport, and the clerk and the sexton--the two last-named +were voters. And there were also four or five squires arrayed in +support of the gentlemanly interest, and as many young bucks come to +see the fun. Then there were three other voters: the Alderman, who +was a small grocer, and Annibal the basketmaker--these two were +stalwarts--and Dewell the barber, also staunch, but a timid man. There +was no Dyas, however, Sir Robert's burliest supporter in old days, and +his absence was marked. Nor any Thrush the pig-killer--the jaws of a +Radical gaol held him. Nor, last and heaviest blow of all--for it had +fallen without warning--was there any Pillinger of the Blue Duck. +Pillinger, his wife said, was ill. What was worse he was in the hands +of a Radical doctor capable, the agent believed, of hocussing him +until the polling was over. The truth about Pillinger--whether he lay +ill or whether he lay shamming, whether he was at the mercy of the +apothecary or under the thumb of his wife--White could not learn. He +hoped to learn it before it was too late. But for the present +Pillinger was not here. + +The Alderman, Annibal, Dewell, the clerk, the sexton, and Arthur +Vaughan. White totted them up again and again and made them six. The +Bowood voters he made five--four stalwarts and Dyas the butcher. + +Certainly he might still poll Pillinger. But, on the other hand, Mr. +Vaughan might arrive too late. White had written to his address in +town, and receiving no answer had sent an express to Bristol on the +chance that the young gentleman was still there. Probably he would be +in time. But when things are so very close--and when there were alarm +and defeat in the air--men grow nervous. White smiled as he chatted +with the pompous Rector and the country squires, but he was very +anxious. He thought of old Sir Robert at Stapylton, and he sweated at +the notion of defeat. Cobbett had reached his mind, but Sir Robert had +his heart! + +"Boo!" moaned the crowd higher up the street. The sound sank and the +harsh voice of a speaker came fitfully over the heads of the people. + +"Who's that?" asked old Squire Rowley, one of the country gentlemen. + +"Some spouter from Bristol, sir, I fancy," the agent replied +contemptuously. And with his eye he whipped in a couple of +hobbledehoys who seemed inclined to stray towards the enemy. + +"I suppose," the Squire continued, lowering his voice, "you can depend +on your men, White?" + +"Oh, Lord, yes, sir," White answered; like a good election agent he +took no one into his confidence. "We've enough here to do the trick. +Besides, young Mr. Vaughan will be here to-morrow, and the landlord of +the Blue Duck, who is not well enough to walk to-day, will poll. He'd +break his heart, bless you," White continued, with a brow of brass, +"if he could not vote for Sir Robert!" + +"Seven to five." + +"Seven to four, sir." + +"But Dyas, I hear, the d----d rogue, will vote against you?" + +White winked. + +"Bad," he said cryptically, "but not as bad as that, sir." + +"Oh! oh!" quoth the other, nodding, "I see." And then, glancing at the +gang before the cloth works, whose taunts of "Flunkies!" and "Sell +your birthright, will you?" were constant and vicious, "You've no fear +there'll be violence, White?" he asked. + +"Lord, no, sir," White answered; "you know what election rows are, all +bark and no bite!" + +"Still I hear that at Bath, where I'm told Lord Brecknock stands a +poor chance, they are afraid of a riot." + +"Ay, ay, sir," White answered indifferently, "this isn't Bath." + +"Precisely," the Rector struck in, in pompous tones. "I should like to +see anything of that kind here! They would soon," he continued with an +air, "find that I am not on the commission of the peace for nothing! I +shall make, and I am sure you will make," he went on, turning to his +brother justice, "very short work of them! I should like to see +anything of that kind tried here!" + +White nodded, but in his heart he thought that his reverence was +likely to have his wish gratified. However, no more was said, for the +approach of the Stapylton carriages, with their postillions, outriders +and favours, was signalled by persons who had been placed to watch for +them, and the party on the bridge, falling into violent commotion, +raised their flags and banners and hastened to form an escort on +either side of the roadway. As the gaily-decked carriages halted on +the crest of the bridge, loud greetings were exchanged. The five +voters took up a position of honour, seats in the carriages were found +for three or four of the more important gentry, and seven or eight +others got to horse. Meanwhile those of the smaller folk, who thought +that they had a claim to the recognition of the candidates, were +gratified, and stood back blushing, or being disappointed stood back +glowering; all this amid confusion and cheering on the bridge and +shrill jeers on the part of the cloth hands. Then the flags were waved +aloft, the band of five, of which the drummer could truly say "_Pars +magna fui_," struck up "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!" and White +stood back for a last look. + +Then, "Shout, lads, shout!" he cried, waving his hat. "Don't let 'em +have it all their own way!" And with a roar of defiance, not quite so +loud or full as the gentlemanly interest had raised of old, the +procession got under way, and, led by a banner bearing "Our Ancient +Constitution!" in blue letters on a red ground, swayed spasmodically +up the street. The candidates for the suffrages of the electors of +Chippinge had passed the threshold of the borough. "Hurrah! Yah! +Hurrah! Yah! Yah! Yah! Down with the Borough-mongers. Our Ancient +Constitution! Hurrah! Boo! Boo!" + +White had his eye on the clothmen, and under its spell they did not go +beyond hooting and an egg or two, spared from the polling day, and +flung at long range when the Tories had passed. No one was struck, and +the carriages moved onward, more or less triumphantly. Sergeant +Wathen, who was in the first, and whose sharp black eyes moved hither +and thither in search of friends, rose repeatedly to bow. But Mr. +Cooke, who did not forget that he was paying two thousand five hundred +pounds for his seat, and thought that it should be a soft one, +scarcely deigned to move. For as the procession advanced into the town +the clamour of the crowd which lined the narrow High Street and +continually shouted "The Bill! The Bill!" drowned the utmost efforts +of Sir Robert's friends, and left no doubt of the popular feeling. + +There was some good-humoured pushing and thrusting, the drum beating +and the church bells jangling bravely above the hubbub. And once or +twice the rabble came near to cutting the procession in two. But there +was no real attempt at mischief, and all went well until the foremost +carriage was abreast of the Cross, which stands at the head of the +High Street, where the latter debouches into the space before the +Abbey. + +Then some foolish person gave the word to halt before Dyas the +butcher's. And a voice--it was not White's--cried, "Three groans for +the Radical Rat! Rat! Rat!" + +The groans were given before the crowd fully understood their meaning +or the motive for the stoppage. The drummer beat out something which +he meant for the Rogues' March, and an unseen hand raising a large +dead rat, tied to a stick, waved it before the butcher's first-floor +windows. + +The effect was surprising--to old-fashioned folk. In a twinkling, with +a shout of "Down with the Borough-mongers!" a gang of white-aproned +clothmen rushed the rear of the procession, drove it in upon the main +body, and amid screams and uproar forced the whole line out of the +narrow street into the space before the Abbey. Fortunately the White +Lion, which faced the Abbey, stood only a score of paces to the left +of the Cross, and the carriages were able to reach it; but in +disorder, pressed on by such a fighting, swaying, shouting crowd as +Chippinge had not seen for many a year. + +It was no time to stand on dignity. The candidates tumbled out as best +they could, their chief supporters followed them, and while half a +dozen single combats proceeded at their elbows, they hastened across +the pavement into the house. The Rector alone disdained to flee. Once +on the threshold of the inn, he turned and raised his hat above his +head: + +"Order!" he cried, "Order! Do you hear me!" + +But "Yah! Borough-monger!" the rabble answered, and before he could +say more a young farmer was hurled against him, and a whip, of which a +postillion had just been despoiled, whizzed past his head. He, too, +turned tail at that, with his face a shade paler than usual; and with +his retreat resistance ceased. The carriages were hustled somehow and +anyhow into the yard, and there the greater part of the procession +also took refuge. A few, sad to say, sneaked off and got rid of their +badges, and a few more escaped through a neighbouring alley. No one +was much hurt; a few black eyes were the worst of the mischief, nor +could it be said that any vindictive feeling was shown. But the town +was swept clear, and the victory of the Radicals was complete. Left in +possession of the open space before the Abbey, they paraded for some +time under the windows of the White Lion, waving a captured flag, and +cheering and groaning by turns. + +Meantime in the hall of the inn the grandees were smoothing their +ruffled plumes, in a state of mind in which it was hard to say whether +indignation or astonishment had larger place. Oaths flew thick as +hail, unrebuked by the Church, the most outspoken perhaps being by the +landlord, who met them with a pale face. + +"Good Lord, good Lord, gentlemen!" he said, "what violence! What +violence! What are we coming to next? What's took the people, +gentlemen? Isn't Sir Robert here?" + +For to this simple person it seemed impossible that people should +behave badly in that presence. + +"No, he's not!" Mr. Cooke answered with choler. "I'd like to know why +he's not! I wish to Heaven"--only he did not say "Heaven"--"that he +were here, and he'd see what sort of thing he has let us into!" + +"Ah, well, ah, well!" returned the more discreet and philosophic +Sergeant, "shouting breaks no bones. We are all here, I hope? And +after all, this shows up the Bill in a pretty strong light, eh, +Rector? If it is to be carried by methods such as these--these---" + +"D----d barefaced intimidation!" Squire Rowley growled. + +"Or if it is to give votes to such persons as these----" + +"D----d Jacobins! Republicans every one!" interposed the Squire. + +"It will soon be plain to all," the Sergeant concluded, in his House +of Commons manner, "that it is a most revolutionary, dangerous, +and--and unconstitutional measure, gentlemen." + +"By G--d!" Mr. Cooke cried--he was thinking that if this was the kind +of thing he was to suffer he might as well have fought Taunton or +Preston, or any other open borough, and kept his money in his +pocket--"by G--d, I wish Lord John were stifled in the mud he's +stirred up, and Gaffer Grey with him!" + +"You can add Bruffam, if you like," Wathen answered +good-humouredly--he was not paying two thousand five hundred guineas +for his seat. "And rid me of a rival and the country of a pest, Cooke! +But come, gentlemen, now we're here and no bones broken, shall we sit +down? We are all safe, I trust, Mr. White? And especially--my future +constituents?" with a glance of his shrewd Jewish-looking eyes. + +"Yes, sir, no harm done," White replied as cheerfully as he could; +which was not overcheerfully, for in all his experience of Chippinge +he had known nothing like this; and he was a trifle scared. "Yes, +sir," he continued, looking round, "all here, I think! And--and by +Jove," in a tone of relief, "one more than I expected! Mr. Vaughan! I +am glad, sir, very glad, sir," he added heartily, "to see you. Very +glad!" + +The young man who had alighted from his postchaise a few minutes +before did not, in appearance at least, reciprocate the feeling. He +looked sulky and bored. But he shook the outstretched hand; he could +do no less. Then, saying scarcely a word, he stood back again. He had +hastened to Chippinge on receiving White's belated express, but rather +because, irritated by the collision with Flixton, he welcomed any +change, than because he was sure what he would do. In the chaise he +had thought more of Mary than of politics, more of the Honourable Bob +than of his cousin. And though, as far as Sir Robert was concerned, he +was resolved to be frank and to play the man, his mind had travelled +no farther. + +Now, thrown suddenly among these people, he was, in a churlish way, +taken somewhat aback. But, in a thoroughly bad temper, he told himself +it did not matter. If they did not like the line he was going to take, +that was their business. He was not responsible to them. In fine, he +was in a savage mood, with half his mind here and the other half +dwelling on the events of the morning. For the moment politics seemed +to him a poor game, and what he did or did not do of little +consequence! + +White and the others were not blind to his manner, and might have +resented it in another. But Sir Robert's heir was a great man and had +a right to moods if any man had; doubtless he was become a fine +gentleman and thought it a nuisance to vote in his own borough. They +were all politeness to him, therefore, and while his eyes passed +haughtily beyond them, seeking Sir Robert, they presented to him those +whom he did not know. + +"Very kind of you to come, Mr. Vaughan," said the Sergeant, who, like +many browbeaters, could be a sycophant at need. "Very kind indeed! I +don't know whether you know Mr. Cooke? He, equally with me, is obliged +to you for your attendance." + +"Greatly obliged, sir," Mr. Cooke muttered. "Certainly, certainly." + +Vaughan bowed coldly. + +"Is not Sir Robert here?" he asked. + +He was still looking beyond those to whom he spoke. + +"No, Mr. Vaughan." + +And then, "This way to dinner," White cried loudly. "Come, gentlemen! +Dinner, gentlemen, dinner!" + +And Vaughan, heedless what he did or where he dined, but inclined in a +sardonic way to amuse himself, went in with them. What did it matter? +He was not going to vote for them. But that was his business, and Sir +Robert's. He was not responsible to them. + +Certainly he was in a very bad temper. + + + + + XIII + + THE VERMUYDEN DINNER + + +Vaughan began to think more soberly of his position when he found +himself set down at the table. He had White, who took one end, on his +right; and the Sergeant was opposite him. At the other end the +Alderman presided, supported by Mr. Cooke and the Rector. + +The young man looked down the board, at the vast tureens that smoked +on it, and at the faces, smug or jolly, hungry or expectant, that +surrounded them; and amid the flood of talk which burst forth the +moment his reverence had said a short grace, he began to feel the +situation uncomfortable. True, he had a sort of right to be there, as +the heir, and a Vermuyden. True, too, he owed nothing to anyone there; +nothing to the Sergeant, whom he secretly disliked, nothing to Mr. +Cooke, whom he despised--in his heart he was as exclusive as Sir +Robert himself--nothing to White, who would one day be his paid +dependant. He owed them no explanation. Why then should he expose +himself to their anger and surprise? He would be silent and speak only +when the time came, and he could state his views to Sir Robert with a +fair chance of a fair hearing. + +Still he saw that the position in which he had placed himself was a +false one: and might become ridiculous. And it crossed his mind to +feign illness and to go out and incontinently walk over to Stapylton +and see Sir Robert. Or he might tell White quietly that he did not +find himself able to support his cousin's nominations: and before the +news got abroad he might withdraw and let them think what they would. +But he was too proud to do the one, and in too sulky a mood to do the +other. And he sat still. + +"Where is Sir Robert?" he asked. + +"He left home on a sudden call, this morning, sir," White explained; +wondering what made the young squire--who was wont to be affable--so +distant. "On unexpected business." + +"It must have been important as well as unexpected," Wathen said, with +a smile, "to take Sir Robert away today, Mr. White." + +"It was both, sir, as I understood," White answered, "for Sir Robert +did not make me acquainted with it. He seemed somewhat put out--more +put out than I have often seen him. But he said that whatever happened +he would be back before the nomination." And then, turning to Vaughan, +"You must have passed him, sir?" he added. + +"Well, now I think of it," Vaughan answered, his spoon suspended, "I +did. I met a travelling carriage and four with jackets like his. But, +I thought it was empty." + +"No, sir, that was Sir Robert. He will not be best pleased," White +continued, turning to the Sergeant, "when he hears what a reception we +had!" + +"Ah, well, ah, well!" the Sergeant replied--pleasantness was his cue +to-day. "Things are worse in Bath I'll be sworn, Mr. White." + +"No doubt, sir, no doubt! I think," White added, forgetting his study +of Cobbett, "the nation has gone mad." + +After that Vaughan's other neighbour, Squire Rowley, who met him +annually at Stapylton, claimed his ear. The old fellow, hearty and +good-natured, but a bigoted Tory, who would have given Orator Hunt +four dozen and thought Lord Grey's proper reward a block on Tower +Hill, was the last person whom Vaughan would have chosen for a +confidant; since only to hear of a Vermuyden turned Whig would have +gone near to giving him a fit. Perforce, nevertheless, Vaughan had to +listen to him and answer him; he could not without rudeness cut him +short. But all the time as they talked, Vaughan's uneasiness +increased. With every minute his eyes wandered more longingly to the +door. Improved in temper by the fare and by the politeness of his +neighbours, he began to see that he had been foolish to thrust himself +among people with whom he did not agree. Still he was there; and he +must see the dinner to an end. After all a little more or a little +less would not add to Sir Robert's anger. He could explain that he +thought it more delicate to avoid an open scandal. + +Meanwhile the collision with the crowd had loosened the guests' +tongues and never had a Vermuyden dinner gone more freely. Even the +"Cripples," whose wont it was to begin the evening with odious +obsequiousness and close it with a freedom as unpleasant, found speech +early, and were loudest in denunciation of a Bill which threatened to +deprive them of their annuities. By the time huge joints had taken the +place of the tureens, and bowls of potatoes and mounds of asparagus +dotted the table, the noise was incessant. There was claret for those +who cared for it, and strong ale for all. And while some discussed the +effect which a Bill that disfranchised Chippinge would have on their +pockets and interests, others driving their arguments home with blows +on the table recalled, almost with tears, the sacred name of Pitt--the +pilot who weathered the storm; or held up to execration a cabinet of +Whigs dead to every Whig principle, and alive only to the chance of +power which a revolution might afford. + +"But what was to be expected? What was to be expected?" old Rowley +insisted. "We've only ourselves to thank! When Peel and the Duke took +up the Catholic Claims they stepped into the Whigs' shoes--and +devilishly may they pinch them! The Whigs had to find another pair, +you see, sir, and stepped into the Radicals'! And the only people left +at a loss are the honest part of us; who are likely to end not only +barefoot but barebacked! Ay, by G--d, we are!" + +And so on, and so on; even White, who was vastly relieved by Vaughan's +arrival, which made his majority safe, talked freely, and gave Dyas +and Pillinger of the Blue Duck the rough side of his tongue. While +Vaughan, used to a freer atmosphere, listened to their one-sided +arguments, their trite prophecies, their incredible prejudices--such +they seemed to him--and now turned up his nose, now pitied them, as an +effete, a doomed, a dying race. + +While he thought of this the dinner wore on, the joints vanished, and +huge steaming puddings made their appearance on the board; those who +cared not for plum puddings could have marrow-puddings. Then cheese +and spring onions, and some special old ale, light coloured, heady, +and served in tall, spare glasses, went round. At length the rector, a +trifle flushed, rose to say grace, and Vaughan saw that the cloth was +about to be removed. Bottles of strong port and tawny Madeira were at +hand. Some called already for their favourite punch, or for hot grog. + +"Now," he thought, "I can escape with a good grace. And I will!" + +But as he made a movement to rise, the Sergeant rose opposite him, +lifted his glass, and fixed him with his eye. And Vaughan felt that he +could not leave at that moment without rudeness. "Gentlemen, on your +feet, if you please," he cried blandly. "The King! The King, God bless +him! The King, gentlemen, and may he never suffer for the faults of +his servants! May the Grey mare never run away with him. May William +the Good ne'er be ruined by a--bad Bill! Gentlemen, the King, God +bless him, and deliver him from the Whigs!" + +They drank the toast amid a roar of laughter and applause. And once +more as they sat down Vaughan thought that he would escape. Again he +was hindered. This time the interruption came from behind. + +"Hallo, Vaughan!" someone muttered in his ear. "You're the last person +I expected to see here!" + +He turned and disgust filled him. The speaker, who had just entered, +was the son of a clergyman in the neighbourhood and had gone to the +bar. He was a shifty, flattering fellow, at once a toady and a +backbiter; who had wormed himself into society too good for him, and +in London was Vaughan's _bte noir_. But had that been all! Alas, he +was also a member of the Academic. He had been present at Vaughan's +triumph ten days before, and had heard him proclaim himself a Reformer +of the Reformers. + +For a moment Vaughan could find not a word. He could only mutter "Oh!" +in a tone of dismay. He feared that his face betrayed the chagrin he +felt. + +"I thought you were quite the other way?" Mowatt said. And he grinned. +He was a weedy, pale young man, with thin lips and a false smile. + +Vaughan hesitated. "So I am!" he said curtly. + +"But--but I thought----" + +"Order! Order!" cried the Alderman, a trifle uplifted by wine and his +position. "Silence, if you please, gentlemen, for the Senior +Candidate! And charge your glasses!" + +Vaughan turned to the table, a frown on his brow. Wathen was on his +feet, holding his wine glass before his breast with one hand, while +the other rested on the table. His attitude was that of a man +confident of his powers and pleased to exert them. Nevertheless, as he +prepared to speak, he lowered his eyes to the table as if he thought +that a little mock-modesty became him. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "it is my privilege to propose a toast, that at +this time and in this place--this time, gentlemen, when to an extent +unknown within living memory, all is at stake, and this place which +has so much to lose--it is my privilege, I say, to propose a toast +that must go straight to the heart of every man in this room, nay, of +every true-born Englishman, and every lover of his country! It is _Our +Ancient Constitution, our Chartered Rights, our Vested Interests!_ +[Loud and continued applause.] Yes, gentlemen, our ancient +Constitution, the security of every man, woman, and child in this +realm! And coupled with it our Chartered Rights, our Vested Interests, +which, unassailed for generations, are to-day called in question by +the weakness of many, by the madness of some, by the wicked ambition +of a few. [Loud cheering]. Gentlemen, to one Cromwell this town owes +the destruction of your famous Abbey, once the pride of this county! +To another Cromwell it owes the destruction of the walls that in +troublous times secured the hearths of your forefathers! It lies with +us--but we must be instant and diligent--it lies with us, I say, to +see that those civil bulwarks which protect us and ours in the +enjoyment of all we have and all we hope for----" + +"In this world!" the Rector murmured in a deep bass voice. + +"In this world," the Sergeant continued, accepting the amendment with +a complimentary bow, "are not laid low by a third Cromwell! I care not +whether he mask himself under the name of Grey, or of Russell, or of +Brougham, or of Lansdowne!" + +He paused amid such a roar of applause as shook the room. + +"For think not"--the Sergeant resumed when it died down--"think not, +gentlemen, whatever the easily led vulgar may think, that sacrilegious +hands can be laid on the Ark of the Constitution without injury to +many other interests; without the shock being felt through all the +various members of the State down to the lowest: without endangering +all those multiform rights and privileges for which the Constitution +is our guarantee! Let the advocates of this pernicious, this +revolutionary Bill say what they will, they cannot deny that its +effect will be to deprive you in Chippinge who, for nearly five +centuries, have enjoyed the privilege of returning members to +Parliament--of that privilege, with all"--here he glanced at the rich +array of bottles that covered the board--"the amenities which it +brings with it! And for whose benefit? For that of men no better +qualified--nay, by practice and heredity less qualified--than +yourselves. But, gentlemen, mark me, that is not all! That is but the +beginning, and it may be the least part. That loss they cannot hide +from you. That loss they do not attempt to hide from you. But they do +hide from you," he continued in his deepest and most tragic tone, "a +fact to which the whole course of history is witness--that a policy of +robbery once begun is rarely stayed, if it be stayed, until the victim +is bare! Bare, gentlemen! Gentlemen, the freemen of this borough have +of ancient right, conferred by an ancient sovereign----" + +"God bless him!" from Annibal, now somewhat drunk. "God bless him! +Here's his health!" + +The Sergeant paused an instant and looked round the table. Then more +slowly, "Ay, God bless him!" he said. "God bless King Canute! But +what--what if those grants of land---I care not whether you call them +chartered rights or vested interests--which you freemen enjoy of +him--what if they do not enure? You have them," with a penetrating +glance from face to face, "but for how long, gentlemen, if this Bill +pass? You are too clear-sighted to be blind to the peril! Too shrewd +to think that you can part with one right, as old, as well vested, as +perfectly secured--and keep the others undiminished? Gentlemen, if you +are so blind, take warning! For wherever this anarchical, this +dangerous, this revolutionary Bill----" + +"Hear! Hear! Hear!" from Vaughan's neighbour, the Squire. + +"Wherever, I say, this Bill finds supporters--and I can well believe +that in Birmingham and Sheffield, where they have all to gain and +nothing to lose, it will find supporters, it should find none in +Chippinge! Where we have all to lose and nothing to gain, and where no +man but a fool or a rogue can in reason support it! Gentlemen, you are +neither fools nor rogues----" + +"No! No! No! No!" + +"No, gentlemen, and therefore, though a few silly fellows may shout +for the Bill in the streets, I am sure that I shall have the whole of +this influential company with me when I give you the toast of 'Our +Ancient Constitution, Our Chartered Rights, Our Vested Interests!' May +the Bill that assails them be defeated by the good sense of a sober +and united people! May those who urge it and those who support +it--rogues where they are not fools, and fools where they are not +rogues--meet with the fate they deserve! And may we be there to see! +Gentlemen," he continued, raising his hand for silence, "in the +absence upon pressing business of our beloved High Steward, the model +of an English gentleman and the pattern of an English landlord, I beg +to couple this toast"--here the Sergeant's sharp black eyes fixed +themselves suddenly on his opposite neighbour--"with the name of his +kinsman, Mr. Arthur Vaughan!" + +"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" The room shook with the volume of applause, +the tables trembled. And through it all Arthur Vaughan's heart beat +hard, and he swallowed nervously. He was caught. Whether the Sergeant +knew it or not, he was trapped. From the beginning of the speech he +had had his misgivings. He had listened anxiously; and though he had +lost nothing, though one half of his mind had followed the speaker's +thread, the other half had scanned the prospect feverishly, weighed +the chances of escape, and grown chill with the fear of what was +coming. If he had only withdrawn in time! If he had only---- + +"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" They were pounding the table with fist and +glass, and looking towards him--two long rows of flushed, excited, +tipsy faces. Some were drinking to him. Others were scanning him +curiously. All were waiting. + +He leant forward. "I don't wish to speak," he said, addressing the +Sergeant in a troubled voice. "Call on some one else, if you please." + +But "Impossible, sir!" White, surprised by his evident nervousness, +answered. He had thought Vaughan anything but a shy person. +"Impossible, sir!" + +"Get up! Get up!" cried the Squire, his neighbour, laying a jocund +hand on him and trying to lift him to his feet. + +But Vaughan resisted; his throat was so dry that he could hardly frame +his words. "I don't wish to speak," he muttered. "I don't agree----" + +"Say what you like, my dear sir!" the Sergeant rejoined blandly, but +with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He had had his doubts of Master +Vaughan ever since he had caught him on his way to the Chancellor: now +he thought that he had him pinned. He did not suppose that the young +man would dare to revolt openly. + +"Yes, sir, you must get up," said White, who had no suspicion that his +hesitation arose from any cause but shyness. "Anything will do." + +Vaughan rose--slowly, and with a beating heart. He rose perforce. For +a moment he stood, deafened by his reception. For the smaller men saw +in him one of the old family, the future landlord of two-thirds of +them, the sometime owner of the very roof under which they were +gathered. And he, while they greeted his rising and he stood waiting +with an unhappy face for silence, wondered, even at this last moment, +what he would say. And Heaven knows what he would have said--so hard +was it to disappoint those cheering men, all looking at him with +worship in their eyes--so painful was it to break old ties--if he had +not caught behind him Mowatt's whisper, "Eat his words! He'll have to +unsay----" + +No more than that, a fragment, but enough; enough to show him that he +had better, far better seem false to these men, to his blood, to the +past, than be false to himself. He straightened his shoulders, and +lifted his head. + +"Gentlemen," he said, and now his voice though low was steady, "I rise +unwillingly--unwillingly, because I feel too late that I ought not to +be here. That I have no right to be here. [No! No!] No right to be +here, for this reason," he continued, raising his hand for silence, +"for this reason, that in much of what Sergeant Wathen has said, I +cannot go with him." + +There, it was out! But no more than a stare of perplexity passed from +the more intelligent faces about him to the duller faces lower down +the table. They did not understand; it was only clear that he could +not mean what he seemed to mean. But he was going on in a silence so +complete that a pin falling to the floor might have been heard! + +"I rise unwillingly, I say again, gentlemen," he continued, "and I beg +you to remember this, and that I did not come here of set purpose to +flaunt my opinions before you. For I, too"--here he betrayed his +secret agitation--"thus far I do go with Sergeant Wathen,--I, too, am +for Our Ancient Constitution, I give place to no man in love of it. +And I, too, am against revolution, I will stand second to none in +abhorrence of it." + +"Hear! Hear!" cried the Rector in a tone of unmistakable relief. +"Hear, hear!" + +"Ay, go on," chimed in the Squire. "Go on, lad, go on! That's all +right!" And half aside in his neighbour's ear, "Gad! he frightened +me!" he muttered. + +"But--but to be plain," Vaughan resumed, pronouncing every word +clearly, "I do not regard the Bill which the Sergeant has mentioned, +the Bill which is in all your minds, as assailing the one, or as being +tantamount to the other! On the contrary, I believe that it restores +the ancient balance of the Constitution, and will avert, as nothing +else will avert, a Revolution!" + +As he paused on that word, the Squire, who was of a free habit, tried +to rise and speak, but choked. The Rector gasped. Only Mr. Cooke found +his voice. He sprang to his feet, purple in the face. "By G--d!" he +roared, "are we going to listen to this?" + +Vaughan sat down, pale but composed. But he found all eyes on him, and +he rose again. + +"It was against my will I said what I have said," he resumed. "I did +not wish to speak. I do not wish you to listen. I rose only because I +was forced to rise. But being up, I owed it to myself to say enough to +clear myself of--of the appearance of duplicity. That is all." + +The Sergeant did not speak, but gazed darkly at him, his mind busy +with the effect which this would have on the election. White, too, did +not speak--he sat stricken dumb. The Squire swore, and five or six of +the more intelligent hissed. But again it was Cooke who found words. + +"That all? But that is not all!" he shouted. "That is not all! What +are you, sir?" For still, in common with most of those at the table, +he could not believe that he heard aright. He fancied that this was +some trope, some nice distinction, which he had not followed. "You may +be Sir Robert Vermuyden's cousin ten times over," he continued, +vehemently, "but we'll have it clear what we have to expect. Speak +like a man, sir! Say what you mean!" + +Vaughan had taken his seat, but he rose again, a gleam of anger in his +eyes. "Have I not spoken plainly?" he said. "I thought I had. If you +have still any doubt, sir, I am for the Constitution, but I think that +it has suffered by the wear and tear of time and needs repair. I think +that the shifting of population during the last two centuries, the +decay of one place and the rise of another, call for some change in +the representation! I hold that the spread of education and the +creation of a large and wealthy class unconnected with the land, +render that change more urgent if we would avoid a revolution! I +believe that the more we enlarge the base upon which our institutions +rest, the more safely, the more steadily, and the longer will they +last!" + +They knew now, they understood, and the storm broke. The smaller men, +or such of them as were sober, stared. But the greater number burst +into a roar of dissent, of reprobation, of anger, led by the Squire. + +"A Whig, by Heaven!" he cried violently. And he thrust his chair as +far as possible from his neighbour. "A Whig, by Heaven! And here!" +While others cried, "Renegade!" "Radical!" and "What are you doing +here?" and hissed him. But above all, in some degree stilling all, +rose Cooke's crucial question, "Are you for the Bill? Answer me that!" +And he extended his hand for silence. "Are you for the Bill?" + +"I am," Vaughan answered. The storm steadied him. + +"You are?" + +"Yes." + +"Fool or rogue, then! which are you?" shrieked a voice from the lower +end of the table. "Fool or rogue? Which are you?" + +Vaughan turned sharply in the direction of the voice. "That reminds +me," he said with a vigour which seemed after a few seconds to gain +him a hearing--for the noise died down--"that reminds me, Sergeant +Wathen is against the Bill. But he has addressed himself solely and +only to your prejudices, gentlemen! I am for the Bill--I am for the +Bill," he repeated, seeing that their attention was wandering, "I----" + +He stopped, silenced and taken aback. For some were on their feet, +others were rising; the faces of nine out of ten were turned from him. +What was it? He turned to see; and he saw. + +A few paces within the door stood Sir Robert himself; his fur collared +travelling cloak hanging loose about him and showing his tall spare +figure at its best. He stooped, but his high-bred face, cynically +smiling, was turned full on the speaker; it was certain that he had +heard much, if not all. And Vaughan had been brave indeed, he had been +a hero, if taken by surprise and at this disadvantage he had not shown +some discomfiture. + +It is easy to smile now! Easy to say that this was but an English +gentleman, bound like others by the law! And Vaughan's own kinsman! +But few would have smiled then. He, through whose hands passed a +quarter of the patronage of a county, who dammed or turned the stream +of promotion, who had made many there and could unmake them, whose +mere hint could have consigned, a few years back, the troublesome to +the press-gang, who belonged almost as definitely, almost as +exclusively, to a caste, as do white men in the India of to-day; who +seldom showed himself to the vulgar save in his coach and four, or +riding with belted grooms behind him--about such an one in '81 there +was, if no divinity, at least the gis of real power, that habit which +unquestioned authority confers, that port of Jove to which men bow! +Scan the pictured faces of the men who steered this country through +the long war--the faces of Liverpool and Castlereagh-- + + + _Daring pilots in extremity, + Scorning the danger when the waves ran high_; + + +or of those men, heirs to their traditions, who, for nearly twenty +years, confronted the no less formidable forces of discontent and +disaffection--of Peel and Wellington, Croker and Canning, and he is +blind who does not find there the reflection of that firm rule, the +shadow of that power which still survived, though maimed and weakened +in the early thirties. + +Certainly it was not easy to smile at such men then; at their pride or +their prejudices, their selfishness or their eccentricity. For behind +lay solid power. Small blame to Vaughan therefore, if in the face of +the servile attitude, the obsequious rising of the company about him, +he felt his countenance change, if he could not quite hide his dismay. +And though he told himself that his feelings were out of place, that +the man did but stand in the shoes which would one day be his, and was +but now what he would be, _vox faucibus hsit_--he was dumb. It was +Sir Robert who broke the silence. + +"I fear, Mr. Vaughan," he said, the gleam in his eyes alone betraying +his passion--for he would as soon have walked the country lanes in his +dressing robe as given way to rage in that company--"I fear you are +saying in haste words which you will repent at leisure! Did I hear +aright that--that you are in favour of the Bill?" + +"I am," Vaughan replied a little huskily. "I----" + +"Just so, just so!" Sir Robert replied with a certain lightness. And +raising his walking cane he pointed gravely and courteously to the +door a pace or two from him. "That is the door, Mr. Vaughan," he said. +"You must be here, I am sure, under an error." + +Vaughan coloured painfully. "Sir Robert," he said, "I owe you, I +know----" + +"You will owe me very little by to-morrow evening," Sir Robert +rejoined, interrupting him suavely. "Much less than you now think! But +that is not to the point. Will you--kindly withdraw?" + +"I would like at least to say this! That I came here----" + +"Will you kindly withdraw?" Sir Robert persisted. "That is all." And +he pointed again, and still more blandly, to the door. "Any +explanation you may please to offer--and I do not deny that one may be +in place--you can give to my agent to-morrow. He, on his part, will +have something to say. For the present--Annibal," turning with kindly +condescension, "be good enough to open the door for this gentleman. +Good-evening, Mr. Vaughan. You will not, I am sure, compel me to +remove with my friends to another room?" + +And as he continued to point to the door, and would listen to +nothing--and the room was certainly his--Vaughan walked out. And +Annibal closed the door behind him. + + + + + XIV + + MISS SIBSON'S MISTAKE + + +It was perhaps fortunate for Miss Hilhouse that she did not hazard any +remarks on that second escapade in the Square. Whether this amendment +in her manners was due to Miss Sibson's apothegms, or to the general +desire of the school to see the new teacher's new pelisse--which could +only be gratified by favour--or to a threatening rigidity in Mary +Smith's bearing must remain a question. But children are keen +observers. Their senses are as sharp as their tongues are cruel. And +it is certain that Miss Smith had not read four lines of the fifth +chapter of The Fairchild Family before a certain sternness in her tone +was noted by those who had not already marked the danger signal in her +eyes. For the gentlest eyes can dart lightnings on occasion. The sheep +will turn in defence of its lamb. Nor ever walked woman who could not +fight for her secret and her pride. + +So Miss Hilhouse bit her tongue and kept silence, the girls behaved +beautifully, and Mary read The Fairchild Family to them in a tone of +monotony that perfectly reflected the future as she saw it. She had +been very foolish, and very weak, but she was not without excuse. He +had saved her life, she could plead that. True, brought up as she had +been at Clapham, shielded from all dealings with the other sex, taught +to regard them as wolves, or at best as a race with which she could +have no safe parley, she should have known better. She should have +known that handsome, courteous, masterful-eyed, as they were--and with +a way with them that made poor girls' hearts throb at one moment and +stand still at another--she should have known that they meant nothing. +That they were still men, and that she must not trust them, must not +think of them, must not expect to find them more steadfast to a point +than the weather-cock on St. Mary's at Redcliffe. + +The weather-cock? Ah! + +She had no sooner framed the thought in the middle of the reading than +she was aware of a sensation; and a child, one of the youngest, raised +her hand. "Please--" + +Mary paused. + +"Yes?" she asked. "What is it?" + +"Please, Miss Smith, did the weather-cock speak?" + +Mary reddened violently. + +"Speak? The weather-cock? What do you mean, child?" + +"Please, Miss Smith, you said that the weather-cock told Lucy the +truth, the truth, and all the truth." + +"Impossible!" Mary stammered. "I--I should have said, the coachman." +And Mary resumed the story, but with a hot face; a face that blushed +more painfully and more intolerably because she was conscious that +every eye was upon it, and that a score of small minds were groping +for the cause of her confusion. + +She remembered, oh, how well she remembered, that the schoolmistress +at Clapham had told her that she had every good quality except +strength of will. And how thoroughly, how rapidly had she proved the +truth of the exception! Freed from control for only twenty-four hours, +left for that time to her own devices, she had listened to the first +voice that addressed her, believed the first flattering look that fell +on her, taken the most ordinary attentions--attentions at which any +girl with knowledge of the world or strength of will would have +smiled--for gold, real red gold! So that a light look without a spoken +word had drawn her heart from her. How it behoved her to despise +herself, loathe herself, discipline herself! How she ought to guard +herself in the future! Above all, how thankful should she be for the +dull but safe routine that fenced, and henceforth would fence, her +life from such dangers! + +True. Yet how dreary to her young eyes seemed that routine stretched +before her! How her courage fainted at the prospect of morning added +to morning, formal walk to formal walk, lesson to lesson, one +generation of pupils to another! For generation would follow +generation, one chubby face would give place to another, and still she +would be there, plodding through the stale task, listening with an +aching head to the strumming on the harpsichord, saying the same +things, finding the same faults, growing slowly into a correcting, +scolding, punishing machine. By and by she would know The Fairchild +Family by heart, and she would sicken at the "Letters on the +Improvement of the Mind." The children would still be young, but grey +hairs would come to her, she would grow stout and dull; and those +slender hands, those dainty fingers still white and fine, still meet +for love, would be seared by a million needle-pricks and roughened by +the wear and tear of ten thousand hours of plain sewing. + +She was ungrateful, oh, she was ungrateful to think such thoughts! For +in what was her lot worse than the lot of others? Or worse than it had +been a week before when, who more humble-minded or contented, more +cheerful or helpful than Mary Smith? When her only fault had been a +weakness of character which her old schoolmistress hoped would be +cured by time? When, though the shadow of an unknown Miss Sibson +loomed formidable before her, she had faced her fate bravely and +hopefully, supported not a little by the love and good wishes--won by +a thousand kind offices--which went with her into the unknown world. + +What had happened in the meantime? A little thing, oh, a very little +thing. But to think of it under the childrens' eyes made her face burn +again. She had lost her heart--to a man. To a man! The very word +seemed improper in that company. How much more improper when the man +cared nothing for her, but tossing her a smile for guerdon, had taken +her peace of mind and gone his way, with a laugh. At the best, if he +had ever dreamt seriously of her, ever done more than deem her an +innocent, easily flattered and as lightly to be won, he had changed +his mind as quickly as a weather-cock shifts in April. And he had +talked--that hurt her, that hurt her most! He had talked of her +freely, boasted of her silliness, told his companions what he would +do, or what he would not do; made her common to them! + +She got away for a few minutes at tea-time. But twenty pairs of eyes +followed her from the room and seized on her as she returned. And +"Miss Smith, ain't you well?" piped a tiny treble. + +She was controlling her voice to answer--that she was quite well, when +Miss Sibson intervened. "Miss Fripp," she said sombrely, "write 'Are +you not,' twenty times on your slate after tea! Miss Hilhouse, if you +stare in that fashion you will be goggle-eyed. Young ladies, elbows, +elbows! Have I not told you a score of times that the art of +deportment consists in the right use of the elbow? Now, Miss Claxton, +in what does the art of deportment consist?" + +"In the right use of the elbow, Ma'am." + +"And what is the right use of the elbow?" + +"To efface it, Ma'am." + +"That is better," Miss Sibson replied, somewhat mollified. "Understood +is half done. Miss Smith," looking about her with benevolence, "had +you occasion to commend any young lady's needle this afternoon?" + +Miss Smith looked unhappy: conscious that she had not been as +attentive to her duties as became her. "I had no occasion to find +fault, Ma'am," she said timidly. + +"Very good. Then every fourth young lady beginning at my right hand +may take a piece of currant cake. I see that Miss Burges is wearing +the silver medal for good conduct. She may take a piece, and give a +piece to a friend. When you have eaten your cake you may go to the +schoolroom and play for half an hour at Blind Man's Buff. But--elbows! +Elbows, young ladies," gazing austerely at them over her glasses. "In +all your frolics let deportment be your first consideration." + +The girls trooped out and Mary Smith rose to go with them. But Miss +Sibson bade her remain. "I wish to speak to you," she said. + +Poor Mary trembled. For Miss Sibson was still in some measure an +unknown quantity, a perplexing mixture of severity and benevolence, +sound sense and Mrs. Chapone. + +"I wish to speak to you," Miss Sibson continued when they were alone. +And then after a pause during which she poured herself out a third cup +of tea, "My dear," she said soberly, "the sooner a false step is +retraced the better. I took a false step yesterday--I blame myself for +it--when I allowed you--in spite of my rule to the contrary--to see a +gentleman. I made that exception partly out of respect to the note +which the parcel contained; the affair was strange and out of the +ordinary. And partly because I liked the gentleman's face. I thought +him a gentleman; he told me that he had an independence: I had no +reason to think him more than that. But I have heard to-day, my +dear--I thought it right to make some enquiry in view of the +possibility of a second visit--that he is a gentleman of large +expectations, who will one day be very rich and a man of standing in +the country. That alters the position," Miss Sibson continued gravely. +"Had I known it"--she rubbed her nose thoughtfully with the handle of +her teaspoon--"I should not have permitted the interview." And then +after a few seconds of silence, "You understand me, I think, my dear?" +she asked. + +"Yes," Mary said in a low voice. She spoke with perfect composure. + +"Just so, just so," Miss Sibson answered, pleased to see that the girl +was too proud to give way before her--though she was sure that she +would cry by and by. "I am glad to think that there is no harm done. +As I have said, the sooner a false step is retraced, the better; and +therefore if he calls again I shall not permit him to see you." + +"I do not wish to see him," Mary said with dignity. + +"Very good. Then that is understood." + +But strangely enough, the words had barely fallen from Miss Sibson's +lips when there came a knock at the house door, and the same thought +leapt to the mind of each; and to Mary's cheek a sudden vivid blush +that, fading as quickly as it came, left her paler than before. Miss +Sibson saw the girl's distress, and she was about to suggest, in +words equivalent to a command, that she should retire, when the door +opened and the neat maidservant announced--with poorly masked +excitement--that a gentleman wished to see Miss Smith. + +Miss Sibson frowned. + +"Where is he?" she asked, with majesty; as if she already scented the +fray. + +"In the parlour, Ma'am." + +"Very good. Very good. I will see him." But not until the maid had +retired did the schoolmistress rise to her feet. "You had better stay +here," she said, looking at her companion, "until my return. It is of +course your wish that I should dismiss him?" + +Mary shivered. Those dreams of something brighter, something higher, +something fuller than the daily round; of a life in the sunshine, of +eyes that looked into hers--this was their end! But she said "Yes," +bravely. + +"Good girl," said Miss Sibson, feeling, good, honest creature, more +than she showed. "I will do so." And she swam forth. + +Poor Mary! The door was barely shut before her heart whispered that +she had only to cross the hall and she would see him; that, on the +other hand, if she did not cross the hall, she would never, never, +never see him again! She would stay here for all time, bound hand and +foot to the unchanging round of petty duties, a blind slave in the +mill, no longer a woman--though her woman's heart hungered for +love--but a dull, formal, old maid, growing more stiff and angular +with every year! No farther away than the other side of the hall were +love and freedom. And she dared not, she dared not open the door! + +And then she bethought her, that he was no weathercock, for he had +come again! He had come! And it must be for something. For what? + +She heard the door open on the parlour side of the hall, and she knew +that he was going. And she stood listening, waiting with blanched +cheeks. + +The door opened and Miss Sibson came in, met her look--and started. + +"Oh!" the schoolmistress exclaimed; and for a moment she stood, +looking strangely at the girl, as if she did not know what to say to +her. Then, "We were mistaken," she said, with a serious face. "It is +not the gentleman you were expecting, my dear. On the contrary, it's a +stranger who wishes to see you on business." + +Mary tried to gain command of herself. "I had rather not," she said +faintly. "I don't think I can." + +"I fear--you must," Miss Sibson rejoined, with unusual gravity. +"Still, there is no hurry. He can wait a few minutes. He can await +your leisure. Do you sit down and compose yourself. You have no reason +to be disturbed. The gentleman"--she continued, with an odd inflection +in her voice--"is old enough to be your father." + + + + + XV + + MR. PYBUS'S OFFER + + +"A note for you, sir." Vaughan turned moodily to take it. It was the +morning after the Vermuyden dinner, and he had slept ill, he had risen +late, he was still sitting before his breakfast, toying with it rather +than eating it. His first feeling on leaving the dining-room had been +bitter chagrin at the ease with which Sir Robert had dealt with him. +This had given place a little later to amusement; for he had a sense +of humour. And he had laughed, though sorely, at the figure he had cut +as he beat his retreat. Still later, as he lay, excited and wakeful, +he had fallen a prey to doubt; that horrible three o'clock in the +morning doubt, which defies reason, which sees all the _cons_ in the +strongest light and reduces the _pros_ to shadows. However, one thing +was certain. He had crossed the Rubicon. He had divorced himself by +public act from the party to which his forbears--for the Vaughans as +well as the Vermuydens had been Tories--had belonged. He had joined +the Whigs; nay, he had joined the Reformers. But though he had done +this deliberately and from conviction, though his reason approved the +step, and his brain teemed with arguments in its favour, the chance +that he might be wrong haunted him. + +That governing class from which he was separating himself, from which +his policy would snatch power, which in future would dub him traitor, +what had it not done for England? With how firm a hand had it not +guided the country through storm and stress, with what success +shielded it not from foreign foes only, but from disruption and +revolution? He scanned the last hundred and fifty years and saw the +country, always under the steady rule of that class which had the +greatest stake in its prosperity, advancing in strength and riches and +comfort, ay, and, though slowly in these, in knowledge also and the +humanities and decencies. And the question forced itself upon him, +would that great middle class into whose hands the sway now fell, use +it better? Would they produce statesmen more able than Walpole or +Chatham, generals braver than Wolfe or Moore, a higher heart than +Nelson's? Nay, would the matter end there? Would not power slip into +the hands of a wider and yet a wider circle? Would Orator Hunt's dream +of Manhood Suffrage, Annual Parliaments and the Ballot become a +reality? Would government by the majority, government by tale of +heads, as if three chawbacons must perforce be wiser than one squire, +government by the ill-taught, untrained mass, with the least to lose +and the most to gain--would that in the long run plunge the country in +fatal misfortunes? + +It was just possible that those who deemed the balance of power, +established in 1688, the one perfect mean between despotism and +anarchy--it was just possible that they were right. And that he was a +fool. + +Then to divert his mind he had allowed himself to think of Mary Smith. +And he had tossed and tumbled, ill-satisfied with himself. He was +brave, he told himself, in the wrong place. He had the courage to +break with old associations, to defy opinion, to disregard Sir +Robert--where no more than a point of pride was concerned; for it was +absurd to fancy that the fate of England hung on his voice. But in a +matter which went to the root of his happiness--for he was sure that +he loved Mary Smith and would love no other--he had not the spirit to +defy a little gossip, a few smiles, the contempt of the worldly. He +flushed from head to foot at the thought of a life which, however +modest--and modesty was not incompatible with ambition--was shared by +her, and would be pervaded by her. And yet he dared not purchase that +life at so trifling a cost! No, he was weak where he should be strong, +and strong where he should be weak. And so he had tossed and turned, +and now after two or three hours of feverish sleep, he sat glooming +over his tea cup. + +Presently he broke open the note which the waiter had handed to him. +He read it, and "Who brought this?" he asked, with a perplexed face. + +"Don't know, sir," Sam replied glibly, beginning to collect the +breakfast dishes. + +"Will you enquire?" + +"Found it on the hall table, sir," the man answered, in the same tone. +"Fancy," with a grin, "it's a runaway knock, sir. Known a man find a +cabbage at the door and a whole year's wages under it--at election +time, sir! Yes, sir. Find funny things in funny places--election time, +sir." + +Vaughan made no reply, but a few minutes later he took his hat and +descending the stairs, strolled with an easy air into the street. He +paused as if to contemplate the Abbey Church, beautiful even in its +disfigurement. Then, but as if he were careless which way he went, he +turned to the right. + +The main street, with its whitened doorsteps and gleaming knockers, +lay languid in the sunshine; perhaps, enervated by the dissipation of +the previous evening. The candidates who would presently pay formal +visits to the voters were not yet afoot: and though taverns where the +tap was running already gave forth maudlin laughter, no other sign of +the coming event declared itself. A few tradesmen stood at their +doors, a few dogs lay stretched in the sun; and only Vaughan's common +sense told him that he was watched. + +From the High Street he presently turned into a narrow alley on the +right which descended between garden walls to the lower level of the +town. A man who was lounging in the mouth of the alley muttered +"second door on the left," as Vaughan passed, and the latter moved on +counting the doors. At the one indicated he paused, and, after making +certain that he was not observed, he knocked. The door opened a little +way. + +"For whom are you?" asked someone who kept himself out of sight. + +"Buff and Blue," Vaughan answered. + +"Right; sir," the voice rejoined briskly. The door opened wide and +Vaughan passed in. He found himself in a small walled garden smothered +in lilac and laburnum, and shaded by two great chestnut trees already +so fully in leaf as to hide the house to which the garden belonged. + +The person who had admitted him, a very small, very neat gentleman in +a high-collared blue coat and nankeen trousers, with a redundant soft +cravat wound about his thin neck, bowed low. "Happy to see you, Mr. +Vaughan," he chirped. "I am Mr. Pybus, his lordship's man of business. +Happy to be the intermediary in so pleasant a matter." + +"I hope it may turn out so," Vaughan replied drily. "You wrote me a +very mysterious note." + +"Can't be too careful, sir," the little man, who was said to model +himself upon Lord John Russell, answered with an important frown. +"Can't be too careful in these matters. You're watched and I am +watched, sir." + +"I dare say," Vaughan replied. + +"And the responsibility is great, very great. May I----" he continued, +pulling out his box, "but I dare say you don't take snuff?" + +"No." + +"No? The younger generation! Just so! Many of the young gentry smoke, +I am told. Other days, other manners! Well--we know of course what +happened last night. And I'm bound to say, I honour you, Mr. Vaughan! +I honour you, sir." + +"You can let that pass," Vaughan replied coldly. + +"Very good! Very good! Of course," he continued with importance, "the +news was brought to me at once, and his lordship knew it before he +slept." + +"Oh!" + +"Yes, indeed. Yes. And he wrote to me this morning--in his dressing +gown, I don't doubt. He commanded me to tell you----" + +But here Vaughan stopped him--somewhat rudely. "One minute, Mr. +Pybus," he said, "I don't wish to know what Lord Lansdowne said or +did--because it will not affect my conduct. I am here because you +requested me to grant you an interview. But if your purpose be merely +to convey to me Lord Lansdowne's approval--or disapproval," in a tone +a little more contemptuous than was necessary, "be good enough to +understand that they are equally indifferent to me. I have done what I +have done without regard to my cousin's--to Sir Robert Vermuyden's +feelings. You may take it for certain," he added loftily, "that I +shall not be led beyond my own judgment by any regard for his +lordship's." + +"But hear me out!" the little man cried, dancing to and fro in his +eagerness; so that, in the shifting lights under the great chestnut +tree, he looked like a pert, bright-coloured bird. "Hear me out, and +you'll not say that!" + +"I shall say, Mr. Pybus----" + +"I beg you to hear me out!" + +Vaughan shrugged his shoulders. + +"Go on!" he said. "I have said my say, and I suppose you understand +me." + +"I shall hold it unsaid," Mr. Pybus rejoined warmly, "until I have +spoken!" And he waved an agitated finger in the air. "Observe, Mr. +Vaughan--his lordship bade me take you entirely into confidence, and I +do so. We've only one candidate--Mr. Wrench. Colonel Petty is sure of +his election in Ireland and we've no mind to stand a second contest to +fill his seat: in fact we are not going to nominate him. Lord Kerry, +my lord's eldest son thought of it, but it is not a certainty, and my +lord wishes him to wait a year or two and sit for Calne. I say it's +not a certainty. But it's next door to a certainty since you have +declared yourself. And my lord's view, Mr. Vaughan, is that he who +hits the buck should have the haunch. You take me?" + +"Indeed, I don't." + +"Then I'll be downright, sir. To the point, sir. Will you be our +candidate?" + +"What?" Vaughan cried. He turned very red. "What do you mean?" + +"What I said, sir. Will you be our candidate? For the Bill, the whole +Bill, and nothing but the Bill? If so, we shall not say a word until +to-morrow and then we shall nominate you with Mr. Wrench, and take 'em +by surprise. Eh? Do you see? They've got their speeches ready full of +my lord's interference and my lord's dictation, and they will point to +Colonel Petty, my lord's cousin, for proof! And then," Mr. Pybus +winked, much after the fashion of a mischievous paroquet, "we'll knock +the stool from under 'em by nominating you! And, mind you, Mr. +Vaughan, we are going to win. We were hopeful before, for we've one of +their men in gaol, and another, Pillinger of the Blue Duck, is tied by +the leg. His wife owes a bit of money and thinks more of fifty guineas +in her own pocket than of thirty pounds a year in her husband's. And +she and the doctor have got him in bed and will see that he's not well +enough to vote! Ha! Ha! So there it is, Mr. Vaughan! There it is! My +lord's offer, not mine. I believe he'd word from London what you'd be +likely to do. Only he felt a delicacy about moving--until you declared +yourself." + +"I see," Vaughan replied. And indeed he did see more than he liked. + +"Just so, sir. My lord's a gentleman if ever there was one!" And Mr. +Pybus, pulling down his waistcoat, looked as if he suspected that he +had imbibed much of his lordship's gentility. + +Vaughan stood, thinking; his eyes gazing into the shimmering depths of +green where the branches of the chestnut tree under which he stood +swept the sun-kissed turf. And as he thought he tried to still the +turmoil in his brain. Here within reach of his hand, to take or leave, +was that which had been his ambition for years! No longer to play at +the game, no longer to make believe while he addressed the Forum or +the Academic that he was addressing the Commons of England; but verily +and really to be one of that august body, and to have all within +reach. Had not the offer of cabinet honours fallen to Lord Palmerston +at twenty-five? And what Lord Palmerston had done at twenty-five, he +might do at thirty-five! And more easily, if he gained a footing +before the crowd of new members whom the Bill would bring in, took the +floor. The thought set his pulse a-gallop. His chance! His chance at +last! But if he let it slip now, it might not be his for long years. +It is poor work waiting for dead men's shoes. + +And yet he hesitated, with a flushed face. For the thing offered +without price or preface, by a man who had power to push him, by the +man who even now was pushing Mr. Macaulay at Calne, tempted him +sorely. Nor less--nor less because he remembered with bitterness that +Sir Robert had made him no such offer, and now never would! So that if +he refused this offer, he could look for no second from either side! + +And yet he could not forget that Sir Robert was his kinsman, was the +head of his family, the donor of his vote. And in the night watches he +had decided that, his mind delivered, his independence declared, he +would not vote. Neither for Sir Robert--for conscience's sake; nor +against Sir Robert, for his name's sake! + +Then how could he not only take an active part against him, but raise +his fortunes on his fall? + +He drew a deep breath. And he put the temptation from him. "I am much +obliged to his lordship," he said quietly. "But I cannot accept his +offer." + +"Not accept it?" Mr. Pybus cried. "Mr. Vaughan! You don't mean it, +sir! You don't mean it! It's a safe seat! It's in your own hands, I +tell you! And after last night! Besides, it is not as if you had not +declared yourself." + +"I cannot accept it," Vaughan repeated coldly. "I am obliged to Lord +Lansdowne for his kind thought of me. I beg you to convey my thanks to +him. But I cannot--in the position I occupy--accept the offer." + +Mr. Pybus stared. Was it possible that the scene at the Vermuyden +dinner had been a ruse? A piece of play-acting to gain his secrets? If +so--he was undone! "But," he quavered with an unhappy eye, "you are in +favour of the Bill, Mr. Vaughan?" + +"I am. + +"And--and of Reform generally, I understand?" + +"Certainly." + +"Then--I don't understand? Why do you refuse?" + +Vaughan raised his head and looked at him with a movement which would +have reminded Isaac White of Sir Robert. "That is my business," he +said. + +"But you see," Mr. Pybus remonstrated timidly--he was rather a +crestfallen bird by this time--"I confess I was never more surprised +in my life! Never! You see I've told you all our secrets." + +"I shall keep them." + +"Yes, but--oh dear! oh dear!" Pybus was thinking of what he had said +about Mrs. Pillinger of the Blue Duck. "I--I don't know what to say," +he added. "I am afraid I have been too hasty, very hasty! Very +precipitate! Of course, Mr. Vaughan," he continued, "the offer would +not have been made if we had not thought you certain to accept it!" + +"Then," Vaughan replied with dignity, "you can consider that it has +not been made. I shall not name it for certain." + +"Well! Well!" + +"I can say no more," Vaughan continued coldly. "Indeed, there is +nothing more to be said, Mr. Pybus?" + +"No," piteously, "I suppose not. If you really won't change your mind, +sir?" + +"I shall not do that," the young man answered. And a minute later with +Mr. Pybus's faint appeals still sounding in his ears he was on the +other side of the garden door, and striding down the alley, towards +the King's Wall, whence making a detour he returned to the High +Street. + + + + + XVI + + LESS THAN A HERO + + +It was the evening of the day on which the meeting between Arthur +Vaughan and Mr. Pybus had taken place, and from the thirty-six windows +in the front of Stapylton lights shone on the dusky glades of the +park; here, twinkling fairy-like over the long slope of sward that +shimmered pale-green as with the ghostly reflection of dead daylight, +there, shining boldly upon the clump of beeches that topped an +eminence with blackness. Vaughan sat beside Isaac White in the +carriage which Sir Robert had sent for him; and looking curiously +forth on the demesne which would be his if he lived, he could scarcely +believe his eyes. Was the old squire so sure of victory that he +already illuminated his windows? Or was the house, long sparely +inhabited, and opened only at rare intervals and to dull and formal +parties, full now from attic to hall? Election or no election, it +seemed unlikely. Yet every window, yes, every window had its light! + +He was too proud to question the agent who, his errand done, and his +message delivered, showed no desire to talk. More than once, indeed, +in the course of their short companionship, Vaughan had caught White +looking at him strangely; with something like pity in his eyes. And +though the young man was far from letting this distress him--probably +White, with his inborn reverence for Sir Robert, despaired of all who +fell under his displeasure--it closed his lips and hardened his heart. +He was no paid servant; but a kinsman and the heir. And he would have +Sir Robert remember this. For his own part, he was not going to forget +who he was; that a Chancellor had stooped to flatter him and a Cabinet +Minister had offered him a seat. He had refused for a point of honour +a bait which few would have refused; and he was not going to be +browbeaten by an old gentleman whom the world had out-paced, and whose +beliefs, whose prejudices, whose views, were of yesterday. Who, in his +profound ignorance of present conditions, would plunge England into +civil war rather than resign a privilege as obsolete as ship-money, +and as illegal as the Dispensing Power. + +While he thought of this the carriage stopped at the door. He alighted +and ascended the steps. + +The hall more than made good the outside promise; it was brilliantly +lighted, and behind Mapp and the servant who received him Vaughan had +a passing glimpse of three or four men in full-dress livery. From the +dining-room on his left issued peals of laughter, and voices, so clear +that, though he had not the smallest reason to expect to hear them +there, he was sure that he caught Bob Flixton's tones. The discovery +was not pleasing; but Mapp, turning the other way and giving him no +time to think, went before him to the suite of state-rooms--which he +had not seen in use more than thrice within his knowledge of the +house. It must be so then--he thought with a slight shock of surprise. +The place must be full! For the gilt mirrors in both the large and +small drawing-rooms reflected the soft light of many candles, wood +fires burned and crackled on the hearths, the "Morning Chronicle," the +"Quarterly," and other signs of life lay about on the round tables, +and an air of cheerful _biensance_ pervaded all. What did it mean? + +"Sir Robert has finished dinner, sir," Mapp said--even he seemed to +wear an unusual air of solemnity. "He will be with you, sir, +immediately. Hope you are well, sir?" + +"Quite well, Mapp, thank you." + +Then he was left alone--to wonder if a second surprise awaited him. He +had had one that day. If a second were in store for him what was its +nature? Could Sir Robert on his side be going to offer him one of the +seats--if he would recant? He hoped not. But he had not time to give +more than a thought to that before he heard footsteps and voices +crossing the hall. The next moment there entered the outer room--at +such a distance from the hearth of the room in which he stood, that he +had a leisurely view of all before they reached him--three persons. +The first was a tall burly man in slovenly evening clothes, and with +an ungainly rolling walk; after him came Sir Robert himself, and after +him again, Isaac White. + +Vaughan advanced a step or two, and Sir Robert passed by the burly +man, who had a pendulous under lip, and a face at once flabby and +melancholy. The baronet held out his hand. "We have not quarrelled +yet, Mr. Vaughan," he said, with a cordiality which took Vaughan quite +by surprise. "I trust and believe that we are not going to quarrel. I +bid you welcome therefore. This," he continued with a gesture of +courteous deference, "is Sir Charles Wetherell, whom you know by +reputation, and whom, for a reason which you will understand by and +by, I have asked to be present at our interview." + +The stout man eyed Vaughan from under bushy eyebrows. "I think we have +met before," he said in a deep voice. "At Westminster, Mr. Vaughan, on +the 22nd of last month." He had a habit of blinking as he talked. "I +was beholden to you on that occasion." + +Vaughan had already recognised him and recalled the incident in Palace +Yard. He bowed with an expression of silent sympathy. But he wondered +all the more. The presence of the late attorney-general, a man of mark +in the political world, whose defeat at Norwich was in that morning's +paper--what did it mean? Did they think to browbeat him? Or--had Sir +Charles Wetherell also an offer to make to him? In any event it seemed +that he had made himself a personage by his independence. Sought by +the one side, sought by the other! A rsum of the answer he would +give flashed before him. However, they were not come to that yet! + +"Will you sit down," said Sir Robert. The great man's voice and +manner--to Vaughan's surprise--were less autocratic and more friendly +than he had ever known them. Indeed, in comparison of the lion of last +evening he was but a mouse. "In the first place," he continued, "I am +obliged to you for your compliance with my wishes." + +Vaughan murmured that he had come at no inconvenience to himself. + +"I hope not," Sir Robert replied. "In the next place let me say, that +we have to speak to you on a matter of the first importance; a matter +also on which we have the advantage of knowledge which you have not. +It is my desire, therefore, to admit you to a parity with us in that +respect, Mr. Vaughan, before you express yourself on any subject on +which we are likely to differ." + +Vaughan looked keenly, almost suspiciously at him; and an observer +would have noticed that there was a closer likeness between the two +men than the slender tie of blood warranted. "If it is a question, Sir +Robert," he said slowly, "of the subject on which we differed last +evening, I would prefer to say at once----" + +"Don't!" Wetherell, who was seated within a long reach of him, struck +in. "Don't!" And he laid an elephantine and not over-clean hand on +Vaughan's knee. "You can spill words as easy as water," he continued, +"and they are as hard to pick up again. Hear what Vermuyden has +to say, and what I've to say--'tisn't much--and then blow your +trumpet--if you've any breath left!" he added _sotto voce_, as he +threw himself back. + +Vaughan hesitated a moment. Then, "Very good," he said, "if you will +hear me afterwards. But----" + +"But and If are two wenches always raising trouble!" Wetherell cried +coarsely. "Do you listen, Mr. Vaughan. Do you listen. Now, Vermuyden, +go on." + +But Sir Robert did not seem to have words at command. He took a pinch +of snuff from the gold box with which his fingers trifled: and he +opened his mouth to resume; but he hesitated. At length, "What I have +to tell you, Mr. Vaughan," he said, in a voice more diffident than +usual, "had perhaps been more properly told by my attorney to yours. I +fully admit that," dusting the snuff from his frill. "And it would +have been so told but for--but for exigencies not immediately +connected with it, which are nevertheless so pressing as to--to induce +me to take the one step immediately possible. Less regular, but +immediately possible! In spite of this, you will believe, I am sure, +that I do not wish to take any advantage of you other than," he paused +with an embarrassed look at Wetherell, "that which my position gives +me. For the rest I"--he looked again at his snuffbox and hesitated--"I +think--I----" + +"You'd better come to the point!" Wetherell growled impatiently, +jerking his ungainly person back in his chair, and lurching forward +again. "To the point, man! Shall I tell him?" + +Sir Robert straightened himself--with a sigh of relief. "If you +please," he said, "I think you had better. It--it may come better from +you, as you are not interested." + +Vaughan looked from one to the other, and wondered what on earth they +meant, and what they would be at. His cordial reception followed by +this strange exordium, the preparations, the presence of the three men +seated about him and all, it seemed, ill at ease--these things begot +instinctive misgivings; and an uneasiness, which it was not in the +power of reason to hold futile. What were they meditating? What +threat, what inducement? And what meant this strange illumination of +the house, this air of festivity? It could be nothing to him. And +yet--but Wetherell was speaking. + +"Mr. Vaughan," he said gruffly--and he swayed himself as was his habit +to and fro in his seat, "my friend here, and your kinsman, has made a +discovery of--of the utmost possible importance to him; and, speaking +candidly, of scarcely less importance to you. I don't know whether you +read the trash they call novels now-a-days--'The Disowned'" with a +snort of contempt, "and 'Tremayne' and the rest? I hope not, I don't! +But it's something devilish like the stuff they put in them that I've +to tell you. You'll believe it or not, as you please. You think +yourself heir to the Stapylton estates? Of course you do. Sir Robert +has no more than a life-interest, and if he has no children, the +reversion in fee, as we lawyers call it, is yours. Just so. But if he +has children, son or daughter, you are ousted, Mr. Vaughan." + +"Are you going to tell me," Vaughan said, his face grown suddenly +rigid, "that he has children?" His heart was beating furiously under +his waistcoat, but, taken aback as he was, he maintained outward +composure. + +"That's it," Wetherell answered bluntly. + +"Then----" + +"He has a daughter." + +"It will have to be proved!" Vaughan said slowly and in the tone of a +man who chose his words. And he rose to his feet. He felt, perhaps he +was justified in feeling, that they had taken him at a disadvantage. +That they had treated him unfairly in trapping him hither, one to +three; in order that they might see, perhaps, how he took it! Not--his +thoughts travelled rapidly over the facts known to him--that the thing +could be true! The punishment for last night's revolt fell too pat, +too _ propos_, he'd not believe it! And besides, it could not be +true. For Lady Vermuyden lived, and there could be no question of a +concealed marriage, or a low-born family. "It will have to be proved!" +he repeated firmly. "And is matter rather for my lawyers than for me." + +Sir Robert, too, had risen to his feet. But it was Wetherell who +spoke. + +"Perhaps so!" he said. "Perhaps so. Indeed I admit it, young sir! It +will have to be proved. But----" + +"It should have been told to them rather than to me!" Vaughan +repeated, with a sparkling eye. And he turned as if he were determined +to treat them as hostile and to have nothing farther to say to them. + +But Wetherell stopped him. "Stay, young man," he said, "and be ashamed +of yourself! You forget yourself!" And before Vaughan, stung and +angry, could retort upon him, "You forget," he continued, "that this +touches another as closely as it touches you--and more closely! You +are a gentleman, sir, and Sir Robert's kinsman. Have you no word then, +for him!" pointing, with a gesture roughly eloquent, to his host. "You +lose, but have you no word for him who gains! You lose, but is it +nothing to him that he finds himself childless no longer, heirless no +longer? That his house is no longer lonely, his hearth no longer +empty! Man alive," he added, dropping with honest indignation to a low +note, "you lose, but what does he not gain? And have you no word, no +generous thought for him? Bah!" throwing himself back in his seat. +"Poor human nature." + +"Still it must be proved," said Vaughan sullenly, though in his heart +he acknowledged the truth of the reproach. + +"Granted! But will you not hear what it is, that is to be proved?" +Wetherell retorted. "If so, sit down, sir, sit down, and hear what we +have to tell you like a man. Will you do that," in a tone of extreme +exasperation, which did but reflect the slowly hardening expression of +Sir Robert's face, "or are you quite a fool?" + +Vaughan hesitated, looking with angry eyes on Wetherell. Then he sat +down. "Am I to understand," he said coldly, "that this is news to Sir +Robert?" + +"It was news to him yesterday." + +Vaughan bowed and was silent; aware that a more generous demeanour +would better become him, but unable to compass it on the spur of the +moment. He was ignorant--unfortunately--of the spirit in which he had +been summoned: consequently he could not guess that every word he +uttered rang churlishly in the ears of more than one of his listeners. +He was no churl; but he was taken unfairly--as it seemed to him. And +to be called upon in the first moment of chagrin to congratulate Sir +Robert on an event which ruined his own prospects and changed his +life--was too much. Too much! But again Wetherell was speaking. + +"You shall know what we know from the beginning," he said, in his +heavy melancholy way. "You are aware, I suppose, that Sir Robert +married--in the year '10, was it not?--Yes, in the year '10, and that +Lady Vermuyden bore him one child, a daughter, who died in Italy in +the year '15. It appears now--we are in a position to prove, I +think--that that child did not die in that year, nor in any year; but +is now alive, is in this country and can be perfectly identified." + +Vaughan coughed. "This is strange news," he said, "after all these +years; and somewhat sudden, is it not?" + +Sir Robert's face grew harder, but Wetherell only shrugged his +shoulders. "If you will listen," he replied, "you will know all that +we know. It is no secret, at any rate in this room it is no secret, +that in the year '14 Sir Robert fancied that he had grave reason to be +displeased with Lady Vermuyden. It was thought by her friends that a +better agreement might be produced by a temporary separation, and the +child's health afforded a pretext. Accordingly, Sir Robert suffered +Lady Vermuyden to take it abroad, her suite consisting of a courier, a +maid, and a nurse. The nurse she sent back to England not long +afterwards on the plea that an Italian woman from whom the child might +learn the language would be better. For my part, I believe that she +acted bon-fide in this. But in other respects," puffing out his +cheeks, "her conduct was such as to alarm her husband; and, in terms +perhaps too peremptory, Sir Robert bade her return at once--or cease +to consider his house as her home. Her answer was the announcement of +the child's death." + +"And that it did not die," Vaughan murmured, "as Lady Vermuyden said?" + +"We have this evidence. But first let me say, that Sir Robert on the +receipt of the news set out for Italy overland. The Hundred Days, +however, stopped him; he could not cross France, and he returned +without certifying the child's death. He had indeed no suspicion, no +reason for suspicion. Well, then, for evidence that it did not die. +The courier is dead, and there remains only the maid. She is alive, +she is here, she is in this house. And it is from her that we have +learned the truth--that the child did not die." + +He paused a moment, brooding in his fat, melancholy way on the pattern +of the carpet between his feet. Sir Robert, with a face hard and +proud, sat upright, listening to the tale of his misfortunes--and +doubtless suffered torments as he listened. + +"Her story," Wetherell resumed--possibly he had been arranging his +thoughts--"is this. Lady Vermuyden was living a life of the wildest +gaiety. She had no affection for the child; if the woman is to be +believed, she hated it. To part with it was nothing to her one way or +the other, and on receipt of Sir Robert's order to return, her +ladyship conceived the idea of punishing him by abducting the child +and telling him it was dead. She set out from Florence with it; on the +way she left it at Orvieto in charge of the Italian nurse, and +arriving in Rome she put about the story of its death. Shortly +afterwards she had it carried to England and bred up in an +establishment near London--always with the aid and connivance of her +maid." + +"The maid's name?" Vaughan asked. + +"Herapath--Martha Herapath. But to proceed. By and by Lady Vermuyden +returned to England, and settled at Brighton, and the maid left her +and married, but continued to draw a pension from her. Lady Vermuyden +persisted here--in the company of Lady Conyng--but I need name no +names--in the same course of giddiness, if no worse, which she had +pursued abroad; and gave little if any heed to the child. But this +woman Herapath never forgot that the pension she enjoyed was dependent +on her power to prove the truth: and when a short time back the girl, +now well-grown, was withdrawn from her knowledge, she grew restive. +She sought Lady Vermuyden, always a creature of impulse, and when her +ladyship, foolish in this as in all things, refused to meet her views +she--she came to us," he continued, lifting his head abruptly and +looking at Vaughan, "and told us the story." + +"It will have to be proved," Vaughan said stubbornly. + +"No doubt, strictly proved," Wetherell replied. "In the meantime if +you would like to peruse the facts in greater detail, they are here, +as taken down from the woman's mouth." He drew from his capacious +breast-pocket a manuscript consisting of several sheets which he +unfolded and flattened on his knee. He handed it to Vaughan. + +The young man took it, without looking at Sir Robert: and with his +thoughts in a whirl--and underlying them a sick feeling of impending +misfortune--he proceeded to read it, line after line, without taking +in a single word. For all the time his brain was at work measuring the +change. His modest competence would be left to him. He would have +enough to live as he was now living, and to pursue his career; or, in +the alternative, he might settle down as a small squire in his +paternal home in South Wales. But the great inheritance which had +loomed large in the background of his life and had been more to him +than he had admitted, the future dignity which he had undervalued +while he thought it his own, the position more enviable than many a +peer's, and higher by its traditions than any to which he could attain +by his own exertions, though he reached the Woolsack--these were gone +if Wetherell's tale was true. Gone in a moment, at a word! And though +he might have lost more, though many a man had lost his all by such a +stroke and smiled, he was no hero, and he could not on the instant +smile. He could not in a moment oust all bitterness. He knew that he +was taking the news unworthily; that he was playing a poor part. But +he could not force himself to play a better--on the instant. When he +had read with unseeing eyes to the bottom of the first page and had +turned it mechanically, he let the papers fall upon his knee. + +"You do not wish me," he said slowly, "to express an opinion now, I +suppose?" + +"No," Wetherell answered. "Certainly not. But I have not quite done. I +have not quite done," he repeated ponderously. "I should tell you that +for opening the matter to you now--we have two reasons, Mr. Vaughan. +Two reasons. First, we think it due to you--as one of the family. And +secondly, Vermuyden desires that from the beginning, his intentions +shall be clear and--be understood." + +"I thoroughly understand them," Vaughan answered drily. No one was +more conscious than he that he was behaving ill. + +"That is just what you do not!" Wetherell retorted stolidly. "You +spill words, young man, and by and by you will wish to pick them up +again. You cannot anticipate, at any rate, you have no right to +anticipate, Sir Robert's intentions, of which he has asked me to be +the mouthpiece. The estate, of course, and the settled funds must go +to his daughter. But there is, it appears, a large sum arising from +the economical management of the property, which is at his disposal. +He feels," Wetherell continued sombrely, an elbow on each knee and his +eyes on the floor, "that some injustice has been done to you, and he +desires to compensate you for that injustice. He proposes, therefore, +to secure to you the succession to two-thirds of this sum; which +amounts--which amounts, in the whole I believe"--here he looked at +White--"to little short of eighty thousand pounds." + +Vaughan, who had been more than once on the point of interrupting him, +did so at last. "I could not accept it!" he exclaimed impulsively. And +he rose, with a hot face, from his seat. "I could not accept it." + +"As a legacy?" Wetherell, who was fond of money, said with a queer +look. "As a legacy, eh? Why not?" While Sir Robert, with compressed +lips, almost repented of his generosity. He had looked for some show +of good-feeling, some word of sympathy, some felicitation from the +young man, who, after all, was his blood relation. But if this was to +be his return, if his advances were to be met with suspicion, his +benevolence with churlishness, then all, all in this young man was of +a piece--and detestable! + +And certainly Vaughan was not showing himself in the best light. He +was conscious that he had taken the news ill; but he could not change +his attitude in a moment. Under no circumstances is it an easy thing +to take a gift with grace: to take one with grace under these +circumstances--and when he had already misbehaved--was beyond him, as +it would have been beyond most men. + +For a moment drawn this way by his temper, that way by his better +feelings, he did not know how to answer Wetherell's last words. At +last and lamely, "May I ask," he said, "why Sir Robert makes me this +offer while the matter lies open?" + +"Sir Robert will prove his case," Wetherell answered gruffly, "if that +is what you mean." + +"I mean----" + +"He does not ask you to surrender anything." + +"I am bound to say, then, that the offer is very generous," Vaughan +replied, melting, and speaking with some warmth. "Most generous. +But----" + +"He asks you to surrender nothing," Wetherell repeated stolidly, his +face between his knees. + +"But I still think it is premature," Vaughan persisted doggedly. "And +handsome as it is, more than handsome as it is, I think that it would +have come with greater force, were my position first made clear!" + +"Maybe," Wetherell said, his face still hidden. "I don't deny that." + +"As it is," with a deep breath, "I am taken by surprise. I do not know +what to say. I find it hard to say anything in the first flush of the +matter." And Vaughan looked from one to the other. "So, for the +present, with Sir Robert's permission," he continued, "and without any +slight to his generosity, I will take leave. If he is good enough, to +repeat on some future occasion, this very handsome--this uncalled for +and generous offer, which he has now outlined, I shall know, I hope, +what is due to him, without forgetting what is due also to myself. In +the meantime I have only to thank him and----" + +But the belated congratulation which was on his lips and which might +have altered many things, was not to be uttered. + +"One moment!" Sir Robert struck in. "One moment!" He spoke with a +hardness born of long suppressed irritation. "You have taken your +stand, Mr. Vaughan, strictly on the defensive, I see----" + +"But I think you understand----" + +"Strictly on the defensive," the baronet repeated, requiring silence +by a gesture. "You must not be surprised therefore, if I--nay, let me +speak!--if I also say a word on a point which touches me." + +"I wouldn't!" Wetherell growled in his deep voice; and for an instant +he raised his huge face, and looked stolidly at the wall before him. + +But Sir Robert was not to be bidden. "I think otherwise," he said. +"Mr. Vaughan, the election to-morrow touches me very nearly--in more +ways than one. The vote you have, you received at my hands and hold +only as my heir. I take it for granted, therefore, that under the +present circumstances, you will use it as I desire." + +"Oh!" Vaughan said. And drawing himself up to his full height he +passed his eyes slowly from one to the other with a singular smile. +"Oh!" he repeated--and there was a world of meaning in his tone. "Am I +to understand then----" + +"I have made myself quite clear," Sir Robert cried, his manner +betraying his agitation. + +"Am I to understand," Vaughan persisted, "that the offer which you +made me a few minutes back, the generous and handsome offer," he +continued with a faint note of irony in his voice, "was dependent on +my conduct to-morrow? Am I to understand that?" + +"If you please to put it so," Sir Robert replied, his voice quivering +with the resentment he had long and patiently suppressed. "And if your +own sense of honour does not dictate to you how to act." + +"But do you put it so?" + +"Do you mean----" + +"I mean," Vaughan said, "does the offer depend on the use I make of my +vote to-morrow? That is the point, Sir Robert!" + +"No," Wetherell muttered indistinctly. + +But again Sir Robert would not be bidden. "I will be frank," he said +haughtily. "And my answer is, yes! yes! For I do not conceive, Mr. +Vaughan, that a gentleman would take so great a benefit, and refuse so +slight a service! A service, too, which, quite apart from this offer, +most men----" + +"Thank you," Vaughan replied, interrupting him. "That is clear +enough." And he looked from one to the other with a smile of +amusement; the smile of a man suddenly reinstated in his own +opinion--and once more master of his company. "Now I understand," he +continued. "I see now why the offer which a few minutes ago seemed so +premature, so strangely premature, was made this evening. To-morrow it +had been made too late! My vote had been cast and I could no longer +be--bribed!" + +"Bribed, sir?" cried Sir Robert, red with anger. + +"Yes, bribed, sir. But let me tell you," Vaughan went on, allowing the +bitterness which he had been feeling to appear, "let me tell you, Sir +Robert, that if not only my future, but my present, if my all, were at +stake--I should resent such an offer as an insult!" + +Sir Robert took a step towards the bell and stopped. + +"An insult!" Vaughan repeated firmly. "As great an insult as I should +inflict upon you, if I were unwise enough to do the errand I was asked +to do a week ago--by a cabinet minister. And offered you, Sir Robert, +here in your own house, a peerage conditional on your support of the +Bill!" + +"A peerage?" Sir Robert's eyes seemed to be starting from his head. "A +peerage! Conditional on my----" + +"Yes, sir, conditional on your renunciation of those opinions which +you honestly hold as I honestly hold mine!" Vaughan repeated coolly. +"I will make the offer if you wish it." + +Wetherell rose ponderously. "See here!" he said. "Listen to me, will +you, you two! You, Vermuyden, as well as the young man. You will both +be sorry for what you are saying now! Listen to me! Listen to me, +man!" + +But the baronet was already tugging at the bell-rope. He was no +longer red; he was white with anger. And not without reason. This +whipper-snapper, this pettifogging lad, just out of his teens, to talk +to him of peerages, to patronise him, to offer him--to--to---- + +For a moment he stammered and could not speak. At last, "Enough! +Enough, sir; leave my house!" he cried, shaking from head to foot with +passion, and losing for the first time in many years his self-control. +"Leave my house," he repeated furiously, "and never set foot in it +again! Not a pound, and not a penny will you have of mine! Never! +Never! Never!" + +Vaughan smiled, "Very good, sir," he said, shrugging his shoulders. +"Your fortune is your own. But----" + +"Begone, sir! Not another word, but go!" + +Vaughan raised his eyebrows, bowed in a ceremonious fashion to +Wetherell, and nodded to White, who stood petrified and gaping. Then +he walked slowly through that room and the next, and with one backward +smile--vanished. + +And this time, as he passed through the hall, narrowly missing Flixton +who was leaving the dining-room, there could be no doubt that the +breach was complete, that the small cordiality which had existed +between the two men was at an end. The Bill, which had played so many +mischievous tricks, severed so many old friends, broken the ties of so +many years, had dealt no one a more spiteful blow than it had dealt +Arthur Vaughan. + + + + + XVII + + THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION + + +The great day on which the Borough of Chippinge was to give its vote, +Aye or No, Reform or No Reform, the Rule of the Few or the Rule of the +Many, was come; and in the large room on the first floor of the White +Lion were assembled a score of persons deeply interested in the issue. +Those who had places at the three windows were gazing on what was +going forward in the space below; and it was noticeable that while the +two or three who remained in the background talked and joked, these +were silent; possibly because the uproar without made hearing +difficult. The hour was early, the business of the day was to come, +but already the hub-bub was indescribable. Nor was that all; every +minute some missile, a much enduring cabbage-stalk, or a dead +cat in Tory colours, rose to a level with the windows, hovered, and +sank--amid a storm of groans or cheers. For the most part, indeed, +these missiles fell harmless. But that the places of honour at the +windows were not altogether places of safety was proved by a couple of +shattered panes, as well as by the sickly hue of some among the +spectators. + +Nearly all who had attended the Vermuyden dinner were in the room. +But, for certain, things which had worn one aspect across the +mahogany, wore another now. At the table old and young had made light +of the shoving and mauling and drubbing through which they had forced +their way to the good things before them; they had even made a jest of +the bit of a rub they were likely to have on the polling day. Now, the +sight of the noisy crowd which filled the open space, from the head of +the High Street to the wall of the Abbey, and from the Vineyard east +of it, almost to the West Port--made their bones ache. They looked, +even the boldest, at one another. The heart of Dewell, the barber, was +in his boots; the rector stared aghast; and Mowatt, the barrister, +Arthur Vaughan's ill-found friend, wished for once that he was on the +vulgar side. + +True, the doors of the White Lion were guarded by a sturdy phalanx of +Vermuyden lads; mustered with what difficulty and kept together by +what arguments, White best knew. But what were two or three score, +however faithful, and however strong, against the hundreds and +thousands who swayed and cheered and groaned before the Inn? Who +swarmed upon the old town-cross until they hid every inch of the +crumbling stonework; who clung to every niche and buttress of the +Abbey; and from whose mass as from a sea the solitary church spire +rose like some lighthouse cut off by breakers? Who, here, forgetful of +their Wiltshire birth cheered the Birmingham tub-thumper to the echo, +and there, roared stern assent to the wildest statements of the +Political Union? + +True, a dozen banners and thrice as many flags gave something of a +festive air to the scene. But the timid who tried to draw solace from +these retreated appalled by the daring "Death or Freedom!" inscribed +on one banner: or the scarcely less bold "The Sovereign People," which +bellied above the clothiers. The majority of the placards bore nothing +worse than the watchword of the party: "The Bill, the whole Bill, and +nothing but the Bill!" or "Retrenchment and Reform!" or--in reference +to the King--"God bless the two Bills!" But for all that, Dewell, the +barber--and some more who would not have confessed it--wished the day +well over and no bones broken! A great day for Chippinge, but a day on +which many an old score was like to be paid, many a justice to hear +the commonalty's opinion of him, many a man who had thriven under the +old rule, to read the writing on the wall! + +Certainly nothing like the spectacle visible from the White Lion +windows had been seen in Chippinge within living memory. The Abbey, +indeed, which had seen the last of the mitred Abbots pass out--shorn +of his strength, and with weeping townsfolk about him in lieu of +belted knights--that pile, stately in its ruin, which had witnessed a +revolution greater even than this which impended, and more tragic, +might have viewed its pair, might have seen its precincts seethe as +they seethed now. But no living man. Nor did those who scanned the +crowd from the White Lion find aught to lessen its terrors. There +were, indeed, plenty of decent, respectable people in the crowd, who, +though they were set on gaining their rights, had no notion of +violence. But wood burns when it is kindled: and here at the corner of +the Heart and Hand, the Whig headquarters, was a spark like to light +the fire--Boston, the bruiser, and a dozen of his fellows; men who +were, one and all, the idols of the yokels who stood about them and +stared. Pybus, who had brought them hither, was not to be seen; he was +weaving his spells in the Heart and Hand. But Mr. Williams, White-Hat +Williams, the richest man in Chippinge, who, voteless, had only lived +of late to see this day--he was here at the head of his clothmen, and +as fierce as the poorest. And half-a-dozen lesser men there were of +the same kind; sallow Blackford, the Methodist, the fugleman of every +dissenter within ten miles; and two or three small lawyers whom the +landlords did not employ, and two or three apothecaries who were in +the same case. With these were one or two famished curates, with +Sydney Smith for their warranty, and his saying about Dame +Partington's Mop and the Atlantic on their lips; and a sprinkling of +spouters from the big towns--men who had the glories of Orator Hunt +and William Cobbett before their eyes. And everywhere, working in the +mass like yeast, moved a score of bitter malcontents--whom the old +system had bruised under foot--poachers whom Sir Robert had jailed, or +the lovers of maids as frail as fair, or labourers whom the Poor Laws +had crushed--a score of malcontents whose grievances long muttered in +pothouses now flared to light and cried for vengeance. In a word, +there were the elements of mischief in the crowd: and under the +surface an ugly spirit. Even the most peaceable were grim, knowing it +was now or never. So that the faces at the White Lion windows grew +longer as their owners gazed and listened. + +"I don't know what's come to the people!" the Rector bawled, turning +about to make himself heard by his neighbour. "Eh, what?" + +"I'd like to see Lord Grey hung!" answered Squire Rowley, his face +purple. "And Lord Lansdowne with him! What do you say, sir?" to +Sergeant Wathen. + +"Fortunate a show of hands don't carry it!" the Sergeant cried, +shrugging his shoulders with an assumption of easiness. + +"Carry it? Of course we'll carry it!" the Squire replied wrathfully. +"I suppose two and two still make four!" + +Isaac White, who was whispering with a man in a corner of the room, +wished that he was sure of that; or, rather, that three and two made +six. But the Squire was continuing. "Bah!" he cried in disgust. "Give +these people votes? Look at 'em! Look at 'em, sir! Votes indeed! Votes +indeed! Give 'em oakum, I say!" + +He forgot that nine-tenths of those below were as good as the voters +at his elbow, who were presently to return two members for Chippinge. +Or rather, it did not occur to him, good old Tory as he was, and +convinced, + + + _'Twas the Jacobins brought every mischief about_, + + +that Dewell's vote was Dewell's, or Annibal's Annibal's. + +Meanwhile, "I wish we were safe at the hustings!" young Mowatt shouted +in the ear of the man who stood in front of him. + +The man chanced to be Cooke, the other candidate. He turned. "At the +hustings?" he said irascibly. "Do you mean, sir, that we are expected +to fight our way through that rabble?" + +"I am afraid we must," Mowatt answered. + +"Then it--has been d----d badly arranged!" retorted the outraged +Cooke, who never forgot that as he paid well for his seat it ought to +be a soft one. "Go through this mob, and have our heads broken?" + +The faces of those who could hear him grew longer. "And it wants only +five minutes of ten," complained a third. "We ought to be going now." + +"D----n me, but suppose they don't let us go!" cried Cooke. "Badly +arranged! I should think it is, sir! D----d badly arranged! The +hustings should have been on this side." + +But hitherto the hustings had been at Chippinge a matter of form, and +it had not occurred to anyone to alter their position--cheek by jowl +with the Whig headquarters, but divided by seventy yards of seething +mob from the White Lion. However, White, on an appeal being made to +him, put a better face on the matter. "It's all right, gentlemen," he +said, "it's all right! If they have the hustings, we have the +returning officer, and they can do nothing without us. I've seen Mr. +Pybus, and I have his safe conduct for our party to go to the +hustings." + +But it is hard to satisfy everybody, and at this there was a fresh +outcry. "A safe conduct?" cried the Squire, redder about the gills +than before. "For shame, sir! Are we to be indebted to the other side +for a safe conduct! I never heard of such a thing!" + +"I quite agree with you," cried the Rector. "Quite! I protest, Mr. +White, against anything of the kind." + +But White was unmoved. "We've got to get our voters there," he said. +"Sir Robert will be displeased, I know, but----" + +"Never was such a thing heard of!" + +"No, sir, but never was such an election," White answered with spirit. + +"Where is Sir Robert?" + +"He'll be here presently," White replied. "He'll be here presently. +Anyway, gentlemen," he continued, "we had better be going down to the +hall. In a body, gentlemen, if you please, and voters in the middle. +And keep together, if you please. A little shouting," he added +cheerfully, "breaks no bones. We can shout too!" + +The thing was unsatisfactory, and without precedent; nay, humiliating. +But there seemed to be nothing else for it. As White said, this +election was not as other elections; Bath was lost, and Bristol, too, +it was whispered; the country was gone mad. And so, frowning and +ill-content, the magnates trooped out, and led by White began to +descend the stairs. There was much confusion, one asking if the +Alderman was there, another demanding to see Sir Robert, here a man +grumbling about White's arrangements, there a man silent over the +discovery, made perhaps for the first time, that here was like to be +an end of old Toryism and the loaves and the fishes it had dispensed. + +In the hall where the party was reinforced by a crowd of their smaller +supporters a man plucked White's sleeve and drew him aside. "She's out +now!" he whispered. "Pybus has left two with him and they won't leave +him for me. But if you went and ordered them out there's a chance +they'd go, and----" + +"The doctor's not there?" + +"No, and Pillinger's well enough to come, if you put it strong. He's +afraid of his wife and they've got him body and soul, but----" + +White cast a despairing eye on the confusion about him. "How can I +come?" he muttered. "I must get these to the poll first." + +"Then you'll never do it!" the man retorted. "There'll be no coming +and going, to-day, Mr. White, you take it from me. Now's the time +while they're waiting for you in front. You can slip out at the back +and bring him in and take him with you. It's the only way, so help me! +They're in that temper we'll be lucky if we're all alive to-morrow!" + +The man was right; and White knew it, yet he hesitated. If he had had +an _aide_ fit for the task, the thing might be done. But to go +himself--he on whom everything fell! He reflected. Possibly Arthur +Vaughan might not vote for the enemy after all. But if he did, Sir +Robert would poll only five to six, and be beaten! Unless he polled +Pillinger, when the returning officer's vote, of which he was sure, +would give him the election. Pillinger's vote, therefore, was vital; +everything turned upon it. And he determined to go. His absence would +only cause a little delay, and he must risk that. He slipped away. + +He was missed at once, and the discovery redoubled the confusion. One +asked where he was, and another where Sir Robert was; while Cooke in +tones louder and more irritable than was prudent found fresh fault, +and wished to heaven that he had never seen the place. Long accustomed +to one-sided contests of which both parties knew the issue, the Tory +managers were helpless; they were aware that the hour had struck, and +that they were expected, but without White they were uncertain how to +act. Some cried that White had gone on, and that they should follow; +some that Sir Robert was to meet them at the hustings, others that +they might as well be home as waiting there! While the babel without +deafened and distracted them. At last, without order given, they found +themselves moving out. + +Their reception did not clear their brains. Such a roar of execration +as greeted them had never been heard in Chippinge: the hair on Dewell, +the barber's, head stood up, the Alderman's checks grew pale, Cooke +dropped his cane, the stoutest flinched. Changed indeed were the times +from those a year or two past when their exit had been greeted by +sycophantic cheers, or, at worst, by a little good-humoured jesting! +Now the whole multitude in the open, not in one part, but in every +part, knew as by instinct of their setting forth, brandished on the +instant a thousand arms at them, deafened them with a thousand voices, +demanded monotonously "The Bill! The Bill!" Nor had the demonstration +stopped there, but for the intervention of a body of a hundred Whig +stalwarts who, posting themselves on the flanks of the derided +procession, conferred on its slow march an ignoble safety. + +No wonder that many a one who found himself thus guarded rubbed his +eyes. The times were changed indeed! No more despotism of Squire and +Parson, no more monopoly of places, no more nominated members, no more +elections that did but mock men who had no share in them, no more +"Cripples," no more snug jobs! The Tories might agree with Mr. Fudge + + + _That this passion for roaring had come in of late + Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the State_, + + +and foretell the ruinous outcome of it. But the thing was, the +many-headed, the many-handed had them in its grip. They must go +meekly, or not at all; with visions of French fish-fags and +guillotines before their eyes, and wondering, most of them--as they +tried to show a bold front, tried to wave their banners and give some +answering shout to the sea that beat upon them--how they would get +home again with whole skins! + +Perhaps there was only one of them who never had that thought; though +he, alone of them all, was unaware of the precautions taken for his +safety. That was Sir Robert Vermuyden, the master of all, the patron, +the Borough-monger! Attended by Bob Flixton, who had come with him +from Bristol to see the fun--and whose voice it will be remembered +Vaughan had overheard at Stapylton the evening before--and by two or +three other guests, he had entered the White Lion from the rear; +arriving in time to fall in--somewhat surprised at his supporters' +precipitation--at the tail of the procession. The moment he was +recognised by the crowd he was greeted with a roar of "Down with the +Borough-monger!" that fairly appalled his companions. But he faced it +calmly, imperturbably, quietly; a little paler, a little prouder, and +a little sterner perhaps than usual, but with a gleam in his eyes that +had not been seen in them for years. For answer to all he smiled with +a curling lip: and it is probable that as much as any hour in his life +he enjoyed this hour, which put him to the test before those over whom +he had ruled so long. His caste might be passing, the days of his +power might be numbered, the waves of democracy might be rising about +the system in which he believed the safety of England to lie; but no +man should see him falter. No veteran of the old noblesse in days +which Sir Robert could remember had gone to his fate more proudly than +the English patrician was prepared to go to his, ay, and though worse +than the guillotine awaited him. + +His contemptuous attitude, his fearless bearing, impressed the crowd, +appreciative at bottom, of courage. And presently, where he turned his +cold, smiling eyes they gaped instead of hissing: and one here and +there under the magic of his look doffed hat or carried hand to +forehead, and henceforth was mute. And so great is the sympathy of all +parts of a mob that this silence spread quickly, mysteriously, at +last, wholly. So that when he, last of his party, stepped on the +hustings, there was for a moment a complete stillness; a stillness of +expectation, while he looked round; such a stillness as startled the +leaders of the opposition. It could not be--it could not be, that +after all, the old lion would prove too much for them! + +White-Hat Williams roared aloud in his rage. "Up hats and shout, +lads," he yelled, "or by G--d the d----d Tories will do us after all! +Are you afraid of them, you lubbers! Shout, lads, shout!" + + + + + XVIII + + THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION (Continued) + + +The beast that was in the crowd answered to the spur. "Ye've robbed us +long enough, ye old rascal!" a harsh Midland voice shrieked over the +heads of the throng. "We'll have our rights now, you blood-sucker!" +And "Boo! Boo!" the lower elements of the mob broke forth. And then in +stern cadence, "The Bill! The Bill! The Bill!" + +"Out of Egypt, and out of the House of Bondage!" shrieked a Methodist +above the hub-bub. + +"Ay, ay!" + +"Slaves no longer!" + +"No! No! No!" + +"Hear that, ye hoary tyrant!" in a woman's shrill tones. "Who jailed +my man for a hare?" + +A roar of laughter which somewhat cleared the air followed this. Sir +Robert smiled grimly. + +The hustings, a mere wooden platform, raised four feet above the +ground, rested against the Abbey gateway. It was closed at the rear +and at each end; but in front it was guarded only by a stout railing. +And so public was it, and so exposed its dangerous eminence, that the +more timid of the unpopular party were no sooner upon it than they +yearned for the safe obscurity of the common level. Of the three +booths into which the interior was divided, the midmost was reserved +for the returning officer and his staff. + +Bob Flixton, who kept close to Sir Robert's elbow, looked down on the +sea of jeering faces. "I tell you what it is," he said. "We're going +to have a confounded row!" + +Mowatt, at some distance from him, was of the same opinion, but +regarded the outlook differently. "It's my belief," he muttered, "that +we shall all be murdered." + +And "D----n the Bill!" the old Squire ejaculated. "The people are off +their heads! Jack as good as his master, and better too!" + +These four, with the candidates, were in the front row. The Rector, +the Alderman, and one or two of the neighbouring gentry shared the +honour; and faced as well as they could the hooting and yelling, and +the occasional missile. In the front of the other booth were White-Hat +Williams and Blackford, the minister, Mr. Wrench, the candidate, +wreathed in smiles, a pair of Whig Squires from the Bowood side, a +curate of the same colour, Pybus--and Arthur Vaughan! + +A thrill ran through Sir Robert's supporters when they saw his young +kinsman on the other side; actually on the other side and arrayed +against them. Their hearts, already low, sank a peg lower. Of evil +omens this seemed the worst; sunk is the cause the young desert! And +many were the curious eyes that searched the renegade's features and +strove to read his thoughts. + +But in vain. His head high, his face firmly composed, Vaughan looked +stonily before him. Nor was it possible to say whether he was really +unmoved, was stolidly indifferent, or merely masked agitation. Sir +Robert on his side never looked at him, nor betrayed any sense of his +presence. But he knew. He knew! And with the first bitter presage of +defeat--for he was not a man to be intimidated by noise--he repeated +his vow: "Not a pound, nor a penny! Never! Never!" This public +renunciation, this wanton defiance--he would never forgive it! +Henceforth, it must be war to the knife between them. No thousands, no +compensation, no compromise! As the young man was sowing, so he should +reap. He who, in its darkest hour not only insulted but abandoned his +family, what punishment was too severe for him? + +Vaughan could make a good guess at the proud autocrat's feelings: and +he averted his eyes with care. The proceedings here opened, and he +listened laughingly; until midway in the reading of some document +which no one heeded--the crowd jeering and flouting merrily--he caught +a new note in the turmoil. The next moment he was conscious of a +swirling movement among those below him, there was a rush of the +throng to his right, and he looked quickly to see what it meant. + +A man--one of a group of three or four who appeared to be trying to +push their way through the crowd--was being hustled and flung to and +fro amid jeers and taunts. He was striving to gain the hustings, but +was still some way from it; and his chance of reaching it with his +clothes on his back seemed small. Vaughan saw so much; then the man +lost his temper, and struck a blow. It was returned--and then, not +till then, Vaughan saw that the man was Isaac White. He cried +"Shame!"--and had passed one leg over the barriers to go to the +rescue, when he saw that another was before him. Sir Robert's tall, +spare figure was down among the crowd--which opened instinctively +before his sharp command. His eyes, his masterful air still had power; +the press opened instinctively before his sharp command. He had +reached White, had extricated him, and turned to make good his +retreat, when it seemed to strike the more brutal element in the +crowd--mostly strangers to him--that here was the prime enemy of the +cause, on foot amongst them, at their mercy! A rush was made at his +back. He turned undaunted, White and two more at his side; the rabble +recoiled. But when he wheeled again, a second rush was made, and they +were upon him, and hustled him before he could turn. A man with a long +stick struck off his hat, another--a lout with a cockade of amber and +blue, the Whig colours--tried to trip him up. He stumbled, at the same +moment a third man knocked White down. + +"Yah! Down with him!" roared the crowd, "Down with the +Borough-monger!" + +But Vaughan, who had anticipated rather than seen the stumble, was +over the rail, and cleaving the crowd, was at his side. He reached him +a little in front of Bob Flixton, who had descended to the rescue from +the other end of the booth. Vaughan hurled back the man who had +tripped Sir Robert and who was still trying to throw him down; and the +sight of the amber and blue which the new champion wore checked the +assailants, and gave White time to rise. + +Vaughan was furious. "Back, you cowards!" he cried fiercely. "Would +you murder an old man? Shame on you! Shame!" + +"Ay, you bullies!" cried Flixton, hitting one on the jaw very +neatly--and completely disposing of that one for the day. "Back with +you!" + +As Vaughan spoke, half-a-dozen of his Tory supporters surrounded the +baronet and bore him back out of danger. Though Sir Robert was +undaunted, he was shaken; and breathing quickly, he let his hand rest +for support on the nearest shoulder. It was Vaughan's, and the next +instant he saw that it was; and he withdrew the hand as if he had let +it rest on a hot iron. + +"Mr. Flixton," he said--and the words reached a dozen ears at least, +"your arm, if you please? I would rather be without this gentleman's +assistance." + +Vaughan's face flamed. But neither the words nor the action took him +unawares. He stepped back with dignity, slightly touched his hat, and +so returned to his side of the hustings. + +But he was wounded and very angry. Alone of his party he had +intervened--and this was his reward. When Pybus pushed his way to his +side and stooped to his ear, talking quickly and earnestly, he did not +repel him. + +Episode as it was, the affray startled Sir Robert's friends: and White +in particular took it very seriously. If violence of this sort was to +rule, if even Sir Robert's person was not respected, he saw that he +would not be able to bring his voters to the poll. They would run some +risk of losing their lives, and one or two for certain would not dare +to vote. The thing must be stopped, and at once. With this in view he +made his way to the passage at the back of the hustings, which was +common to all three booths, and heated and angry--his lip was cut by +the blow he had received--he called for Pybus. But the press at the +back of the hustings was great, and one of White-Hat Williams's +foremen, who blocked the gangway, laughed in his face. + +"I want to speak to Pybus," said White, glaring at the man, who on +ordinary days would have touched his hat to him. + +"Then want'll be your master," the other retorted, with a wink. And +when White tried to push by him, the man gave him the shoulder. + +"Let me pass," White foamed. No thought of Cobbett now, had the agent! +These miserable upstarts, their insolence, their certainty of triumph +fired his blood. "Let me pass!" he repeated. + +"See you d----d first!" the other answered bluntly. "Your game's up, +old cock! Your master has held the pit long enough, but his time's +come." + +"If you don't----" + +"If you put your nose in here, we'll pitch you over the rail!" the +other declared. + +White almost had a fit. Fortunately White-Hat Williams himself +appeared at this moment: and White appealed to him. + +"Mr. Williams," he said, "is this your safe conduct?" + +"I gave none," with a grin. + +"Pybus did." + +"Ay, for your party! But if you choose to straggle in one by one, we +can't be answerable for every single voter," with a wink. "Nor for any +of you getting back again! No, no, White. + + + "_Beneath the ways of Ministers, and it's the truth I tell, + You've bought us very cheap, good White, and you've sold + us very well!_ + + +But that's over! That's at an end to-day! But--what's this?" + +This, was Sir Robert stepping forward to propose his candidates: or +rather, it was the roar, mocking and defiant, which greeted his +attempt to do so. It was a roar that made speech impossible. No doubt, +among the crowd which filled the space through which he had driven so +often with his four horses, the great man, the patron, the master of +all, there were some who still respected, and more who feared him; and +many who would not have insulted him. For if he had used his power +stiffly, he had not used it ill. But there were also in the crowd men +whose hearts were hot against the exclusiveness which had long effaced +them; who believed that freedom or slavery hung on the issue of this +day; who saw the prize of a long and bitter effort at stake, and were +set on using every intimidation, ay, and every violence, if victory +could not be had without them. And, were the others many or few, these +swept them away, infected them with recklessness, gave that stern and +mocking ring to the roar which continued and thwarted Sir Robert's +every effort to make himself heard. + +He stood long facing them, waiting, and never blenching. But after a +while his lip curled and his eyes looked disdain on the mob below him: +such disdain as the old Duke in after days hurled at the London +rabble, when for answer to their fulsome cheers he pointed to the iron +shutters of Apsley House. Sir Robert Vermuyden had done something, and +thought that he had done more, for the men who yelped and snarled and +snapped at him. According to his lights, acting on his maxim, all for +the people and nothing by the people, he had treated them generously, +granted all he thought good for them, planned for them, wrought for +them. He had been master, but no task-master. He had indeed +illustrated the better side of that government of the many by the few, +of the unfit by the fit, with which he honestly believed the safety +and the greatness of his country to be bound up. + +And this was their return! No wonder that, seeing things as he saw +them, he felt a bitter contempt for them. Freedom? Such freedom as was +good for them, such freedom as was permanently possible--they had. And +slavery? Was it slavery to be ruled, wisely and firmly, by a class +into which they might themselves rise, a class which education and +habit had qualified to rule. In his mind's eye, as he looked down on +this fretting, seething mass, he saw that which they craved granted, +and he saw, too, the outcome; that most cruel of all tyrannies, the +tyranny of the many over the few, of the many who have neither a heart +to feel nor a body to harm! + +Once, twice, thrice one of his supporters thrust himself forward, and +leaning on the rail, appealed with frantic gestures for silence, for a +hearing, for respect. But each in turn retired baffled. Not a word in +that tempest of sound was audible. And no one on the other side +intervened. For they were pitiless. They in the old days had suffered +the same thing: and it was their turn now. Even Vaughan stood with +folded arms and a stern face: feeling the last contempt for the +howling rabble before him, but firmly determined to expose himself to +no second slight. At length Sir Robert saw that it was hopeless, +shrugged his shoulders with quiet scorn, and shouting the names of his +candidates in a clerk's ear, put on his hat, and stood back. + +The old Squire seconded him in dumb show. + +Then the Sergeant stood forward to state his views. He grasped the +rail with both hands and waited, smiling blandly. But he might have +waited an hour, he might have waited until night. The leaders for the +Bill were determined to make their power felt. They were resolved that +not a word on the Tory side should be heard. The Sergeant waited, and +after a time, still smiling blandly, bowed and stood back. + +It was Mr. Cooke's turn. He advanced. "Shout, and be hanged to you!" +he cried, apoplectic in the face. An egg flew within a yard of him, +and openly shaking his fist at the crowd he retired amid laughter. + +Then White-Hat Williams, who had looked forward to this as to the +golden moment of his life and had conned his oration until he knew its +thunderous periods by heart, stepped forward to nominate the Whig +candidates. He took off his hat; and as if that had been the signal +for silence, such a stillness fell on all that his voice rang above +the multitude like a trumpet. + +"Gentlemen," he said, and smiling looked first to the one side and +then to the other. "Gentlemen----" + +Alas, he smiled too soon. The Tories grasped the situation, and, +furious at the reception which had fallen to the lot of their leaders, +determined that if they were not heard, no one should be heard. Before +he could utter another word they broke into rabid bellowings, and what +their shouts lacked in volume they made up in ill-will. In a twinkling +they drowned White-Hat Williams's voice; and now who so indignant as +the Whigs? In thirty seconds half-a-dozen single combats were +proceeding in front of the Tory booth, blood flowed from as many +noses, and amid a terrific turmoil respectable men and justices of the +peace leant across the barriers and shook their fists and flung +frenzied challenges broadcast. + +All to no purpose. The Tories, though so much the weaker party, though +but one to eight, could not be silenced. After making three or four +attempts to gain a hearing White-Hat Williams saw that he must reserve +his oration: and with a scowl he shouted his names into the ear of the +clerk. + +"Who? Who did he say?" growled the Squire, panting with rage and +hoarse with shouting. His face was crimson, his cravat awry, he had +lost his hat. "Who? Who?" + +"Wrench and--one moment, sir!" + +"Eh? Who do you say?" + +"I couldn't hear! One moment, sir! Oh, yes! Wrench and Vaughan!" + +"Vaughan?" old Rowley cried with a profane oath. "Impossible!" + +But it was not impossible! Though so great was the surprise, so +striking the effect upon Sir Robert's supporters that for a few +seconds something like silence supervened. The serpent! The serpent! +Here was a blow indeed--in the back! + +Then as Blackford, the Methodist, rose to second the nomination, the +storm broke out anew and more furiously than before. "What?" foamed +the Squire, "be ruled by a rabble of grinning, yelling monkeys? By +gad, I'll leave the country first! I--I hope someone will shoot that +young man! I wish I'd never shaken his hand! By G--d, I'm glad my +father is in his grave! He'd never ha' believed this! Never! Never!" + +And from that time until the poll was declared open--in dumb show--not +a word was audible. + +Then at last the shouting of the rival bands sank to a confused babel +of jeers, abuse, and laughter. Exhausted men mopped their faces, +voiceless men loosened their neck-cloths, the farthest from the +hustings went off to drink, and there was a lull until the sound of a +drum and fife announced a new event, and forth from the Heart and Hand +advanced a procession of five led by the accursed Dyas. + +They were the Whig voters and they marched proudly to the front of the +polling-booth, the mob falling back on either side to give them place. + +Dyas flung his hat into the booth. "Wrench and Vaughan!" he cried in a +voice which could be heard in the White Lion. "And I care not who +knows it!" + +They put to him the bribery oath. "I can take it," he answered. +"Swallow it yourselves, if you can!" + +"You should know the taste, Jack," cried a sly friend: and for a +moment the laugh was against him. + +One by one--the process was slow in those days--they voted. "Five for +Wrench and Vaughan." Wrench rose and bowed to each as he retired. +Arthur Vaughan took no notice. + +Sir Robert's voters looked at one another uneasily. They had the day +before them, but--and then he saw the look, and, putting White and his +remonstrances on one side, he joined them, bade them follow him, and +descended before them. He would ask no man to do what he would not do +himself. + +But the moment his action was understood, the moment the men were seen +behind him, there was a yell so fierce and a movement so threatening, +that on the lowest step of the hustings he stood bareheaded, raised +his hand for silence and for a wonder was obeyed. In a clear, loud +voice: + +"Do you expect to terrify me," he cried, "either by threats or +violence? Let any man look in my face and see if it change colour? Let +him come and lay his hand on my heart and feel if it beats the +quicker. Keep my voters from the poll and you stultify your own, for +there will be no election. Make way then, and let them pass to their +duty!" + +And the crowd made way; and Arthur Vaughan felt a reluctant pang of +admiration. The five were polled; the result so far, five for each of +the candidates. + +There remained to poll only Arthur Vaughan and Pillinger of the Blue +Duck, if he could be brought up by the Tories. If neither of these +voted the Returning Officer would certainly give the casting vote for +Sir Robert's candidates--if he dared. + +Isaac White believed that he would not dare, and for some time past +the agent had been in covert talk with Pybus at the back of the +hustings, two or three of the friends of each masking the conference. +Now he drew aside his employer who had returned in safety to his +place; and he conferred with him. But for a time it was clear that Sir +Robert would not listen to what he had to say. He looked pale and +angry, and returned but curt answers. But White persisted, holding him +by the sleeve. + +"Mr. Vaughan--bah, what a noise they make--does not wish to vote," he +explained. "But in the end he will, sir, it is my opinion, and that +will give it to them unless we can bring up Pillinger--which I doubt, +sir. Even if we do, it is a tie----" + +"Well? Well?" Sir Robert struck in, eyeing him sternly. "What more do +we want? The Returning Officer----" + +"He will not dare," White whispered, "and if he does, sir, it is my +belief he will be murdered. More, if we win they will rush the booth +and destroy the books. They have as good as told me they will stick at +nothing. Believe me, sir," he continued earnestly, "better than one +and one we can't look for now. And better one than none!" + +But it was long before Sir Robert would be persuaded. No, defeat or +victory, he would fight to the last! He would be beholden to the other +side for nothing! White, however, was an honest man and less afraid of +his master than usual: and he held to it. And at length the reflection +that the bargain would at least shut out his kinsman prevailed with +Sir Robert, and he consented. + +He was too chivalrous to return on his own side the man whose success +would fill his pockets. He elected for Wathen and never doubted that +the Bowood interest would return their first love, Wrench. But when +the landlord of the Blue Duck was brought up by agreement to vote for +a candidate on either side, Pillinger voted by order for Wathen and +Vaughan. + +"There's some d----d mistake!" shrieked the Squire, as the words +reached his ears. + +But there was no mistake, and to the silent disgust of the Tories and +amid the frantic cheering of the Whigs, the return was made in favour +of Sergeant John Wathen, and Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, esquire. Loud +and long was the cheering: the air was black with caps. But when the +crowd sought for the two to chair them according to immemorial custom, +only the Sergeant could be found, and he with great prudence declined +the honour. + + + + + XIX + + THE FRUITS OF VICTORY + + +Arthur Vaughan could write himself Member of Parliament. The plaudits +of the Academic and the mimic contests of the Debating Club were no +longer for him. Fortune had placed within his grasp the prize of which +he had often dreamt; and henceforth all lay open to him. But, as a +contemporary in a letter written on a like occasion says, he had gone +through innumerable horrors to reach the goal. And the moment the +result was known and certain he slipped away from his place, and from +the oppressive good-wishes of his new and uncongenial friends--the +Williamses and the Blackfords; and shutting himself up in his rooms at +the White Lion, where his entrance was regarded askance, he set +himself to look the future in the face. + +He could not blame himself for the past, for he had done nothing of +which he was ashamed. He had been put by circumstances in a false +position, but he had freed himself frankly and boldly; and every +candid man must acknowledge that he could not have done otherwise than +he had. Yet he was aware that his conduct was open to misconstruction. +Some, even on his own side, would say that he had gone to Chippinge +prepared to support his kinsman; and that then, tempted by the +opportunity of gaining the seat for himself, he had faced about. Few +would believe the truth--that twenty-four hours before the election he +had declined to stand. Still fewer would believe that in withdrawing +his "No," he had been wholly moved by the offer which Sir Robert had +made to him and the unworthy manner in which he had treated him. + +Yet that was the truth; and so entirely the truth, that but for that +offer he would have resigned the seat even now. For he had no mind to +enter the House under a cloud. He knew that to do so was to endanger +the boat in which his fortunes were embarked. But in face of that +offer he could not withdraw. Sir Robert, Wetherell, White, all would +believe that he had resigned, not on the point of honour, but for a +bribe, and because the bribe, refused at first, grew larger the longer +he eyed it. + +So, for good or evil, his mind was made up. And for a few minutes, +while the roar of the mob applauding him rose to his windows, he was +happy. He was a member of the Commons' House. He stood on that +threshold on which Harley and St. John, Walpole the wise, and the +inspired Cornet, Pitt and Fox, spoiled children of fortune, +Castlereagh the illogical, and Canning + + + _Born with an ancient name of little worth, + And disinherited before hit birth_, + + +and many another had stood; knowing no more than he knew what fortune +had in womb for them, what of hushed silence would one day mark their +rising, what homage of loyal hearts and thundering feet would hang +upon their words. As their fortunes his might be; to sway to tears or +laughter, to a nation's weal or woe, the men who ruled; to know his +words were fateful, and yet to speak with no uncertain voice; to give +the thing he did not deign to wear, and make the man whom he must +follow after, ay, + + + _To fall as Walpole and to fail at Pitt!_ + + +this, all this might be his, if he were worthy! If the dust of that +arena knew no better man! + +His heart rose on the wave of thought and he felt himself fit for all, +equipped for all. He owned no task too hard, no enterprise too high. +Nor did he fall from the clouds until he remembered the change in his +fortunes, and bethought him that henceforth he must depend upon +himself. The story would be sifted, of course, and its truth or +falsehood be made clear. But whatever use Sir Robert might have +deigned to make of it, Vaughan did not believe that he would have +stooped to invent it. And if it were true, then all the importance +which had attached to himself as the heir to a great property, all the +privileges, all the sanctity of coming wealth, were gone. + +But with them the responsibilities of that position were gone also. +The change might well depress his head and cloud his heart. He had +lost much which he could hardly hope to win for himself. Yet--yet +there were compensations. + +He had passed through much in the last twenty-four hours; and, perhaps +for that reason, he was peculiarly open to emotion. In the thought +that henceforth he might seek a companion where he pleased, in the +remembrance that he had no longer any tastes to consult but his own, +any prejudices to respect save those which he chose to adopt, he found +a comfort at which he clutched eagerly and thankfully. The world which +shook him off--he would no longer be guided by its dictates! The race, +strenuous and to the swift, ay, to the draining of heart and brain, he +would not run it alone, uncheered, unsolaced--merely because while +things were different he had walked by a certain standard of conduct! +If he was now a poor man he was at least free! Free to take the one he +loved into the boat in which his fortunes floated, nor ask too closely +who were her forbears. Free to pursue his ambition hand in hand with +one who would sweeten failure and share success, and who in that life +of scant enjoyment and high emprise to which he must give himself, +would be a guardian angel, saving him from the spells of folly and +pleasure! + +He might please himself now, and he would. Flixton might laugh, the +men of the 14th might laugh. And in Bury Street he might have winced. +But in Mecklenburgh Square, where he and she would set up their modest +tent, he would not care. + +He could not go to Bristol until the morrow, for he had to see Pybus, +but he would write and tell her of his fortunes and ask her to share +them. The step was no sooner conceived than attempted. He sat down and +took pen and paper, and with a glow at his heart, in a state of +generous agitation, he prepared to write. + +But he had never written to her, he had never called her by her name. +And the difficulty of addressing her overwhelmed him. In the end, +after sitting appalled by the bold and shameless look of "Dear Mary," +"Dearest Mary," and of addresses warmer than these, he solved the +difficulty, after a tame and proper fashion by writing to Miss Sibson. +And this is what he wrote: + + +"Dear Madame, + +"At the interview which I had with you on Saturday last, you were good +enough to intimate that if I were prepared to give an affirmative +answer to a question which you did not put into words, you would +permit me to see Miss Smith. I am now in a position to give the +assurance as to my intentions which you desired, and trust that I may +see Miss Smith on my arrival in Bristol to-morrow. + +"Believe me to remain, Madame, + + "Truly yours, + + "Arthur V. Vaughan." + + +And all his life, he told himself, he would remember the use to which +he had put his first frank! + +That night the toasting and singing, drunkenness and revelry of which +the borough was the scene, kept him long waking. But eleven o'clock on +the following morning saw him alighting from a chaise at Bristol, and +before noon he was in Queen's Square. + +For the time at least he had put the world behind him. And it was in +pure exultation and the joyous anticipation of what was to come that +he approached the house. He came, a victor from the fight; nor, he +reflected, was it every suitor who had it in his power to lay such +offerings at the feet of his mistress. In the eye of the world, +indeed, he was no longer what he had been; for the matchmaking mother +he had lost his value. But he had still so much to give which Mary had +not, he could still so alter the tenor of her life, he could still so +lift her in the social scale, those hopes which she was to share still +flew on pinions so ambitious--ay, to the very scattering of garters +and red-ribbons--that his heart was full of the joy of giving. He must +not be blamed if he felt as King Cophetua when he stooped to the +beggar-maiden, or as the Lord of Burleigh when he woo'd the farmer's +daughter. After all, he did but rejoice that she had so little and he +had so much; that he could give and she could grace. + +When he came to the house he paused a moment in wonder that when all +things were altered, his prospects, views, plans, its face rose +unchanged. Then he knocked boldly; the time for hesitation was past. +He asked for Miss Smith--thinking it likely that he would have to wait +until the school rose at noon. The maid, however, received him as if +she expected him, and ushered him at once into a room on the left of +the entrance. He stood, holding his hat, waiting, listening; but not +for long. The door had scarcely closed on the girl before it opened +again, and Mary Smith came in. She met his eyes, and started, blushed +a divine rosy-red and stood wide-eyed and uncertain, with her hand on +the door. + +"Did you not expect me?" he said, taken aback on his side. For this +was not the Mary Smith with whom he travelled on the coach; nor the +Mary Smith with whom he had talked in the Square. This was a Mary +Smith, no less beautiful, but gay and fresh as the morning, in dainty +white with a broad blue sash, with something new, something of a +franker bearing in her air. "Did you not expect me?" he repeated +gently, advancing a step towards her. + +"No," she murmured, and she stood blushing before him, blushing more +deeply with every second. For his eyes were beginning to talk, and to +tell the old tale. + +"Did not Miss Sibson get my letter?" he asked gently. + +"I think not," she murmured. + +"Then I have all--to do," he said nervously. It was--it was certainly +a harder thing to do than he had expected. "Will you not sit down, +please," he pleaded. "I want you to listen to me." + +For a moment she looked as if she would flee instead. Then she let him +lead her to a seat. + +He sat down within reach of her. "And you did not know that it was I?" +he said, feeling the difficulty increase with every second. + +"No." + +"I hope," he said, hesitating, "that you are glad that it is?" + +"I am glad to see you again--to thank you," she murmured. But while +her blushes and her downcast eyes seemed propitious to his suit, there +was something--was it, could it be a covert smile hiding at the +corners of her little mouth?--some change in her which oppressed him, +and which he did not understand. One thing he did understand, however: +that she was more beautiful, more desirable, more intoxicating than he +had pictured her. And his apprehensions grew upon him, as he paused +tongue-tied, worshipping her with his eyes. If, after all, she would +not? What if she said, "No"? For what, now he came to measure them +beside her, were those things he brought her, those things he came to +offer, that career which he was going to ask her to share? What were +they beside her adorable beauty and her modesty, the candour of her +maiden eyes, the perfection of her form? He saw their worthlessness; +and the bold phrase with which he had meant to open his suit, the +confident, "Mary, I am come for you," which he had repeated so often +to the rhythm of the chaise-wheels, that he was sure he would never +forget it, died on his lips. + +At last, "You speak of thanks--it is to gain your thanks I am come," +he said nervously. "But I don't ask for words. I want you to think +as--as highly as you can of what I did for you--if you please! I want +you to believe that I saved your life on the coach. I want you to +think that I did it at great risk to myself. I want you," he continued +hurriedly, "to exaggerate a hundredfold--everything I did for you. And +then I want you to think that you owe all to a miser, who will be +content with nothing short of--of immense interest, of an extortionate +return." + +"I don't think that I understand," she answered in a low tone, her +cheeks glowing. But beyond that, he could not tell aught of her +feelings; she kept her eyes lowered so that he could not read them, +and there were, even in the midst of her shyness, an ease and an +aloofness in her bearing, which were new to him and which frightened +him. He remembered how quickly she had on other occasions put him in +his place; how coldly she had asserted herself. Perhaps, she had no +feeling for him. Perhaps, apart from the incident in the coach, she +even disliked him! + +"You do not understand," he said unsteadily, "what is the return I +want?" + +"No-o," she faltered. + +He stood up abruptly, and took a pace or two from her. "And I hardly +dare tell you," he said. "I hardly dare tell you. I came to you, I +came here as brave as a lion. And now, I don't know why, I am +frightened." + +She--astonishing thing!--leapt the gulf for him. Possibly the greater +distance at which he stood gave her courage. "Are you afraid," she +murmured, moving her fingers restlessly, and watching them, "that you +may change your mind again?" + +"Change my mind?" he ejaculated, not for the moment understanding her. +So much had happened since his collision with Flixton in the Square. + +"As that gentleman--said you were in the habit of doing." + +"Ah!" + +"It was not true?" + +"True?" he exclaimed hotly. "True that I--that I----" + +"Changed your mind?" she said with her face averted. "And not--not +only that, sir?" + +"What else?" he asked bitterly. + +"Talked of me--among your friends?" + +"A lie! A miserable lie!" he cried on impulse, finding his tongue +again. "But I will tell you all. He saw you--that first morning, you +remember, and never having seen anyone so lovely, he intended to make +you the object of--of attentions that were unworthy of you. And to +protect you I told him that I was going--to make you my wife." + +"Is that what you mean to-day?" she asked faintly. + +"Yes." + +"But you did not mean it then?" she answered--though very gently. "It +was to shield me you said it?" + +He looked at her, astonished at her insight and her boldness. How +different, how very different was this from that to which he had +looked forward! At last, "I think I meant it," he said gloomily. "God +knows I mean it now! But that evening," he continued, seeing that she +still waited with averted face for the rest of his explanation, "he +challenged me at dinner before them all, and I," he added jerkily, "I +was not quite sure what I meant--I had no mind that you should be made +the talk of the--of my friends----" + +"And so--you denied it?" she said gently. + +He hung his head. "Yes," he said. + +"I think I--I understand," she answered unsteadily. "What I do not +understand is why you are here to-day. Why you have changed your mind +again. Why you are now willing that I should be--the talk of your +friends, sir." + +He stood, the picture of abasement. Must he acknowledge his doubts and +his hesitation, allow that he had been ashamed of her, admit that he +had deemed the marriage he now sought, a msalliance? Must he open to +her eyes those hours of cowardly vacillation during which he had +walked the Clifton Woods weighing _I would_ against _I dare not?_ And +do it in face of that new dignity, that new aloofness which he +recognised in her and which made him doubt if he had an ally in her +heart. + +More, if he told her, would she understand? How should she, bred so +differently, understand how heavily the old name with its burden of +responsibilities, how heavily the past with its obligations to duty +and sacrifice, had weighed upon him! And if he told her and she did +not understand, what mercy had he to expect from her? + +Still, for a moment he was on the point of telling her: and of telling +her also why he was now free to please himself, why, rid of the burden +with the inheritance, he could follow his heart. But the tale was long +and roundabout, she knew nothing of the Vermuydens, of their +importance, or his expectations, or what he had lost or what he had +gained. And it seemed simpler to throw himself on her mercy. "Because +I love you!" he said humbly. "I have nothing else to say." + +"And you are sure that you will not change your mind again?" + +There was that in her voice, though he could not see her face, which +brought him across two squares of the carpet as if she had jerked him +with a string. In a second he was on his knees beside her, and had +laid a feverish hand on hers. "Mary," he cried, "Mary!" seeking to +look up into her face, "you will! You will! You will let me take you? +You will let me take you from here! I cannot offer you what I once +thought I could, but I have enough, and, you will?" There was a +desperate supplication in his voice; for close to her, so close that +his breath was on her cheek, she seemed, with her half-averted face +and her slender figure, so dainty a thing, so delicate and rare, that +he could hardly believe that she could ever be his, that he could be +so lucky as to possess her, that he could ever take her in his arms. +"You will? You will?" he repeated, empty of all other words. + +She did not speak, she could not speak. But she bowed her head. + +"You will?" + +She turned her eyes on him then; eyes so tender and passionate that +they seemed to draw his heart, his being, his strength out of him. +"Yes," she whispered shyly. "If I am allowed." + +"Allowed? Allowed?" he cried. How in a moment was all changed for +him! "I would like to see----" And then breaking off--perhaps it was +her fault for leaning a little towards him--he did that which he had +thought a moment before that he would never dare to do. He put his arm +round her and drew her gently and reverently to him until--for she did +not resist--her head lay on his shoulder. "Mine!" he murmured, "Mine! +Mine! Mary, I can hardly believe it. I can hardly think I am so +blest." + +"And you will not change?" she whispered. + +"Never! Never!" + +They were silent. Was she thinking of the dark night, when she had +walked lonely and despondent to her new and unknown home? Or of many +another hour of solitary depression, spent in dull and dreary +schoolrooms, while others made holiday? Was he thinking of his doubts +and fears, his cowardly hesitation? Or only of his present monstrous +happiness? No matter. At any rate, they had forgotten the existence of +anything outside the room, they had forgotten the world and Miss +Sibson, they were in a Paradise of their own, such as is given to no +man and to no woman more than once, they were a million miles from +Bristol City, when the sound made by the opening door surprised them +in that posture. Vaughan turned fiercely to see who it was, to see who +dared to trespass on their Eden. He looked, only looked, and he sprang +to his feet, amazed. He thought for a moment that he was dreaming, or +that he was mad. + +For on the threshold, gazing at them with a face of indescribable +astonishment, rage and incredulity, was Sir Robert Vermuyden. Sir +Robert Vermuyden, the one last man in the world whom Arthur Vaughan +would have expected to see there! + + + + + XX + + A PLOT UNMASKED + + +For a few moments the old man and the young man gazed at one another, +alike in this only that neither found words equal to his feelings. +While Mary, covered with confusion, blushing for the situation in +which she had been found, could not hold up her head. It was Sir +Robert who at last broke the silence in a voice which trembled with +passion. + +"You viper!" he said. "You viper! You would sting me--here also." + +Vaughan stared at him, aghast. The intrusion was outrageous, but +astonishment rather than anger was the young man's first feeling. +"Here also?" he repeated, as if he thought that he must have heard +amiss. "_I_ sting you? What do you mean? Why have you followed me?" +And then more warmly, "How dare you, sir, spy on me?" And he threw +back his head in wrath. + +The old man, every nerve and vein in his lean, high forehead swollen +and leaping, raised his cane and shook it at him. "Dare? Dare?" he +cried, and then for very rage his voice failed him. + +Vaughan closed his eyes and opened them again. "I am dreaming," he +said. "I must be dreaming. Are you Sir Robert Vermuyden? Is this house +Miss Sibson's school? Are we in Bristol? Or is it all--but first, +sir," recalling abruptly and with indignation the situation in which +he had been surprised, and raising his tone, "how come you here? I +have a right to know that!" + +"How come I here?" + +"Yes! How come you here, sir?" + +"You ask me! You ask me!" Sir Robert repeated, as if he could not +believe his ears. "How I come here! You scoundrel! You scoundrel!" + +Vaughan started under the lash of the word. The insult was gratuitous, +intolerable! No relationship, no family tie could excuse it. No wonder +that the astonishment and irritation which had been his first +feelings, gave way to pure anger. Sir Robert might be this or that. He +might have, or rather, he might have had certain rights. But now all +that was over, the relationship was a thing of the past. And to +suppose that he was still to suffer the old gentleman's interference, +to put up with his insults, to permit him in the presence of a young +girl, his promised wife, to use such language as he was using, was out +of the question. Vaughan's face grew dark. + +"Sir Robert," he said, "you are too old to be called to account. You +may say, therefore, what you please. But not--not if you are a +gentleman--until this young lady has left the room." + +"This--young--lady!" Sir Robert gasped in an indescribable tone: and +with the cane quivering in his grasp he looked from Vaughan to the +girl. + +"Yes," Vaughan answered sternly. "That young lady! And do not let me +hear you call her anything else, sir, for she has promised to be my +wife." + +"You lie!" the baronet cried, the words leaping from his lips. + +"Sir Robert!" + +"My daughter--promised to be your wife! My--my----" + +"Your daughter!" + +"Hypocrite!" Sir Robert retorted, flinging the word at him. "You knew +it! You knew it!" + +"Your daughter?" + +"Ay, that she was my daughter!" + +"Your daughter!" + +This time the words fell from Arthur Vaughan in a whisper. And he +stood, turned to stone. His daughter? Sir Robert's daughter? The +girl--he tried desperately to clear his mind--of whom Wetherell had +told the story, the girl whom her mother had hidden away, while in +Italy, the girl whose reappearance in life had ousted him or was to +oust him from his inheritance? Mary Smith--was that girl! His +daughter! + +But no! The blood leapt back to his heart. It was impossible, it was +incredible! The coincidence was too great, too amazing. His reason +revolted against it. And "Impossible!" he cried in a louder, a bolder +tone--though fear underlay its confidence. "You are playing with me! +You must be jesting!" he repeated angrily. + +But the elder man, though his hand still trembled on his cane and his +face was sallow with rage, had regained some control of himself. +Instead of retorting on Vaughan--except by a single glance of +withering contempt--he turned to Mary. "You had better go to your +room," he said, coldly but not ungently. For how could he blame her, +bred amid such surroundings, for conduct that in other circumstances +had irritated him indeed? For conduct that had been unseemly, +unmaidenly, improper. "You had better go to your room," he repeated. +"This is no fit place for you and no fit discussion for your ears. I +am not--the fault is not with you, but it will be better if you leave +us." + +She was rising, too completely overwhelmed to dream of refusing, when +Vaughan interposed. "No," he said with a gleam of defiance in his +eyes. "By your leave, sir, no! This young lady is my affianced wife. +If it be her own wish to retire, be it so. But if not, there is no one +who has the right to bid her go or stay. You"--checking Sir Robert's +wrathful rejoinder by a gesture--"you may be her father, but before +you can exercise a father's rights you must make good your case." + +"Make good my case!" Sir Robert ejaculated. + +"And when you have made it good, it will still be for her to choose +between us," Vaughan continued with determination. "You, who have +never played a father's part, who have never guided or guarded, +fostered or cherished her--do not think, sir, that you can in a moment +arrogate to yourself a father's authority." + +Sir Robert gasped. But the next moment he took up the glove so boldly +flung down. He pointed to the door, and with less courtesy than the +occasion demanded--but he was sore pressed by his anger, "Leave the +room, girl," he said. + +"Do as you please, Mary," Vaughan said. + +"Go!" cried the baronet, stung by the use of her name. "Stay!" said +Vaughan. + +Infinitely distressed, infinitely distracted by this appeal from the +one, from the other, from this side, from that, she turned her +swimming eyes on her lover. "Oh, what," she cried, "what am I to do?" + +He did not speak, but he looked at her, not doubting what she would +do, nor conceiving it possible that she could prefer to him, her +lover, whose sweet professions were still honey in her ears, whose arm +was still warm from the pressure of her form--that she could prefer to +him, a father who was no more than the shadow of a name. + +But he did not know Mary yet, either in her strength or her weakness. +Nor did he consider that her father was already more than a name to +her. She hung a moment undecided and wretched, drooping as the white +rose that hangs its head in the first shower. Then she turned to the +elder man, and throwing her arms about his neck hung in tears on his +breast. "You will be good to him, sir," she whispered passionately. +"Oh, forgive him! Forgive him, sir!" + +"My dear----" + +"Oh, forgive him, sir!" + +Sir Robert smoothed her hair with a caressing hand, and with pinched +lips and bright eyes looked at his adversary over her head. "I would +forgive him," he said, "I could forgive him--all but this! All but +this, my dear! I could forgive him had he not tricked you and deceived +you, cozened you and flattered you--into this! Into the belief that he +loves you, while he loves only your inheritance! Or that part," he +added bitterly, "of which he has not already robbed you!" + +"Sir Robert," Vaughan said, "you have stooped very low. But it will +not avail you." + +"It has availed me so far," the baronet retorted. With confidence he +was regaining also command of himself. + +Vaughan winced. In proportion as the other recovered his temper, he +lost his. + +"It will avail me still farther," Sir Robert continued exultantly, +"when my daughter understands, as she shall understand, sir, that when +you came here to-day, when you stole a march on me, as you thought, +and proposed marriage to her behind my back, you knew all that I knew! +Knew, sir, that she was my daughter, knew that she was my heiress, +knew that she ousted you, knew that by a marriage with her, and by +that only, you could regain all that you had lost!" + +"It is a lie!" Vaughan cried, stung beyond endurance. He was pale with +anger. + +"Then refute it!" Sir Robert said, clasping the girl, who had +involuntarily winced at the word, more closely to him. "Refute it, +sir! Refute it!" + +"It is absurd! It--it needs no refutation!" Vaughan cried. + +"Why?" Sir Robert retorted. "I state it. I am prepared to prove it! I +have three witnesses to the fact!" + +"To the fact that I----" + +"That you knew," Sir Robert replied. "Knew this lady to be my daughter +when you came here this morning--as well as I knew it myself." + +Vaughan returned his look in speechless indignation. Did the man +really believe in a charge, which at first had seemed to be mere +vulgar abuse. It was not possible! "Sir Robert," he said, speaking +slowly and with dignity, "I never did you harm by word or deed until a +day or two ago. And then, God knows, perforce and reluctantly. How +then can you lower yourself to--to such a charge as this?" + +"Do you deny then," the baronet replied with contemptuous force, "do +you dare to deny--to my face, that you knew?" + +Vaughan stared. "You will say presently," he replied, "that I knew her +to be your daughter when I made her acquaintance on the coach a week +ago. At a time when you knew nothing yourself." + +"As to that I cannot say one way or the other," Sir Robert rejoined. +"I do not know how nor where you made her acquaintance. But I do know +that an acquaintance so convenient, so coincident, could hardly be the +work of chance!" + +"Good G--d! Then you will say also that I knew who she was when I +called on her the day after, and again two days after that--while you +were still in ignorance?" + +"I have said," the baronet answered with cold decision, "that I do not +know how you made, nor why you followed up your acquaintance with her. +But I have, I cannot but have my suspicions." + +"Suspicions? Suspicions?" Vaughan cried bitterly. "And on suspicion, +the base issue of prejudice and dislike----" + +"No, sir, no!" Sir Robert struck in. "Though it may be that if I knew +who introduced you to her, who opened this house to you, and the rest, +I might find ground for more than suspicion! The schoolmistress might +tell me somewhat, and--you wince, sir! Ay," he continued in a tone of +triumph. "I see there is something to be learned! But it is not upon +suspicion that I charge you to-day! It is upon the best of grounds. +Did you not before my eyes and in the presence of two other witnesses, +read, no farther back than the day before yesterday, in the +drawing-room of my house, the whole story of my daughter's movements +up to her departure from London for Bristol! With the name of the +school to which she was consigned? Did you not, sir? Did you not?" + +"Never! Never!" + +"What?" The astonishment in Sir Robert's voice was so real, so +unfeigned, that it must have carried conviction to any listener. + +Vaughan passed his hand across his brow; and Mary, who had hitherto +kept her face hidden, shivering under the stroke of each harsh +word--for to a tender heart what could be more distressing than this +strife between the two beings she most cherished?--raised her head +imperceptibly. What would he answer? Only she knew how her heart beat; +how sick she was with fear; how she shrank from that which the next +minute might unfold! + +And yet she listened. + +"I--I remember now," Vaughan said--and the consternation he felt made +itself heard in his voice. "I remember that I looked at a paper----" + +"At a paper!" Sir Robert cried in a tone of withering contempt. "At a +detailed account, sir, of my daughter's movements down to her arrival +at Bristol! Do you deny that?" he continued grimly. "Do you deny that +you perused that account?" + +Vaughan stood for a moment with his hand pressed to his brow. He +hesitated. "I remember taking a paper in my hands," he said slowly, +his face flushing, as the probable inference from his words occurred +to him. "But I was thinking so much of the disclosure you had made to +me, and of the change it involved---to me, that----" + +"That you took no interest in the written details!" Sir Robert cried +in a tone of bitter irony. + +"I did not." + +"You did not read a word, I suppose?" + +"I did not." + +Before the baronet could utter the sneer which was on his lips, Mary +interposed. "I--I would like to go," she murmured. "I feel rather +faint!" + +She detached herself from her father's arm as she spoke, and with her +face averted from her lover, she moved uncertainly towards the door. +She had no wish to look on him. She shrank from meeting his shamed +eyes. But something, either the feeling that she would never see him +again, and that this was the end of her maiden love, or the desperate +hope that even at this last moment he might explain his admission--and +those facts, "confirmation strong as hell" which she knew, but which +Sir Robert did not know--one or other of these feelings made her +falter on the threshold, made her turn. Their eyes met. + +He stepped forward impulsively. He was white with pain, his face +rigid. For what pain is stronger than the pang of innocence accused? + +"One moment!" he said, in an unsteady voice. "If we part so, Mary, we +part indeed! We part forever! I said awhile ago that you must choose +between us. And you have chosen--it seems," he continued unsteadily. +"Yet think! Give yourself, give me a chance. Will you not believe my +word?" And he held out his arms to her. "Will you not believe that +when I came to you this morning I thought you penniless? I thought you +the unknown schoolmistress you thought yourself a week ago! Will you +not trust me when I say that I never connected you with the missing +daughter? Never dreamed of a connection? Why should I?" he added, in +growing agitation as the words of his appeal wrought on himself. "Why +should I? Or why do you in a moment think me guilty of the meanest, +the most despicable, the most mercenary of acts?" + +He was going to take her hand, but Sir Robert stepped between them, +grim as fate and as vindictive. "No!" he said. "No! No more! You have +given her pain enough, sir! Take your dismissal and go! She has +chosen--you have said it yourself!" + +He cast one look at Sir Robert, and then, "Mary," he asked, "am I to +go?" + +She was leaning, almost beside herself, against the door. And oh, how +much of joy and sorrow she had known since she crossed the threshold. +A man's embrace, and a man's treachery. The sweetness of love and the +bitterness of--reality! + +"Mary!" Vaughan repeated. + +But the baronet could not endure this. "By G--d, no!" he cried, +infuriated by the other's persistence, and perhaps a little by fear +that the girl would give way. "You shall not soil her name with your +lips, sir! You shall torture her no longer! You have your dismissal! +Take it and go!" + +"When she tells me with her own lips to go," Vaughan answered +doggedly, "I will go. Not before!" For never had she seemed more +desirable to him. Never, though contempt of her weakness wrestled with +his love, had he wanted her more. Except that seat in the House which +had cost him so dearly, she was all he had left. And it did not seem +possible that she whom he had held so lately in his arms, she who had +confessed her love for him, with whom he had vowed to share his life +and his success, his lot good or bad--it did not seem possible that +she could really believe this miserable, this incredible, this +impossible thing of him! She could not! Or, if she could, he was +indeed mistaken in her. "I shall go," he repeated coldly, "and I shall +not return." + +And Mary had not believed it of him, had she known him longer or +better; had she known him as girls commonly know their lovers. But his +wooing had been short, we know: and we know, too, the distrust of men +in which she had been trained. He had taken her by storm, stooping to +her from the height of his position, having on his side her poverty +and loneliness, her inexperience and youth. Now all these things, and +her ignorance of his world weighed against him. Was it to be supposed, +could it be credited that he, who had come to her bearing her mother's +commendation, knew nothing, though he was her kinsman? That he, who +after plain hesitation and avowed doubt, laid all at her feet as soon +as her father was prepared to acknowledge her--still sought her in +ignorance? That he, who had read her story in black and white, still +knew nothing? + +No, she could not believe it. But it was a bitter thing to know that +he did not love her, that he had not loved her! That he had come to +her for gain! She must speak if it were only to escape, only to save +herself from--from collapse. She yearned for nothing now so much as to +be alone in her room. + +"Good-bye," she muttered, with averted eyes and pallid lips. "I--I +forgive you. Good-bye." + +And she opened the door with groping fingers; and still, still looking +away from him lest she should break down, she went out. + +He drew a deep breath as she passed the threshold; and his eyes did +not leave her. But he did not speak. Nor did Sir Robert Vermuyden +until his daughter's step, light as thistledown that morning, and now +uncertain and lagging, passed out of hearing, and--and at last a door +closed on the floor above. + +Then the elder man looked at the other. "Are you not going?" he said +with stern meaning. "You have robbed me of my borough, sir--I give you +joy of your cleverness. But you shall not rob me of my daughter!" + +"I wonder which you love the better!" Vaughan snarled. And with the +vicious gibe he took his hat and went. + + + + + XXI + + A MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS + + +It was September. The House elected in those first days of May was +four months old, and already it had fulfilled the hopes of the +country. Without a division it had decreed the first reading, and by a +majority of one hundred and thirty-six, the second reading of the +People's Bill; that Bill by which the preceding House slaying, had +been slain. New members were beginning to lose the first gloss of +their enthusiasm; the youngest no longer ogled the M.P. on their +letters, nor franked for the mere joy of franking. But the ministry +still rode the flood tide of favour, Lord Grey was still his country's +pride, and Brougham a hero. It only remained to frighten the House of +Lords, and in particular those plaguy out-of-date fellows, the +Bishops, into passing the Bill; and the battle would be won, + + + _The streets be paved with mutton pies, + Potatoes eat like pine!_ + + +And, in fine, everyone would live happily ever afterwards. + +To old Tories of the stamp of Sir Robert Vermuyden, the outlook was +wholly dark. But it is not often that public care clouds private joy; +and had Eldon been prime minister, with Wetherell for his Chancellor, +the grounds of Stapylton could hardly have worn a more smiling aspect +than they presented on the fine day in early September, which Sir +Robert had chosen for his daughter's first party. The abrupt addition +of a well-grown girl to a family of one is a delicate process. It is +apt to open the door to scandal. And a little out of discretion, and +more that she, who was now the apple of his eye, might not wear her +wealth with a difference, nor lack anything of the mode, he had not +hastened the occasion. A word had been dropped here and there--with +care; the truth had been told to some, the prepossessions of others +had been consulted. But at length the day was come on which she must +stand by his side and receive the world of Wiltshire. + +And she had so stood for more than an hour of this autumn afternoon; +with such pride on his side as was fitting, and such blushes on hers +as were fitting also. Now, the prime duty of reception over, and his +company dispersed through the gardens, Sir Robert lingered with one or +two of his intimates on the lawn before the house. In the hollow of +the park hard by, stood the ample marquee in which his poorer +neighbours were presently to feed; gossip had it that Sir Robert was +already at work rebuilding his political influence. Near the tent, +Hunt the Slipper and Kiss in the Ring were in progress, and Moneymusk +was being danced to the strains of the Chippinge church band; the +shrill voices of the rustic youth proving that their first shyness was +wearing off. Within the gardens, a famous band from Bath played the +new-fashioned quadrilles turn about with Moore's Irish Melodies; and a +score of the fair, gorgeous as the dragon-flies which darted above the +water, meandered delicately up and down the sward; or escorted by +gentlemen in tightly strapped white trousers and blue coats--or in +Wellington frocks, the latest mode--appeared and again disappeared +among the elms beside the Garden Pool. In the background, the house, +adorned and refurnished, winked with all its windows at the sunshine, +gave forth from all its doors the sweet scent of flowers, throbbed to +the very recesses of the haunted wing with small talk and light +laughter, the tap of sandalled feet and the flirt of fans. + +Sir Robert thanked his God as he looked upon it all. And five years +younger in face and more like the Duke than ever, he listened, almost +purring, to the praises of his new-found darling. The odds had been +great that with such a breeding, she had been coarse or sly, common or +skittish. And she was none of these things, but fair as a flower, +slender as Psyche, sweet-eyed as a loving woman, dainty and virginal +as the buds of May! And withal gentle and kind and obedient--above +all, obedient. He could not thank God enough, as he read in the eyes +of young men and old women, what they thought of her. And he was +thanking Him, though in outward seeming he was attentive to an old +friend's prattle, when his eyes fell on a carriage and four which, +followed by two outriders, was sweeping past the marquee and breasting +the gentle ascent to the house. All who were likely to arrive in such +state, the Beauforts, Suffolks, Methuens, were come; the old Duke of +Beaufort, indeed, and his daughter-in-law were gone again. So Sir +Robert stared at the approaching carriage, wondering whom it might +contain. + +"They are the Bowood liveries," said his friend, who had longer sight. +"I thought they had gone to town for the Coronation." + +Sir Robert too had thought so. Indeed, though he had invited the +Lansdownes upon the principle, which even the heats attending the +Reform Bill did not wholly abrogate, that family friendships were +above party--he had been glad to think that he would not see the +spoliators. The trespass was too recent, the robbery too gross! Ay, +and the times too serious. + +Here they were, however; Lady Lansdowne, her daughter, and a small +gentleman with a merry eye and curling locks. And Sir Robert repressed +a sigh, and advanced four or five paces to meet them. But though he +sighed, no one knew better what became a host; and his greeting was +perfect. One of his bitterest flings at Bowood painted it as the +common haunt of fiddlers and poets, actors and the like. But he +received her ladyship's escort, who was no other than Mr. Moore of +Sloperton, and of the Irish Melodies, with the courtesy which he would +have extended to an equal; nor when Lady Lansdowne sent her girl to +take tea under the poet's care did he let any sign of his reprobation +appear. Those with whom he had been talking had withdrawn to leave him +at liberty, and he found himself alone with Lady Lansdowne. + +"We leave for Berkeley Square to-morrow, for the Coronation on the +8th," she said, playing with her fan in a way which would have +betrayed to her intimates that she was not at ease. "I had many things +to do this morning in view of our departure and I could not start +early. You must accept our apologies, Sir Robert." + +"It was gracious of your ladyship to come at all," he said. + +"It was brave," she replied, with a gleam of laughter in her eyes. "In +fact, though I bear my lord's warmest felicitations on this happy +event, and wreathe them with mine, Sir Robert----" + +"I thank your ladyship and Lord Lansdowne," he said formally. + +"I do not think that I should have ventured," she continued with +another glint of laughter, "did I not bear also an olive branch." + +He bowed, but waited in silence for her explanation. + +"One of a--a rather delicate nature," she said. "Am I permitted, Sir +Robert, to--to speak in confidence?" + +He did not understand and he sought refuge in compliments. +"Permitted?" he said, with the gallant bow of an old beau. "All things +are permitted to so much----" + +"Hush!" she said. "But there! I will take you at your word. You know +that the Bill--there is but one Bill now-a-days--is in Committee?" + +He frowned, disliking the subject. "I don't think," he said, "that any +good can come of discussing it, Lady Lansdowne." + +"I think it may," she replied, with a confidence which she did not +feel, "if you will hear me. It is whispered that there is a question +in Committee of one of the doomed boroughs. One, I am told, Sir +Robert, hangs between schedule A and schedule B; and that borough is +Chippinge. Those who know whisper Lord Lansdowne that ultimately it +will be plucked from the burning, and will be found in schedule B. +Consequently it will retain one member." + +Sir Robert's thin face turned a dull red. So the wicked Whigs, who had +drawn the line of disfranchisement at such a point as to spare their +pet preserves, their Calne and Bedford and the like, had not been able +with all their craft to net every fish. One had evaded the mesh, and +by Heavens, it was Chippinge! Chippinge, though shorn of its full +glory, would still return one member. He had not hoped, he had not +expected this. Now + + + _Non omnis moriar, multaque pars mei + Vitabit Libitinam!_ + + +he thought with jubilation. And then another thought darted through +his mind and changed his joy to chagrin. A seat had been left to +Chippinge. But why? That Arthur Vaughan, that his renegade cousin, +might continue to fill it, might continue to hold it, under his nose +and to his daily, hourly, his constant mortification. By Heaven, it +was too much! They had said well, who said that an enemy's gift was to +be dreaded. But he would fight the seat, at the next election and at +every election, rather than suffer that miserable person, miserable on +so many accounts, to fill it at his will. And after all the seat was +saved; and no one could tell the future. The lasting gain might +outlive the temporary vexation. + +So, after frowning a moment, he tried to smooth his brow. "And your +mission, Lady Lansdowne," he said politely, "is to tell me this?" + +"In part," she said, with hesitation, for the course, of his feelings +had been visible in his countenance. "But also----" + +"But also--and in the main," he answered with a smile, "to make a +proposition, perhaps?" + +"Yes." + +He thought of the most obvious proposition, and he spoke in pursuance +of his thought. "Then forgive me if I speak plainly," he said. +"Whether the borough lose one member or both, whether it figure in +schedule B, or in schedule A, cannot affect my opposition to the Bill! +If you have it in commission, therefore, to make any proposal, based +on a contrary notion, I cannot listen even to your ladyship." + +"I have not," she answered with a smile. "Sir Robert Vermuyden's +malignancy is too well known. Yet I am the bearer of a proposition. +Suppose the Bill to become law, and I am told that it will surely +become law, can we not avoid future conflict, and--I will not say +future ill-will, for God knows there is none on our side, Sir +Robert--but future friction, by an agreement? Of course it will not be +possible to nominate members in the future as in the past. But for +some time to come whoever is returned for Chippinge must be returned +by your influence, or by my lord's." + +He coughed drily. "Possibly," he said. + +"In view of that," she continued, flirting her fan, as she watched his +face--his manner was not encouraging, "and for the sake of peace +between families, and a little, perhaps, because I do not wish Kerry +to be beggared by contested elections, can we not now, while the +future is on the lap of the gods----" + +"In Committee," Sir Robert corrected with a grave bow. + +She laughed pleasantly. "Well," she allowed, "perhaps it is not quite +the same thing. But no matter! Whoever the Fates in charge, can we +not," with her head on one side and a charming smile, "make a treaty +of peace?" + +"And what," Sir Robert asked with urbane sarcasm, "becomes of the +rights of the people in that case, Lady Lansdowne? And of the purity +of elections? And of the new and independent electors whom my lord has +brought into being? Must we not think of these things?" + +She looked for an instant rather foolish. Then she rallied, and with a +slightly heightened colour, "In good time, we must," she replied. "But +for the present it is plain that they will not be able to walk without +assistance." + +"What?" it was on the tip of his tongue to answer. "The new and +independent electors? Not walk without assistance? Oh, what a change +is here!" But he forbore. He said instead--but with the faintest shade +of irony, "Without _our_ assistance, I think you mean, Lady +Lansdowne?" + +"Yes. And that being so, why should we not agree, my lord and you--to +save Kerry's pocket shall I say--to bring forward a candidate +alternately?" + +Sir Robert shook his head gravely. He would fight. + +"Allowing to you, Sir Robert, as the owner of the influence hitherto +dominant in the borough, the first return." + +"The first return--after the Bill passes?" + +"Yes." + +That was a different thing. That was another thing altogether. A gleam +of satisfaction shone for an instant under the baronet's bushy +eyebrows. The object he had most at heart was to oust his treacherous +cousin. And here was a method, sure and safe: more safe by far than +any contest under the new Bill? + +"Well I--I cannot say anything at this moment," he said, at last, +trying to hide his satisfaction. "These heats once over I do not +see--your ladyship will pardon me--why my influence should not still +predominate." + +It was Lady Lansdowne's turn. "And things be as before?" she answered. +"No, Sir Robert, no. You forget those rights of the people which you +were so kind as to support a moment ago. Things will not be as before. +But--but perhaps I shall hear from you? Of course it is not a matter +that can be settled, as in the old days, by our people." + +"You shall certainly hear," he said, with something more than +courtesy. "In the meantime----" + +"I am dying to see your daughter," she answered. "I am told that she +is very lovely. Where is she?" + +"A few minutes ago she was in the Elm Walk," Sir Robert answered, a +slight flush betraying his gratification. "I will send for her." + +But her ladyship would not hear of this; nor would she suffer him to +leave his post to escort her. "Here's la belle Suffolk coming to take +leave of you," she said. "And I know my way." + +"But you will not know her," Sir Robert answered. + +Lady Lansdowne let her parasol sink over her shoulder. "I think I +shall," she said with a glance of meaning, "if she is like her +mother." + +And without waiting to see the effect of her words, she moved away. It +was said of old time of Juno, that she walked a Goddess confessed. And +of Lady Lansdowne as she moved slowly across the sunny lawn before the +church, her dainty skirts trailing and her parasol inclined, it might +with equal justice have been said, that she walked a great lady, of +that day when great ladies still were, + + + _Nor mill nor mart had mocked the guinea's stamp_. + + +Whether she smiled on this person or bowed to that, or with a slighter +movement acknowledged the courtesy of those who, without claiming +recognition made respectful way for her, a gracious ease and a quiet +nonchalance were in all her actions. The deeper emotions seemed as far +from her as were Hodge and Joan playing Kiss in the Ring. But her last +words to Sir Robert had reacted on herself, and as she crossed the +rustic bridge, she paused a moment to gaze on the water. The band was +playing the air of "She is far from the Land," and tears rose to her +eyes as she recalled the past and pictured scene after scene, absurd +or pathetic in the career of the proud beauty who had once queened it +here, whose mad pranks and madder sayings had once filled these +shrubberies with mirth or chagrin, and whose child she was about to +see. + +She sighed, as she resumed her course, unable even now to blame Lady +Sybil as her conduct to her child deserved. But where was the child? +Not on the walk under the elms, which was deserted in favour of the +more lively attractions of the park. Lady Lansdowne looked this way +and that; at length availing herself of the solitude, she paced the +walk to its end. Thence a short path which she well remembered, led to +the kennels; and rather to indulge her sentiment and recall the days +when she was herself young, and had been intimate here, than because +she expected to meet Mary, she took this path. She had not followed it +a dozen steps, and was hesitating whether to go on or return, the +strains of Moore's melody were scarcely blurred by the intervening +laurels, when a tall dark-robed figure stepped with startling +abruptness from the shrubbery, and stood before her. + +"Louisa," said the stranger. And she raised her veil. "Don't you know +me?" + +"Sybil!" + +"Yes, Sybil!" the other answered curtly. And then as if something in +Lady Lansdowne's tone had wounded her, "Why not?" she continued, +raising her head proudly. "My name came easily enough to your +ladyship's lips once! And I am not aware that I have done anything to +deprive me of the right to call my friends by their names, be they +whom they may!" + +"No, no! But----" + +"But you meant it, Louisa!" the other retorted with energy. "Or is it +that you find me so changed, so old, so worn, so altered from her you +once knew, that it astonishes you to trace in this face the features +of Sybil Matching!" + +"You are changed," the other answered kindly. "I fear you have been +ill?" + +"I am ill. I am more, I am dying. Not here, nor to-day, nor +to-morrow----" + +Lady Lansdowne interrupted her. "In that sense," she said gently, "we +are all dying." But though she said it, the change in Lady Sybil's +appearance did indeed shock her; almost as much as her presence in +that place amazed her. + +"I have but three months to live," Lady Sybil answered feverishly; and +her sunken cheeks and bright eyes, which told of some hidden disease, +confirmed her words. "I am dying in that sense! Do you hear? But I +dare say," with a flash of her old levity, "it is my presence here +that shocks you? You are thinking what Vermuyden would say if he +turned the corner behind you, and found us together!" And, as Lady +Lansdowne, with a nervous start, looked over her shoulder, with the +old recklessness, "I'd like--I'd like to see his face, my dear, and +yours, too, if he found us. But," she continued, with an abrupt change +to impassioned earnestness, "it's not to see you that I came to-day! +Don't think it! It's not to see you that I've been waiting for two +hours past. I want to see my girl! I am going to see her, do you hear! +You must bring her to me!" + +"Sybil!" + +"Don't contradict me, Louisa," she cried peremptorily. "Haven't I told +you that I am dying? Don't you hear what I say! Am I to die and not +see my child? Cruel woman! Heartless creature! But you always were! +And cold as an icicle!" + +"No, indeed, I am not! And I think you should see her," Lady +Lansdowne answered, in no little distress. How could she not be +distressed by the contrast between this woman plainly and almost +shabbily dressed--for the purpose perhaps of evading notice--and with +illness stamped on her face, and the brilliant, harum-scarum Lady +Sybil, with whom her thoughts had been busy a few minutes before? "I +think you ought to see her," she repeated in a soothing tone. "But you +should take the proper steps to do so. You----" + +"You think--yes, you do!" Lady Vermuyden retorted with fierce +energy--"you think that I have treated her so ill that I have no right +to see her! That I cannot care to see her! But you do not know how I +was tried! How I was suspected, how I was watched! What wrongs I +suffered! And--and I never meant to hide her for good. When I died, +she would have come home. And I had a plan too--but never mind +that--to right her without Vermuyden's knowledge and in his teeth. I +saw her on a coach one day along with--what is it?" + +"There is someone coming," Lady Lansdowne said hurriedly. Her ladyship +indeed was in a state of great apprehension. She knew that at any +moment she might be found, perhaps by Sir Robert: and the thought of +the scene which would follow--aware as she was of the exasperation of +his feelings--appalled her. She tried to temporise. "Another time," +she said. "I think someone is coming now. See me another time and I +will do what I can." + +"No!" the other broke in, her face flushing with sudden anger. "See +you, Louisa? What do I care for seeing you? It is my girl I wish to +see, that I'm come to see, that I'm going to see! I'm her mother, +fetch her to me! I have a right to see her, and I will see her! I +demand her! If you do not go for her----" + +"Sybil! Sybil!" Lady Lansdowne cried, thoroughly alarmed by her +friend's violence. "For Heaven's sake be calm!" + +"Calm?" Lady Vermuyden answered. "Do you cease to dictate to me, and +do as I bid you! Go, and fetch her, or I will go myself and claim her +before all his friends. He has no heart. He never had a heart! It's +sawdust," with a hysterical laugh. "But he has pride and I'll trample +on it! I'll tread it in the mud--if you don't fetch her! Are you +going, Miss Gravity? We used to call you Miss Gravity, I remember. You +were always," with a faint sneer, "a bit of a prude, my dear!" + +Miss Gravity! What long-forgotten trifles, what thoughts of youth the +nickname brought back to Lady Lansdowne's recollection. What wars of +maidens' wits, and half-owned jealousies, and light resentments, and +sunny days of pique and pleasure! Her heart, never anything but soft, +under the mask of her great-lady's manner, waxed sore and pitiful. Yet +how was she to do the other's bidding? How could she betray Sir +Robert's confidence? How---- + +Someone was coming--really coming this time. She looked round. + +"I'll give you five minutes!" Lady Sybil whispered. "Five minutes, +Louisa! Remember!" + +And when Lady Lansdowne turned again to her, she had vanished among +the laurels. + + + + + XXII + + WOMEN'S HEARTS + + +Lady Lansdowne walked slowly away in a state of perplexity, from which +the monotonous lilt of the band which was now playing quadrille music +did nothing to free her. Whether Sybil Vermuyden were dying or not, it +was certain that she was ill. Disease had laid its hand beyond +mistaking on that once beautiful face; the levity and wit which had +formerly dazzled beholders now gleamed but fitfully and with such a +ghastly light as the corpse candle gives forth. The change was great +since Lady Lansdowne had seen her in the coach at Chippenham; and it +might well be that if words of forgiveness were to be spoken, no time +was to be lost. Old associations, a mother's feelings for a mother, +pity, all urged Lady Lansdowne to compliance with her request; nor did +the knowledge that the woman, who had once queened it so brilliantly +in this place, was now lurking on the fringe of the gay crowd, athirst +for a sight of her child, fail to move a heart which all the +jealousies of a Whig coterie had not hardened or embittered. + +Unluckily the owner of that heart felt that she was the last person +who ought to interfere. It behoved her, more than it behoved anyone, +to avoid fresh ground of quarrel with Sir Robert. Courteously as he +had borne himself on her arrival, civilly as he had veiled the +surprise which her presence caused him, she knew that he was sore hurt +by his defeat in the borough. And if those who had thwarted him +publicly were to intervene in his private concerns, if those who had +suborned his kinsman were now to tamper with his daughter, ay, or were +to incur a suspicion of tampering, she knew that his anger would know +no bounds. She felt, indeed, that it would be justified. + +She had to think, too, of her husband, who had sent her with the +olive-branch. He was a politic, long-sighted man; who, content with +the solid advantage he had gained, had no mind to push to extremity a +struggle which must needs take place at his own door. He would be +displeased, seriously displeased, if her mission, in place of closing, +widened the breach. + +And yet--and yet her heart ached for the woman, who had never wholly +lost a place in her affections. And there was this. If Lady Sybil were +thwarted no one was more capable of carrying out her threat and of +taking some violent step, which would make matters a hundred times +worse, alike for Sir Robert and his daughter. + +While she weighed the matter, Lady Lansdowne found herself back at the +rustic bridge. She was in the act of stepping upon it--still deep in +thought--when her eyes encountered those of a young couple who were +waiting at the farther end to give her passage. She looked a second +time; and she stood. Then, smiling, she beckoned to the girl to come +to her. Meanwhile, a side-thought, born of the conjunction of the two +young people, took form in her mind. "I hope that may come to +nothing," she reflected. + +Possibly it was for this reason, that when the man would have come +also, she made it clear that the smile was not for him. "No, Mr. +Flixton," she said, the faintest possible distance in her tone. "I do +not want you. I will relieve you of your charge." + +And when Mary, timid and blushing, had advanced to her, "My dear," she +said, holding out both her hands, and looking charmingly at her, "I +should have known you anywhere." And she drew her to her and kissed +her. "I am Lady Lansdowne. I knew your mother, and I hope that you and +my daughter will be friends." + +The mention of her mother increased Mary's shyness. "Your ladyship is +very kind," she murmured. She did not know that her embarrassment was +so far from hurting her, that the appeal in her eyes went straight to +the elder woman's heart. + +"I mean to be kind at any rate," Lady Lansdowne answered, smiling on +the lovely face before her. And then, "My dear," she said, "have they +told you that you are very beautiful? More beautiful, I think, than +your mother was: I hope"--and she did not try to hide the depth of her +feelings--"that you may be more happy." + +The girl's colour faded at this second reference to her mother; made, +she could not doubt, with intention. Her father, even while he had +overwhelmed her with benefits, even while he had opened this new life +to her with a hand full of gifts, had taught her--tacitly or by a word +at most--that that name was the key to a Bluebeard's chamber; that it +must not be used. She knew that her mother lived; she guessed that she +had sinned against her husband; she understood that she had wronged +her child. But she knew no more: and with this, since this at the +least she must know, Sir Robert would have had her content. + +And yet, to speak correctly, she did know more. She knew that the +veiled lady who had intervened at long intervals in her life must have +been her mother. But she felt no impulse of affection towards that +woman--whom she had not seen. Her heart went out instead to a shadowy +mother who walked the silent house at sunset, whose skirts trailed in +the lonely passages, of whose career of wild and reckless gaiety she +had vague hints here and there. It was to this mother, radiant and +young, with the sheen of pearls in her hair, and the haunting smile, +that she yearned. She had learned in some subtle way that the vacant +place over the mantel in the hall which her own portrait by Maclise +was to fill, had been occupied by her mother's picture. And dreaming +of the past, as what young girl alone in that stately house would not, +she had seen her come and go in the half lights, a beautiful, spoilt +child of fashion. She had traced her up and down the wide polished +stairway, heard the tap of her slender sandal on the shining floors, +perceived in long-closed chambers the fading odours of her favourite +scent. And in a timid, frightened way she had longed to know her and +to love her, to feel her touch on her hair and give her pity in +return. + +It is possible that she might have dwelt more intimately on Lady +Sybil's fate, possible that she might have ventured on some line of +her own in regard to her, if her new life had been free from +preoccupation; if there had not been with her an abiding regret, which +clouded the sunniest prospects. But love, man's love, woman's love, is +the most cruel of monopolists: it tramples on the claims of the +present, much more of the absent. And if the novelty of Mary's new +life, the many marvels to which she must accustom herself, the new +pleasures, the new duties, the strange new feeling of wealth--if, in +fine, the necessity of orientating herself afresh in relation to every +person and everything--was not able to put thoughts of her lover from +her mind, the claims of an unknown mother had an infinitely smaller +chance of asserting themselves. + +But now at that word, twice pronounced by Lady Lansdowne, the girl +stood ashamed and conscience-stricken. "You knew my mother?" she +faltered. + +"Yes, my dear," the elder woman answered gravely. "I knew her very +well." + +The gravity of the speaker's tone presented a new idea to Mary's mind. +"She is not happy?" she said slowly. + +"No." + +With that word Lady Lansdowne looked over her shoulder; conscience +makes cowards, and her nervousness communicated itself to Mary. A +possibility, at which the girl had never glanced, presented itself, +and so abruptly that all the colour left her face. "She is not here?" +she said. + +"Yes, she is here. And--don't be frightened, my dear!" Lady Lansdowne +continued earnestly. "But listen to me! A moment ago I thought of +throwing you in her way without your knowledge. But, since I have seen +you, I have your welfare at heart, as well as hers. And I must, I +ought to tell you, that I do not think your father would wish you to +see her. I think that you should know this; and that you should decide +for yourself--whether you will see her. Indeed, you must decide for +yourself," she repeated, her eyes fixed anxiously on the girl's face. +"I cannot take the responsibility." + +"She is unhappy?" Mary asked, looking most unhappy herself. + +"She is unhappy, and she is ill." + +"I ought to go to her? You think so? Please--your ladyship, will you +advise me?" + +Lady Lansdowne hesitated. "I cannot," she said. + +"But--there is no reason," Mary asked faintly, "why I should not go to +her?" + +"There is no reason. I honestly believe," Lady Lansdowne repeated +solemnly, "that there is no reason--except your father's wish. It is +for you to say how far that, which should weigh with you in all other +things, shall weigh with you in this." + +Suddenly a burning colour dyed Mary's face. "I will go to her," she +cried impulsively. She had been weak once, she had been weak! And how +she had suffered for that weakness! But she would be strong now. +"Where is she, if you please?" she continued bravely. "Can I see her +at once?" + +"She is in the path leading to the kennels. You know it? No, you need +not take leave of me, child! Go, and," Lady Lansdowne added with +feeling, "God forgive me if I have done wrong in sending you!" + +"You have not done wrong!" Mary cried, an unwonted spirit in her tone. +And, without taking other leave, she turned and went--though her limbs +trembled under her. She was going to her mother! To her mother! Oh, +strange, oh, impossible thought! + +Yet, engrossing as was that thought, it could not quite oust fear of +her father and of his anger. And the blush soon died; so that the +whiteness of her cheeks when she reached the Kennel Path was a poor +set off for the ribbons that decked her muslin robe. What she +expected, what she wished or feared or hoped she could never remember. +What she saw, that which awaited her, was a woman, ill, and plainly +clad, with only the remains of beauty in her wasted features; but +withal cynical and hard-eyed, and very, very far from the mother of +her day-dreams. + +Such as she was the unknown scanned Mary with a kind of scornful +amusement. "Oh," she said, "so this is what they have made of Miss +Vermuyden? Let me look at you, girl?" And laying her hands on Mary's +shoulders she looked long into the tearful, agitated face. "Why, you +are like a sheet of paper!" she continued, raising the girl's chin +with her finger. "I wonder you dared to come with Sir Robert saying +no! And, you little fool," she continued in a swift spirit of +irritation, "as soon not come at all, as look at me like that! You've +got my chin and my nose, and more of me than I thought. But God knows +where you got your hare's eyes! Are you always frightened?" + +"No, Ma'am, no!" she stammered. + +"No, Ma'am? No, goose!" Lady Sybil retorted, mimicking her. "Why, ten +kings on ten thrones had never made me shake as you are shaking! Nor +twenty Sir Roberts in twenty passions! What is it you are afraid of? +Being found with me?" + +"No! "Mary cried. And, to do her justice, the emotion with which Lady +Sybil found fault was as much a natural agitation, on seeing her +mother, as fear on her own account. + +"Then you are afraid of me?" Lady Sybil rejoined. And again she +twitched the girl's face to the light. + +Mary was amazed rather than afraid: but she could not say that. And +she kept silence. + +"Or is it dislike of me?" the mother continued--a slight grimace, as +of pain, distorting her face. "You hate me, I suppose? You hate me?" + +"Oh, no, no!" the girl cried in distress. + +"You do, Miss!" And with no little violence she pushed Mary from her. +"You set down all to me, I suppose! I've kept you from your own, +that's it! I am the wicked mother, worse than a step-mother, who +robbed you of your rights! And made a beggar of you and would have +kept you a beggar! I am she who wronged you and robbed you--the +unnatural mother! And you never ask," she went on with fierce, +impulsive energy, "what I suffered? How I was wronged! What I bore! +No, nor what I meant to do--with you!" + +"Indeed, indeed----" + +"What I meant to do, I say!" Lady Sybil repeated violently. "At my +death--and I am dying, but what is that to you?--all would have been +told, girl! And you would have got your own. Do you believe me?" she +added passionately, advancing a step in a manner almost menacing. "Do +you believe me, girl?" + +"I do, I do!" Mary cried, inexpressibly pained by the other's +vehemence. + +"I'll swear it, if you like! But I hoped that he--your father--would +die first and never know! He deserved no better! He deserved nothing +of me! And then you'd have stepped into all! Or better still--do you +remember the day you travelled to Bristol? It's not so long ago that +you need forget it, Miss Vermuyden! I was in the coach, and I saw you, +and I saw the young man who was with you. I knew him, and I told +myself that there was a God after all, though I'd often doubted it, or +you two would not have been brought together! I saw another way then, +but you'd have parted and known nothing, if," she continued, laughing +recklessly, "I had not helped Providence, and sent him with a present +to your school! But--why, you're red enough now, girl! What is it?" + +"He knew?" Mary murmured, with an effort. "You told him who I was, +Ma'am?" + +"He knew no more than a doll!" Lady Sybil answered. "I told him +nothing, or he'd have told again! I know his kind. No, I thought to +get all for you and thwart Vermuyden, too! I thought to marry his heir +to the little schoolmistress--it was an opera touch, my dear, and +beyond all the Tremaynes and Vivian Greys in the world! But there, +when all promised well, that slut of a maid went to my husband, and +trumped my trick!" + +"And Mr.--Mr. Vaughan," Mary stammered, "had no knowledge--who I was?" + +"Mr.--Mr. Vaughan!" Lady Sybil repeated, mocking her, "had no +knowledge? No! Not a jot, not a tittle! But what?" she went on, in a +tone of derision, "Sits the wind there, Miss Meek? You're not all milk +and water, bread and butter and backboard, then, but have a spice of +your mother, after all? Mr.--Mr. Vaughan!" again she mimicked her. +"Why, if you were fond of the man, didn't you say so?" + +Mary, under the fire of those sharp, hard eyes, could not restrain her +tears. But, overcome as she was, she managed in broken words to +explain that her father had forbidden it. + +"Oh, your father, was it?" Lady Sybil rejoined. "He said 'No,' and no +it was! And the lord of my heart and the Man of Feeling is dismissed +in disgrace! And now we weep in secret and the worm feeds on our +damask cheek!" she ran on in a tone of raillery, assumed perhaps to +hide a deeper feeling. "I suppose," she added shrewdly, "Sir Robert +would have you think that Vaughan knew who you were, and was +practising on you?" + +"Yes." + +"And you dismissed him at papa's command, eh? That was it, was it?" + +Mary could only confess the fact with tears, her distress in as +strange contrast with the gaiety of her dress as with the strains of +the neighbouring band, which told of festivity and pleasure. Perhaps +some thought of this nature forced itself upon Lady Sybil's light and +evasive mind: for as she looked, the cynical expression of her eyes +gave place to one of feeling and emotion, better fitted to those +wasted features as well as to the relation in which the two stood to +one another. She looked down the path, as if for the first time she +feared an intrusive eye. Then her glance reverted to her daughter's +slender form and drooping head: and again it changed, it grew soft, it +grew pitiful. The laurels shut all in, the path was empty. The +maternal feeling, long repressed, long denied, long buried under a +mountain of pique and resentment, of fancied wrongs and real neglect, +broke forth irresistibly. In a step she was at the girl's side, and +snatching her to her bosom in a fierce embrace, was covering her face, +her neck, her hair with hungry kisses. + +The action was so sudden, so unexpected, that crushed and even hurt by +the other's grasp, and frightened by her vehemence, Mary would have +resisted, would have tried to free herself. Then she understood. And a +rush of pent-up affection, of love and pity, carried away the barriers +of constraint and timidity. She clung to Lady Sybil with tears of joy, +murmuring low broken words, calling her "Mother, Mother," burying her +face on her shoulder, pressing herself against her. In a moment her +being was stirred to its depths. In all her life no one had caressed +her after this fashion, no one had embraced her with passion, no one +had kissed her with more than the placid affection which gentleness +and goodness earn, and which kind offices kindly performed warrant. +Even Sir Robert, even her father, proud as he was of her, much as he +loved her, had awakened in her respect and gratitude--mingled with +fear--rather than love. + +After a time, warned by approaching voices, Lady Sybil put her from +her; but with a low and exultant laugh. "You are mine, now!" she said, +"Mine! Mine! You will come to me when I want you. And I shall want you +soon! Very soon!" + +Mary laid hold of her again. "Let me come now!" she cried with +passion, forgetting all but the mother she had gained, the clinging +arms which had cherished her, the kisses that had rained on her. "Let +me come to you! You are ill!" + +"No, not now! Not now! I will send for you when I want you," Lady +Sybil answered. "I will promise to send for you. And you will come," +she added with the same ring of triumph in her voice. "You will come!" +For it was joy to her, even amid the satisfaction of her mother-love, +to know that she had tricked her husband; it was joy to her to know +that though she had taken all from the child and he had given all, the +child was hers--hers, and could never be taken from her! "You will +come! For you will not have me long. But," she whispered, as the +voices came nearer, "go now! Go now! And not a word! Not a word, +child, as you love me. I will send for you when--when my time comes." + +And with a last look, strangely made up of love and pain and triumph, +Lady Sybil moved out of sight among the laurels. And Mary, drying her +tears and composing her countenance as well as she could, turned to +meet the intruders' eyes. + +Fortunately--for she was far from being herself--the two persons who +had wandered that way, did but pause at the end of the Kennel Path, +and, murmuring small talk, turn again to retrace their steps. She +gained a minute or two, in which to collect her thoughts and smooth +her hair; but more than a minute or two she dared not linger lest her +continued absence should arouse curiosity. As sedately as she could, +she emerged from the shrubbery and made her way--though her breast +heaved with a hundred emotions--towards the rustic bridge on which she +saw that Lady Lansdowne was standing, keeping Sir Robert in talk. + +In talk, indeed, of her. For as she approached he placed the +coping-stone on the edifice of her praises which her ladyship had +craftily led him to build. "The most docile," he said, "I assure you, +the most docile child you can imagine! A beautiful disposition. She is +docility itself!" + +"I hope she may always remain so," Lady Lansdowne answered slily. + +"I've no doubt she will," Sir Robert replied with fond assurance, his +eye on the Honourable Bob, who was approaching the bridge from the +lawns. + +Lady Lansdowne followed the look with her eyes and smiled. But she +said nothing. She turned to Mary, who was now near at hand, and +reading in the girl's looks plain traces of trouble, and agitation, +she contented herself with sending for Lady Louisa, and asking that +her carriage might be called. In this way she cloaked under a little +bustle the girl's embarrassment as she came up to them and joined +them. Five minutes later Lady Lansdowne was gone. + + + * * * * * + + +After that, Mary would have had only too much food for thought, had +her mother alone filled her mind; had those kisses which had so +stirred her being, those clinging arms, and that face which bore the +deep imprint of illness, alone burdened her memory. Years afterwards +the beat of the music which played in the gardens that evening, while +the party within sat at dinner, haunted her; bringing back, as such +things will, the scene and her aching heart, the outward glitter and +the inward care, the Honourable Bob's gallantries and her father's +stately figure as he rose and drank wine with her; ay, and the hip, +hip, hurrah which shook the glasses when an old Squire, a privileged +person, rose, before she could leave, and toasted her. + +Burdened only with the sacred memories of the afternoon, and the +anxiety, the pity, the love which they engendered, she had been far +from happy, far from free. But in truth, with all her feeling for her +mother, Mary bore about with her a keener and more bitter regret. The +dull pain which had troubled her of late when thoughts of Arthur +Vaughan would beset her was grown to a pang of shame, almost +intolerable. She had told herself a hundred times before this that it +was her weakness, her fear of her father, her mean compliance that had +led her to give him up--rather than any real belief in his baseness. +For she had never, she was sure now, believed in that baseness. But +now, now when her mother, whose word it never struck her to doubt, +had affirmed his innocence, now that she knew, now since a phrase +of that mother's had brought to her mind every incident of the +never-to-be-forgotten coach-drive, the May morning, the sunshine and +the budding trees, the birth of love--pain gnawed at her heart. She +was sick with misery. + +For, oh, how vile, how thankless, how poor and small a thing he must +think her! He would have given her all, and she had robbed him of all. +And then when she had robbed him and he could give her little she had +turned her back on him, abandoned him, believed evil of him, heard him +insulted, and joined in the outrage! Over that thought, over that +memory, she shed many and many a bitter tear. Romance had come to her +in her lowliness, and a noble lover, stooping to her; and she had +killed the one and denied the other. And now, now there was nothing +she could do, nothing she would dare to do. + +For that she had for a moment believed in his baseness--if she had +indeed believed--was not the worst. In that she had been the sport of +circumstances; appearances had deceived her, and the phase had been +brief. But that she had been weak, that she had been swayed, that she +had given him up at a word, that she had shown herself wholly unworthy +of him--there was the rub. Now, how happy had she been could she have +gone back to Miss Sibson's, and the dull schoolroom and the old stuff +dress and the children's prattle--and heard his step as he came across +the forecourt to the door! + + + + + XXIII + + IN THE HOUSE + + +In truth Mary's notion of the opinion which Arthur Vaughan had of her +was above, rather than below, the reality. In her most despondent +moments she scarcely exaggerated the things he thought of her, the +contempt in which he held her, or the resentment which set his blood +boiling when he remembered how she had treated him. He had gone to her +and laid all that was left to him at her feet; and she, who had +already dealt his fortunes so terrible a blow, had paid him for his +unselfish offer, for his sacrifice of much that was dear to him, with +suspicion, with contumely, with mistrust! Instead of clinging to him, +to whom she had that moment plighted her troth, she had deserted him +at a word. In place of trusting the man who had woo'd her in her +poverty, she had believed the first whisper against him. She had shown +herself heartless, faithless, inconstant as the wind--a very woman! +And + + + _Away, away--your smile's a curse + Oh, blot me from the race of men, + Kind pitying Heaven! by death or worse + Before I love such things again!_ + + +he might have murmured with a bitterness of which the author of the +lines had been incapable. But then, Mr. Moore, though his poetry and +his singing brought tears to the eyes of hardened women of fashion, +had never lost at a blow a great estate, a high position, and his +love. + +Certainly Vaughan had, if man ever had, grounds for a quarrel with +fate. He had left London heart-whole and happy, the heir to a large +fortune. He returned a fortnight later, a member of the Commons House +indeed, but heart-sick and soured, beggared of his expectations and +tortured by the thought of what might have been--if his love had +proved true as she was fair, and constant as she was sweet. Fond +dreams of her beauty still tormented him. Visions of the modest home +in which he would have found consolation in failure, and smiles in +success, rose up before him and derided him. He hated Sir Robert. He +hated, or tried to hate, the weakest and the most despicable of women. +He saw all things and all men with a jaundiced eye, the sound of his +voice and the look of his face were altered. Men who knew him and who +passed him in the street, or who saw him eating his chop in solitary +churlishness, nudged one another and said that he took his reverses +ill; while others, wounded by his curtness or his ill-humour, added +that he did not go the right way to make the most of what was left. + +For a certainty he was become a man unpleasant to handle. But within, +under the thorns, was a very human soul, wounded, sore, and miserable, +seeking every way for an outlet from its pains, and finding hope of +escape at one point only. Men were right, when they said that he did +not go the way to make the most of his chances. For he laid himself +out to please no one at this time; it was not in him. But he worked +late and early, and with a furious energy to fit himself for a +political career; believing that success in that career was all that +was left to him, and that by the necessary labour he could best put +the past behind him. Love and pleasure, and those sweets of home life +of which he had dreamed, were gone from him. But the stern prizes of +ambition, the crown of those who live laborious days, might still be +his--if the Mirror of Parliament were never out of his hands, and if +Mr. Hume himself were not more constant to his favourite pillar under +the gallery than he to such chance seat as might fall to him on the +same side of the House. + +Alas, he had not taken the oaths an hour--with a sore heart, in a ruck +of undistinguished new Members--before he saw that success was not so +near or so clearly within reach, as hope, with her flattering tale, +had argued. The times were propitious, certainly. The debates were +close and fiery, and were scanned out of doors with an interest +unknown before. The strife between Croker and Macaulay in the Commons, +the duel between Brougham and Lyndhurst in the Lords, were followed in +the country with as much attention as a battle between Belcher and Tom +Cribb; and by the same classes. Everywhere men talked politics, talked +of Reform, and of little else. The clubs, the 'Change, the taverns, +nay, the drawing-rooms and the schools rang with the Bill, the whole +Bill, and nothing but the Bill; with Schedule A, cruel as Herod, and +Schedule B, which spared one of twins. Before the window in the +Haymarket which weekly displayed H.B.'s Political Caricatures, crowds +stood gazing all day long, whatever the weather. + +These things were in his favour. He remembered, too, the stress which +the Chancellor had laid on the advantage of entering the House in +advance of the crowd of new men whom the first Reformed Parliament +must contain. + +Unfortunately it seemed to him that he was one of just such a mob of +new men, as it was. Nearly a fourth of his colleagues were strange to +St. Stephen's; and the greater part of these, owing to the +circumstances of the election, were Whigs and sat on his side of the +House. To raise his head above the level of a hundred competitors, +numbering not a few men of wit and ability, and to do so within the +short life of the present Parliament---for he saw no certain prospect +of being returned again--was no mean task. Little wonder that he was +as regular in his attendance as Mr. Speaker, and grew pale of nights +over Woodfall's Important Debates. + +In the pride of his first return he had dreamed of a reputation to be +gained by his maiden speech; of burning periods that would astonish +all who heard them, of flights of fancy to live forever in the mouths +of men, of a marshalling of facts so masterly, and an exposition of +figures so clear, as to obscure the fame of Single-speech Hamilton, or +of that modern phenomenon, Mr. Sadler. But whatever the effect of +the present chamber on the minds of novices, there was that in the +old,--mean and dingy as was its wainscotted interior, and cumbered by +overhanging galleries--there was a something, were it but the memory +that those walls had echoed the diatribes of Chatham and given back +the voice of Burke, had heard the laugh of Walpole and the snore of +North, which cooled the spirit of a new member; which shook his knees +as effectually as if the panelling of the room had vanished at a +touch, and revealed the glories of the Gothic Chapel which lay behind +it. For behind that panelling and those galleries, the ancient Chapel, +with its sumptuous tracery and statues, its frescoed walls and stained +glass, still existed; no unfit image of the stately principles which +lie behind the dull everyday working of our Constitution. + +To Arthur Vaughan, a student of the history of the House, this effect +of the Chamber upon a new member was a commonplace. But he was a +practised speaker in the mimic arena; and he thought that he might +rise above this feeling in his own case. He fancied that he understood +the _Genius Loci_; its hatred of affectation, and almost of eloquence, +its dislike to be bored, its preference for the easy, the +conversational, and the personal. And when he had waited three +weeks--so much he gave to prudence--his time came. + +He rose in a moderately thin house in the middle of the dinner-hour; +and rose as he thought fully prepared. Indeed he started well. He +brought out two or three sentences with ease and aplomb; and he +fancied the difficulty over, the threshold passed. But then--he knew +not why, nor could he overcome the feeling--the silence, kindly meant, +in which as a new Member, he was received, had a terrifying effect +upon him. A mist rose before his eyes, his voice sounded strange to +him--and distant. He dropped the thread of what he was saying, +repeated himself, lost his nerve. For some seconds, standing there +with all faces turned to him--they seemed numberless seconds to him, +though in truth they were few--he could see nothing but the Speaker's +wig, grown to an immense white cauliflower, which swelled and swelled +and swelled until it filled the whole House. He stammered, repeated +himself again--and was silent. And then, seeing that he was +embarrassed, they cheered him--and the mist cleared; and he went +on--hurriedly and nervously. But he was aware that he had dropped a +link in his argument--which he had not now the coolness to supply. And +when he had murmured a few sentences, more or less inept and +incoherent, he sat down. + +In fact, though he had made no mark, he had also incurred no +discredit. But he felt that the eyes of all were on him, that they +were gloating over his failure, and comparing what he had done with +what he had hoped to do, his achievement with those secret hopes, +those cherished aspirations, he felt all the shame of open and +disgraceful defeat. His face burned; he sat looking before him, not +daring for a while to divert his gaze, or to learn in others' eyes how +great had been his mishap. + +Unfortunately, when he ventured to change his posture, and to put on +his hat, which he discovered he had been holding in his hand, he +encountered Sergeant Wathen's eyes; and he read in them a look of +amusement, which wounded his pride more than the open ridicule of a +crowd. That was the finishing stroke. He walked out soon afterwards, +bearing himself as indifferently as he could. But no man ever carried +out of the House a lower heart or a sense of more utter failure. He +had mistaken his talents, he had no aptitude for debate. Success as a +speaker was not within his reach. + +He thought something better of it next day, but not much. Nor could he +put off a sneaking, hang-dog air as he entered the lobby. A number of +members were gathered inside the double doors, where the stairs from +the cloisters came up by a third door; and one or two whom he knew +spoke to him--but not of his attempt. He fancied that he read in their +looks a knowledge that he had failed, that he was no longer a man to +be reckoned with. He imagined that they used a different tone to him. +And at last one of them spoke of it. + +"Well, Vaughan," he said pleasantly, "you got through yesterday. But +if you'll take my advice you'll wait a bit. It's only one here and +there can make much of it to begin." + +"I certainly cannot," Vaughan said, smiling frankly, the better to +hide his mortification. + +"Ah, well, you're not alone," the other answered, shrugging his +shoulders. "You'll pick it up by and by, I dare say." And he turned to +speak to another member. + +Vaughan turned on his side to the paper for the day winch hung against +each of the four pillars of the lobby; and he pretended to be absorbed +in it. The employment helped him to keep his countenance. But he was +sore wounded. He had held his head so high in imagination, he had +given so loose a rein to his ambition; he had dreamt of making such an +impression on the House as Mr. Macaulay, though new to it, had made in +his speech on the second reading of the former Bill, and had deepened +by his speech at the like stage of the present Bill. Now he was told +that he was no worse than the common run of country members, who twice +in three sessions rose and blundered through half a dozen sentences! +He was consoled with the reflection that only "one here and there" +succeeded! Only one here and there! When to him it was everything to +succeed, and to succeed quickly. When it was all he had left. + +The stream of members, entering the House, was large; for the motion +to commit the Bill was down for that afternoon, and if carried, would +virtually put an end to opposition in the Commons. Out of the corner +of his eye Vaughan scanned them, as they passed, and envied them. +Peel, cold, proud and unapproachable, went by on the arm of Goulburn. +Croker, pale and saturnine, casting frowning glances here and there, +went in alone. The handsome, portly form of Sir James Graham passed, +in talk with the Rupert of Debate. After these a rush of members; and +at the tail of all slouched in the unwieldy, slovenly form of Sir +Charles Wetherell, followed by a couple of his satellites. + +Vaughan, glancing on one side of the paper which he appeared to be +studying, caught Sir Charles's eye, and reddened. Seated on opposite +sides of the House--and no man on either side was more bitter, +virulent, and pugnacious than the late Attorney-General--the two had +not encountered one another since that evening at Stapylton, when the +existence of Sir Robert's daughter had been disclosed to Vaughan. They +had not spoken, much less had there been any friendly passage between +them. But now Sir Charles paused, and held out his hand. + +"How do you do, Mr. Vaughan?" he said, in his deep bass voice. "Your +maiden essay yesterday, eh?" + +Vaughan winced. "Yes," he said stiffly, fancying that he read +amusement in the other's moist eye. + +To his surprise, "You'll do," Sir Charles rejoined, looking at the +floor and speaking in a despondent tone. "The House would rather you +began in that way, than like some d----d peacock on a lady's terrace. +Take the opportunity of saying three or four sentences some fine day, +and repeat it a week later. And I'll wager you'll do." + +"But little, I am afraid," Vaughan said. None the less was his heart +full of gratitude to the fat, ungainly man. + +"All, may be," Wetherell answered. "I shouldn't wonder. I've been +told, by one who heard him, that Canning hesitated in his first +speech, very much as you did. It was on the Sardinian Subsidy. The men +who don't feel the House never know the House. They dazzle it, Mr. +Vaughan, but they don't guide it. And that's what we've got to do." + +He passed on then, with a melancholy nod and averted eyes, but Vaughan +could have blest him for that "we." "There's one man at least believes +in me," he told himself. And when a few hours later, in the midst of a +scene as turbulent as any which the House of Commons had ever +witnessed--nine times without a pause it divided on the motion that +"this House do now adjourn"--he watched the man who had commended him, +riding the storm and directing the whirlwind, now lashing the Whigs to +fury by his sarcasm, and now, carrying the whole House away in a +hurricane of laughter, if he did not approve--and with his views he +could not approve--he learnt, and learnt much. He saw that the fat, +slovenly man, with the heavy face and that hiatus between his breeches +and his waistcoat which had made him famous, was allowed to do things, +and to say things, and to look things, for which a less honest man had +been hurried long ago to the Clock Tower. And this, because the House +believed in him; because it knew that he was fighting for a principle +really dear to him; because it knew that he honestly put faith in +those predictions of woe, which he scattered so freely, and in that +ruin of the Constitution, with which he twitted his opponents. + +A week later Vaughan acted upon his advice. He seized an opportunity +and, catching the Chairman's eye--the Bill was in Committee--delivered +himself of a dozen sentences, with so much spirit and propriety, that +Sir Robert Peel, speaking an hour later, referred to the "plausible +defence raised by the Honourable Member for Chippinge." The reference +drew all eyes to Vaughan: and though nothing was said to him and he +took care to bear himself as if he had done no better than before, he +left the House with a lighter step and a comfortable warmth about the +heart. He was more at ease that evening, if not more happy, than he +had been for weeks past. Love, pleasure, and the rest were gone; and +faith in woman. But if he could be sure of gaining a seat in the next +Parliament, the way might be longer than he had hoped, it might be +more toilsome and more dusty: but in the end he would arrive at the +Treasury Bench. + +He little thought, alas, that the effort on which he hugged himself +was to prove a source of misfortunes. But so it was. His maiden speech +had attracted neither notice nor envy. But those few sentences, short +and simple as they were, by drawing an answer from the leader of the +Opposition, had gained both for him. Within five minutes a score of +members had asked "Who is he?" and another score had detailed the +circumstances of his election for Chippinge. He had gone down to vote +for his cousin, in his cousin's borough, family vote and the rest; so +the story ran. Then, finding on the morning of the polling that if he +threw over his cousin, he might gain the seat for himself, he had +turned his coat in a--well, in a very dubious manner, snatched the +seat, and--here he was! + +In a word, it was the version of the facts which he had once dreaded, +and about which he had afterwards ceased to trouble himself. + +There were, perhaps, half a dozen persons in the House who knew the +facts, and knew that the young man had professed from the first the +opinions which he was now supporting. But there was just so much truth +in the version, garbled as it was, just so much _vraisemblance_ in the +tale that even those who knew the facts, could not wholly contradict +it. The story did not come to Wetherell's ears; or he, for certain, +would have gainsaid it. But it did come to Wathen's. Now the Sergeant +was capable of spite, and he had not forgotten the manner after which +Vaughan had flouted him at Chippinge; his defence--if a defence it +could be called--was accompanied by so many nods and shrugs, that +persons less prejudiced than Tories, embittered by defeat, and wounded +by personalities, might have been forgiven, if they went from the +Sergeant with a lower opinion of our friend than before. + +From that day Vaughan, though he knew nothing of it, and though no one +spoke to him of it, was a marked man in the eyes of the opposite +party. They regarded him as a renegade; while his own side were not +overanxious to make his cause their own. The May elections had been +contested with more spirit and less scruple than any elections within +living memory; and many things had been done and many said, of which +honourable men were not proud. Still it was acknowledged that such +things must be done--here and there--and even that the doers must not +be repudiated. But it was felt that the party was not required to +grapple the latter to its breast with hooks of steel. Rumour had it +that Lord Lansdowne felt himself to blame; and that the offender had +been disinherited by his cousin was asserted. The man would be of no +great importance, therefore, in the future; and if he did not make a +second appearance in Parliament, the loss in the end would be small. +Not a few summed up the matter in that way. + +If Vaughan had been intimate with anyone in the House he would have +learned what was afoot; and he might have taken steps to set himself +right. But he had lived little of his life in London, he had but made +his bow to Society; of late, also, he had been too sore to make new +friends. Of course he had acquaintances, every man has acquaintances. +But no one in political circles knew him well enough to think it worth +while to put him on his guard. + +Unluckily, the next occasion which brought him to his feet, was of a +kind to give point to the feeling against him. On a certain Thursday, +Sergeant Wathen moved that the Borough of Chippinge be removed from +Schedule A, to Schedule B--his object being that it might retain one +member; and Vaughan, thinking the opening favourable, rose, intending +to make a few remarks in a strain to which the House, proverbially +fond of a personal explanation, is prone to listen with indulgence. +For the motion itself, he had not much hope that it would be carried: +in a dozen other cases, a similar motion had failed. + +"It can only be," he began--and this time the sound of his voice did +not perturb him--"from a strict sense of duty, Mr. Bernal, it cannot +be without pain that any Member--and I say this not on my account +only, but on behalf of many Honourable Members of this House----" + +"No! No! Leave us out." + +The words were uttered so loudly and so rudely that they silenced him; +and he looked in the direction whence they came. At once cries of "No, +no! Divide! No! No!" poured on him from all parts of the House, +accompanied by a dropping fire of catcalls and cockcrows. He lost the +thread of his remarks, and for a moment stood abashed and confounded. +The Chairman did not interfere and for an instant it looked as if the +young speaker would be compelled to sit down. + +But he recovered himself, gaining courage from the very vigour with +which he was attacked; and which seemed out of proportion to his +importance. The moment a lull in the fire of interruption occurred, he +spoke in a louder voice. + +"I say, sir," he proceeded, looking about him courageously, "that it +is only with pain, only under the _force majeure_ of a love of their +country, that any Member can support the deletion from the Borough +Roll of this House, of that Constituency which has honoured him with +its confidence." + +"Divide! Divide!" roared many on both sides of the House. +For the Tories were uncertain on which side he was speaking. +"Cock-a-doodle-doo-doo-doo!" + +But this fresh burst of disapproval found him better prepared. Firmly, +though the beads of perspiration stood on his brow, he persisted. "And +if," he continued, "in the case which appeals so nearly to himself an +Honourable Member sees that the standard which justifies the survival +of a representative can be reached, with what gratification, sir, +whether he sits on this side of the House or on that----" + +"No! No! Leave us out!" in a roar of sound. And "Divide! Divide!" + +"Or on that," he repeated. + +"Divide! Divide!" + +"Must he not press its claims and support its interests?" he persisted +gallantly. "Ay, sir, welcome in the event of success a decision at +once just, and of so much advantage, I will not say to himself----" + +"It never will be to you!" shrieked a voice from the darker corner +under the opposite gallery. + +The shaft went home. He faltered. A roar of laughter drowned his last +words, and he sat down with a burning face; in some confusion, but in +greater perplexity. Had he transgressed, he wondered ruefully, some +unwritten law of the House! Had he offended in ignorance, and +persisted in his offence? Should he not, though Wathen had spoken, +have spoken in his own case? In a matter so nearly touching himself? + +He spoke to the Member who chanced to sit next him. "What was it?" he +asked humbly. "Did I do something wrong?" + +The man glanced at him coldly. "Oh, no," he said. And he shrugged his +shoulders. + +"But----" + +"On the contrary, I fancy you've to congratulate yourself," with a +sneer so faint that Vaughan did not perceive it. "I understand that +we're to do as we like on this--and they know it on the other side. +Eh? Yes, there's the division. I think," he added with the same faint +sneer, "you'll save your seat." + +"By Jove!" Vaughan exclaimed. "You don't say so!" + +He could hardly believe it. But so it turned out. And so great +was the boon--the greater as no other borough was transferred in +Committee--that it swept away for the time the memory of what had +happened. His eyes sparkled. The seat saved, it was odd if with the +wider electorate created by the Bill, he was not sure of return! Still +more odd, if he was not sure of beating Wathen--he, who had opened the +borough and been returned by the Whig interest even while it was +closed! No longer need he feel so anxious and despondent when the +Dissolution, which must follow the passage of the Bill, rose to his +mind. No longer need he be in so great a hurry to make his mark, so +envious of Mr. Macaulay, so jealous of Mr. Sadler. + +Certainly as far as his political career was in question the horizon +was clearing. If only other things had been as favourable! If only +there had been someone, were it in a cottage at Hammersmith or in a +dull street off Bloomsbury Square, to whom he might take home this +piece of news; certain that other eyes would sparkle more brightly +than his, and another heart beat quick with joy! + +That could not be. There was an end of that. And his face settled back +into its gloom. Still he was less unhappy. The certainty of a seat in +the next Parliament was a great point gained! A great point to the +good! + + + + + XXIV + + A RIGHT AND LEFT + + +If anything was certain in a political world so changed, it was +certain that if the Reform Bill passed the Lords--in the teeth of +those plaguy Bishops of whose opposition so much was heard--a +Dissolution would immediately follow. To not a few of the members this +contingency was a spectre, ever present, seated at bed and board, and +able to defy the rules even of Almack's and Crockford's. For how could +a gentleman, who had just given five thousand pounds for his seat, +contemplate with equanimity a notice to quit, so rude and so +premature? And worse, a notice to quit which meant extrusion into a +world in which seats at five thousand for a Parliament would be few +and far between; and fair agreements to pay a thousand a year while +the privilege lasted, would be unknown! + +Many a member asked loudly and querulously, "What will happen to the +country if the Bill pass?" But more asked themselves in their hearts, +and more often and more querulously, "What will happen to me if the +Bill pass? How shall I fare at the hands of these new constituencies, +which, unwelcome as a gipsy's brats, I am forced to bring into the +world?" + +Hitherto few on his own side of the House, and not many on the Tory +side, had regarded a Dissolution with more misgiving than Arthur +Vaughan. The borough for which he sat lay under doom; and he saw no +opening elsewhere. He had no longer the germs of influence nor great +prospects: nor yet such a fortune as justified him in an appeal to one +of the new and populous boroughs. It was a pleasant thing to go in and +out by the door of the privileged, to take his chop at Bellamy's, to +lounge in the dignified seclusion of the library, or to air his new +honours in Westminster Hall; pleasant also to have that sensation of +living at the hub of things, to receive whips, to give franks, to feel +that the ladder of ambition was open to him. But he knew that an +experience of the House counted by months did no man good; and the +prospect of losing his plumes and going forth again a common biped, +was the more painful to him because his all was embarked in the +venture. He might, indeed, fall back on the bar; but with half a heart +and the reputation of a man who had tried to fly before he could walk. + +His relief, therefore, when Chippinge, alone of all the Boroughs in +Schedule A, was removed in Committee to Schedule B, may be imagined. +The road before him was once more open, while the exceptional nature +of his luck almost persuaded him that he was reserved for greatness. +True, Sergeant Wathen might pride himself on the same fact; but at the +thought Vaughan smiled. The Sergeant and Sir Robert would find it a +trifle harder, he thought, to deal with the hundred-and-odd voters +whom the Act enfranchised, than with the old Cripples! And very, very +ungrateful would those hundred-and-odd be, if they did not vote for +the man who had made their cause his own! + +A load, indeed, was lifted from his mind, and for some days his relief +could be read in the lightness of his step, and the returning gaiety +of his eyes. He knew nothing of the things which were being whispered +about him. And though he had cause to fancy that he was not _persona +grata_ on his own benches, he thought sufficiently well of himself to +set this down to jealousy. There is a stage in the life of a rising +man when many hands are against him; and those most cruelly which will +presently applaud him most loudly. He flattered himself that he had +set a foot on the ladder: and while he waited for an opportunity to +raise himself another step, he came as near to a kind of feverish +happiness as thoughts of Mary, ever recurring when he was alone, would +permit. For the time the loss of his prospects ceased to trouble him +seriously. He lived less in his rooms, more among men. He was less +crabbed, less moody. And so the weeks wore away in Committee, and a +day or two after the Coronation, the Bill came on for the third +reading. + +The House was utterly weary. The leaders on both sides were reserving +their strength for the final debate, and Vaughan had some hope that he +might find an opening to speak with effect. With this in his mind he +was on his way across the Park about three in the afternoon, conning +his peroration, when a hand was clapped on his shoulder, and he turned +to find himself face to face with Flixton. + +So much had happened since they stood together on the hustings at +Chippinge, Vaughan's fortunes had changed so greatly since they had +parted in anger in Queen's Square, that he, at any rate, had no +thought of bearing malice. To Flixton's "Well, my hearty, you're a +neat artist, ain't you? Going to the House, I take it?" he gave a +cordial answer. + +"Yes," he said. "That's it." + +"Bringing ruination on the country, eh?" Flixton continued. And he +passed his arm through Vaughan's, and walked on with him. "That's the +ticket?" + +"Some say so, but I hope not." + +"Hope's a cock that won't fight, my boy!" the Honourable Bob rejoined. +"Fact is, you're doing your best, only the House of Lords is in the +way, and won't let you! They'll pull you up sweetly by and by, see if +they don't!" + +"And what will the country say to that?" Vaughan rejoined +good-humouredly. + +"Country be d----d! That's what all your chaps are saying. And +I tell you what! That book-in-breeches man--what do you call +him--Macaulay?--ought to be pulled up! He ought indeed! I read one of +his farragoes the other day and it was full of nothing but 'Think +long, I beg, before you thwart the public will!' and 'The might of an +angered people!' and 'Let us beware of rousing!' and all that rubbish! +Meaning, my boy, only he didn't dare to say it straight out, that if +the Lords did not give way to you chaps, there'd be a revolution; and +the deuce to pay! And I say he ought to be in the dock. He's as bad as +old Brereton down in Bristol, predicting fire and flames and all the +rest of it." + +"But you cannot deny, Flixton," Vaughan answered soberly, "that the +country is excited as we have never known it excited before? And that +a rising is not impossible!" + +"A rising! I wish we could see one! That's just what we want," the +Honourable Bob answered, stopping and bringing his companion to a +sudden stand also. "Eh? Who was that old Roman--Poppa, or some name +like that, who said he wished the people had all one head that he +might cut it off?" suiting the action to the word with his cane. "A +rising, begad? The sooner the better! The old Fourteenth would know +how to deal with it!" + +"I don't know," Vaughan answered, "that you would be so confident if +you were once face to face with it!" + +"Oh, come! Don't talk nonsense!" + +"Well, but----" + +"Oh, I know all that! But I say, old chap," he continued, changing his +tone, and descending abruptly from the political to the personal +situation, "You've played your cards badly, haven't you? Eh?" + +Vaughan fancied that he referred to Mary; or at best to his quarrel +with Sir Robert. And he froze visibly, "I won't discuss that," he said +in a different tone. And he moved on again. + +"But I was there the evening you had the row!" + +"At Stapylton?" + +"Yes." + +"Well?" stiffly. + +"And, lord, man, why didn't you sing a bit small? And the old +gentleman would have come round in no time!" + +Vaughan halted, with anger in his face. "I won't discuss it!" he said +with something of violence in his tone. + +"Very well, very well!" Flixton answered with the superabundant +patience of the man whose withers are not wrung. "But when you did get +your seat--why didn't you come to terms with someone?" with a wink. +"As it is, what's the good of being in the House three months, or six +months--and out again?" + +Vaughan wished most heartily that he had not met the Honourable Bob; +who, he remembered, had always possessed, hearty and jovial as he +seemed, a most remarkable knack of rubbing him the wrong way. "How do +you know?" he asked with a touch of contempt--was he, a rising Member +of Parliament to be scolded after this fashion?--"How do you know that +I shall be out?" + +"You'll be out, if it's Chippinge you are looking to!" + +"Why, if you please, my friend? Why so sure?" + +Flixton winked with deeper meaning than before. "Ah, that's telling," +he said. "Still--why not? If you don't hear it from me, old chap, +you'll soon hear it from someone. Why, you ask? Well, because a little +bird whispered to me that Chippinge was--arranged! That Sir Robert and +the Whigs understood one another, and whichever way it went it would +not come your way!" + +Vaughan reddened deeply. "I don't believe it," he said bluntly. + +"Did you know that Chippinge was going to be spared?" + +"No." + +"They didn't tell you?" + +"No." + +"Ah!" shrugging his shoulders, with a world of meaning, and preparing +to turn away. "Well, other people did, and there it is. I may be +wrong, I hope I am, old chap. Hope I am! But anyway--I must be going. +I turn here. See you soon, I hope!" + +And with a wave of the hand the Honourable Bob marched off through +Whitehall, his face breaking into a mischievous grin as soon as he was +out of Vaughan's sight. "Return hit for your snub, Miss Mary!" he +muttered. "If you prick me, at least I can prick him! And do him good, +too! He was always a most confounded prig." + +Meanwhile, Vaughan, freed from his companion, was striding on past +Downing Street; the old street, long swept away, in which Walpole +lived, and to which the dying Chatham was carried. And unconsciously, +under the spur of his angry thoughts, he quickened his pace. It was +incredible, it was inconceivable that so monstrous an injustice had +been planned, or could be perpetrated. He, who had stepped into the +breach, well-nigh in his own despite, he, who had refused, so +scrupulous had he been, to stand on a first invitation, he, who had +been elected almost against his will, was, for all thanks, to be set +aside, and by his friends! By those whose unsolicited act it had been +to return him and to put him into this position! It was impossible, he +told himself. It was unthinkable! Were this true, were this a fact, +the meanness of political life had reached its apogee! The +faithlessness of the Whigs, their incredible treachery to their +dependants, could need no other exemplar! + +"I'll not bear it! By Heaven, I'll not bear it!" he muttered. And as +he spoke, striding along in the hurry of his spirits as if he carried +a broom and swept the whole Whig party before him, he overtook no less +a person than Sergeant Wathen, who had been lunching at the Athenum. + +The Sergeant heard his voice and turning, saw who it was. He fancied +that Vaughan had addressed him. "I beg your pardon," he said politely. +"I did not catch what you said, Mr. Vaughan." + +For a moment Vaughan glowered at him, as if he would sweep him from +his path, along with the Whigs. Then out of the fullness of the heart +the mouth spoke. "Mr. Sergeant," he said, in a not very friendly tone, +"do you know anything of an agreement disposing of the future +representation of Chippinge?" + +The Sergeant who knew all under the rose, looked shrewdly at his +companion to see, if possible, what he knew. And, to gain time, "I beg +your pardon," he said. "I don't think I--quite understand you." + +"I am told," Vaughan said haughtily, "that an agreement has been made +to avoid a contest at Chippinge." + +"Do you mean," the Sergeant asked blandly, "at the next election, Mr. +Vaughan?" + +"At future elections!" + +The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders. "As a member," he said primly, "I +take care to know nothing of such agreements. And I would recommend +you, Mr. Vaughan, to adopt that rule. For the rest," he added, with a +candid smile, "I give you fair warning that I shall contest the seat. +May I ask who was your informant?" + +"Mr. Flixton." + +"Flixton? Flixton? Ah! The gentleman who is to marry Miss Vermuyden! +Well, I can only repeat that I, at any rate, am no party to such an +agreement." + +His sly look which seemed to deride his companion's inexperience, said +as plainly as a look could say, "You find the game of politics less +simple than you thought?" And at another time it would have increased +Vaughan's ire. But as one pellet drives out another, the Sergeant's +reference to Miss Vermuyden had in a second driven the prime subject +from his mind. He did not speak for a moment. Then with his face +averted, "Is Mr. Flixton--going to marry Miss Vermuyden?" he asked, in +a muffled tone. "I had not heard of it." + +"I only heard it yesterday," the Sergeant answered, not unwilling to +shelve the other topic. "But it is rumoured, and I believe it is true. +Quite a romance, wasn't it?" he continued airily. "Quite a nine days' +wonder! But"--he pulled himself up--"I beg your pardon! I was +forgetting how nearly it concerned you. Dear me, dear me! It is a fair +wind indeed that blows no one any harm!" + +Vaughan made no reply. He could not speak for the hard beating of his +heart. Wathen saw that there was something wrong and looked at him +inquisitively. But the Sergeant had not the clue, and could only +suspect that the marriage touched the other, because issue of it would +entirely bar his succession. And no more was said. As they crossed New +Palace Yard, a member drew the Sergeant aside, and Vaughan went up +alone to the lobby. + +But all thought of speaking was flown from his mind; nor did the +thinness of the House when he entered tempt him. There were hardly +more than a hundred present; and these were lolling here and there +with their hats on, half asleep it seemed, in the dull light of a +September afternoon. A dozen others looked sleepily from the +galleries, their arms flattened on the rail, their chins on their +arms. There were a couple of ministers on the Treasury Bench, and Lord +John Russell was moving the third reading. No one seemed to take much +interest in the matter; a stranger entering at the moment would have +learned with amazement that this was the mother of parliaments, the +renowned House of Commons; and with still greater amazement would he +have learned that the small, boyish-looking gentleman in the +high-collared coat, and with lips moulded on Cupid's bow, who appeared +to be making some perfunctory remarks upon the weather, or the state +of the crops, was really advancing by an important stage the famous +Bill, which had convulsed three kingdoms and was destined to change +the political face of the land. + +Lord John sat down presently, thrusting his head at once into a packet +of papers, which the gloom hardly permitted him to read. A clerk at +the table mumbled something; and a gentleman on the other side of the +House rose and began to speak. He had not uttered many sentences, +however, before the members on the Reform benches awoke, not only to +life, but to fury. Stentorian shouts of "Divide! Divide!" rendered the +speaker inaudible; and after looking towards the door of the House +more than once he sat down, and the House went to a division. In a few +minutes it was known that the Bill had been read a third time, by 113 +to 58. + +But the foreign gentleman would have made a great mistake had he gone +away, supposing that Lord John's few placid words--and not those +spiteful shouts--represented the feelings of the House. In truth +the fiercest passions were at work under the surface. Among the +fifty-eight who shrugged their shoulders and accepted the verdict in +gloomy silence were some primed with the fiercest invective; and +others, tongue-tied men, who nevertheless honestly believed that Lord +John Russell was a republican, and Althorp a fool; who were certain +that the Whigs wittingly or unwittingly were working the destruction +of the country, were dragging her from the pride of place to which a +nicely-balanced Constitution had raised her, and laying her choicest +traditions at the feet of the rabble. Men who believed such things, +and saw the deed done before their eyes, might accept their doom in +silence--even as the King of old went silently to the Banquet Hall +hard by--but not with joy or easy hearts! + +Vaughan, therefore, was not the only one who walked into the lobby +that evening, brooding darkly on his revenge. Yet, even he behaved +himself as men, so bred, so trained do behave themselves. He held his +peace. And no one dreamed, not even Orator Hunt, who sat not far from +him under the shadow of his White Hat, that this well-conducted young +gentleman was revolving thoughts of the Social Order, and of the Party +System, and of most things which the Church Catechism commends, beside +which that terrible Radical's own opinions were mere Tory prejudices. +The fickleness of women! The treachery of men! Oh, Aetna bury them! +Oh, Ocean overwhelm them! Let all cease together and be no more! But +give me sweet, oh, sweet, oh, sweet Revenge! + + + + + XXV + + AT STAPYLTON + + +It was about a week before his encounter with Vaughan in the park--and +on a fine autumn day--that the Honourable Bob, walking with Sir Robert +by the Garden Pool, allowed his eyes to travel over the prospect. The +smooth-shaven lawns, the stately, lichened house, the far-stretching +park, with its beech-knolls and slopes of verdure, he found all fair; +and when to these, when to the picture on which his bodily eyes +rested, that portrait of Mary--Mary, in white muslin and blue ribbons, +bowing her graceful head while Sir Robert read prayers--which he +carried in his memory, he told himself that he was an uncommonly happy +fellow. + +Beauty he might have had, wealth he might have had, family too. But to +alight on all in such perfection, to lose his heart where his head +approved the step, was a gift of fortune so rare, that as he strutted +and talked by the side of his host, his face beamed with ineffable +good-humour. + +Nevertheless for a few moments silence had fallen between the two; and +gradually Sir Robert's face had assumed a grave and melancholy look. +He sighed more than once, and when he spoke, it was to repeat in +different words what he had already said. + +"Certainly, you may speak," he said, in a tone of some formality. "And +I have little doubt, Mr. Flixton, that your overtures will be received +as they deserve." + +"Yes? Yes? You think so?" Flixton answered with manifest delight. "You +really think so, Sir Robert, do you?" + +"I think so," his host replied. "Not only because your suit is in +every way eligible, and one which does us honour." He bowed +courteously as he uttered the compliment. "But because, Mr. Flixton, +for docility--and I think a husband may congratulate himself on the +fact----" + +"To be sure! To be sure!" Flixton cried, not permitting him to finish. +"Yes, Sir Robert, capital! You mean that if I am not a happy man----" + +"It will not be the fault of your wife," Sir Robert said; remembering +with a faint twinge of conscience that the Honourable Bob's past had +not been without its histories. + +"No! By gad, Sir Robert, no! You're quite right! She's got an ank----" +He stopped abruptly, his mouth open; bethinking himself, when it +was almost too late, that her father was not the person to whom to +detail her personal charms. + +But Sir Robert had not divined the end of the sentence. He was a +trifle deaf. "Yes?" he said. + +"She's an--an--animated manner, I was going to say," Flixton answered +with more readiness than fervour. And he blessed himself for his +presence of mind. + +"Animated? Yes, but gentle also," Sir Robert replied, well-nigh +purring as he did so. "I should say that gentleness, and--and indeed, +my dear fellow, goodness, were the--but perhaps I am saying more than +I should." + +"Not at all!" Flixton answered with heartiness. "Gad, I could listen +to you all day, Sir Robert." + +He had listened, indeed, during a large part of the last week; and +with so much effect, that those histories to which reference has been +made, had almost faded from the elder man's mind. Flixton seemed to +him a hearty, manly young fellow, a little boastful and self-assertive +perhaps--but remarkably sound. A soldier, who asked nothing better +than to put down the rabble rout which was troubling the country; a +Tory, of precisely his, Sir Robert's opinions; the younger son of a +peer, and a West Country peer to boot. In fine, a staunch, open-air +patrician, with good old-fashioned instincts, and none of that +intellectual conceit, none of those cranks, and fads, and follies, +which had ruined a man who also might have been Sir Robert's +son-in-law. + +Well that man, Sir Robert, perhaps because his conscience pricked him +at times by suggesting impossible doubts, was still bitterly angry. So +angry that, had the Baronet been candid, he must have acknowledged +that the Honourable Bob's main virtue was his unlikeness to Arthur +Vaughan; it was in proportion as he differed from the young fellow who +had so meanly intrigued to gain his daughter's affections, that +Flixton appeared desirable to the father. Even those histories proved +that at any rate he had blood in him; while his loud good-nature, his +positiveness, as long as it marched with Sir Robert's positiveness, +his short views, all gained by contrast. "I am glad he is a younger +son," the Baronet thought. "He shall take the old Vermuyden name!" And +he lifted his handsome old chin a little higher as he pictured the +honours, that even in a changed and worsened England, might cluster +about his house. At the worst, and if the Bill passed, he had a seat +alternately with the Lansdownes; and in a future, which would know +nothing of Lord Lonsdale's cat-o'-nine-tails, when pocket boroughs +would be rare, and great peers and landowners would be left with +scarce a representative, much might be done with half a seat. + +Suddenly, "Damme, Sir Robert," Flixton cried, "there is the little +beauty--hem!--there she is, I think. With your permission I think I'll +join her." + +"By all means, by all means," Sir Robert answered indulgently. "You +need not stand on ceremony." + +Flixton waited for no more. Perhaps he had no mind to be bored, now +that he had gained what he wanted. He hurried after the slim figure +with the white floating skirts and the Leghorn hat, which had +descended the steps of the house, moved lightly across the lawns--and +vanished. He guessed, however, whither she was bound. He knew that she +had a liking for walking in the wilderness behind the house; a beech +wood which was already beginning to put on its autumn glory. And sure +enough, hastening to a point among the smooth grey trunks where three +paths met, he discerned her a hundred paces away, walking slowly from +him with her eyes raised. + +"Squirrels!" Flixton thought. And he made up his mind to bring the +terriers and have a hunt on the following Sunday afternoon. In the +meantime he had another quarry in view, and he made after the +white-gowned figure. + +She heard his tread on the carpet of dry beech leaves, and she turned +and saw him. She had come out on purpose that she might be alone, at +liberty to think at her ease and orientate herself, in relation to her +new environment, and the fresh and astonishing views which were +continually opening before her. Or, perhaps, that was but her pretext: +an easy explanation of silence and solitude, which might suffice for +her father and possibly for Miss Sibson. For, for certain, amid sombre +thoughts of her mother, she thought more often and more sombrely in +these days of another; of happiness which had been forfeited by her +own act; of weakness, and cowardice, and ingratitude; of a man's head +that stooped to her adorably, and then again of a man's eyes that +burned her with contempt. + +It is probable, therefore, that she was not overjoyed when she saw Mr. +Flixton. But Sir Robert was so far right in his estimate of her nature +that she hated to give pain. It was there, perhaps, that she was weak. +And so, seeing the Honourable Bob, she smiled pleasantly on him. + +"You have discovered a favourite haunt of mine," she said. She did not +add that she spent a few minutes of every day there: that the smooth +beech-trunks knew the touch of her burning cheeks, and the rustle of +the falling leaves the whisper of her penitence. Daily she returned by +way of the Kennel Path and there breathed a prayer for her mother, +where a mother's arms had first enfolded her, and a mother's kisses +won her love. What she did add was, "I often come here." + +"I know you do," the Honourable Bob answered, with a look of +admiration. "I assure you, Miss Mary, I could astonish you with the +things I know about you!" + +"Really!" + +"Oh, yes. Really." + +There was a significant chuckle in his voice which brought the blood +to her check. But she was determined to ignore its meaning. "You are +observant?" she said. + +"Of those--yes, by Jove, I am--of those, I--admire," he rejoined. He +had it on his tongue to say "those I love," but she turned her eyes on +him at the critical moment, and though he was doing a thing he had +often done, and he had impudence enough, his tongue failed him. There +are women so naturally modest that until the one man who awakens the +heart appears, it seems an outrage to speak to them of love. Mary +Vermuyden, perhaps by reason of her bringing up, was one of these; and +though Flixton had had little to do with women of her kind, he +recognised the fact and bowed to it. He came, having her father's +leave to speak to her; yet he found himself less at his ease, than on +many a less legitimate occasion. "Yes, by Jove," he repeated. "I +observe them, I can tell you." + +Mary laughed. "Some are more quick to notice than others," she said. + +"And to notice some than others!" he rejoined, gallantly. "That is +what I mean. Now that old girl who is with you----" + +"Miss Sibson?" Mary said, setting him right with some stiffness. + +"Yes! Well, she isn't young! Anyway, you don't suppose I could say +what she wore yesterday! But what you wore, Miss Mary"--trying to +catch her eye and ogle her--"ah, couldn't I! But then you don't wear +powder on your nose, nor need it!" + +"I don't wear it," she said, laughing in spite of herself. "But you +don't know what I may do some day! And for Miss Sibson, it does not +matter, Mr. Flixton, what she wears. She has one of the kindest +hearts, and was one of the kindest friends I had--or could have +had--when things were different with me." + +"Oh, yes, good old girl," he rejoined, "but snubby! Bitten my nose off +two or three times, I know. And, come now, not quite an angel, you +know, Miss Mary!" + +"Well," she replied, smiling, "she is not, perhaps, an angel to look +at. But----" + +"She can't be! For she is not like you!" he cried. "And you are one, +Miss Mary! You are the angel for me!" looking at her with impassioned +eyes. "I'll never want another nor ask to see one!" + +His look frightened her; she began to think he meant--something. And +she took a new way with him. "How singular it is," she said, +thoughtfully, "that people say those things in society! Because they +sound so very silly to one who has not lived in your world!" + +"Silly!" Flixton replied, in a tone of mortification; and for a +moment he felt the check. He was really in love, to a moderate extent; +and on the way to be more deeply in love were he thwarted. Therefore +he was, to a moderate extent, afraid of her. And, "Silly?" he +repeated. "Oh, but I mean it, so help me! I do, indeed! It's not silly +to call you an angel, for I swear you are as beautiful as one! That's +true, anyway!" + +"How many have you seen?" she asked, ridiculing him. "And what +coloured wings had they?" But her cheek was hot. "Don't say, if you +please," she continued, before he could speak, "that you've seen me. +Because that is only saying over again what you've said, Mr. Flixton. +And that is worse than silly. It is dull." + +"Miss Mary," he cried, pathetically, "you don't understand me! I want +to assure you--I want to make you understand----" + +"Hush!" she said, cutting him short, in an earnest whisper. And, +halting, she extended a hand behind her to stay him. "Please don't +speak!" she continued. "Do you see them, the beauties? Flying round +and round the tree after one another faster than your eyes can follow +them. One, two, three--three squirrels! I never saw one, do you know, +until I came here," she went on, in a tone of hushed rapture. "And +until now I never saw them at play. Oh, who could harm them?" + +He stood behind her, biting his lip with vexation; and wholly +untouched by the scene, which, whether her raptures were feigned or +not, was warrant for them. Hitherto he had had to do with women who +met him halfway; who bridled at a compliment, were alive to an +_quivoque_, and knew how to simulate, if they did not feel, a soft +confusion under his gaze. For this reason Mary's backwardness, her +apparent unconsciousness that they were not friends of the same sex, +puzzled him, nay, angered him. As she stood before him, a hand still +extended to check his advance, the sunshine which filtered through the +beech leaves cast a soft radiance on her figure. She seemed more +dainty, more graceful, more virginal than aught that he had ever +conceived. It was in vain that he told himself, with irritation, that +she was but a girl after all. That, under her aloofness, she was a +woman like the others, as vain, passionate, flighty, as jealous as +other women. He knew that he stood in awe of her. He knew that the +words which he had uttered so lightly many a time--ay, and to those to +whom he had no right to address them--stuck in his throat now. He +wanted to say "I love you!" and he had the right to say it, he was +commissioned to say it. Yet he was dumb. All the boldness which he had +exhibited in her presence in Queen's Square--where another had stood +tongue-tied--was gone. + +He took at last a desperate step. The girl was within arm's reach of +him; her delicate waist, the creamy white of her slender neck, invited +him. Be she never so innocent, never so maidenly, a kiss, he told +himself, would awaken her. It was his experience, it was a scrap drawn +from his store of worldly wisdom, that a woman kissed was a woman won. + +True, as he thought of it, his heart began to riot, as it had not +rioted from that cause since he had kissed the tobacconist's daughter +at Exeter, his first essay in gallantry. But only the bold deserve the +fair! And how often had he boasted that, where women were concerned, +lips were made for other things than talking! + +And--in a moment it was done. + +Twice! Then she slipped from his grasp, and stood at bay, with flaming +checks and eyes that--that had certainly not ceased to be virginal. +"You! You!" she cried, barely able to articulate. "Don't touch me!" + +She had been taken utterly, wholly by surprise; and the shock was +immensely increased by the facts of her bringing up and the restraints +and conditions of school-life. In his grasp, with his breath on her +cheek, all those notions about ravening wolves and the danger which +attached to beauty in low places--notions no longer applicable, had +she taken time to reason--returned upon her in force. The man had +kissed her! + +"How---how dare you?" she continued, trembling with rage and +indignation. + +"But your father----" + +"How dare you----" + +"Your father sent me," he pleaded, quite crestfallen. "He gave me +leave----" + +She stared at him, as at a madman. "To insult me?" she cried. + +"No, but--but you won't understand!" he answered, almost querulously. +He was quite chapfallen. "You don't listen to me. I want to marry you. +I want you to be my wife. Your father said I might come to you, +and--and ask you. And--and you'll say 'Yes,' won't you? That's a good +girl!" + +"Never!" she answered. + +He stared at her, turning red. "Oh, nonsense!" he stammered. And he +made as if he would go nearer. "You don't mean it. My dear girl! +Listen to me! I do love you! I do indeed! And I--I tell you what it +is, I never loved any woman----" + +But she looked at him in such a way that he could not go on. "Do not +say those things!" she said. And her austerity was terrible to him. +"And go, if you please. My father, if he sent you to me----" + +"He did!" + +"Then he did not," she replied with dignity, "understand my feelings." + +"But--but you must marry someone," he complained. "You know--you're +making a great fuss about nothing!" + +"Nothing!" she cried, her eyes sparkling. "You insult me, Mr. Flixton, +and----" + +"If a man may not kiss the girl he wants to marry----" + +"If she does not want to marry him?" + +"But it's not as bad as that," he pleaded. "No, by Jove, it's not. +You'll not be so cruel. Come, Miss Mary, listen to me a minute. You +must marry someone, you know. You are young, and I'm sure you have the +right to choose----" + +"I've heard enough," she struck in, interrupting him with something of +Sir Robert's hauteur. "I understand now what you meant, and I forgive +you. But I can never be anything to you, Mr. Flixton----" + +"You can be everything to me," he declared. It couldn't, it really +couldn't be that she meant to refuse him! Finally and altogether! + +"But you can be nothing to me!" she answered, cruelly--very cruelly +for her, but her cheek was tingling. "Nothing! Nothing! And that being +so, I beg that you will leave me now." + +He looked at her with a mixture of supplication, resentment, chagrin. + +But she showed no sign of relenting. "You really--you really do mean +it?" he muttered, with a sickly smile. "Come, Miss Mary!" + +"Don't! Don't!" she cried, as if his words pained her. And that was +all. "Please go! Or I shall go." + +The Honourable Bob's conceit had been so far taken out of him that he +felt that he could make no farther fight. He could see no sign of +relenting, and feeling that, with all his experience, he had played +his cards ill, he turned away sullenly. "Oh, I will go," he said. And +he longed to add something witty and careless. But he could not add +anything. He, Bob Flixton, the hero of so many _bonnes fortunes_, to +be refused! He had laid his all, and _pour le ban motif_ at the feet +of a girl who but yesterday was a little schoolmistress. And she had +refused him! It was incredible! But, alas, it was also fact. + +Mary, the moment his back was turned, hurried with downcast face +towards the Kennels; to hide her hot cheeks and calm her feelings in +the depths of the shrubbery. Oddly enough, her first thoughts were +less of that which had just happened to her than of that suit which +had been paid to her months before. This man might love her or not; +she could not tell. But Arthur Vaughan had loved her: the fashion of +this love taught her to prize the fashion of that. + +He had loved her. And if he had treated her as Mr. Flixton had treated +her? Would she have held to him, she wondered. She believed that she +would. But the mere thought set her knees trembling, made her cheeks +flame afresh, filled her with rapture. So that, shamefaced, +frightened, glancing this way and that, as one hunted, she longed to +be safe in her room, there to cry at her ease. + +Doubtless it was natural that the incident should turn her thoughts to +that other love-making; and presently to her father's furious dislike +of that other lover. She could not understand that dislike; for the +Bill and the Borough, Franchise or No Franchise, were nothing to her. +And the grievance, when Sir Robert had essayed to explain it, had been +nothing. To her mind, Trafalgar and Waterloo and the greatness of +England were the work of Nelson and Wellington--at the remotest, +perhaps, of Mr. Pitt and Lord Castlereagh. She could not enter into +the reasoning which attributed these and all other blessings of her +country to a System! To a System which it seemed her lover was pledged +to overthrow. + +She walked until the tumult of her thoughts had somewhat abated; and +then, still yearning for the security of her own chamber, she made for +the house. She saw nothing of Flixton, no one was stirring. Already +she thought herself safe; and it was the very spirit of mischief which +brought her, at the corner of the church, face to face with her +father. Sir Robert's brow was clouded, and the "My dear, one moment," +with which he stayed her, was pitched in a more decisive tone than he +commonly used to her. + +"I wish to speak to you, Mary," he continued. "Will you come with me +to the library?" + +She would fain have postponed the discussion of Mr. Flixton's +proposal, which she foresaw. But her father, affectionate and gentle +as he was, was still unfamiliar; and she had not the courage to make +her petition. So she accompanied him, with a sinking heart, to the +library. And, when he pointed to a seat, she was glad to sit down. + +He took up his own position on the hearth rug; whence he looked at her +gravely before he spoke. At length: + +"My dear," he said, "I'm sorry for this! Though I do not blame you. I +think that you do not understand, owing to those drawbacks of your +early life, which have otherwise, thank God, left so slight a mark +upon you, that there are things which at your time of life you must +leave to--to the decision of your elders." + +She looked at him. And there was not that complete docility in her +look which he expected to find. "I don't think I understand, sir," she +murmured. + +"But you can easily understand this, Mary," he replied. "That young +girls of your age, without experience of life or of--of the darker +side of things, cannot be allowed to judge for themselves on all +occasions. There are sometimes circumstances to be weighed which it is +not possible to detail to them." + +She closed her eyes for an instant, to collect her thoughts. + +"But--but, sir," she said, "you cannot wish me to have no will--no +choice--in a matter which affects me so nearly." + +"No," he said, speaking seriously and with something approaching +sternness. "But that will and that choice must be guided. They should +be guided. Your feelings are natural--God forbid that I should think +them otherwise! But you must leave the decision to me." + +She looked at him, aghast. She had heard, but had never believed, that +in the upper classes matches were arranged after this fashion. But to +have no will and no choice in such a thing as marriage! She must be +dreaming. + +"You cannot," he continued, looking at her firmly but not unkindly, +"have either the knowledge of the past," with a slight grimace, as of +pain, "or the experience needful to enable you to measure the result +of the step you take. You must, therefore, let your seniors decide for +you." + +"But I could never--never," she answered, with a deep blush, "marry a +man without--liking him, sir." + +"Marry?" Sir Robert repeated. He stared at her. + +She returned the look. "I thought, sir," she faltered, with a still +deeper blush, "that you were talking of that." + +"My dear," he said, gravely, "I am referring to the subject on which I +understood that you requested Miss Sibson to speak to me." + +"My mother?" she whispered, the colour fading quickly from her face. + +He paused a moment. Then, "You would oblige me," he said, slowly and +formally, "by calling her Lady Sybil Vermuyden. And not--that." + +"But she is--my mother," she persisted. + +He looked at her, his head slightly bowed, his lower lip thrust out. +"Listen," he said, with decision. "What you propose--to go to her, I +mean--is impossible. Impossible, you understand. There must be an end +of any thought of it!" His tone was cold, but not unkind. "The thing +must not be mentioned again, if you please," he added. + +She was silent a while. Then, "Why, sir?" she asked. She spoke +tremulously, and with an effort. But he had not expected her to speak +at all. + +Yet he merely continued, as he stood on the hearth rug, to look at her +askance. "That is for me," he said, "to decide." + +"But----" + +"But I will tell you," he said, stiffly. "Because she has already +ruined part of your life!" + +"I forgive her, from my heart!" Mary cried. + +"And ruined, also," he continued, putting the interruption aside, "a +great part of mine. At your age I do not think fit to tell you--all. +It is enough, that she has robbed me of you, and deceived me. Deceived +me," he repeated, more bitterly, "through long years when you, my +daughter, might have been my comfort and--" he ended, almost +inaudibly, "my joy." + +He turned his back on her with the word and began to walk the room, +his chin sunk on his breast, his hands clasped. It was clear to Mary, +watching him with loving, pitying eyes, that his thoughts were with +the unhappy past, with the short fever, the ignoble contentions of his +married life, or with the lonely, soured years which had followed. She +felt that he was laying to his wife's charge the wreck of his life, +and the slow dry-rot which had sapped hope, and strength, and +development. + +Mary waited until his step trod the carpet less hurriedly. Then, as he +paused to turn, she stepped forward. + +"Yet, sir--forgive her!" she cried. And there were warm tears in her +voice. + +He turned and looked at her. Possibly he was astonished at her +persistence. + +"Never!" he said in a tone of finality. "Never! Let that be the end." + +But Mary had been dreaming of this moment for days. And she had +resolved that, come what might, though he frown, though his tone grow +hard and his eye angry, though he bring to bear on her the stern +command of his eagle visage, she would not be found lacking a second +time. She would not again give way to her besetting weakness, and +spend sleepless nights in futile remorse. Diffidence in the lonely +schoolmistress had been pardonable, had been natural. But now, if she +were indeed sprung from those who had a right to hold their heads +above the crowd, if the doffed hats which greeted her when she went +abroad, in the streets of Chippinge as well as in the lanes and +roads,--if these meant anything--shame on her if she proved craven. + +"It cannot be the end, sir," she said, in a low voice. "For she +is--still my mother. And she is alone and ill--and she needs me." + +He had begun to pace the room anew, this time with an impatient, angry +step. But at that he stood and faced her, and she needed all her +courage to support the gloom of his look. "How do you know?" he said. +For Miss Sibson, discharging an ungrateful task, had not entered into +details. "Have you seen her?" + +She felt that she must judge for herself; and though her mother had +said something to the contrary, and hitherto she had obeyed her, she +thought it best to tell all. "Yes, sir," she said. + +"When?" + +"A fortnight ago?" She trembled under the growing darkness of his +look. + +"Here?" + +"In the grounds, sir." + +"And you never told me!" he cried. "You never told me!" he repeated, +with a strange glance, a glance which strove with terror to discern +the mother's features in the daughter's face. "You, too--you, too, +have begun to deceive me!" + +And he threw up his hands in despair. + +"Oh, no! no!" Mary cried, infinitely distressed. + +"But you have!" he rejoined. "You have kept this from me." + +"Only, believe me, sir," she cried, eagerly, "until I could find a +fitting time." + +"And now you want to go to her!" he answered, unheeding. "She has +suborned you! She, who has done the greatest wrong to you, has now +done the last wrong to me!" + +He began again to pace up and down the room. + +"Oh, no! no!" she sobbed. + +"It is so!" he answered, darting an angry glance at her. "It is so! +But I shall not let you go! Do you hear, girl? I shall not let you go! +I have suffered enough," he continued, with a gesture which called +those walls to witness to the humiliations, the sorrows, the +loneliness, from which he had sought refuge within them. "I will +not--suffer again! You shall not go!" + +She was full of love for him, and of pity. She understood even that +gesture, and the past wretchedness to which it bore witness. And she +yearned to comfort him, and to convince him that nothing that had gone +before, nothing that could happen in the future, would set her against +him. Had he been seated, she would have knelt and kissed his hand, or +cast herself on his breast and his love, and won him to her. But as he +walked she could not approach him, she did not know how to soften him. +Yet her duty was clear. It lay beside her dying mother. Nevertheless, +if he forbade her to go, if he withstood her, how was she to perform +it? + +At length, "But if she be dying, sir," she murmured. "Will you not +then let me see her?" + +He looked at her from under his heavy eyebrows. "I tell you, I will +not let you go!" he said stubbornly. "She has forfeited her right to +you. When she made you die to me--you died to her! That is my +decision. You hear me? And now--now," he continued, returning in a +measure to composure, "let there be an end!" + +She stood silenced, but not conquered; knowing him more intimately +than she had known him before; and loving him not less, but more, +since pity and sympathy entered into her love and drove out fear; but +assured that he was wrong. It could not be her duty to forsake: it +must be his duty to forgive. But for the present she saw that in spite +of all his efforts he was cruelly agitated, that she had stirred pangs +long lulled to rest, that he had borne as much as he could bear. And +she would not press him farther for the time. + +Meanwhile he, as he stood fingering his trembling lips, was trying to +bring the cunning of age to bear. He was silently forming his plan. +She had been too much alone, he reflected; that was it. He had +forgotten that she was young, and that change and movement and life +and gaiety were needful for her. This about--that woman--was an +obsession, an unwholesome fancy, which a few days in a new place, and +amid lively scenes, would weaken and perhaps remove. And by and by, +when he thought that he could trust his voice, he spoke. + +"I said, let there be an end! But--you are all I have," he continued, +with emotion, "and I will say instead, let this be for a time. I must +have time to think. You want--there are many things you want that you +ought to have--frocks, laces, and gew-gaws," he added, with a sickly +smile, "and I know not what, that you cannot get here, nor I choose +for you. Lady Worcester has offered to take you with her to town--she +goes the day after to-morrow. I was uncertain this morning whether to +send you or not, whether I could spare you or not. Now, I say, go. Go, +and when you return, Mary, we will talk again." + +"And then," she said, pleading softly, "you will let me go!" + +"Never!" he cried, lifting his head in a sudden, uncontrollable +recurrence of rage. "But there, there! There! there! I shall have +thought it over--more at leisure. Perhaps! I don't know! I will tell +you then. I will think it over." + +She saw with clear eyes that this was an evasion, that he was +deceiving her. But she felt no resentment, only pity. She had no +reason to think that her mother needed her on the instant. And much +was gained by the mere discussion of the subject. At least he promised +to consider it: and though he meant nothing now, perhaps when he was +alone he would think of it, and more pitifully. Yes, she was sure he +would. + +"I will go, if you wish it," she said, submissively. She would show +herself obedient in all things lawful. + +"I do wish it," he answered. "My daughter must know her way about. Go, +and Lady Worcester will take care of you. And when--when you come back +we will talk. You will have things to prepare, my dear," he continued, +avoiding her eyes, "a good deal to prepare, I dare say, since this is +sudden, and you had better go now. I think that is all." + + + + + XXVI + + THE SCENE IN THE HALL + + +Arthur Vaughan had been quick to see that he could not step at once +into place and fame; that success in political life could not in these +days be attained at a bound. But had he been less quick, the great +debate which preceded the passage of the Bill through the Commons must +have availed to persuade him. That their last words of warning to the +country, their solemn remonstrances, might have more effect, the +managers of the Opposition had permitted the third reading to be +carried in the manner which has been described. But, that done, they +unmasked all their forces, bent on proving that if in the time to come +the peers threw out the Bill they would do so with a respectable +weight, not only of argument, but of public feeling behind them; and +that, not only in the country, but in the popular House. All that the +bitter invective of Croker, the mingled gibes and predictions of +Wetherell, the close and weighty reasoning of Peel, the precedents of +Sugden could do to warn the timid and arouse the prudent was done. +That ancient Chamber, which was never again to echo the accents of a +debate so great, which stood indeed already doomed, as if it could not +long survive the order of things of which it had been for centuries +the centre, had heard, it may be, speeches more lofty, men more +eloquent--for whom had it not heard?--but never men more in earnest, +or words more keenly barbed by the prejudices of the passing, or the +aspirations of the coming, age. Of the one party were those who could +see naught but glory in the bygone, naught but peril in change, of the +other, those whose strenuous aim it was to make the future redress the +wrongs of the past. The former were like children, viewing the Armada +hangings which tapestried the neighbouring Chamber, and seeing only +the fair front: the latter like the same children, picking with soiled +fingers at the backing, coarse, dusty and cobwebbed, which for two +hundred years had clung to the roughened masonry. + +Vaughan sat through the three nights, brooding darkly on the feats +performed before him. If they who fought in the arena were not giants, +if the House no longer held a match for Canning and Brougham, the +combatants seemed giants to him; for a man's opinion of himself is +never far from the opinion which others hold of him. And he soon +perceived that a common soldier might as easily step from the ranks +and set the battle in order as he, Arthur Vaughan, rise up, without +farther training, and lead the attack or cover the defence. He sat +soured and gloomy, a mere spectator; dwelling, even while he listened +to the flowery periods of Macaulay, or the trenchant arguments of +Peel, on the wrong done to himself by the disposal of his seat. + +It was so like the Whigs, he told himself. Here on the floor of the +House who so loud as they in defence of the purity of elections, of +the people's right to be represented, of the unbiassed vote of the +electors? But behind the scenes they were as keenly bent on jobbing a +seat here, or neutralising a seat there, and as careless of the +people's rights as they had ever been! It was atrocious, it was +shameful! If this were political life, if this were political honesty, +he had had enough of it! + +But alas, though he said it in his anger, there was the rub! He had +not had, and now he was not likely to have, enough of it. The +hostility to himself, of which he had come slowly to be conscious, as +a man grows slowly to perceive a frostiness in the air, had insensibly +sapped his self-confidence and lowered his claims. He no longer dreamt +of rising and outshining the chiefs of his party. But he still +believed that he had it in him to succeed--were time given him. And +all through the long hours of the three nights' debates his thoughts +were as often on his wrongs as on the momentous struggle which was +passing before his eyes, and for the issue of which the clubs of +London were keeping vigil. + +But enthusiasm is infectious. And when the tellers for the last time +walked up to the table, at five o'clock on the morning of the 22nd of +September, with the grey light of daybreak stealing in to shame the +candles and betray the jaded faces--when he and all men knew that for +them the end of the great struggle was come--Vaughan waited breathless +with the rest and strained his ears to catch the result. And when, a +moment later, peal upon peal of fierce cheering shook the old panels +in their frames, and being taken up by waiting crowds without, carried +the news through the dawn to the very skirts of London--the news that +Reform had passed the People's House, and that only the peers now +stood between the country and its desire--he shared the triumph and +shouted with the rest, shook hands with exultant neighbours, and waved +his hat, perspiring. + +But in his case the feeling of exultation was short-lived; perhaps in +the case of many another, who roared himself hoarse and showed a +gleeful face to the daylight. Certainly it was something to have taken +part in such a scene, the memory of which must survive for +generations. It was something to have voted in such a division. He +might talk of it in days to come to his grandchildren. But for him +personally it meant that all was over; that here, if the Lords passed +the Bill, was the end. A Dissolution must follow, and when the House +met again, his place would know him no more. He would be gone, and no +man would feel the blank. + +Nor were less selfish doubts wanting. As he stood, caught in the press +and awaiting his turn to leave the crowded House, his eyes rested on +the pale, scowling faces which dotted the opposite benches; the faces +of men who, honestly believing that here and now the old Constitution +of England had got its deathblow, could not hide their bitter chagrin, +or their scorn of the foe. Nor could he, at any rate, view those men +without sympathy; without the possibility that they were right +weighing on his spirits; without a faint apprehension that this might +indeed be the beginning of decay, the starting point of that decadence +which every generation since Queen Anne's had foreseen. For if many on +that side represented no one but themselves, they still represented +vast interests, huge incomes, immense taxation. They were those who, +if England sank, had most to lose. He, in the past, had given up +almost his all that he might stand aloof from them; and that, because +he thought them prejudiced, wrong-headed, unreasonable. But he +respected them. And--what if they were right? + +Meanwhile the persistent cheering of his friends began to jar on his +tired nerves. He seemed to see in this a beginning of disorder, of +license, of revolution, of all those evils which the other party +foretold. And then he had little liking for the statistics of Hume: +and Hume with his arm about his favourite pillar, was high among the +triumphant. Hard by him again was the tall, thin form of Orator Hunt, +for whom the Bill was too moderate; and the taller, thinner form of +Burdett. They, crimson with shouting, were his partners in this; the +bedfellows among whom his opinions had cast him. + +Thinking such thoughts, he was among the last to leave the House, +which he did by way of Westminster Hall. The scene as he descended to +the Hall was so striking that he stood an instant on the steps to view +it. The hither half of the great space was comparatively bare, but the +farther half was occupied by a throng of people held back by a line of +the New Police, who were doing all they could to keep a passage +for the departing Members. As groups of the latter, after chatting +awhile at the upper end, passed, conscious of the greatness of the +occasion, down the lane thus formed, bursts of loud cheering greeted +the better-known Reformers. Some of the more forward of those who +waited shook hands with them, or patted them on the back; while others +cried "God bless you, sir! Long life to you, sir!" On the other hand, +an angry moan, or a spirit of hissing, marked the passage of a known +Tory; or a voice was raised calling to these to bid the Lords beware. +A few lamps, which had burned through the night, contended pallidly +with the growing daylight, and gave to the scene that touch of +obscurity, that mingling of light and shadow--under the dusky, +far-receding roof--which is necessary to the picturesque. + +Vaughan did not suspect that, as he paused, looking down on the Hall, +he was himself watched, and by some sore enough that moment to be glad +to wreak their feelings in any direction. As he set his foot on the +stone pavement a group near at hand raised a cry of "Turncoat! +Turncoat!" and that so loudly that he could not but hear it. An +unmistakable hiss followed; and then, "Who stole a seat?" cried one of +the men. + +"And isn't going to keep it?" cried another. + +Vaughan turned short at the last words--he had not felt sure that the +first were addressed to him. With a hot face, and every fibre in his +body tingling with defiance, he stepped up to the group. "Did you +speak to me?" he said. + +A man with a bullying air put himself before the others. He was a +ruined Irish Member, who had sat for years for a close borough, and +for whom the Bill meant duns, bailiffs, a sponging-house, in a word, +the loss of all those thing's which made life tolerable. He was full +of spite and spoiling for a fight with someone, no matter with whom. + +"Who are you?" he replied, confronting our friend with a sneer. "I +have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir!" + +Vaughan was about to answer him in kind, when he espied in the middle +of the group the pale, keen face and greyish whiskers of Sergeant +Wathen. And, "Perhaps you have not," he retorted, "but that gentleman +has." He pointed to Wathen. "And, if what was said a moment ago," he +continued, "was meant for me, I have the honour to ask for an +explanation." + +"Explanation?" a Member in the background cried, in a jeering tone. +"Is there need of one?" + +Vaughan was no longer red, he was white with anger. "Who spoke?" he +asked, his voice ringing. + +The Irishman looked over his shoulder and laughed. "Right you are, +Jerry!" he said: "I'll not give you up!" And then to Vaughan, "I did +not," he said rudely. "For the rest, sir, the Hall is large enough. +And we have no need of your heroics here!" + +"Your pleasure, however," Vaughan replied, haughtily, "is not my law. +Some one of you used words a moment ago which seemed to imply----" + +"What, sir?" + +"That I obtained my seat by unfair means! And the truth being +perfectly well known to that gentleman"--again he pointed to the +Sergeant in a way which left Wathen anything but comfortable. "I am +sure that he will tell you that the statement----" + +"Statement?" + +"Statement or imputation, or whatever you please to call it," Vaughan +answered, sticking to his point in spite of interruptions, "is +absolutely unfounded--and false. And false! And, therefore, must be +retracted." + +"Must, sir?" + +"Yes, must!" Vaughan replied--he was no coward. "Must, if you call +yourselves gentlemen. But first, Mr. Sergeant," he continued, fixing +Wathen with his eye, "I will ask you to tell these friends of yours +that I did not turn my coat at Chippinge. And that there was nothing +in my election which in any degree touched my honour." + +The Sergeant looked flurried. He was of those who love to wound, but +do not love to fight. And at this moment he wished from the crown of +his head to the soles of his feet, that he had held his tongue. But +unluckily, whether the cloud upon Vaughan's reputation had been his +work or not, he had certainly said more than he liked to remember; +and, worse still, had said some part of it within the last five +minutes, in the hearing of those about him. To retract, therefore, was +to dub himself a liar; and he sought refuge, the perspiration standing +on his brow, in that half-truth which is at once worse than a lie--and +safer. + +"I must say, Mr. Vaughan," he said, "that the--the circumstances in +which you used the vote given to you by your cousin, and--and the way +in which you turned against him after attending a dinner of his +supporters----" + +"Openly, fairly, and after warning, I turned against him," Vaughan +cried, enraged at the show of justice which the accusation wore. "And +that, sir, in pursuance of opinions which I had publicly professed. +More, I allowed myself to be elected only after I had once refused +Lord Lansdowne's offer of the seat! And after, only after, Sir Robert +Vermuyden had so treated me that all ties were broken. Sergeant +Wathen, I appeal to you again! Was that not so?" + +"I know nothing of that," Wathen answered, sullenly. + +"Nothing? You know nothing of that?" Vaughan cried. + +"No," the Sergeant answered, still more sullenly. "I know nothing of +what passed between you and your cousin. I know only that you were +present, as I have said, at a dinner of his supporters on the eve of +the election, and that on a sudden, at that dinner, you declared +yourself against him--with the result that you were elected by the +other side!" + +For a moment Vaughan stood glowering at him, struck dumb by his denial +and by the unexpected plausibility, nay, the unexpected strength of +the case against him. He was sure that Wathen knew more, he was sure +that if he would he could say more! He was sure that the man was +dishonest. But he did not see how he could prove it, and---- + +The Irish Member laughed. "Well, sir," he said, derisively, "is the +explanation, now you've got it, to your mind?" + +The taunt stung Vaughan. He took a step forward. The next moment would +have seen him commit himself to a foolish action, that could only have +led him to Wimbledon Common or Primrose Hill. But in the nick of time +a voice stayed him. + +"What's this, eh?" it asked, its tone more lugubrious than usual. And +Sir Charles Wetherell, who had just descended the stairs from the +lobby, turned a dull eye from one disputant to the other. "Can't you +do enough damage with your tongues?" he rumbled. "Brawl upstairs as +much as you like! That's the way to the Woolsack! But you mustn't +brawl here!" And the heavy-visaged man, whose humour had again and +again conciliated a House which his coarse invective had offended, +once more turned from one to the other. "What is it?" he repeated. +"Eh?" + +Vaughan hastened to appeal to him. "Sir Charles," he said, "I will +abide by your decision! Though I do not know, indeed, that I ought to +take any man's decision on a point which touches my honour!" + +"Oh!" Wetherell said in an inimitable tone. "Court of Honour, is it?" +And he cast a queer look round the circle. "That's it, is it? Well, I +dare say I'm eligible. I dare swear I know as much about honour as +Brougham about equity! Or the Sergeant there"--Wathen reddened +angrily--"about law! Or Captain McShane here about his beloved +country! Yes," he continued, amid the unconcealed grins of those of +the party whose weak points had escaped, "you may proceed, I think." + +"You are a friend, Sir Charles," Vaughan said, in a voice which +quivered with anxiety, "you are a friend of Sir Robert Vermuyden's?" + +"Well, I won't deny him until I know more!" Wetherell answered +quaintly. "What of it?" + +"You know what occurred at Chippinge before the election?" + +"None better. I was there." + +"And what passed between Sir Robert Vermuyden and me?" Vaughan +continued, eagerly. + +"I think I do," Wetherell answered. "In the main I do." + +"Thank you, Sir Charles. Then I appeal to you. You are opposed to me +in politics, but you will do me justice. These gentlemen have thought +fit to brand me here and now as a turncoat; and, worse, as one who +was--who was elected"--he could scarcely speak for passion--"in +opposition to Sir Robert's, to my relative's candidates, under +circumstances dishonourable to me!" + +"Indeed? Indeed? That is serious." + +"And I ask you, sir, is there a word of truth in that charge?" + +Wetherell had his eyes fixed gloomily on the pavement. He appeared to +weigh the matter a moment or two. Then he shook his head. + +"Not a word," he said, ponderously. + +"You--you bear me out, sir." + +"Quite, quite," the other answered slowly, as he took out his +snuffbox. "To tell the truth, gentlemen," he continued, in the same +melancholy tone, "Mr. Vaughan was fool enough to quarrel with his +bread and butter for the sake of the most worthless, damnable and +mistaken convictions any man ever held! That's the truth. He showed +himself a very perfect fool, but an honourable and an honest fool--and +that's a rare thing. I see none here." + +No one laughed at the gibe, and he turned to Vaughan, who stood, +relieved indeed, but stiff and uncomfortable, uncertain what to do +next. "I'll take your arm," he said. "I've saved you," coolly, "from +the ragged regiment on my side. Do you take me safe," he continued, +with a look towards the lower end of the Hall, "through your ragged +regiment outside, my lad!" + +Vaughan understood only too well the generous motive which underlay +the invitation. But for a moment he hung back. + +"I am your debtor, Sir Charles," he said, deeply moved, "as long as I +live. But I would like to know before I go," and he raised his head, +with a look worthy of Sir Robert, "whether these gentlemen are +satisfied. If not----" + +"Oh, perfectly," the Sergeant cried, hurriedly. "Perfectly!" And he +muttered something about being glad--hear explanation--satisfactory. + +But the Irish Member stepped up and held out his hand. "Faith," he +said, "there's no man whose word I'd take before Sir Charles's! +There's no hiatus in his honour, whatever may be said of his breeches! +That's one for you," he added, addressing Wetherell. "I owed you one, +my good sir!" And then he turned to Vaughan. "There's my hand, sir! I +apologise," he said. "You're a man of honour, and it's mistaken we +were!" + +"I am obliged to you for your candour," Vaughan said, gratefully. + +Half a dozen others raised their hats to him, or shook hands with him +frankly. The Sergeant did the same less frankly. But Vaughan saw that +he was cowed. Wetherell was Sir Robert Vermuyden's friend, and the +Sergeant was Sir Robert's nominee. So he pushed his triumph no +farther. With a feeling of gratitude too deep for words, he offered +his arm to Sir Charles, and went down the Hall in his company. + +By this time the crowd at the lower end had carried their joy and +their horseplay elsewhere; and no attempt was made--Vaughan only +wished an attempt had been made--to molest Wetherell. They walked +across the yard to Parliament Street, as the first sunshine of the day +fell on the bridge and the river. Flocks of gulls were swinging to and +fro in the clear air above the water, and dumb barges were floating up +with the tide. The hub-bub in that part was past and over; at that +moment a score of coaches were speeding through the suburbs, bearing +to market-town and busy city, ay, and to village greens, where the +news was awaited eagerly, the tidings that the Bill had passed the +Lower House. + +Sir Charles walked a short distance in silence. Then, "I thought some +notion of the kind was abroad," he said. "It's as well this happened. +What are you going to do about your seat if the Bill pass, young man?" + +"I am told that it is pre-empted," Vaughan answered, in a tone between +jest and earnest. + +"It is. But----" + +"Yes, Sir Charles?" + +"You should see your own side about it," Wetherell answered gruffly. +"I can't say more than that." + +"I am obliged to you for that." + +"You should be!" Wetherell retorted in a peculiar tone. And with an +oath and a strange gesture he disengaged his arm. Halting and wheeling +about, he pointed with a shaking hand to the towers of the Abbey, +which rose against the blue, beatified by the morning sunshine. "If I +said 'batter down those walls, undig the dead, away with every hoary +thing of time, the present and the future are enough, and we, the +generation that burns the mummies, which three thousand years have +spared--we are wiser than all our forbears--' what would you say? You +would call me mad. Yet what are you doing? Ay, you, you among the +rest! The building that our fathers built, patiently through many +hundred years, adding a little here and strengthening there, the +building that Hampden and Shrewsbury and Walpole, Chatham and his son, +and Canning, and many others tended reverently, repairing here and +there, as time required, you, you, who think you know more than all +who have gone before you, hurry in ruin to the ground! That you may +build your own building, built in a day, to suit the day, and to +perish with the day! Oh, mad, mad, mad! Ay, + + + "_Hostis habet muros; ruit alta a culmine Troja. + Sat patri Priamoque datum; si Pergama linqu. + Defendi possent, etiam, hoc defensa fuissent!_" + + +His voice quavered on the last accent, his chin sank on his breast. He +turned wearily and resumed his course. When Vaughan, who did not +venture to address him again, parted from him in silence at the door +of his house, the fat man's pendulous lip quivered, and a single tear +ran down his cheek. + + + + + XXVII + + WICKED SHIFTS + + +It was with a lighter heart that Vaughan walked on to Bury Street. +There were still, it seemed, faith and honour in the world, and some +men who could be trusted. But if he expected much to come of this, if +he expected to be received with an ovation on his next appearance at +Westminster, he was doomed to disappointment. Wetherell's defence +convinced those who heard it; and in time, no doubt, passing from +mouth to mouth, would improve the young Member's relations, not only +on the floor of the House, but in the lobbies and at Bellamy's. But +the English are not dramatic. They have no love for scenes. And no one +of those whose silence or whose catcalls had wronged him thought fit +to take his hand in cold blood and ask his pardon; nor did any Don +Quixote cast down his glove in Westminster Hall and offer to do battle +with his traducers. The manner of one man became a shade more cordial; +another spoke where he would have nodded. And if Vaughan had risen at +this time to speak on any question which he understood he would have +been heard upon his merits. + +But the change, slow though genial, like the breaking up of an English +frost, came too late to do him much service. With the transfer of the +Bill to the House of Lords public interest deserted the Commons. They +sat, indeed, through the month of September, to the horror of many a +country gentleman, who saw in this the herald of evil days; and they +debated after a fashion. But the attendance was sparse, and the +thoughts and hopes of all men were in another place. Vaughan saw that +for all the reputation he could now make the Dissolution might be come +already. And with this, and the emptiness of his heart, from which he +could no more put the craving for Mary Vermuyden than he could dismiss +her image from the retina of his mind, he was very miserable. The void +left by love, indeed, was rendered worse by the void left unsatisfied +by ambition. Mary's haunting face was with him at his rising, went +with him to his pillow, her little hand was often on his sleeve, her +eyes often pleaded to his. In his lonely rooms he would pace the floor +feverishly, savagely, pestering himself with what might have been; +kicking the furniture from his path and--and hating her! For the idea +of marriage, once closely presented to man or woman, leaves neither +unchanged, leaves neither as it found them, however quickly it be put +aside. + +Still it was not possible for one who sprang from the governing +classes, and was gifted with political instincts, to witness the +excitement which moved the whole country during those weeks of +September and the early days of October, without feeling his own blood +stirred; without sharing to some extent the exhilaration with which +the adventurous view the approach of adventures. What would the peers +do? All England was asking that question. At Crockford's, in the +little supper-room, or at the French Hazard table itself, men turned +to put it and to hear the answer. At White's and Boodle's, in the hall +of the Athenum, as they walked before Apsley House, or under the +gas-lamps of Pall Mall, men asked that question again and again. It +shared with Pasta and the slow-coming cholera--which none the less was +coming--the chit-chat of drawing-rooms; and with the next prize fight +or with ridicule of the New Police, the wrangling debates of every +tavern and posthouse. Would the peers throw out the Bill? Would +they--would those doting old Bishops in particular--dare to thwart the +People's will? Would they dare to withhold the franchise from +Birmingham and Manchester, Leeds and Sheffield? On this husbands took +one side, wives the other, families quarrelled. What Croker thought, +what Lord Grey threatened, what the Duke had let drop, what Brougham +had boasted, how Lady Lyndhurst had sneered, or her husband retorted, +what the Queen wished--scraps such as these were tossed from mouth to +mouth, greedily received, carried far into the country, and +eventually, changed beyond recognition, were repeated in awestruck +ears, in county ballrooms and at Sessions. + +One member of the Privy Council, who had left his party on the Bill, +and whose vote, it was thought, had turned a division, shot himself. +And many another, it was whispered, never recovered wholly from the +strain of those days. + +For far more hung upon the Lords' decision than the mere fate of the +Bill. If they threw it out, what would the Ministry do? And--more +momentous still, and looming larger in the minds of men--what would +the country do? What would Birmingham and Sheffield, Manchester and +Leeds do? What would they do? + +Lord Grey, strong in the King's support, would persevere, said some. +He would bring in the Bill again, and create peers in number +sufficient to carry it. And Macaulay's squib was flung from club to +club, from meeting to meeting, until it reached the streets: + + + _What, though new opposed I be, + Twenty peers shall carry me! + If twenty won't, thirty will, + For I am his Majesty's bouncing Bill_. + + +Ay, his Majesty's Bill, God bless him! His Majesty's own Bill! Hurrah +for Lord Grey! Hurrah for Brougham! Hurrah for Lord John, and down +with the Bishops! So the word flew from mouth to mouth, so errand boys +yelled it under the windows of London House, in St. James's Square, +and wherever aproned legs might be supposed to meet under the +mahogany. + +But others maintained that Lord Grey would simply resign, and let the +consequences fall on the heads of those who opposed the People's will. +Those consequences, it was whispered everywhere--and not by the timid +and the rich only--spelled Revolution! Revolution, red and anarchical, +was coming, said many. Was not Scotland ready to rise? Was not the +Political Union of Birmingham threatening to pay no taxes? Were not +the Political Unions everywhere growling and lashing their sides? The +winter was coming, and there would be fires by night and drillings by +day, as there had been during the previous autumn. Through the long +dark nights there would be fear and trembling, and barring of doors, +and waiting for the judgment to come. And then some morning the +crackling sound of musketry would awaken Pall Mall and Mayfair, the +mob would seize the Tower and Newgate, the streets would run blood and +the guillotine would rise in Leicester Square or Finsbury Fields. + +So widely were these fears spread--fostered as they were by both +parties, by the Tories for the purpose of proving whither Reform was +leading the country, by the Whigs to show to what the obstinacy of the +borough-mongers was driving it--that few were proof against them. So +few, that when the Bill was rejected in the early morning of Saturday, +the 8th of October, the Tory peers, from Lord Eldon downwards, though +they had not shrunk from doing their duty, could hardly be made to +believe that they were at liberty to go to their homes unscathed. + +They did so, however. But the first mutterings of the storm soon made +themselves heard. Within twenty-four hours the hearts of many failed +them for fear. The Funds fell at once. The journals appeared in +mourning borders. In many towns the bells were tolled and the shops +were shut. The mob of Nottingham rose and burned the Castle and fired +the house of an unpopular squire. The mob of Derby besieged the gaol +and released the prisoners. At Darlington, Lord Tankerville narrowly +escaped with his life; Lord Londonderry was left for dead; no Bishop +dared to wear his apron in public. Everywhere rose the cry of "No +Taxes!" Finally, the rabble rose in immense numbers, paraded the West +End of London, broke the windows of many peers, assaulted others, and +were only driven from Apsley House by the timely arrival of the Life +Guards. The country, amazed and shaken from end to end, seemed to be +already in the grip of rebellion; so that within the week the very +Tories hastened to beg Lord Grey to retain office. Even the King, it +was supposed, was shaken; and his famous distich--his one contribution +to the poetry of the country, + + + _I consider Dissolution + Tantamount to Revolution_, + + +found admirers for its truth, if not for its beauty. + +Such a ferment could not but occupy Vaughan's mind and divert his +thoughts from his own troubles, even from thoughts of Mary. Every day +there was news: every day, in the opinion of many, the sky grew +darker. But though the rejection of the Bill promised him a second +short session, and many who sat for close boroughs chuckled privately +over the respite, he was ill-content with a hand-to-mouth life. He saw +that the Bill must pass eventually. He did not believe that there +would be a revolution. It was clear that his only chance lay in +following Wetherell's advice, and laying his case before one of his +chiefs. + +Some days after the division he happened on an opportunity. He was +walking down Parliament Street when he came on a scene, much of a +piece of the unrest of the time. A crowd was pouring out of Downing +Street, and in the van of the rabble he espied the tall, ungainly +figure of no less a man than Lord Brougham. Abreast of the Chancellor, +but keeping himself to the wall as if he desired to dissociate himself +from the demonstration, walked another tall figure, also in black, +with shepherd's plaid trousers. A second glance informed Vaughan that +this was no other than Mr. Cornelius, who had been present at his +interview with Brougham; and accepting the omen, he made up to the +Chancellor just as the latter halted to rid himself of the ragged +tail, which had, perhaps, been more pleasing to his vanity in the +smaller streets. + +"My friends," Brougham cried, checking with his hand the ragamuffins' +shrill attempt at a cheer, "I am obliged to you for your approval; but +I beg to bid you good-day! Assemblages such as these are----" + +"Disgusting!" Cornelius muttered audibly, wrinkling his nose as he +eyed them over his high collar. + +"Are apt to cause disorder!" the Chancellor continued, smiling. "Rest +assured that your friends, of whom, if I am the highest in office I am +not the least in good-will, will not desert you." + +"Hurrah! God bless you, my lord! Hurrah!" cried the tatterdemalions in +various tones more or less drunken. And some held out their caps. +"Hurrah! If your lordship would have the kindness to----" + +"Disgusting!" Cornelius repeated, wheeling about. + +Vaughan seized the opportunity to intervene. "May I," he said, raising +his hat and addressing the Chancellor as he turned, "consult you, my +lord, for two minutes as you walk?" + +Brougham started on finding a gentleman of his appearance at his +elbow; and looked as if he were somewhat ashamed of the guise in which +he had been detected. "Ah!" he said. "Mr.--Mr. Vaughan? To be sure! +Oh, yes, you can speak to me, what can I do for you? It is," he added, +with affected humility, "my business to serve." + +Vaughan looked doubtfully at Mr. Cornelius, who raised his hat. "I +have no secrets from Mr. Cornelius," said the Chancellor pleasantly. +And then with a backward nod and a tinge of colour in his cheek, +"Gratifying, but troublesome," he continued. "Eh? Very troublesome, +these demonstrations! I often long for the old days when I could walk +out of Westminster Hall, with my bag and my umbrella, and no one the +wiser!" + +"Those days are far back, my lord," Vaughan said politely. + +"Ah, well! Ah, well! Perhaps so." They were walking on by this time. +"I can't say that since the Queen's trial I've known much privacy. +However, it is something that those whom one serves are grateful. +They----" + +"Cry 'Hosanna' to-day," Cornelius said gruffly, with his eyes fixed +steadily before him, "and 'Crucify him' tomorrow!" + +"Cynic!" said the Chancellor, with unabated good-humour. "But even you +cannot deny that they are better employed in cheering their friends +than in breaches of the peace? Not that"--cocking his eye at Vaughan +with a whimsical expression of confidence--"a little disorder here and +there, eh, Mr. Vaughan--though to be deplored, and by no one more than +by one in my position--has not its uses? Were there no apprehension of +mob-rule, how many borough-mongers, think you, would vote with us? How +many waverers, like Harrowby and Wharncliffe, would waver? And how, if +we have no little ebullitions here and there, are we to know that the +people are in earnest? That they are not grown lukewarm? That +Wetherell is not right in his statement--of which he'll hear more than +he will like at Bristol, or I am mistaken--that there is a Tory +re-action, an ebb in the tide which so far has carried us bravely? But +of course," he added, with a faint smile, "God forbid that we should +encourage violence!" + +"Amen!" said Mr. Cornelius. And sniffed in a very peculiar manner. + +"But to discern that camomile," the Chancellor continued gaily, +"though bitter to-day makes us better tomorrow, is a different thing +from----" + +"Administering a dose!" Vaughan laughed, falling into the great man's +humour. + +"To be sure. But enough of that. Now I think of it, Mr. Vaughan," he +continued, looking at his companion, "I have not had the pleasure of +seeing you since--but I need not remind you of the occasion. You've +had good cause to remember it! Yes, yes," he went on with voluble +complacency--he was walking as well as talking very fast--"I seldom +speak without meaning, or interfere without result. I knew well what +would come of it. It was not for nothing, Mr. Vaughan, that I got down +our Borough List and asked you if you had no thought of entering the +House. The spark--and tinder! For there you are in the House!" + +"Yes," Vaughan replied, astonished at the coolness with which the +other unveiled, and even took credit for, the petty intrigue of six +months back. "But----" + +"But," Brougham said, taking him up with a quick, laughing glance, +"you are not yet on the Treasury Bench? That's it?" + +"No, not yet," Vaughan answered, good-humouredly. + +"Ah, well, time and patience and Bellamy's chops, Mr. Vaughan, will +carry you far, I am sure." + +"It is on that subject--the subject of time--I venture to trouble your +lordship." + +The Chancellor's lumpish but singularly mobile features underwent a +change. Caught in a complacent, vain humour, he had forgotten a thing +which, with Vaughan's last words, recurred to him. "Yes?" he said, +"yes, Mr. Vaughan?" But the timbre of that marvellously flexible voice +with which he boasted that he could whisper so as to be heard to the +very door of the House of Commons, was changed. "Yes, what is it, +pray?" + +"It is time I require," Vaughan answered. "And, in fine, I have done +some service, yeoman service, my lord, and I think that I ought not to +be cast aside by the party in whose interest I was returned, and with +whose objects I am in sympathy." + +"Cast aside? Tut, tut! What do you mean?" + +"I am told that though the borough for which I sit will continue to +return one member, I shall not have the support of the party in +retaining my seat." + +"Indeed! Indeed!" Brougham answered, "Is it so? I am sorry to hear +that." + +"But----" + +"Very sorry, Mr. Vaughan." + +"But, with submission, my lord, it is something more than sorrow I +seek," Vaughan answered, too sore to hide his feelings. "You have +owned very candidly that I derived from you the impulse which has +carried me so far. Is it unreasonable if I venture to turn to you, +when advised to see one of the chiefs of my party?" + +"Who," Brougham asked with a quick look, "gave you that advice, Mr. +Vaughan?" + +"Sir Charles Wetherell." + +"Um!" the Chancellor replied through pinched lips. And he stood, "they +had crossed Piccadilly and Berkeley Square, and had reached the corner +of Hill Street, where at No. 5, Brougham lived. + +"I repeat, my lord," Vaughan continued, "is it unreasonable if I apply +to you in these circumstances, rather----" + +"Rather than to one of the whips?" Brougham said drily. + +"Yes." + +"But I know nothing of the matter, Mr. Vaughan." + +But Vaughan was in no mood to put up with subterfuges. If the other +did not know, he should know. He had been all-powerful, it seemed, to +bring him in: was he powerless to keep him in? "There is a compact, I +am told," he said, "under which the seat is to be surrendered--for +this turn, at any rate--to my cousin's nominee." + +Brougham shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Mr. Cornelius. "Dear +me, dear me," he said. "That's not a thing of which I can approve. Far +from it! Far from it! But you must see, Mr. Vaughan, that I cannot +meddle in my position with arrangements of that kind. Impossible, my +dear sir, it is clearly impossible!" + +Vaughan stared; and with some spirit and more temper, "But the spark, +my lord! I'm sure you won't forget the spark?" he said. + +For an instant a gleam of fun shone in the other's eyes. Then he was +funereal again. "Before the Bill, and after the Bill, are two things," +he said drily. "Before the Bill all is, all was impure. And in an +impure medium--you understand me, I am sure? You are scientific, I +remember. But after the Bill--to ask me, who in my humble measure, Mr. +Vaughan, may call myself its prime cause--to ask me to infringe its +first principles by interposing between the Electors and their rights, +to ask me to use an influence which cannot be held legitimate--no, Mr. +Vaughan, no!" He shook his head solemnly and finally. And then to Mr. +Cornelius, "Yes, I am coming, Mr. Cornelius," he said. "I know I am +late." + +"I can wait," said Mr. Cornelius. + +"But I cannot. Good-day, Mr. Vaughan. Good-day," he repeated, refusing +to see the young man's ill-humour. "I am sorry that I cannot help you. +Or, stay!" he continued, halting in the act of turning away. "One +minute. I gather that you are a friend of Sir Charles Wetherell's?" + +"He has been a friend to me," Vaughan answered sullenly. + +"Ah, well, he is going to Bristol to hold his sessions--on the 29th, I +think. Go with him. Our fat friend hates me like poison, but I would +not have a hair of his head injured. We have been warned that there +will be trouble, and we are taking steps to protect him. But an +able-bodied young soldier by his side will be no bad thing. And +upon my honour," he continued, eyeing Vaughan with impudent +frankness--impudent in view of all that had gone before--"upon my +honour, I am beginning to think that we spoiled a good soldier when +we--eh!" + +"The spark!" Mr. Cornelius muttered grimly. + +"Good-day, my lord," said Vaughan with scant ceremony; his blood was +boiling. And he turned and strode away, scarcely smothering an +execration. The two, who did not appear to be in a hurry after all, +remained looking after him. And presently Mr. Cornelius smiled. + +"What amuses you?" Brougham asked, with a certain petulence. For at +bottom, and in cases where no rivalry existed, he was good-natured; +and in his heart he was sorry for the young man. But then, if one +began to think of the pawn's feelings, the game he was playing would +be spoiled. "What is it?" + +"I was thinking," Mr. Cornelius answered slowly, "of purity." He +sniffed. "And the Whigs!" + +Meanwhile Arthur Vaughan was striding down Bruton Street with every +angry passion up in arms. He was too clever to be tricked twice, and +he saw precisely what had happened. Brougham--well, well was he called +Wicked Shifts!--reviewing the Borough List before the General +Election, had let his eyes fall on Sir Robert's seats at Chippinge; +and looking about, with his customary audacity, for a means of +snatching them, had alighted on him--and used him for a tool! Now, he +was of no farther use. And, as the loss of his expectations rendered +it needless to temporise with him, he was contemptuously tossed aside. + +And this was the game of politics which he had yearned to play! This +was the party whose zeal for the purity of elections and the +improvement of all classes he had shared, and out of loyalty to which +he had sacrificed a fortune! He strode along the crowded pavement of +Parliament Street--it was the fashionable hour of the afternoon and +the political excitement kept London full--his head high, his face +flushed. And unconsciously as he shouldered the people to right and +left, he swore aloud. + +As he uttered the word, regardless in his anger of the scene about +him, his fixed gaze pierced for an instant the medley of gay bonnets +and smiling faces, moving chariots and waiting footmen, which even in +those days filled Parliament Street--and met another pair of eyes. + +The encounter lasted for a second only. Then half a dozen heads and a +parasol intervened. And then--in another second--he was abreast of the +carriage in which Mary Vermuyden sat, her face the prettiest and her +bonnet the daintiest--Lady Worcester had seen to that--of all the +faces and all the bonnets in Parliament Street that day. The landau in +which she sat was stationary at the edge of the pavement; and on the +farther side of her reposed a lady of kind face and ample figure. + +For an instant their eyes met again; and Mary's colour, which had +fled, returned in a flood of crimson, covering brow and cheeks. She +leaned from the carriage and held out her white-gloved hand. "Mr. +Vaughan!" she said. And he might have read in her face, had he chosen, +the sweetest and frankest appeal. "Mr. Vaughan!" + +But the moment was unlucky. The devil had possession of him. He raised +his hat and passed on, passed on wilfully. He fancied--afterwards, +that is, he fancied--that she had risen to her feet after he had gone +by and called him a third time in a voice at which the convenances of +Parliament Street could only wink. But he went on. He heard, but he +went on. He told himself that all was of a piece. Men and women, all +were alike. He was a fool who trusted any, believed in any, loved any. + + + + + XXVIII + + ONCE MORE, TANTIVY! + + +Vaughan had been sore at heart before the meeting in Parliament +Street. After that meeting he was in a mood to take any step which +promised to salve his self-esteem. The Chancellor, Lord Lansdowne, Sir +Robert, and--and Mary, all, he told himself, were against him. But +they should not crush him. He would prove to them that he was no +negligible quantity. Parliament was prorogued; the Long Vacation was +far advanced; the world, detained beyond its time, was hurrying out of +town. He, too, would go out of town; and he would go to Chippinge. +There, in defiance alike of his cousin and the Bowood interest, he +would throw himself upon the people. He would address himself to those +whom the Bill enfranchised, he would appeal to the future electors of +Chippinge, he would ask them whether the will of their great +neighbours was to prevail, and the claims of service and of gratitude +were to go for nothing. Surely at this time of day the answer could +not be adverse! + +True, the course he proposed matched ill with the party notions which +still prevailed. It was a complete breach with the family traditions +in which he had been reared. But in his present mood Vaughan liked his +plan the better for this. Henceforth he would be iron, he would be +adamant! And only by a little thing did he betray that under the iron +and under the adamant he carried an aching heart. When he came to book +his place, deliberately, wilfully, he chose to travel by the Bath road +and the White Lion coach, though he could have gone at least as +conveniently by another coach and another route. Thus have men ever, +since they first felt the pangs of love, rejoiced to press the dart +more deeply in the wound. + +A dark October morning was brooding over the West End when he crossed +Piccadilly to take his place outside the White Horse Cellar. Now, as +on that distant day in April, when the car of rosy-fingered love had +awaited him ignorant, the coaches stood one behind the other in a long +line before the low-blind windows of the office. But how different was +all else! To-day the lamps were lighted and flickered on wet +pavements, the streets were windy and desolate, the day had barely +broken above the wet roofs, and on all a steady rain was falling. The +watermen went to and fro with sacks about their shoulders, and the +guards, bustling from the office with their waybills and the late +parcels, were short of temper and curt of tongue. The shivering +passengers, cloaked to the eyes in boxcoats and wrap-rascals, climbed +silently and sullenly to the roof, and there sat shrugging their +shoulders to their ears. Vaughan, who had secured a place beside the +driver, cast an eye on all, on the long dark vista of the street, on +the few shivering passers; and he found the change fitting. Let it +rain, let it blow, let the sun rise niggardly behind a mask of clouds! +Let the world wear its true face! He cared not how discordantly the +guard's horn sounded, nor how the coachman swore at his cattle, nor +how the mud splashed up, as two minutes after time they jostled and +rattled and bumped down the slope and through the dingy narrows of +Knightsbridge. + +Perhaps to please him, the rain fell more heavily as the light +broadened and the coach passed through Kensington turnpike. The +passengers, crouching inside their wraps, looked miserably from under +dripping umbrellas on a wet Hammersmith, and a wetter Brentford. Now +the coach ploughed through deep mud, now it rolled silently over a bed +of chestnut or sycamore leaves which the first frost of autumn had +brought down. Swish, swash, it splashed through a rivulet. It was full +daylight now; it had been daylight an hour. And, at last, joyous +sight, pleasant even to the misanthrope on the box-seat, not far in +front, through a curtain of mist and rain, loomed Maidenhead--and +breakfast. + +The up night-coach, retarded twenty minutes by the weather, rattled up +to the door at the same moment. Vaughan foresaw that there would be a +contest for seats at the table, and, without waiting for the ladder, +he swung himself to the ground, and entered the house. Hastily doffing +his streaming overcoats, he made for the coffee-room, where roaring +fires and a plentiful table awaited the travellers. In two minutes he +was served, and isolated by his gloomy thoughts and almost unconscious +of the crowded room and the clatter of plates, he was eating his +breakfast when his next-door neighbour accosted him. + +"Beg your pardon, sir," he said in a meek voice. "Are you going to +Bristol, sir?" + +Vaughan looked at the speaker, a decent, clean-shaven person in a +black high-collared coat, and a limp white neck-cloth. The man's face +seemed familiar to him, and instead of answering the question, Vaughan +asked if he knew him. + +"You've seen me in the Lobby, sir," the other answered, fidgeting in +his humility. "I'm Sir Charles Wetherell's clerk, sir." + +"Ah! To be sure!" Vaughan replied. "I thought I knew your face. Sir +Charles opens the Assizes to-morrow, I understand?" + +"Yes, sir, if they will let him. Do you think that there is much +danger, sir?" + +"Danger?" Vaughan answered with a smile. "No serious danger." + +"The Government did not wish him to go, sir," the other rejoined with +an air of mystery. + +"Oh, I don't believe that," Vaughan said. + +"Well, the Corporation didn't, for certain, sir," the man persisted in +a low voice. "They wanted him to postpone the Assizes. But he doesn't +know what fear is, sir. And now the Government's ordered troops to +Bristol, and I'm afraid that'll make 'em worse. They're so set against +him for saying that Bristol was no longer for the Bill. And they're a +desperate rough lot, sir, down by the Docks!" + +"So I've heard," Vaughan said. "But you may be sure that the +authorities will see that Sir Charles is well guarded!" + +The clerk said nothing to that, although it was clear that he was far +from convinced, or easy. And Vaughan returned to his thoughts. But by +and by it chanced that as he raised his eyes he met those of a girl +who was passing his table on her way from the room; and he remembered +with a sharp pang how Mary had passed his table and looked at him, and +blushed; and how his heart had jumped at the sight. Why, there was the +very waiting-maid who had gone out with her! And there, where the +April sun had shone on her through the window, she had sat! And there, +three places only from his present seat, he had sat himself. Three +seats only--and yet how changed was all! The unmanly tears rose very +near to his eyes as he thought of it. + +He sat so long brooding over this, in that mood in which a man recks +little of time, or of what befalls him, that the guard had to summon +him. And even then, as he donned his coats, with the "boots" fussing +about him, and the coachman grumbling at the delay, his memory was +busy with that morning. There, in the porch, he had stood and heard +the young waterman praise her looks! And there Cooke had stood and +denounced the Reform placard! And there---- + +"Let go!" growled the coachman, losing patience a last. "The +gentleman's not coming!" + +"I'm coming," he answered curtly. And crossing the pavement in two +strides, he swung himself up hand over hand, as the stableman released +the horses. The coach started as his foot left the box of the wheel. +And something else started--furiously. + +His heart. For in the place behind the coachman, in the very seat +which Mary Smith had occupied on that far-off April morning, sat Mary +Vermuyden! For an infinitely small fraction of a second, as he turned +himself to drop into his seat, his eyes swept her face. The rain had +ceased to fall, the umbrellas were furled; for that infinitely short +space his eyes rested on her features. Then his back was turned to +her. + +Her eyes had been fixed elsewhere, her face had been cold--she had not +seen him. So much, in the confused pounding rush of his thoughts, as +he sat tingling in every inch of his frame, he could remember; but +nothing else except that in lieu of the plain Quaker-like dress which +Mary Smith had worn--oh, dress to be ever remembered!--she was +wearing rich furs, with a great muff and a small hat of sable, and was +Mary Smith no longer. + +Probably she had been there from the start, seated behind him under +cover of the rain and the umbrellas. If so--and he remembered that +that seat had been occupied when he got to his place--she had +perceived his coming, had seen him mount, had been aware of him from +the first. She could see him now, watch every movement, read his +self-consciousness in the stiff pose of his head, perceive the rush of +colour which dyed his ears and neck. + +And he was planted there, he could not escape. And he suffered. Asked +beforehand, he would have said that his uppermost feeling in such +circumstances would be resentment. But, in fact, he could think of +nothing except that meeting in Parliament Street, and the rudeness +with which he had treated her. If he had not refused to speak to her, +if he had not passed her by, rejecting her hand with disdain, he might +have been his own master now; he would have been free to speak, or +free to be silent, as he pleased. And she who had treated him so ill +would have been the one to suffer. But, as it was, he was hot all +over. The intolerable _gne_ of the situation rested on him and +weighed him down. + +Until the coachman called his attention to a passing waggon, and +pointed out a something unusual in its make; which broke the spell and +freed his thoughts. After that he began to feel a little of the wonder +which the coincidence demanded. How came she in the same seat, on the +same coach on which she had travelled before. He could not bring +himself to look round and meet her eyes. But he remembered that a +man-servant, doubtless in attendance on her, shared the hind seat with +the clerk who had spoken to him; and the middle-aged woman who sat +with her was doubtless her maid. Still, he knew Sir Robert well enough +to be sure that he would not countenance her journeying, even with +this attendance, on a public vehicle; and therefore, he argued, she +must be doing it without Sir Robert's knowledge, and probably in +pursuance of some whim of her own. Could it be that she, too, wished +to revive the bitter-sweet of recollection, the memory of that April +day? And, to do so, had gone out of her way to travel on this cold wet +morning on the same coach, which six months before had brought them +together? + +If so, she must love him in spite of all. And in that case, what must +her feelings have been when she saw him take his place? What, when she +knew that she would not taste the bitter-sweet alone, but in his +company? What, when she foresaw that, through the day she would not +pass a single thing of all those well-remembered things, that +milestone which he had pointed out to her, that baiting-house of +which she had asked the name, that stone bridge with the hundred +balustrades which they had crossed in the gloaming--her eyes would not +alight on one of these, without another heart answering to every throb +of hers, and another breast aching as hers ached. + +At that thought a subtle attraction, almost irresistible, drew him to +her, and he could have cried to her, under the pain of separation. For +it was all true. Before his eyes those things were passing. There was +the milestone which he had pointed out to her. And there the ruined +inn. And here were the streets of Reading opening before them, and the +Market Place, and the Bear Inn, where he had saved her from injury, +perhaps from death. + + + * * * * * + + +They were out of the town, they were clear of the houses, and he had +not looked, he had not been able to look at her. Her weakness, her +inconstancy deserved their punishment: but for all her fortune, to +recover all that he had lost and she had gained, he would not have +looked at her there. Yet, while the coach changed horses in the Square +before the Bear, he had had a glimpse of her--reflected in the window +of a shop; and he had marked with greedy eyes each line of her figure +and seen that she had wound a veil round her face and hat, so that, +whatever her emotions, she might defy curious eyes. And yet, as far as +he was concerned, she had done it in vain. The veil could not hide the +agitation, could not hide the strained rigidity of her pose, or the +convulsive force with which one hand gripped the other in her lap. + +Well, that was over, thank God! For he had as soon seen a woman +beaten. The town was behind them; Newbury was not far in front. And +now with shame he began to savour a weak pleasure in her presence, in +her nearness to him, in the thought that her eyes were on him and her +thoughts full of him, and that if he stretched out his hand he could +touch her; that there was that between them, that there must always be +that between them, which time could not destroy. The coach was loaded, +but for him it carried her only: and for Mary he was sure that he +filled the landscape were it as wide as that which, west of Newbury, +reveals to the admiring traveller the whole wide vale of the Kennet. +He thrilled at the thought; and the coachman asked him if he were +cold. But he was far from cold; he knew that she too trembled, she, +too, thrilled. And a foolish exultation possessed him. He had hungry +thoughts of her nearness, and her beauty; and insane plans of +snatching her to his breast when she left the coach, and covering her +with kisses though a hundred looked on. He might suffer for it, he +would deserve to suffer for it, it would be an intolerable outrage. +But he would have kissed her, he would have held her to his heart. +Nothing could undo that. + +Yet it was only in fancy that he was reckless, for still he did not +dare to look at her. And when they came at last to Marlborough, and +drew up at the door of the Castle Inn, where west-bound travellers +dined, he descended hurriedly and went into the coffee-room to secure +a place in a corner, whence he might see her enter without meeting her +eyes. + +But she did not enter the house, soon or late. And a vain man might +have thought that she was not only bent on doing everything which she +had done on the former journey, but that it was not without intention +that she remained alone on the coach, exposed to his daring--if he +chose to dare. Not a few indeed, of his fellow-passengers, wandered +out before the time, and on the pretence of examining the faade of +the handsome old house, shot sidelong glances at the young lady, who, +wrapped in her furs and veiled to the throat, sat motionless in the +keen October air. But Vaughan was not of these; nor was he vain. When +he found that she did not come in, he decided that she would not meet +him, that she remained on the coach rather than sit in his company; +and forgetting the overture in Parliament Street, he remembered only +her fickleness and weakness. He fell to the depths. She had never +loved him, never, never! + +On that he almost made up his mind to stay there; and to go on by the +next coach. His presence must be hateful to her, a misery, a torment, +he told himself. It was bad enough to force her to remain exposed to +the weather while others dined; it would be monstrous to go on and +continue to make her wretched. + +But, before the time for leaving came, he changed his mind, and he +went out, feeling cowed and looking hard. He could not mount without +seeing her out of the corner of his eye; but the veil masked all, and +left him no wiser. The sun had burst through the clouds, and the sky +above the curving line of the downs was blue. But the October air was +still chilly, and he heard the maid fussing about her, and wrapping +her up more warmly. Well, it mattered little. At Chippenham, the +carriage with its pomp of postillions and outriders--Sir Robert was +particular about such things--would meet her; and he would see her no +more. + +His pride weakened at that thought. She could never be anything to him +now; he had no longer the least notion of kissing her. But at +Chippenham, before she passed out of his life, he would speak to her. +Yes, he would speak. He did not know what he would say, but he would +not part from her in anger. He would tell her that, and bid her +good-bye. Later, he would be glad to remember that they had parted in +that way, and that he had forgiven! + +While he thought of it they fell swiftly from the lip of the downs, +and rattling over the narrow bridge and through the stone-built +streets of Calne, were out again on the Bath road. After that, though +they took Black Dog hill at a slow pace, they seemed to be at +Chippenham in a twinkling. Before he could calm his thoughts the coach +was rattling between houses, and the wide straggling street was +opening before them, and the group assembled in front of the Angel to +see the coach arrive was scattering to right and left. + +A glance told him that there was no carriage-and-four in waiting. And +because his heart was jumping so foolishly he was glad to put off the +moment of speaking to her. She would go into the house to wait for the +carriage, and when the coach, with its bustle and its many eyes, had +gone its way, he would be able to speak to her. + +Accordingly, the moment the coach stopped he descended and hastened +into the house. He sent out the "boots" for his valise and betook +himself to the bar-parlour, where he called for something and jested +cheerily with the smiling landlady, who came herself to attend upon +him. He kept his back to the door which Mary must pass to ascend the +stairs, for well he knew the parlour of honour to which she would be +ushered. But though he listened keenly for the rustle of her skirts, a +couple of minutes passed and he heard nothing. + +"You are not going on, sir?" the landlady asked. She knew too much of +the family politics to ask point-blank if he were going to Chippinge. + +"No," he replied; "no, I"--his attention wandered--"I am not." + +"I hope we may have the honour of keeping you tonight, sir?" she said. + +"Yes, I"--was that the coach starting?--"I think I shall stay the +night." And then, "Sir Robert's carriage is not here?" he asked, +setting down his glass. + +"No, sir. But two gentlemen have just driven in from Sir Robert's in a +chaise. They are posting to Bath. One's Colonel Brereton, sir. The +other's a young gentleman, short and stout. Quite the gentleman, sir, +but that positive, the postboy told me, and talkative, you'd think he +was the Emperor of China! That's their chaise coming out of the yard +now, sir." + +A thought, keen as a knife-stab, darted through Vaughan's mind. In +three strides he was out of the bar-parlour, in three more he was at +the door of the Angel. + +The coach was in the act of starting, the ostlers were falling back, +the guard was swinging himself up; and Mary Vermuyden was where he had +left her, in the place behind the coachman. And in the box-seat, the +very seat which he had vacated, was Bob Flixton, settling himself in +his wraps and turning to talk to her. + +Vaughan let fall a word which we will not chronicle. It was true, +then! They were engaged! Doubtless Flixton had come to meet her, and +all was over. Fan-fa-ra! Fan-fa-ra! The coach was growing small in the +distance. It veered a little, a block of houses hid it, Vaughan saw it +again. Then in the dusk of the October evening the descent to the +bridge swallowed it, and he turned away miserable. + +He walked a little distance from the door that his face might not be +seen. He did not tell himself that, because the view grew misty before +his eyes, he was taking the blow contemptibly; he told himself only +that he was very wretched, and that she was gone. It seemed as if so +much had gone with her; so much of the hope and youth and fortune, and +the homage of men, which had been his when he and she first saw the +streets of Chippenham together and he alighted to talk to Isaac White, +and mounted again to ride on by her side. + +He was standing with his back to the inn thinking of this--and not +bitterly, but in a broken fashion--when he heard his name called, and +he turned and saw Colonel Brereton striding after him. + +"I thought it was you," Brereton said. But though he had not met +Vaughan for some months, and the two had liked one another, he spoke +with little cordiality, and there was a vague look in his face. "I was +not sure," he added. + +"You came with Flixton?" Vaughan said, speaking, on his side also, +rather dully. + +"Yes, and meant to go on with him. But there's no counting on men in +love," Brereton continued with more irritation than the occasion +seemed to warrant. "He saw his charmer on the coach, and a vacant +seat--and I may find my way to Bath as I can." + +"They are to be married, I hear?" Vaughan said in the same dull tone +and with his face averted. + +"I don't know," Brereton answered sourly. "What I do know is that I'm +not best pleased that he has left me. I heard Sir Charles Wetherell +was sleeping at your cousin's last evening, and I posted there to see +him about the arrangements for his entry. But I missed him. He's gone +to Bath for this evening. Well, I took Flixton with me because I +didn't know Sir Robert and he did, and he's supposed to be playing +aide-de-camp to me. But a fine aide-de-camp he's like to prove, if +this is the way he treats me. You know Wetherell opens the Assizes at +Bristol tomorrow?" + +"Yes, I saw his clerk on my way here." + +"There'll be trouble, Vaughan!" + +"Really?" + +"Ay, really! And bad trouble! I wish it was over." He passed his hand +across his brow. + +"I heard something of it in London," Vaughan answered. + +"Not much, I'll wager," Brereton rejoined, with a brusqueness which +betrayed his irritation. "They don't know much, or they wouldn't be +sending me eighty sabres to keep order in a city of a hundred thousand +people! Enough, you see, to anger, and not enough to intimidate! It's +just plain madness. It's madness. But I've made up my mind! I've made +up my mind!" he repeated, speaking in a tone which betrayed the +tenseness of his nerves. "Not a man will I show if I can help it! Not +a man! And not a shot will I fire, whatever comes of it! I'll be no +butcherer of innocent folk." + +"I hope nothing will come of it," Vaughan answered, interested in +spite of himself. "You're in command, sir, of course?" + +"Yes, and I wish to heaven I were not! But there, there!" he +continued, pulling himself up as if he kept a watch on himself and +feared that he had said too much. "Enough of my business. What are you +doing here?" + +"Well, I was going to Chippinge." + +"Come to Bath with me! I shall see Wetherell, and you know him. You +may be of use to me. There's half the chaise at your service, and I +will tell you about it, as we go." + +Vaughan at that moment cared little where he went, and after the +briefest hesitation, he consented. A few minutes later they started +together. It happened that as they drove in the last of the twilight +over the long stone bridge, an open car drawn by four horses and +containing a dozen rough-looking men overtook them and raced them for +a hundred yards. + +"There's another!" Brereton said, rising with an oath and looking +after it. "I was told that two had gone through!" + +"What is it? Who are they?" Vaughan asked, leaning out on his side to +see. + +"Midland Union men, come to stir up the Bristol lambs!" Brereton +answered. "They may spare themselves the trouble," he continued +bitterly. "The fire will need no poking, I'll be sworn!" + +And brought back to the subject, he never ceased from that moment to +talk of it. It was plain to anyone who knew him that a nervous +excitability had taken the place of his usual thoughtfulness. Long +before they reached Bath, Vaughan was sure that, whatever his own +troubles, there was one man in the world more unhappy than himself, +more troubled, less at ease; and that that man sat beside him in the +chaise. + +He believed that Brereton exaggerated the peril. But if his fears were +well-based, then he agreed that the soldiers sent were too few. + +"Still a bold front will do much!" he argued. + +"A bold front!" Brereton replied feverishly. "No, but management may! +Management may. They give me eighty swords to control eighty thousand +people! Why, it's my belief"--and he dropped his voice and laid his +hand on his companion's arm,--"that the Government wants a riot! Ay, +by G--d, it is! To give the lie to Wetherell and prove that the +country, and Bristol in particular, is firm for the Bill!" + +"Oh, but that's absurd!" Vaughan answered; though he recalled what +Brougham had said. + +"Absurd or not, nine-tenths of Bristol believe it," Brereton retorted. +"And I believe it! But I'll be no butcher. Besides, do you see how I +am placed? If in putting down this riot which is in the Government +interest, and is believed to be fostered by them, I exceed my duty by +a jot, I am a lost man! A lost man! Now do you see?" + +"I can't think it's as bad as that," Vaughan said. + + + + + XXIX + + AUTUMN LEAVES + + +Miss Sibson paused to listen, but heard nothing. And disappointed, and +with a sigh, she spread a clean handkerchief over the lap of her gown +and helped herself to part of a round of buttered toast. + +"She'll not come," she muttered. "I was a fool to think it! An old +fool to think it!" And she bit viciously into the toast. + +It was long past her usual tea-time, yet she paused a second time to +listen, before she raised her first cup of tea to her lips. A covered +dish which stood on a brass trivet before the bright coal fire gave +forth a savoury smell, and the lamplight which twinkled on sparkling +silver and old Nantgarw, discovered more than the tea-equipage. The +red moreen curtains were drawn before the windows, a tabby cat purred +sleepily on the hearth; in all Bristol was no more cosy or more +cheerful scene. Yet Miss Sibson left the savoury dish untouched, and +ate the toast with less than her customary appetite. + +"I shall set," she murmured, "'The Deceitfulness of Riches' for the +first copy when the children return. And for the second 'Fine Feathers +Make Fine Birds!' And"--she continued with determination, though there +was no one to be intimidated--"for the third, 'There's No Fool Like an +Old Fool!'" + +She had barely uttered the words when she set down her cup. The roll +of distant wheels had fallen on her ears. She listened for a few +seconds, then she rose in haste and rang the bell. "Martha," she said +when the maid appeared, "are the two warming-pans in the bed?" + +"To be sure, Ma'am." + +"And well filled?" Miss Sibson spoke suspiciously. + +"The sheets are as nigh singeing as you'd like, Ma'am," the maid +answered. "You can smell 'em here! I only hope," she continued, with a +quaver in her voice, "as we mayn't smell fire before long!" + +"Smell fiddlesticks!" Miss Sibson retorted. Then "That will do," she +continued. "I will open the door myself." + +When she did so the lights of the hackney-coach which had stopped +before the house disclosed first Mary Vermuyden in her furs, standing +on the step; secondly, Mr. Flixton, who had placed himself as near her +as he dared; and thirdly and fourthly, flanking them at a distance of +a pace or two, a tall footman and a maid. + +"Good gracious!" Miss Sibson exclaimed, dismay in her tone. + +"Yes," Mary answered, almost crying. "They would come! I said I wished +to come alone. Good-night, Mr. Flixton!" + +"Oh, but I--I couldn't think of leaving you like this!" the Honourable +Bob answered. He had derived a minimum of satisfaction from his ride +on the coach, for Mary had shown herself of the coldest. And if he was +to part from her here he might as well have travelled with Brereton. +Besides, what the deuce was afoot? What was she doing here? + +"And Baxter is as bad," Mary said plaintively. "As for Thomas----" + +"Beg pardon, Ma'am," the man said, touching his hat, "but it is as +much as my place is worth." + +The maid, a woman of mature years, said nothing, but held her ground, +the image of stolid disapproval. She knew Miss Sibson. But Bristol was +strange to her; and the dark windy square, with its flickering lights, +its glimpses of gleaming water and skeleton masts, and its unseen but +creaking windlasses, seemed to her, fresh from Lady Worcester's, a +most unfitting place for her young lady. + +Miss Sibson cut the knot after her own fashion. "Well, I can't take +you in," she said bluffly. "This gentleman," pointing to Mr. Flixton, +"will find quarters for you at the White Lion or the Bush. And your +mistress will see you to-morrow. Thomas, bring in your young lady's +trunk. Good-night, sir," she added, addressing the Honourable Bob. +"Miss Vermuyden will be quite safe with me." + +"Oh, but I say, Miss Sibson!" he remonstrated. "You can't mean to take +the moon out of the sky like this, and leave us in the dark? Miss +Vermuyden----" + +"Good-night," Mary said, not a whit placated by the compliment. And +she slipped past Miss Sibson into the passage. + +"Oh, but it's not safe, you know!" he cried. "You're not a hundred +yards from the Mansion House here. And if those beggars make trouble +to-morrow--positively there's no knowing what will happen!" + +"We can take care of ourselves, sir," Miss Sibson replied curtly. +"Good-night, sir!" And she shut the door in his face. + +The Honourable Bob glared at it for a time, but it remained closed and +dark. There was nothing to be done save to go. "D----n the woman!" he +cried. And he turned about. + +It was something of a shock to him to find the two servants still at +his elbow, patiently regarding him. "Where are we to go, sir?" the +maid asked, as stolid as before. + +"Go?" cried he, staring. "Go? Eh? What? What do you mean?" + +"Where are we to go, sir, for the night? If you'll please to show us, +sir. I'm a stranger here." + +"Oh! This is too much!" the Honourable Bob cried, finding himself +on a sudden a family man. "Go? I don't care if you go to----" But +there he paused. He put the temptation to tell them to go to blazes +from him. After all, they were Mary's servants. "Oh, very well! Very +well!" he resumed, fuming. "There, get in! Get in!" indicating the +hackney-coach. "And do you," he continued, turning to Thomas, "tell +him to drive to the White Lion. Was there ever? That old woman's a +neat artist, if ever I saw one!" + +And a moment later Flixton trundled off, boxed in with the mature +maid, and vowing to himself that in all his life he had never been so +diddled before. + +Meanwhile, within doors--for farce and tragedy are never far +apart--Mary, with her furs loosened, but not removed, was resisting +all Miss Sibson's efforts to restrain her. "I must go to her!" she +said with painful persistence. "I must go to her at once, if you +please, Miss Sibson. Where is she?" + +"She is not here," Miss Sibson said, plump and plain. + +"Not here!" Mary cried, springing from the chair into which Miss +Sibson had compelled her. "Not here!" + +"No. Not in this house." + +"Then why--why did she tell me to come here?" Mary cried dumbfounded. + +"Her ladyship is next door. No, my dear!" And Miss Sibson interposed +her ample form between Mary and the door. "You cannot go to her until +you have eaten and drunk. She does not expect you, and there is no +need of such haste. She may live a fortnight, three weeks, a month +even! And she must not, my dear, see you with that sad face." + +Mary gave way at that. She sat down and burst into tears. + +The schoolmistress knew nothing of the encounter in Parliament Street, +nothing of the meeting on the coach. But she was a sagacious woman, +and she discerned something more than the fatigue of the journey, +something more than grief for her mother, in the girl's depression. +She said nothing, however, contenting herself with patting her guest +on the shoulder and gently removing her wraps and shoes. Then she set +a footstool for her in front of the fire and poured out her tea, and +placed hot sweetbread before her, and toast, and Sally Lunn. And when +Mary, touched by her kindness, flung her arms round her neck and +kissed her, she said only, "That's better, my dear, drink your tea, +and then I will tell you all I know." + +"I cannot eat anything." + +"Oh, yes, you can! After that you are going to see your mother, and +then you will come back and take a good night's rest. To-morrow you +will do as you like. Her ladyship is with an old servant next door, +through whom she first heard of me." + +"Why did she not remain in Bath?" Mary asked. + +"I cannot tell you," Miss Sibson answered. "She has whims. If you ask +me, I should say that she thought Sir Robert would not find her here, +and so could not take you from her." + +"But the servants?" Mary said in dismay. "They will tell my father. +And indeed----" + +"Indeed what, my dear?" + +"I do not wish to hide from him." + +"Quite right!" Miss Sibson said. "Quite right, my dear. But I fancy +that that was her ladyship's reason. Perhaps she thought also that +when she--that afterwards I should be at hand to take care of you. As +a fact," Miss Sibson continued, rubbing her cheek with the handle of a +teaspoon, a sure sign that she was troubled, "I wish that your mother +had chosen another place. You don't ask, my dear, where the children +are." + +Mary looked at her hostess. "Oh, Miss Sibson!" she exclaimed, +conscience-stricken. "You cannot have sent them away for my sake?" + +"No, my dear," Miss Sibson answered, noting with satisfaction that +Mary was making a meal. "No, their parents have removed them. The +Recorder is coming to-morrow, and he is so unpopular on account of +this nasty Bill--which is setting everyone on horseback whether they +can ride or not--and there is so much talk of trouble when he enters, +that all the foolish people have taken fright and removed their +children for the week. It's pure nonsense, my dear," Miss Sibson +continued comfortably. "I've seen the windows of the Mansion House +broken a score of times at elections, and not another house in the +Square a penny the worse! Just an old custom. And so it will be +to-morrow. But the noise may disturb her ladyship, and that's why I +wish her elsewhere." + +Mary did not answer, and the schoolmistress, noting her spiritless +attitude and the dark shadows under her eyes, was confirmed in her +notion that here was something beyond grief for the mother whom the +girl had scarcely known. And Miss Sibson felt a tug at her own +heartstrings. She was well-to-do and well considered in Bristol, and +she was not conscious that her life was monotonous. But the gay scrap +of romance which Mary's coming had wrought into the dull patchwork of +days, long toned to the note of Mrs. Chapone, was welcome to her. Her +little relaxations, her cosy whist-parties, her hot suppers to follow, +these she had: but here was something brighter and higher. It stirred +a long-forgotten youth, old memories, the ashes of romance. She loved +Mary for it. + +To rouse the girl, she rose from her chair. "Now, my dear," she said, +"you can go to your room, if you will. And in ten minutes we will step +next door." + +Mary looked at her with grateful eyes. "I am glad now," she said, "I +am glad that she came here." + +"Ah!" the schoolmistress answered, pursing up her lips. And she looked +at the girl uncertainly. "It's odd," she said, "I sometimes think that +you are just--Mary Smith." + +"I am!" the other answered warmly. "Always Mary Smith to you!" And the +old woman took the young one to her arms. + +A quarter of an hour later Mary came down, and she was Mary Smith in +truth. For she had put on the grey Quaker-like dress in which she had +followed her trunk from the coach-office six months before. "I +thought," she said, "that I could nurse her better in this than in my +new clothes!" But she blushed deeply as she spoke: for if she had this +thought she had others also in her mind. She might not often wear that +dress, but she would never part with it. Arthur Vaughan's eyes had +worshipped it; his hands had touched it. And in the days to come it +would lie, until she died, in some locked coffer, perfumed with +lavender, and sweet with the dried rose-leaves of her dead romance. +And on one day in the year she would visit it, and bury her face in +its soft faded folds, and dream the old dreams. + +It was but a step to the door of the neighbouring house. But the +distance, though short, steadied the girl's mind and enabled her to +taste that infinity of the night, that immensity of nature, which, +like a fathomless ocean, islands the littleness of our lighted homes. +The groaning of strained cordage, the creaking of timbers, the far-off +rattle of a boom came off the dark water that lipped the wharves +which still fringe three sides of the Square. Here and there a rare +gas-lamp, lately set up, disclosed the half-bare arms of trees, or +some vague opening leading to the Welsh Back. But for all the two +could see, as they glided from the one door to the other, the busy +city about them, seething with so many passions, pregnant with so much +danger, hiding in its entrails the love, the fear, the secrets of a +myriad lives, might have been in another planet. + +Mary owned the calming influence of the night and the stars, and +before the door opened to Miss Sibson's knock, the blush had faded +from her cheek. It was with solemn thoughts that she went up the wide +oaken staircase, still handsome, though dusty and fallen from its high +estate. The task before her, the scene on the threshold of which she +trod, brought the purest instincts of her nature into play. But her +guide knocked, someone within the room bade them enter, and Mary +advanced. She saw lights and a bed--a four-poster, heavily curtained. +And half blinded by her tears, she glided towards the bed--or was +gliding, when a querulous voice arrested her midway. + +"So you are come!" it said. And Lady Sybil, who, robed in a silken +dressing-gown, was lying on a small couch in a different part of the +room, tossed a book, not too gently, to the floor. "What stuff! What +stuff!" she ejaculated wearily. "A schoolgirl might write as good! +Well, you are come," she continued. "There," as Mary, flung back on +herself, bent timidly and kissed her, "that will do! That will do! I +can't bear anyone near me! Don't come too near me! Sit on that chair, +where I can see you!" + +Mary beat back her tears and obeyed with a quivering lip. "I hope you +are better," she said. + +"Better!" her mother retorted in the same peevish tone. "No, and shall +not be!" Then, with a shrill scream, "Heavens, child, what have you +got on?" she continued. "What have you done to yourself? You look like +a _s[oe]ur de Charit!_" + +"I thought that I could nurse you better in this," Mary faltered. + +"Nurse me!" + +"Yes, I----" + +"Rubbish!" Lady Sybil exclaimed with petulant impatience. "You nurse? +Don't be silly! Who wants you to nurse me? I want you to amuse me. And +you won't do that by dressing yourself like a dingy death's-head moth! +There, for Heaven's sake," with a catch in her voice which went to +Mary's heart, "don't cry! I'm not strong enough to bear it. Tell me +something! Tell me anything to make me laugh. How did you trick Sir +Robert, child? How did you escape? That will amuse me," with a +mirthless laugh. "I wish I could see his solemn face when he hears +that you are gone!" + +Mary explained that the summons had found her in London; that her +father was not there, but that still she had had to beat down Lady +Worcester's resistance before she could have her way and leave. + +"I don't know her," Lady Sybil said shortly. + +"She was very kind to me," Mary answered. + +"I dare say," in the same tone. + +"But she would not let me go until I gave her my address." + +Lady Sybil sat up sharply. "And you did that?" she shrieked. "You gave +it her?" + +"I was obliged to give it," Mary stammered, "or I could not have left +London." + +"Obliged? Obliged?" Lady Sybil retorted, in the same passionate tone. +"Why, you fool, you might have given her fifty addresses! Any address! +Any address but this! There!" Lady Sybil continued sullenly, as she +sank back and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. "You've done it +now. You've excited me. Give me those drops! There! Are you blind? +Those! Those! And--and sit farther from me! I can't breathe with you +close to me!" + +After which, when Mary, almost heartbroken, had given her the +medicine, and seated herself in the appointed place, she turned her +face to the wall and lay silent and morose, uttering no sound but an +occasional sigh of pain. + +Meantime, to eyes that could read, the room told her story, and told +it eloquently. The table beside the couch was strewn with rose-bound +Annuals and Keepsakes, and a dozen volumes bearing the labels of more +than one library; books opened only to be cast aside. Costly toys and +embroidered nothings, vinaigrettes and scent-bottles, lay scattered +everywhere; and on other tables, on the mantelpiece, on the floor, a +litter of similar trifles elbowed and jostled the gloomy tokens of +illness. Near the invalid's hand lay a miniature in a jewelled frame, +while a packet of letters tied with a fragment of gold lace, and a +buhl desk half-closed upon a broken fan told the same tale of ennui, +and of a vanity which survived the charms on which it had rested. The +lesson was not lost on the daughter's heart. It moved her to purest +pity; and presently, wrung by a sigh more painful than usual, she +crept to the couch, sank on her knees, and pressed her cool lips to +the wasted hand which hung from it. Even then for a time her mother +did not move or take notice. But slowly the weary sighs grew more +frequent, grew to sobs--how much less poignant!--and her weak arm drew +Mary's head to her bosom. + +And by-and-by the arm tightened its hold and gripped her convulsively, +the sobs grew deeper and shook the worn form at each respiration; and +presently, "Ah, God, what will become of me?" burst from the depths of +the poor quaking heart, too proud hitherto to make its fear known. +"What will become of me?" + +That cry pierced Mary like a knife, but its confession of weakness +made mother and daughter one. Her feeble arms could not avert the +approach of the dark shadow, whose coming terrified though it +could not change. But what human love could do, what patient +self-forgetfulness might teach, she vowed that she would do and teach; +and what clinging hands might compass to delay the end, her hands +should compass. When Miss Sibson's message, informing her that it was +time to return, was brought to her, she shook her head, smiling, and +locked the door. "I shall be your nurse, after all!" she said. "I +shall not leave you." And before midnight, with a brave contentment, +for which Lady Sybil's following eyes were warrant, she had taken +possession of the room and all its contents; she had tidied as much as +it was good to tidy, she had knelt to heat the milk or brush the +hearth, she had smoothed the pillow, and sworn a score of times that +nothing, no Sir Robert, no father, no force should tear her from this +her duty, this her joy--until the end. + +No memory of her dull childhood, or of the days of labour and +servitude which she owed to the dying woman, no thought of the joys of +wealth and youth which she had lost through her, rose to mar the +sincerity of her love. Much less did such reflections trouble her on +whose flighty mind they should have rested so heavily. So far indeed +was this from being the case, that when Mary stooped to some office +which the mother's fastidiousness deemed beneath her, "How can you do +that?" Lady Sybil cried peevishly. "I'll not have you do it! Do you +hear me, girl? Let some servant see to it! What else are they for!" + +"But I used to do it every day at Clapham," Mary answered cheerfully. +She had not spoken before, aware of the reproach which her words +conveyed, she could have bitten her tongue. + +But Lady Sybil did not wince. "Then why did you do it?" she retorted, +"Why did you do it? Why were you so foolish as to stoop to such +things? I'm sure you didn't get your poor spirit from me! And +Vermuyden was as stiff as a poker! But there! I remember the prince +saying once that ladies went out of fashion with hoops, and gentlemen +with snuffboxes. You make me think he was right. Oh, clumsy!" she +continued, raising her voice, "now you are turning the light on my +face! Do you wish to see me hideous?" + +Mary moved it. "Is that better, mother?" she asked. + +Lady Sybil cast a resentful glance at her. "There, there, let it be!" +she said. "You can't help it. You're like your father. He could never +do anything right! I suppose I am doomed to have none but helpless +people about me." + +And so on, and so on. Like many invalids, she was most lively at +night, and she continued to complain through long restless hours, with +the candles burning lower and lower, and the snuffers coming into more +frequent request. Until with the chill before the dawn she fell at +last into a fitful sleep; and Mary, creeping to the close-curtained +windows to cool her weary eyes, peeped out and saw the grey of the +morning. Outside, the Square was beginning to discover its half-bare +trees and long straight rows of houses. Through openings, here and +there, the water glimmered mistily; and on the height facing her, the +tall tower of St. Mary Redcliffe rose above the roofs and pointed +skywards. Little did Mary think what the day would bring forth in that +grey deserted place on which she looked; or in what changed +conditions, under what stress of mind and heart, she would, before the +sun set twice, view that Square. + + + + + XXX + + THE MAYOR'S RECEPTION IN QUEEN'S SQUARE + + +The day, of which Mary watched the cloudy opening from her mother's +window, was drawing to a close; and from a house in the same +Square--but on the north side, whereas Miss Sibson's was on the +west--another pair of eyes looked out, while a heart, which a few +hours before had been as sore as hers, rose a little at the prospect. +Arthur Vaughan, ignorant of her proximity--to love's shame be it +said--sat in a window on the first floor of the Mansion House, and, +undismayed by the occasional crash of glass, watched the movements of +the swaying, shouting, mocking crowd; a crowd, numbering some +thousands, which occupied the middle space of the Square, as well as +the roadways, clustered upon the Immortal Memory, overflowed into the +side streets, and now joined in one mighty roar of "Reform! Reform!" +now groaned thunderously at the name of Wetherell. Behind Vaughan in +the same room, the drawing-room of the official residence, some twenty +or thirty persons argued and gesticulated; at one time approaching a +window to settle a debated point, at another scattering with +exclamations of anger as a stone fell or some other missile alighted +among them. + +"Boo! Boo!" yelled the mob below. "Throw him out! Reform! Reform!" + +Vaughan looked down on the welter of moving faces. He saw that the +stone-throwers were few, and the daredevils, who at times adventured +to pull up the railings which guarded the forecourt, were fewer. But +he saw also that the mass sympathised with them, egged them on, and +applauded their exploits. And he wondered what would happen when night +fell, and wondered again why the peaceable citizens who wrangled +behind him made light of the position. The glass was flying, here and +there an iron bar had vanished from the railings, night was +approaching. For him it was very well. He had accompanied Brereton to +Bristol to see what would happen, and for his part, if the adventure +proved to be of the first class, so much the better. But the good +pursy citizens behind him, who, when they were not deafening the +little Mayor with their counsels, were making a jest of the turmoil, +had wives and daughters, goods and houses within reach. And in their +place he felt that he would have been far from easy. + +By and by it appeared that some of them shared his feelings. For +presently, in a momentary lull of the babel outside, a voice he knew +rose above those in the room. + +"Nothing? You call it nothing?" Mr. Cooke--for his was the +voice--cried. "Nothing, that his Majesty's Judge has been hooted and +pelted from Totterdown to the Guildhall? Nothing, that the Recorder of +Bristol has been hunted like a criminal from the Guildhall to this +place! You call it nothing, sir, that his Majesty's Commission has +been flouted for six hours past by all the riffraff of the Docks? And +with half of decent Bristol looking on and applauding!" + +"Oh, no, no!" the little Mayor remonstrated. "Not applauding, Mr. +Cooke!" + +"Yes, sir, applauding!" Cooke retorted with vigour. + +"And teach Wetherell a lesson!" someone in the background muttered. + +The man spoke low, but Cooke heard the words and wheeled about. +"There, sir, there!" he cried, stuttering in his indignation. "What do +you say to that? Here, in your presence, the King's Judge is insulted. +But I warn you," he continued, "I warn you all! You are playing with +fire! You are laughing in your sleeves, but you'll cry in your shirts! +You, Mr. Mayor, I call upon you to do your duty! I call upon you to +summon the military and give the order to clear the streets before +worse comes of it." + +"I don't--I really don't--think that it is necessary," the Mayor +answered pacifically. "I have seen as bad as this at half a dozen +elections, Mr. Cooke." + +The Town-clerk, a tall, thin man, who still wore his gown though he +had laid aside his wig, struck in. "Quite true, Mr. Mayor!" he said. +"The fact is, the crowd thinks itself hardly used on these occasions +if it is not allowed to break the windows and do a little mischief on +the lower floor." + +"By G--d, I'd teach it a lesson then!" Cooke retorted. "It seems to me +it is time someone did!" + +Two or three expressed the same opinion, though they did so with less +decision. But the main part smiled at Cooke's heat as at a foolish +display of temper. "I've seen as much half a dozen times," said one, +shrugging his shoulders. "And no harm done!" + +"I've seen worse!" another answered. "And after all," the speaker +added with a wink, "it is good for the glaziers." + +Fortunately, Cooke did not hear this last. But Vaughan heard it, and +he judged that the rioters had their backers within as well as +without; and that within, as without, the notion prevailed that the +Government would not be best pleased if the movement were too roughly +checked. An old proverb about the wisdom of dealing with the +beginnings of mischief occurred to him. But he supposed that the +authorities knew their business and Bristol, and, more correctly than +he, could gauge the mob and the danger, of both of which they made so +light. + +Still he wondered. And he wondered more three minutes later. Two +servants brought in lights. Unfortunately the effect of these was to +reveal the interior of the room to the mob, and the change was the +signal for a fusillade of stones so much more serious and violent than +anything which had gone before that a quick _sauve qui peut_ took +place. Vaughan was dislodged with the others--he could do no good by +remaining; and in two minutes the room was empty, and the mob were +celebrating their victory with peals of titanic laughter, accompanied +by fierce cries of "Throw him out! Throw out the d----d Recorder! +Reform!" + +Meanwhile the company, with one broken head and one or two pale faces, +had taken refuge on the landing behind the drawing-room, the stairs +ascending to which were guarded by a reserve of constables. Vaughan +saw that the Mayor and his satellites were beginning to look at one +another, and leaning, quietly observant, against the wall, he noticed +that more than one was shaken. Still the little Mayor retained his +good-humour. "Oh, dear, dear!" he said indulgently. "This is too bad! +Really too bad!" + +"We'd better go upstairs," Sergeant Ludlow, the Town-clerk, suggested. +"We can see what passes as well from that floor as from this, and with +less risk!" + +"No, but really this is growing serious," a third said timidly. "It's +too bad, this." + +He had scarcely spoken, and the Mayor was still standing undecided, as +if he did not quite like the idea of retreat, when two persons, one +with his head bandaged, came quickly up the stairs. "Where's the +Mayor?" cried the first. And then, "Mr. Mayor, they are pushing us too +hard," said the second, an officer of special constables. "We must +have help, or they will pull the house about our ears." + +"Oh, nonsense!" + +"But it's not nonsense, sir," the man answered angrily. + +"But----" + +"You must read the Riot Act, sir," the other, who was the +Under-Sheriff, chimed in. "And the sooner the better, Mr. Mayor," he +added with decision. "We've half a dozen men badly hurt. In my opinion +you should send for the military." + +The group on the landing looked aghast at one another. What, danger? +Really--danger? Half a dozen men badly hurt? Then one made an effort +to carry it off. "Send for the military?" he gasped. "Oh, but that is +absurd! That would only make matters worse!" + +The others did not speak, and the Mayor in particular looked upset. +Perhaps for the first time he appreciated the responsibility which lay +on his shoulders. Meanwhile Vaughan saw all; and Cooke also, and the +latter laughed maliciously. "Perhaps you will listen now," he said +with an ill-natured chuckle. "You would not listen to me!" + +"Dear, dear," the Mayor quavered. "Is it really as serious as that, +Mr. Hare?" He turned to the Town-clerk. "What do you advise?" he +asked. + +"I think with Mr. Hare that you had better read the Riot Act, sir." + +"Very well, I'll come down! I'll come down at once," the Mayor +assented with spirit. "Only," he continued, looking round him, "I beg +that some gentleman known to be on the side of Reform, will come with +me. Who has the Riot Act?" + +"Mr. Burges. Where is he?" + +"I am here, sir," replied the gentleman named. "I am quite ready, Mr. +Mayor. If you will say a few words to the crowd; I am sure they will +listen. Let us go down!" + + + * * * * * + + +Twenty minutes later the same group, but with disordered clothes and +sickly faces--and as to Mr. Burges, with a broken head--were gathered +again on the landing. In those twenty minutes, despite the magic of +the Riot Act, the violence of the mob had grown rather than +diminished. They were beginning to talk of burning the Mansion House, +they were calling for straw, they were demanding lights. Darkness had +fallen, too, and there could be no question now that the position was +serious. The Mayor, who, below stairs, had shown no lack of courage, +turned to the Town-clerk. "Ought I to call out the military?" he +asked. + +"I think that we should take Sir Charles Wetherell's opinion," the +tall, thin man answered, deftly shifting the burden from his own +shoulders. + +"The sooner Sir Charles is gone the better, I should say!" Cooke said +bluntly. "If we don't want to have his blood on our heads." + +"I am with Mr. Cooke there," the Under-Sheriff struck in. He was +responsible for the Judge's safety, and he spoke strongly. "Sir +Charles should be got away," he continued. "That's the first thing to +be done. He cannot hold the Assizes, and I say frankly that I will not +be responsible if he stays." + +"Jonah!" someone muttered with a sneering laugh. + +The Mayor turned about. "That's very improper!" he said. + +"It's very improper to send a Judge who is a politician!" the voice +answered. + +"And against the Bill!" a second jeered. + +"For shame! For shame!" the Mayor cried. + +"And I fancy, sir," the Under-Sheriff struck in with heat, "that the +gentlemen who have just spoken--I think I can guess their names--will +be sorry before morning! They will find that it is easier to kindle a +fire than to put it out! But--silence, gentlemen! Silence! Here is Sir +Charles!" + +Wetherell had that moment opened the door of his private room, of +which the window looked to the back. His face betrayed his surprise on +finding twenty or thirty persons huddled in disorder at the head of +the stairs. The two lights which had survived the flight from the +drawing-room flared in the draught of the shattered windows, and +the wavering illumination gave a sinister cast to the scene. +The dull rattle of stones on the floor of the rooms exposed to the +Square--varied at times by a roar of voices or a rush of feet in the +hall below--suggested that the danger was near at hand, and that the +assailants might at any moment break into the building. + +Nevertheless Sir Charles showed no signs of fear. After letting +his eyes travel over the group, "How long is this going on, Mr. +Under-Sheriff?" he asked, plunging his hands deep in his breeches +pockets. + +"Well, Sir Charles----" + +"They seem," with a touch of sternness, "to be carrying the jest +rather too far." + +"Mr. Cooke," the Mayor said, "wishes me to call out the military." + +Wetherell shook his head. "No, no," he said. "The occasion is not so +serious as to justify that. You cannot say that life is in danger?" + +The Under-Sheriff put himself forward. "I can say, sir," he answered +firmly, "that yours is in danger. And in serious danger!" + +Wetherell planted his feet further apart, and thrust his hands lower +into his pockets. "Oh, no, no," he said. + +"It is yes, yes, sir," the Under-Sheriff replied bluntly. "Unless you +leave the house I cannot be responsible! I cannot, indeed, Sir +Charles." + +"But----" + +"Listen, sir! If you don't wish a very terrible catastrophe to happen, +you must go! By G--d you must!" the Under-Sheriff repeated, forgetting +his manners. + +The noise below had swollen suddenly. Cries, blows, and shrieks rose +up the staircase, and announced that at any moment the party above +might have to defend their lives. At the prospect suddenly presented, +respect for dignities took flight; panic seized the majority. +Constables, thrusting aldermen and magistrates aside, raced up the +stairs, and bundled down again laden with beds with which to block the +windows: while the picked men who had hitherto guarded the foot of the +staircase left their posts in charge of two or three of the wounded, +who groaned dismally. Apparently the mob had broken into part of the +ground floor, and were with difficulty held at bay. + +One of the party struck his hand on the balusters--it was Mr. Cooke. +"By Heavens!" he said, "this is what comes of your d----d Reform! Your +d----d Reform! We shall all be murdered, every man of us! Murdered!" + +"For God's sake, Mr. Mayor," cried a quavering voice, "send for the +military." + +"Ay, ay! the soldiers. Send for the soldiers, sir!" echoed two or +three. + +"Certainly I will," said the Mayor, who was cooler than most. "Who +will go?" + +A man volunteered. On which Vaughan, who had so far remained silent, +stepped forward. "Sir Charles," he said, "you must retire. Your duties +are at an end, and your presence hampers the defence. Permit me to +escort you. I am unknown here, and can pass through the streets." + +Wetherell, as brave, stout and as solid a man as any in England, +hesitated. But he saw that it would soon be everyone for himself; and +in that event he was doomed. The din was waxing louder and more +menacing; the group on the stairs was melting away. In terror on their +own account, the officials were beginning to forget his presence. +Several had already disappeared, seeking to save themselves, this way +and that. Others were going. Every moment the confusion increased, and +the panic. He gave way. "You think I ought to go, Vaughan?" he asked +in a low voice. + +"I do, sir," Vaughan answered. And, entering the Recorder's room, he +brought out Sir Charles's hat and cloak and hastily thrust them on +him, scarcely anyone else attending to them. As he did this his eye +alighted on a constable's staff which lay on the floor where its owner +had dropped it. Thinking that, as he was without arms, he might as +well possess himself of it, Vaughan left Wetherell's side and went to +pick it up. At that moment a roar of sound, as sudden as the explosion +of a gun, burst up the staircase. Two or three cried in a frenzied way +that the mob were coming; some fled this way, some that, a few to +windows at the back, more to the upper story, while a handful obeyed +Vaughan's call to stand and hold the head of the stairs. For a brief +space all was disorder and--save in his neighbourhood--panic. Then a +voice below shouted that the soldiers were come, and a general "Thank +God! Not a moment too soon!" was heard on all sides. Vaughan made sure +that it was true, and then he turned to rejoin Sir Charles. + +But Wetherell had vanished, and no one could say in which direction. +Vaughan hurried upstairs and along the passages in anxious search; but +in vain. One told him that Sir Charles had left by a window at the +back; another, that he had been seen going upstairs with the +Under-Sheriff. He could learn nothing certain; and he was asking +himself what he should do next, when the sound of cheering reached his +ear. + +"What is that?" he asked a man who met him as he descended the stairs +from the second floor. + +"They are cheering the soldiers," the man replied. + +"I am glad to hear it!" Vaughan exclaimed. + +"I'd say so too," the other rejoined glumly, "if I was certain on +which side the soldiers were! But you're wanted, sir, in the +drawing-room. The Mayor asked me to find you." + +"Very good," Vaughan said, and without delay he followed the messenger +to the room he had named. Here, with the relics of the fray about +them, he found the Mayor and four or five officials who looked +woefully shaken and flustered. With them were Brereton and the +Honourable Bob, both in uniform. The stone-throwing had ceased, for +the front of the house was now guarded by a double line of troopers in +red cloaks. Lights, too, had been brought, and in the main the danger +seemed to be over. But about this council there was none of that +lightheartedness, none of that easy contempt which had characterised +the one held in the same room an hour or two before. The lesson had +been learnt in a measure. + +The Mayor looked at Vaughan as he entered. "Is this the gentleman?" he +asked. + +"Yes, that is the gentleman who got us together at the head of the +stairs," a person, a stranger to Vaughan, answered. "If he," the man +continued, "were put in charge of the constables, who are at present +at sixes and sevens, we might manage something." + +A voice in the background mentioned that it was Mr. Vaughan, the +Member for Chippinge. "I shall be glad to do anything I can," Vaughan +said. + +"In support of the military," the tall, thin Town-clerk interposed, in +a decided tone. "That must be understood. Eh, Mr. Burges?" + +"Certainly," the City Solicitor answered. And they both looked at +Colonel Brereton, who, somewhat to Vaughan's surprise, had not +acknowledged his presence. + +"Of course, of course," said the Mayor pacifically. "That is +understood. I am quite sure that Colonel Brereton will use his utmost +force to clear the streets and quiet the city." + +"I shall do what I think right," Brereton replied, standing up +straight, with his hand on his sword-hilt, and looking, among the +disordered citizens, like a Spanish hidalgo among a troop of peasants. +"I shall do what is right," he repeated stubbornly; and Vaughan, +knowing the man well, perceived that, quiet as he seemed, he was +labouring under strong excitement. "I shall walk my horses about. The +crowd are perfectly good-humoured, and only need to be kept moving." + +The Town-clerk exchanged a glance with a neighbour. "But do you think, +sir," he said, "that that will be sufficient? You are aware, I +suppose, that great damage has been done already, and that had your +troop not arrived when it did many lives might have been sacrificed?" + +"That is all I shall do," Brereton answered. "Unless," with a faint +ring of contempt in his tone, "the Mayor gives me an express and +written order to attack the people." + +The Mayor's face was a picture. "I?" he gasped. + +"Yes, sir." + +"But I--I could not take that responsibility on myself," the Mayor +cried. "I couldn't, I really couldn't!" he repeated, taken aback by +the burden it was proposed to put on him. "I can't judge, Colonel +Brereton--I am not a military man--whether it is necessary or not." + +"I should consider it unwise," Brereton replied formally. + +"Very good! Then--then you must use your discretion." + +"Just so. That's what I supposed," Brereton replied, not masking his +contempt for the vacillation of those about him. "In that case I shall +pursue the line of action I have indicated. I shall walk my horses up +and down. The crowd are perfectly good-humoured. What is it, pray?" + +He turned, frowning. A man had entered the room and was whispering in +the Town-clerk's ear. The latter straightened himself with a heated +face. "You call them good-humoured, sir?" he said. "I hear that two of +your men, Colonel Brereton, have just been brought in severely +wounded. I do not know whether you call that good-humour?" + +Brereton looked a little discomposed. "They must have brought it on +themselves," he said, "by some rashness. Your constables have no +discretion." + +"I think you should at least clear the Square and the neighbouring +streets," the Town-clerk persisted. + +"I have indicated what I shall do," Brereton replied, with a gloomy +look. "And I am prepared to be responsible for the safety of the city. +If you wish me to act beyond my judgment, the civil power must give me +an express and written order." + +Still the Mayor and those about him looked uneasy, though they did not +dare to do what Brereton suggested. The howls of the rabble still rang +in their ears, and before their eyes they had the black, gaping +casements, through which an ominous murmur entered. They had waited +long before calling in the Military, they had hesitated long; for +Peterloo had erased Waterloo from the memory of an ungrateful +generation, and men, secure abroad and straining after Reform at home, +held a red-coat in small favour, if not in suspicion. But having +called the red-coats in, they looked for something more than this, for +some vindication of the law and the civil power, some stroke which +would cast terror into the hearts of misdoers. The Town-clerk, in +particular, had his doubts, and when no one else spoke he put them +into words. + +"May I ask," he said formally, "if you have any orders, Colonel +Brereton, from the Secretary of State or the Horse Guards, which +prevent you from obeying the directions of the magistrates?" + +Brereton looked at him sternly. + +"No," he said, "I am prepared to obey your orders, stated in the +manner I have laid down. Then the responsibility will not lie with +me." + +But the Mayor stepped back. "I couldn't take it on myself, sir. I--God +knows what the consequences might be!" He looked round piteously. "We +don't want another Manchester massacre." + +"I fancy," Brereton answered grimly, "that if we have another +Manchester business, it will go ill with those who sign the order! +Times are changed since '19, gentlemen--and governments! And I think +we understand that. You leave it to me, then, gentlemen?" + +No one spoke. + +"Very good," he continued. "If your constables will do their duty with +discretion--and you could not have a better man to command them than +Mr. Vaughan, but he ought to be going about it now--I will answer for +the peace of the city." + +"But--but we shall see you again, Colonel Brereton," the Mayor cried +in some agitation. + +"See me, sir?" Brereton answered contemptuously. + +"Oh, yes, you can see me, if you wish to! But----" He shrugged his +shoulders, and turned away without finishing the sentence. + +Vaughan, when he heard that, knew that, cool as Brereton seemed, he +was not himself. A moody stubbornness had taken the place of last +night's excitement; but that was all. And as the party trooped +downstairs--he had requested the Mayor to say a few words, placing the +constables under his control--he swallowed his private feelings and +approached Flixton. + +"Flixton," he whispered, throwing what friendliness he could into his +voice. "Do you think Brereton's right?" + +Flixton turned an ill-humoured face towards him, and dragged at his +sword-belt. "Oh, I don't know," he said irritably. "It's his business, +and I suppose he can judge. There's a deuce of a crowd, I know, and if +we go charging into it we shall be swallowed up in a twinkling!" + +"But it has been whispered to me," Vaughan replied, "that he told the +people on his way here that he's for Reform. Isn't it unwise to let +them think that the soldiers may side with them?" + +"Fine talking," Flixton answered with a sneer. "And God knows if we +had five hundred men, or three hundred, I'd agree. But what can sixty +or eighty men do galloping over slippery pavements in the dark? And if +we fire and kill a dozen, the Government will hang us to clear +themselves! And these d----d nigger-drivers and sugar-boilers behind +us would be the first to swear against us!" + +Vaughan had his own opinion. But they had to part then. Flixton, in +his blue uniform--there were two troops present, one of the 3rd +Dragoon Guards in red, and one of the 14th Dragoons in blue--went out +by Brereton's side with his spurs ringing on the stone pavement and +his sword clanking. He was not acting with his troop, but as the +Colonel's aide-de-camp. Meanwhile Vaughan, who could not see the old +blue uniform without a pang, went with the Mayor to marshal the +constables. + +Of these no more than eighty remained, and with little stomach for the +task before them. This task, indeed, notwithstanding the check which +the arrival of the troopers had given the mob, was far from easy. The +ground-floor of the Mansion House looked like a place taken by storm +and sacked. The railings which guarded the forecourt were gone, and +even the wall on which they stood had been demolished to furnish +missiles. The doorways and windows, where they were not clumsily +barricaded, were apertures inviting entrance. In one room lay a pile +of straw ready for lighting. In another lay half a dozen wounded men. +Everywhere the cold wind, blowing off the water of the Welsh Back, +entered a dozen openings and extinguished the flares as quickly as +they could be lighted, casting now one room and now another into black +shadow. + +But if the men had little heart for further exertions, Vaughan's +manhood rose the higher to meet the call. Bringing his soldier's +training into play, in a few minutes he had his force divided into +four companies, each under a leader. Two he held in reserve, bidding +them get what rest they could; with the other two he manned the +forecourt, and guarded the flank which lay open to the Welsh Back. And +as long as the troopers rode up and down within a stone's-throw all +was well. But when the soldiers passed to the other side of the Square +a rush was made on the house--mainly by a gang of the low Irish of the +neighbourhood--and many a stout blow was struck before the rabble, who +thirsted for the strong ale and wine in the cellars, could be +dislodged from the forecourt and driven to a distance. The danger to +life was not great, though the tale of wounded grew steadily; nor +could the post of Chief Constable be held to confer much honour on one +who so short a time before had dreamt of Cabinets and portfolios, and +of a Senate hanging on his words. But the joy of conflict was +something to a stout heart, and the sense of success. Something, too, +it was to feel that where he stood his men stood also; and that where +he was not, the Irish, with their brickbats and iron bars, made a way. +There was a big lout, believed by some to be a Brummagem man and a +tool of the Political Union, who more than once led on the assailants; +and when Vaughan found that this man shunned him and chose the side +where he was not, that too was a joy. + +"After all, this is what I am good for," he told himself as he stood +to take breath after a _mle_ which was at once the most serious and +the last. "I was a fool to leave the regiment," he continued, +staunching a trickle of blood which ran from a cut on his cheek bone. +"For, after all, better a good blow than a bad speech! Better, +perhaps, a good blow than all the speeches, good and bad!" And in the +heat of the moment he swung his staff. Then--then he thought of Mary +and of Flixton, and his heart sank, and his joy was at an end. + +"Don't think they'll try us again, sir," said an old pensioner, who +had constituted himself his orderly, and who had known the neigh of +the war-horse in the Peninsula. "If we had had you at the beginning +we'd have had no need of the old Blues, nor the Third either!" + +"Oh, that's rubbish!" Vaughan replied. But he owned the flattery, and +his heart warmed to the pensioner, whose prediction proved to be +correct. The crowd melted slowly but certainly after that. By eleven +o'clock there were but a couple of hundred in the Square. By twelve, +even these were gone. A half-dozen troopers, and as many +tatterdemalions, slinking about the dark corners, were all that +remained of the combatants; and the Mayor, with many words, presented +Vaughan with the thanks of the city for his services. + +"It is gratifying, Mr. Vaughan," he added, "to find that Colonel +Brereton was right." + +"Yes," Vaughan agreed. And he took his leave, carrying off his staff +for a memento. + +He was very weary, and it was not the shortest way to the White Lion, +yet his feet carried him across the dark Square and past the Immortal +Memory to the front of Miss Sibson's house. It showed no lights +to the Square, but in a first-floor window of the next house he +marked a faint radiance as of a shaded taper, and the outline of a +head--doubtless the head of someone looking out to make sure that the +disorder was at an end. He saw, but love was at fault. No inner voice +told him that the head was Mary's! No thrill revealed to him that at +that very moment, with her brow pressed to the cold pane, she was +thinking of him! None! With a sigh, and a farther fall from the +lightheartedness of an hour before, he went his way. + +Broad Street was quiet, but half a dozen persons were gathered outside +the White Lion. They were listening: and one of them told him, as he +passed in, that the Blues, in beating back a party from the Council +House, a short time before, had shot one of the rioters. In the hall +he found several groups debating some point with heat, but they fell +silent when they saw him, one nudging another; and he fancied that +they paid especial attention to him. As he moved towards the office, a +man detached himself from them and approached him with a formal air. + +"Mr. Vaughan, I think?" he said. + +"Yes." + +"Mr. Arthur Vaughan?" the man, who was a complete stranger to Vaughan, +repeated. "Member of Parliament for Chippinge, I believe?" + +"Yes." + +"Reform Member?" + +Vaughan eyed him narrowly. "If you are one of my constituents," he +said drily, "I will answer that question." + +"I am not one," the man rejoined, with a little less confidence. "But +it's my business, nevertheless, to warn you, Mr. Vaughan, in your own +interests, that the part you have been taking here will not commend +you to them! You have been handling the people very roughly, I am +told. Very roughly! Now, I am Mr. Here----" + +"You may be Mr. Here or Mr. There," Vaughan said, cutting him +short--but very quietly. "But if you say another word to me, I will +throw you through that door for your impudence! That is all. Now--have +you any more to say?" + +The man tried to carry it off. For there was sniggering behind him. +But Vaughan's blood was up, the agitator read it in the young man's +eye, and being a man of words, not deeds, he fell back. Vaughan went +up to bed. + + + + + XXXI + + SUNDAY IN BRISTOL + + +It was far from Vaughan's humour to play the bully, and before he had +even reached his bedroom, which looked to the back, he repented of his +vehemence. Between that and the natural turmoil of his feelings he lay +long waking; and twice, in a stillness which proclaimed that all was +well, he heard the Bristol clocks tell the hour. After all, then, +Brereton had been right! For himself, had the command been his, he +would have adopted more strenuous measures. He would have tried to put +fear into the mob before the riot reached its height. And had he done +so, how dire might have been the consequences! How many homes might at +this moment be mourning his action, how many innocent persons be +suffering pain and misery! + +Whereas Brereton, the strong, quiet man, resisting importunity, +shunning haste, keeping his head where others wavered, had carried the +city through its trouble, with scarce the loss of a single life. Truly +he was one whom + + + _Non civium ardor prava jubentium, + Non vultus instantis tyranni + Mente quatit solida!_ + + +Vaughan thought of him with a new respect, and of himself with a new +humility. He was forced to acknowledge that even in that field of +action which he had quitted, and to which he was now inclined to +return, he was not likely to pick up a marshal's bton. + +He slept at length, and long and heavily, awaking towards ten o'clock +with aching limbs and a cheek so sore that it brought all that had +passed to instant recollection. He found his hot water at his door, +and he dressed slowly and despondently, feeling the reaction and +thinking of Mary, and of that sunny morning, six months back, when he +had looked into Broad Street from a window of this very house, and +dreamed of a modest bonnet and a sweet blushing face. An hour +after that, he remembered, he had happened on the Honourable--oh, +d---- Flixton! All his troubles had started from that unlucky meeting +with him. + +He found his breakfast laid in the next room, the coffee and bacon in +a Japan cat by the fire. He ate and drank in an atmosphere of gloomy +retrospect. If he had never met Flixton! If he had not gone to that +unlucky dinner at Chippinge! If he had spoken to her in Parliament +Street! If--if--if! The bells of half a dozen churches were ringing, +drumming his regrets into him; and he stood awhile irresolute, looking +through the window. The inn-yard, which was all the prospect the +window commanded, was empty; an old liver-and-white pointer, +scratching itself in a corner, was the only living thing in it. But +while he looked, wondering if the dog had been a good dog in its time, +two men came running into the yard with every sign of haste and +pressure. One, in a yellow jacket, flung himself against a stable door +and vanished within, leaving the door open. The other pounced on a +chaise, one of half a dozen ranged under a shed, and by main force +dragged it into the open. + +The men's actions impressed Vaughan with a vague uneasiness. He +listened. Was it fancy, or did he catch the sound of a distant shot? +And--there seemed to be an odd murmur in the air. He seized his hat, +put on his caped coat--for a cold drizzle was falling--and went +downstairs. + +The hall was empty, but through the open doorway he could see a knot +of people, standing outside, looking up the street. He made for the +threshold, and asked the rearmost of the starers what it was. + +"Eh, what is it?" the man answered volubly. "Oh, they're gone! It's +true enough! And such a crowd as was never seen, I'm told--stoning +them, and shouting 'Bloody Blues!' after them. They're gone right away +to Keynsham, and glad to be there with whole bones!" + +"But what is it?" Vaughan asked impatiently. "What has happened, my +man? Who're gone?" + +The man turned for the first time, and saw who it was. "You have not +heard, sir?" he exclaimed. + +"Not a word." + +"Not that the people have risen? And most part pulled down the Mansion +House? Ay, first thing this morning, sir! They say old Pinney, the +Mayor, got out at the back just in time or he'd have been murdered! +He's had to send the military away--anyways, the Blues who killed the +lad last night on the Pithay." + +"Impossible!" Vaughan exclaimed, turning red with anger. "You cannot +have heard aright." + +"It's as true as true!" the man replied, rubbing his hands in +excitement. "As for me," he continued, "I was always for Reform! And +this will teach the Lords a lesson! They'll know our mind now, and +that Wetherell's a liar, begging your pardon, sir. And the old +Corporation's not much better. A set of Tories mostly! If the Welsh +Back drinks their cellars dry it won't hurt me, nor Bristol." + +Vaughan was too sharply surprised to rebuke the man. Could the story +be true! And if it were, what was Brereton doing? He could not have +been so foolish as to halve his force in obedience to the people he +was sent to check! But the murmur in the air was a fact, and past the +end of the street men were running in anything but a Sunday fashion. + +He went back to his room and pocketed his staff. Then he descended +again and was on his way out, when a person belonging to the house +stopped him. + +"Mr. Vaughan," she said earnestly, "don't go, sir. You are known after +last night and will come to harm. You will indeed, sir. And you can do +no good. My father says that nothing can be done until to-morrow." + +"I will take care of myself," he replied, lightly. But his eyes +thanked her. He pushed his way through the gazers at the door, and set +off towards Queen's Square. + +At every door men and women were standing looking out. In the distance +he could hear cheering, which waxed louder and more insistent as, +prudently avoiding the narrower lanes, he passed down Clare Street to +Broad Quay, from which there was an entrance to the northwest corner +of the Square. Alongside the quay, which was fringed with warehouses +and sheds, and from which the huge city crane towered up, lay a line +of brigs and schooners; the masts of the more distant of these +tapering to vanishing points in the mist which lay upon the water. At +the moment, however, Vaughan had no eye for them. He saw them, but his +thoughts were with the rioters, and in a twinkling he was within the +Square, and seeing what was to be seen. + +He judged that there were not more than fifteen hundred persons +present. Of the whole about one-half belonged to the lowest class. +These were gathered about the Mansion House, some drinking before it, +others bearing up liquor from the cellars, while others again were +tearing out the woodwork of the casements, or wantonly flinging the +last remnants of furniture from the windows. The second moiety of the +crowd, less reckless or of higher position, looked on as at a show; or +now and again, at the bidding of some active rioter, raised a cheer +for Reform, "The King and Reform! Reform!" + +There was nothing dreadful, nothing awe-inspiring in the sight. Yet it +was such a sight, for an English city on a Sunday morning, that +Vaughan's gorge rose at it. A hundred resolute men might have put the +mob to flight. And meantime, on every point of vantage, on Redcliffe +Parade, eastward of the Square, on College Green, and Brandon Hill, to +the westward of it, thousands stood looking in silence on the scene, +and by their supineness encouraging the work of destruction. + +He thought for a moment of pushing to the front and trying what a few +reasonable words would effect. But as he advanced, his eye caught a +gleam of colour, and in the corner of the Square, most remote from the +disorder, he discovered a handful of dragoons, seated motionless in +their saddles, watching the proceedings. + +The folly of this struck him dumb. And he hurried, at a white heat, +across the Square to remonstrate. He was about to speak to the +sergeant in charge, when Flixton, with a civilian cloak masking his +uniform, rode up to the men at a foot-pace. Vaughan turned to him +instead. + +"Good Heavens, man!" he cried, too hot to mince his words or remember +at the moment what there was between him and Flixton, "What's Brereton +doing? What has happened! It is not true that he has sent the +Fourteenth away?" + +Flixton looked down at him sulkily. "He's sent 'em to Keynsham," he +said, shortly. "If he hadn't, the crowd would have been out of hand!" + +"But what do you call them now?" Vaughan retorted, with angry sarcasm. +"They are destroying a public building in broad daylight! Aren't they +sufficiently out of hand?" + +Flixton shrugged his shoulders, but did not answer. He was flushed and +has manner was surly. + +"And your squad here, looking on and doing nothing? They're worse than +useless!" Vaughan continued. "They encourage the beggars! They'd be +better in their quarters than here! Better at Keynsham," he added +bitterly. + +"So I've told him," Flixton answered, taking the last words literally. +"He sent me to see how things are looking. And a d----d pleasant way +this is of spending a wet Sunday!" On which, without more, having +seen, apparently, what he came to see, he turned his horse to go out +of the Square by the Broad Quay. + +Vaughan walked a few paces beside the horse. "But, Flixton, press +him," he said urgently; "press him, man, to act! To do something!" + +"That's all very fine," the Honourable Bob answered churlishly, "but +Brereton's in command. And you don't catch me interfering. I am not +going to take the responsibility off his shoulders." + +"But think what may happen to-night!" Vaughan urged. Already he saw +that the throng was growing denser and its movements less random. +Somewhere in the heart of it a man was speaking. "Think what may +happen after dark, if they are as bad as this in daylight?" + +Flixton looked askance at him. "Ten to one, only what happened last +night," he answered. "You all croaked then; but Brereton was right." + +Vaughan saw that he argued to no purpose. For Flixton, forward and +positive in small things and on the surface, was discovered by the +emergency; all that now remained of his usual self-assertion was a +sense of injury. Vaughan inquired, instead, where he would find +Brereton, and as by this time the crowd had clearly outgrown the +control of a single man, he contented himself with walking round the +Square, and learning, by mingling with the fringe, what manner of +spirit moved it. + +That spirit, though he heard some ugly threats against Wetherell and +the Bishops and the Lords, was rather a reckless and mischievous than +a bloodthirsty one. To obtain drink, to destroy this or that gaol, and +by and by to destroy all gaols seemed to the crowd the first +principles of Reform. + +Presently a cry of "To the Bridewell! Come on! To the Bridewell!" +was raised, and led by a dozen hobbledehoys, armed with iron bars +plucked from the railings, a body of some hundreds trooped off, +helter-skelter, in the direction of the prison of that name. + +Vaughan saw that someone must be induced to act; and to him the +following hours of that wet, dismal Sunday were a waking nightmare. He +hurried hither and thither, from Guildhall to Council House, from +Brereton's lodgings to the dragoons' quarters, striving to effect +something and always failing; seeking some cohesion, some decision, +some action, and finding none. Always there had just been a meeting, +or was going to be a meeting, or would be a meeting by and by. The +civil power would not act without the military; and the military did +not think itself strong enough to act, but would act if the civil +power would do something which the civil power had made up its mind +not to do. And meantime the supineness of the mass of the citizens was +marvellous. He seemed to be moving endlessly between lines of men who +lounged at their doors, and joked, or waited for the crowd to pass +that way. Nothing, it seemed to him, would rouse these men to a sense +of the position. It would be a lesson to Wetherell, they said. It +would be a lesson to the Peers. It would be a lesson to the Tories. +The Bridewell was sacked and fired, the great gaol across the New Cut +was firing, the Gloucester gaol in the north of the city was +threatened. And still it did not occur to these householders, as they +looked down the wet, misty streets, that presently it would be a +lesson to them. + +But at half-past three, with the dusk on that rainy day scarce an hour +off, there was a meeting at the Guildhall. Still no cohesion, no +action. On the other hand, much recrimination, many opinions. One was +for casting all firearms into the float. Another for arming all, fit +or unfit. One was for fetching the Fourteenth back, another for +sending the Third to join them at Keynsham. One was for appeasing the +people by parading a dummy figure of their own Recorder through the +city and burning it on College Green. Another for relying on the +Political Union. In vain Vaughan warned them that the mob would +presently attack private property; in vain he offered, in a few +spirited words, to lead the Special Constables to the rescue of the +gaol. The meeting, small to begin and always divided, dwindled fast. +The handful who were ready to follow him made the support of the +military a condition. Everybody said, "To-morrow!" To-morrow the +_posse comitatus_ might be called out; to-morrow the yeomanry, +summoned by the man in the yellow jacket, would be here! To-morrow the +soldiers might act. And in fine--To-morrow! + +There was over the door of the Council House of those days a statue of +Justice, lacking the sword and the bandage. Vaughan, passing out in +disgust from the meeting, pointed to it. "There is Bristol, +gentlemen," he said bitterly. "Your authorities have dropped the +sword, and until they regain it we are helpless. I have done my best." +And, shrugging his shoulders, he started for Brereton's lodgings to +try a last appeal. + +He might well think it necessary. For a night which Bristol was long +to remember was closing down upon the city. Though it was Sunday, the +churches were empty; in few was a second service held. The streets, on +the contrary, were full, in spite of the cold; full of noise and +turmoil and disorder; of bands of men hastening up and down with +reckless cries and flaring lights, at the bidding of leaders as +unwitting. In Queen's Square the rioters were drinking themselves +drunk as at a fair, while amid the falling rain, through which the +last stormy gleams of daylight strove to pass, amid the thickening +dusk, those who all day long had jested at their doors began to turn +doubtful looks on one another. From three points the smoke of fired +prisons rose to the clouds and floated in a dense pall over the city; +and men whispered that a hundred, two hundred, five hundred criminals +had been set free. On Clifton Downs, on Brandon Hill, on College +Green, on Redcliffe the thousand gazers of the morning were doubled +and redoubled. But they no longer wore the cynical faces of the +morning. On the contrary there were some who, following with their +eyes the network of waterways laden with inflammable shipping, which +pierced the city in every direction--who, tracing these and the +cutthroat alleys and lanes about them, predicted that the morning +would find Bristol a heap of ruins. And not a few, taking fright at +the last moment, precipitately removed their families to Clifton, and +locked up their houses. + +Vaughan, as he walked through the dusk, had those waterways, those +lanes, those alleys, the congested heart of the old city, in his mind. +He doubted, even he, if the hour for action was not past. Nor was he +surprised when Brereton met his appeal with a flat _non possumus_. He +was more struck with the change which twenty-four hours had wrought in +the man. He looked worn and haggard. The shadows under his eyes were +deeper, the eyes shone with a more feverish light. His dress, too, was +careless and disordered, and while he was not still for a moment, he +repeated what he said over and over again as if to persuade himself of +its truth. + +Naturally Vaughan laid stress on the damage already done. "But, I tell +you," Brereton replied angrily, "we are well clear for that! It's not +a tithe of the harm which would have befallen if I had given way! I +tell you, we're well clear for that. No, I've done, thank God, I've +done the only thing it was possible to do. A little too much, and if +I'd succeeded I'd have been hung--for they're all against me, they're +all against me, above and below! And if I'd failed, a thousand lives +would have paid the bill! And do you ever consider, man," he +continued, striking the table, "what a massacre in this crowded place +would be! Think of the shipyards, the dockyards, the quays! The water +pits and the sunk alleys! How could I clear them with ninety swords? +How could I clear them? Eh, with ninety swords? I tell you they never +meant me to clear them." + +"But why not clear the wider streets, sir?" Vaughan persisted, "and +keep a grip on those?" + +"No! I say, no!" + +"Yet even now, if you were to move your full force to Queen's Square, +sir, you might clear it. And driven from their headquarters, and +taught that they are not going to have it all their own way, the more +prudent would fall off and go home." + +"I know," Brereton answered. "I know the argument. I know it. But +who's to thank for the whole trouble? Your Blues, who went beyond +their orders last night. The Fourteenth, sir! The Fourteenth! But I'll +have no more of it. Flixton is of my opinion, too." + +"Flixton is an ass!" Vaughan cried incautiously. + +"And you think me one too!" Brereton retorted, with so strange a look +that for the first time Vaughan was sure that his mind was tottering. +"Well, think what you like! Think what you like! But I'll trouble you +not to take that tone here." + + + + + XXXII + + THE AFFRAY AT THE PALACE + + +A little before the hour at which Vaughan interviewed Brereton, Sir +Robert Vermuyden, the arrival of whose travelling carriage at the +White Lion about the middle of the afternoon had caused some +excitement, walked back to the inn. He was followed by Thomas, the +servant who had attended Mary to Bristol, and by another servant. As +he passed through the streets the signs of the times were not lost +upon him; far from it. But the pride of caste was strong upon him, and +he hid his anxiety. + +On the threshold of the inn he turned to the servants. "Are you sure," +he asked for the fourth time, "that that was the house at which you +left her?" + +"Certain sure, Sir Robert," Thomas answered earnestly. + +"And sure--but, ah!" the baronet broke off abruptly, his tone one of +relief. "Here's Mr. Cooke! Go now, but be within call. Mr. Cooke,"--he +stepped, as he spoke, in front of that gentleman, who was about to +enter the house--"well met!" + +Cooke was hot with haste and ire, but at the unexpected sight of Sir +Robert he stood still. "God bless my soul!" he cried. "You here, sir?" + +"Yes. And you know Bristol well. You can help me." + +"I wish I could help myself!" Cooke cried, forgetting himself in his +excitement. + +"My daughter is in Bristol." + +"Indeed?" the angry merchant replied. "Then she could not be in a +worse place. That is all I can say." + +"I am inclined to agree with you." + +"This is your Reform!" + +Sir Robert stared. "Not my Reform, Mr. Cooke," he said in a tone of +displeasure. + +"I beg your pardon, Sir Robert," Cooke rejoined, speaking more coolly. +"I beg your pardon. But what I have suffered to-day is beyond telling. +By G--d, it's my opinion that there's only one man worthy of the name +in Bristol! And that's your cousin, Vaughan!" + +Sir Robert struck his stick on the pavement. "Mr. Vaughan?" he +exclaimed. "He is here, then? I feared so!" + +"Here? You feared? I tell you he's the only man to be called a man, +who is here! If it had not been for him and the way he handled the +constables last night we should have been burnt out then instead of +to-night! I don't know that the gain's much, but for what it's worth +we have him to thank!" + +Sir Robert frowned. "I am surprised. He behaved well? Indeed!" he +said. + +"D----d well! D----d well! If there had been half a dozen like him, +we'd be out of the wood!" + +"Where is he staying?" Sir Robert asked after a moment's hesitation. +"I've lost my daughter in the confusion, and I think it possible that +he may know where she is." + +"He is staying here at the Lion," Cooke answered. "But he's been up +and down all day trying to put heart into poltroons." And he ran over +the chief events of the last few hours. + +He punctuated the story with oaths and bitter complaints, and perhaps +it was for this reason that Sir Robert, after he had heard the main +facts, broke away. He went through the hall to the bar where the +landlord, who knew him well, came forward and greeted him +respectfully. But to Sir Robert's inquiry as to Mr. Vaughan's +whereabouts he shook his head. + +"I wish he was in the house, Sir Robert," he said in a low voice. "For +he's a marked man in Bristol since last night. I was in the Square +myself, and it was wonderful what spirit he put into his men. But the +scum and the riffraff who are uppermost to-day say he handled them +cruelly, and my daughter tried to persuade him from going out to-day. +But he would go, sir." + +Sir Robert reflected with a gloomy face. "Where are Mr. Flixton's +quarters?" he asked at last. He might possibly learn something from +him. + +The man told him, and Sir Robert summoned his servants and went out. +It was dark by this time, but a faint glare shone overhead and there +was a murmur in the air, as if, in the gloom beneath, the heart of the +city was palpitating, in dread of it knew not what. Sir Robert had not +far to go. He had barely passed into College Green when he met Flixton +under a lamp. And so it happened that two minutes later, Vaughan, on +his way from Brereton's lodgings in Unity Street, came plump upon the +two. He might have gone by in ignorance, but as he passed the taller +man looked up, and Vaughan with a shock of surprise recognised Sir +Robert Vermuyden. + +Flixton caught sight of Vaughan at the same moment, and "Here's your +man, Sir Robert," he cried with a little malice in his tone. "Here, +Vaughan," he continued, "Here's Sir Robert Vermuyden! He's looking for +you. He wants to know----" + +Sir Robert stopped him. "I will speak for myself, Mr. Flixton, if you +please," he said with the dignity which seldom deserted him. "Mr. +Vaughan," he continued, with a piercing glance, "where is my +daughter?" + +Vaughan returned his look, frowning. Since the parting in Miss +Sibson's parlour, the remembrance of which still set his blood in a +flame, Sir Robert and he had not met. Now, in the wet gloom of College +Green, under a rare gaslamp, with turmoil about them, and the murmur +of fresh trouble drawing near through the streets, Sir Robert asked +him for his daughter! He could have laughed. As it was, "I know +nothing, sir, of your daughter," he replied, in a tone between +contempt and anger. + +"But," Sir Robert retorted, "you travelled with her, from London!" + +"How do you know that I did?" + +"The servants, sir, have told me that you did." + +"Then they must also have told you," Vaughan rejoined keenly, "that I +did not take the liberty of speaking to Miss Vermuyden. And that I +left the coach at Chippenham. That being so, I can only refer you," he +continued with a sneer, raising his hat and preparing to move on, "to +Mr. Flixton, who went with her the rest of the way to Bristol." + +He turned away. But he had not taken two paces before Sir Robert +touched his shoulder, and with that habit of command which few +questioned. "Wait, sir," he said, "Wait, if you please. You do not +escape me so easily. You will attend to me one moment, if you please. +Mr. Flixton accompanied Miss Vermuyden, as did her man and maid, to +Miss Sibson's house. She gave that address to Lady Worcester, in whose +care she was; and I sought her there this afternoon. But she is not +there." Sir Robert continued, striving to read Vaughan's face. "The +house is empty. So is the house on either side. I can make no one +hear." + +"And you come to me for news of her?" Vaughan asked in the tone he had +used throughout. He was very sore. + +"I do." + +"You do not think that I am the last person of whom you should ask +tidings of your daughter?" + +"She came here," Sir Robert answered sternly, "to see Lady Sybil." + +Vaughan stared. The answer seemed to be irrelevant. Then he +understood. "Oh," he said, "I see. You are still under the impression +that your wife and I are in a conspiracy to delude you? Your daughter +also? You think that she is in the plot? And that she gave the +schoolmistress's address to deceive you?" + +"No!" Sir Robert cried. But, after all, that was what he did think. +Had he not told himself, more than once, that she was her mother's +daughter? Had he not told himself that it could not have been by +chance that Vaughan and she met a second time on the coach? He knew +that she had left London and gone to her mother in defiance of him. He +knew that. And though she had entwined herself about his heart, though +she had seemed to him all gentleness, goodness, truth--she was still +her mother's daughter! Nevertheless, he said "No!"--and said it +angrily. + +"Then I do not know what you mean!" Vaughan retorted. + +"I believe that you can tell me something, if you will." + +Vaughan looked at him. "I have nothing to tell you," he said. + +"You mean, sir, that you will tell me nothing!" + +"That, if you like." + +For nearly half a century the old man had found few to oppose him; and +now by good luck he had not time to reply. A man running out of the +darkness in the direction of Unity Street--the open space was full of +moving groups, of alarms and confusion--caught sight of Vaughan's +face, checked himself and addressed him. + +"Mr. Vaughan!" he said. "They are coming! They are making for the +Palace! The Bishop must be got away, if he's not gone! I am fetching +the Colonel! The Mayor is following with all he can get together. If +you will give warning at the Palace, there will be time for his +lordship to escape." + +"Right!" Vaughan cried, glad to leave his company. And he started +without the loss of a moment. Even so, he had not gone twenty paces +down the Green before the head of the mob entered it from St. +Augustine's, and passed, with hoarse shouts, along the south side, +towards the ancient Archway which led to the Lower Green. It was a +question whether he or they reached the Archway first; but he won the +race by a score of yards. + +The view from the Lower Green, which embraced the burning gaol, as +well as all Queen's Square and the Floating Basin that islanded it, +had drawn together a number of gazers. These impeded Vaughan's +progress, but he got through them at last, and as the mob burst into +the Lower Green he entered the paved passage leading to the Precincts, +hurried along it, turned the dark elbow near the inner end, and halted +before the high gates which shut off the Cloisters. The Palace door +was in the innermost or southeast corner of the Cloisters. + +It was very dark at the end of the passage; and fortunately! For the +gates were fast closed, and before he could, groping, find the +knocker, the rabble had entered the passage behind him and cut off his +retreat. The high wall which rose on either side made escape +impossible. Nor was this all. As he awoke to the trap in which he had +placed himself, a voice at his elbow muttered, "My God, we shall be +murdered!" And he learned that Sir Robert had followed him. + +He had no time to remonstrate, nor thought of remonstrance. "Stand +flat against the wall!" he muttered, his fingers closing upon the +staff in his pocket. "It is our only chance!" + +He had basely spoken before the leaders of the mob swept round the +elbow. They had one light, a flare borne above them, which shone on +their tarpaulins and white smocks, and on the huge ship-hammers they +carried. There was a single moment of great peril, and instinctively +Vaughan stepped before the older man. He could not have made a happier +movement, for it seemed--to the crowd who caught a glimpse of the two +and took them for some of their own party--as if he advanced against +the gates along with their leaders. + +The peril indeed, or the worst of it, was over the moment they fell +into the ranks. "Hammers to the front!" was the cry. And Sir Robert +and Vaughan were thrust back into the second line, that those who +wielded the hammers might have room. Vaughan tipped his hat over his +face, and the villains who pressed upon the two and jostled them, and +whose cries of "Burn him out! Burn the old devil out!" were dictated +by greed rather than by hate, were too full of the work in hand to +regard their neighbours closely. In three or four minutes--long +minutes they seemed to the two inclosed in that unsavoury company--the +bars gave way, the gates were thrown open, and Vaughan and Sir Robert, +hardly keeping their feet in the rush, were borne into the Cloisters. + +The rabble, with cries of triumph, raced across the dark court to the +Palace door and began to use their hammers on that. Vaughan hoped that +the Bishop had had warning--as a fact he had escaped some hours +earlier. At any rate he and his companion could do no more, and under +cover of the darkness they retreated to the porch of a smaller house +which opened on the Cloisters. Here they were safe for the time; and, +his heart opened and his tongue loosed by the danger through which +they had passed, he turned to his companion and remonstrated with him. + +"Sir Robert," he said, "this is no place for a man of your years." + +"England will soon be no place for any man of my years," the Baronet +answered bitterly. "I would your leaders, sir, were here to see their +work! I would Lord Grey were here to see how well his friends carry +out his hints!" + +"I doubt if he would be more pleased than you or I!" Vaughan answered. +"In the meantime----" + +"The soldiers! Have a care!" The alarm came from the gate by which +they had entered, and Vaughan broke off, with an exclamation of joy. +"We have them now!" he said. "And red-handed! Brereton has only to +close the passage, and he must take them all!" + +But the rioters took that view also, and the alarm. And they streamed +out panic-stricken. When the soldiers rode in, Brereton at their head, +not more than twenty or thirty remained in the Precincts. And on that +followed the most remarkable of all the scenes that disgraced Bristol +that night; the scene which beyond others convinced many of the +complicity of the troops, if not of the Government, in the outrage. + +Not a man could leave the Palace except with the troops' good-will. +Yet they let the rascals pass. In vain a handful of constables--who +had arrived on the heels of the military--exerted themselves to seize +the worst offenders, and such as passed with plunder in their hands. +The soldiers discouraged the attempt, and even beat back the +constables. "Let them go! Let them go!" was the cry. And the +nimbleness of the scamps in effecting their escape was greeted with +laughter and applause. + +Vaughan and the companion whom fate had so strangely joined saw it +with indignation. But Vaughan had made up his mind that he would not +approach Brereton again; and he controlled himself, until a blackguard +bolting from the Palace with his arms full of spoil was seized, close +to him, by an elderly man, who seemed to be one of the Bishop's +servants. The two wrestled fiercely, the servant calling for help, the +soldiers looking on and laughing. A moment and the two fell to the +ground, the servant undermost. He uttered a cry of pain. + +That was too much for Vaughan. He sprang forward, dragged the ruffian +from his prey, and with his other hand he drew his staff. He was +about to strike his prisoner--for the man continued to struggle +desperately--when a voice above them shouted "Put that up! Put that +up!" And a trooper urged his horse almost on the top of them, at the +same time threatening him with his naked sword. + +Vaughan lost his temper at that. "You blackguard!" he cried. "Stand +back. The man is my prisoner!" + +For answer the soldier struck at him. Fortunately the blade was turned +by his hat and only the flat alighted on his head. But the man, drunk +or reckless, repeated the blow, and this time would certainly have cut +him down if Sir Robert, with a quickness beyond his years, had not +turned aside the stroke with his walking-cane. At the same time "Are +you mad?" he shouted peremptorily. "Where is your Colonel?" + +The tone, rather than the words, sobered the trooper. He swore +sulkily, reined in his horse, and moved back to his fellows. Sir +Robert turned to Vaughan, who, dazed by the blow, was leaning against +the porch of the house. "I hope you are not wounded?" he said. + +"It's thanks to you, sir, he's not killed!" the man whom Vaughan had +rescued, replied; and he hung about him solicitously. "He'd have cut +him to the chin! Ay, to the chin he would!" with quavering gusto. + +Vaughan was regaining his coolness. He tried to smile. "I hardly +saw--what happened," he said. "I am only sure I am not hurt. Just--a +rap on the head!" + +"I am glad that it is no worse," Sir Robert said gravely. "Very glad!" +Now it was over he had to bite his lower lip to repress its trembling. + +"You feel better, sir, now?" the servant asked, addressing Vaughan. + +"Yes, yes," Vaughan said. But after that he was silent, thinking. And +Sir Robert was silent, too. The soldiers were withdrawing; the +constables, outraged and indignant, were following them, declaring +aloud that they were betrayed. And for certain the walls of the +Cathedral had looked down on few stranger scenes, even in those +troubled days when the crosslets of the Berkeleys first shone from +their casements. + +Vaughan thought of the thing which had happened; and what was he to +say? The position was turned upside down. The obligation was on the +wrong person; the boot was on the wrong foot. If he, the young, the +strong, and the injured, had saved Sir Robert, that had been well +enough. But this? It required some magnanimity to take it gracefully, +to bear it with dignity. + +"I owe you sincere thanks," he said at last, but awkwardly and with +constraint. + +"The blackguard!" Sir Robert cried. + +"You saved me, sir, from a very serious injury." + +"It was as much threat as blow!" Sir Robert rejoined. + +"I don't think so," Vaughan answered. And then he was silent, finding +it hard to say more. But after a pause, "I can only make you one +return," he said with an effort. "Perhaps you will believe me when I +say, that upon my honour I do not know where your daughter is. I have +neither spoken to her nor communicated with her since I saw her in +Queen's Square in May. And I know nothing of Lady Sybil." + +"I am obliged to you," Sir Robert said. + +"If you believe me," Vaughan said. "Not otherwise!" + +"I do believe you, Mr. Vaughan." And Sir Robert said it as if he meant +it. + +"Then that is something gained," Vaughan answered, "besides the +soundness of my head." Try as he might he felt the position irksome, +and was glad to seek refuge in flippancy. + +Sir Robert removed his hat, and stood in perplexity. "But where can +she be then?" he asked. "If you know nothing of her." + +Vaughan paused before he answered. Then "I think I should look for her +in Queen's Square," he suggested. "In that neighbourhood neither life +nor property will be safe until Bristol comes to its senses. She +should be removed, therefore, if she be there." + +"I will take your advice and try the house again," Sir Robert +answered. "I think you are right, and I am much obliged to you." + +He put his hat on his head, but removed it to salute his cousin. +"Thank you," he repeated, "I am much obliged to you." And he departed +slowly across the court. + +Halfway to the entrance, he paused, and fingered his chin. He went on +again--again he paused. He took a step or two, turned, hesitated. At +last he came slowly back. + +"Perhaps you will go with me?" he asked. + +"You are very good," Vaughan answered, his voice shaking a little. Was +it possible that Sir Robert meant more than he said? It did seem +possible. + +But after all they did not go out that way. For, as they approached +the broken gates, shouts of "Reform!" and "Down with the Lords!" +warned them that the rioters were returning. And the Bishop's servant, +approaching them anew, insisted on taking them through the Palace, and +by way of the garden and a low wall conducted them into Trinity +Street. Here they were close to the Drawbridge which crossed the water +to the foot of Clare Street; and they passed over it, one of them +walking with a lighter heart, notwithstanding Mary's possible danger, +than he had borne for weeks. Soon they were in Queen's Square, and, +avoiding as far as possible the notice of the mob, were knocking +doggedly at Miss Sibson's door. But by that time the Palace, high +above them on College Green, had burst into flames, and, a mark for +all the countryside, had flung the red banner of Reform to the night. + + + + + XXXIII + + FIRE + + +Sir Robert and his companion might have knocked longer and more +loudly, and still to no purpose. For the schoolmistress, prepared to +witness a certain amount of disorder on the Saturday, had been taken +aback by the sight which met her eyes when she rose on Sunday morning. +And long before noon she had sent her servants to their friends, +locked up her house, and gone next door, to dispel by her cheerful +face and her comfortable common sense the fears which she knew would +prevail there. The sick lady was not in a state to withstand alarm; +Mary was a young girl and timid; and neither the landlady nor Lady +Sybil's maid were persons of strong mind. Miss Sibson felt that here +was an excellent occasion for the display of that sturdy indifference +with which firm nerves and a long experience of Bristol elections had +endowed her. + +"La, my dear," was her first remark, "it's all noise and nonsense! +They look fierce, but there's not a man of them all, that if I took +him soundly by the ear and said, 'John Thomas Gaisford, I know you +well and your wife! You live in the Pithay, and if you don't go +straight home this minute I'll tell her of your goings on!'--there's +not one of them, my dear," with a jolly laugh, "wouldn't sneak off +with his tail between his legs! Hurt us, my lady? I'd like to see them +doing it. Still, it will be no harm if we lock the door downstairs, +and answer no knocks. We shall be cosy upstairs, and see all that's to +be seen besides!" + +These were Miss Sibson's opinions, a little after noon on the Sunday. +Nor, when the day began to draw in, without abating the turmoil, did +she recant them aloud. But when the servant of the house, who found +amusement in listening at the locked door to the talk of those who +passed, came open-eyed to announce that the people had fired the +Bridewell, and were attacking the gaol, Miss Sibson did rub her nose +reflectively. And privately she began to wonder whether the prophecies +of evil, which both parties had sown broadcast, were to be fulfilled. + +"It's that nasty Brougham!" she said. "Alderman Daniel told me that he +was stirring up the devil; and we're going to get the dust. But la, +bless your ladyship," she continued comfortably, "I know the Bristol +lads, and they'll not hurt us. Just a gaol or two, for the sake of the +frolic. My dear, your mother'll have her tea, and will feel the better +for it. And we'll draw the curtains and light the lamps and take no +heed. Maybe there'll be bones broken, but they'll not be ours!" + +Lady Sybil, with her face turned away, muttered something about Paris. + +"Well, your ladyship knows Paris and I don't," the schoolmistress +replied respectfully. "I can fancy anything there. But you may depend +upon it, my lady, England is different. I know old Alderman Daniel +calls Lord John Russell 'Lord John Robespierre,' and says he's worse +than a Jacobin. But I'll never believe he'd cut the King's head off! +Never! And don't you believe it, either, my lady. No, English are +English! There's none like them, and never will be. All the same," she +concluded, "I shall set 'Honour the King!' for a copy when the young +ladies come back." + +Her views might not have convinced by themselves. But taken with tea +and buttered toast, a good fire and a singing kettle, they availed. +Lady Sybil was a shade easier that afternoon; and, naturally of a high +courage, found a certain alleviation in the exciting doings under her +windows. She was gracious to Miss Sibson, whose outpourings she +received with languid amusement; and when Mary was not looking, she +followed her daughter's movements with mournful eyes. Uncertain as the +wind, she was this evening in her best mood; as patient as she could +be fractious, and as gentle as she was sometimes violent. She scouted +the notion of danger with all Miss Sibson's decision; and after tea +she insisted that the lights should be shaded, and her couch be +wheeled to the window, in order that, propped high with pillows, she +might amuse herself with the hurly-burly in the Square below. + +"To be sure," Miss Sibson commented, "it will do no good to anyone, +this; and many a poor chap will suffer for it by and by. That's the +worst of these Broughams and Besoms, my lady. It's the low down that +swallow the dust. It's very fine to cry 'King and Reform!' and drink +the Corporation wine! But it will be 'Between our sovereign lord the +King and the prisoner at the bar!' one of these days! And their +throats will be dry enough then!" + +"Poor misguided people!" Mary murmured. + +"They've all learned the Church Catechism," the schoolmistress replied +shrewdly. "Or they should have; it's lucky for them--ay, you may +shout, my lads--that there's many a slip between the neck and the +rope--Lord ha' mercy!" + +The last words fitted the context well enough; but they fell so +abruptly from her lips that Mary, who was bending over her mother, +looked up in alarm. "What is it?" she asked. + +"Only," Miss Sibson answered with composure, "what I ought to have +said long ago--that nothing can be worse for her ladyship than the +cold air that comes in at the cracks of this window!" + +"It's not that," Lady Sybil replied, smiling. "They have set fire to +the Mansion House, Mary. You can see the flames in the room on the +farther side of the door." + +Mary uttered an exclamation of horror, and they all looked out. The +Mansion House was the most distant house on the north, or left-hand, +side of the Square, viewed from the window at which they stood; the +house next Miss Sibson's being about the middle of the west side. +Nearer them, on the same side as the Mansion House, stood another +public building--the Custom House. And nearer again, being the most +northerly house on their own side of the Square, stood a third--the +Excise Office. + +They had thus a fair, though a side view, of the front of the Mansion +House, and were able to watch, with what calmness they might, the +flames shoot from one window after another; until, presently, meeting +in a waving veil of fire, they hid--save when the wind blew them +aside--all the upper part of the house from their eyes. + +A great fire in the night, the savage, uncontrollable revolt of man's +tamed servant--is at all times a terrible sight. Nor on this occasion +was it only the horror of the flames, roaring and crackling and +pouring forth a million of sparks, which chained their eyes. For as +these rose, they shed an intense light, not only on the heights of +Redcliffe, visible above the east side of the Square, and on the +stately tower which rose from them, but on the multitude below; on the +hurrying forms that, monkey-like, played before the flames and seemed +to feed them, and on a still stranger sight, the expanse of up-turned +faces that, in the rear of the active rioters, extended to the +farthest limit of the Square. + +For it was the quiescence, it was the inertness of the gazing crowd +which most appalled the spectators at the window. To see that great +house burn and to see no man stretch forth a hand to quench it, this +terrified. "Oh, but it is frightful! It is horrible!" Mary exclaimed. + +"I should like to knock their heads together!" Miss Sibson cried +sternly. "What are the soldiers doing? What is anyone doing?" + +"They have hounded on the dogs," Lady Sybil said slowly--she alone +seemed to view the sight with a dispassionate eye, "and they are +biting instead of barking! That is all." + +"Dogs?" Miss Sibson echoed. + +"Ay, the dogs of Reform!" Lady Sybil replied cynically. "Brougham's +dogs! Grey's dogs! Russell's dogs! I could wish Sir Robert were here, +it would so please him to see his words fulfilled!" And then, as in +surprise at the thing she had uttered, "I wonder when I wished to +please him before?" she muttered. + +"Oh, but it is frightful!" Mary repeated, unable to remove her eyes +from the flames. + +It was frightful; even while they were all sane people in the room, +and, whatever their fears, restrained them. What then was it a moment +later, when the woman of the house burst in upon them, with a maid in +wild hysterics clinging to her, and another on the threshold screaming +"Fire! Fire!" + +"It's all on fire at the back!" the woman panted. "It's on fire, it's +all on fire, my lady, at the back!" + +"It's all--what?" Miss Sibson rejoined, in a tone which had been known +to quell the pertest of seventeen-year-old rebels. "It is what, woman? +On fire at the back? And if it is, is that a ground for forgetting +your manners? Where is your deportment? Fire, indeed! Are you aware +whose room this is? For shame! And you, silly," she continued, +addressing herself to the maid, "be silent, and go outside, as becomes +you." + +But the maid, though she retreated to the door, continued to scream, +and the woman of the house to wring her hands. "You had better go and +see what it is," Lady Sybil said, turning to the schoolmistress. For, +strange to say, she who a few hours before had groaned if a coal fell +on the hearth, and complained if her book slid from the couch, was now +quite calm. + +"They are afraid of their own shadows," Miss Sibson cried +contemptuously. "It is the reflection they have seen." + +But she went. And as it was but a step to a window overlooking the +rear, Mary went with her. + +They looked. And for a moment something like panic seized them. The +back of the house was not immediately upon the quay, but through an +opening in the warehouses which fringed the latter it commanded a view +of the water and the masts, and of the sloping ground which rose to +College Green. And high above, dyeing the Floating Basin crimson, the +Palace showed in a glow of fire; fire which seemed to be on the point +of attacking the Cathedral, of which every pinnacle and buttress, with +every chimney of the old houses clustered about it, stood out in the +hot glare. It was clear that the building had been burning some time, +for the roar of the flames could be heard, and almost the hiss of the +water as innumerable sparks floated down to it. + +Horror-struck, Mary grasped her companion's arm. And "Good Heavens!" +Miss Sibson muttered. "The whole city will be burned!" + +"And we are between the two fires," Mary faltered. An involuntary +shudder might be pardoned her. + +"Ay, but far enough from them," the schoolmistress answered, +recovering herself. "On this side, the water makes us safe." + +"And on the other?" + +"La, my dear," Miss Sibson replied confidently. "The folks are not +going to burn their own houses. They are angry with the Corporation. +They hold them all one with Wetherell. And for the Bishop, they've so +abused him the last six months that he's hardly dared to show his wig +on the streets, and it's no wonder the poor ignorants think him fair +game. But we're just ordinary folk, and they'll no more harm us than +fly. But we must go back to your mother." + +They went back, and wisely Miss Sibson made no mystery of the truth; +repeating, however, those arguments against giving way to alarm which +she had used to Mary. + +"The poor dear gentleman has lost his house," she concluded piously. +"But we should be thankful he has another." + +Lady Sybil took the news with calmness; her eyes indeed seemed +brighter, as if she enjoyed the excitement. But the frightened woman +at the door refused to be comforted, and underlying the courage of the +two who stood by Lady Sybil's couch was a secret uneasiness, which +every cheer of the crowd below the windows, every "huzza" which rose +from the revellers, every wild rush from one part of the Square to +another tended to strengthen. In her heart Miss Sibson owned that in +all her experience she had known nothing like this; no disorder so +flagrant, so unbridled, so daring. She could carry her mind back to +the days when the cheek of England had paled at the Massacres of +September in Paris. The deeds of '98 in Ireland, she had read morning +by morning in the journals. The Three Days of July, with their street +fighting, were fresh in all men's minds--it was impossible to ignore +their bearing on the present conflagration. And if here was not the +dawn of Revolution, if here were not signs of the crash of things, +appearances deceived her. But even so, she was not to be dismayed. She +believed that even in revolutions a comfortable courage, sound sense, +and a good appetite went far. And "I'd like to hear John Thomas +Gaisford talk to me of guillotines!" she thought. "I'd make his ears +burn!" + +Meanwhile, Mary was thinking that, whatever the emergency, her mother +was too ill to be moved. Miss Sibson might be right, the danger might +be remote. But it was barely midnight; and long hours of suspense must +be lived through before morning came. Meanwhile there were only women +in the house, and, bravely as the girl controlled herself, a cry more +reckless than usual, an outburst of cheering more savage, a rush below +the windows, drove the blood to her heart. And presently, while she +gazed with shrinking eyes on the crowd, now blood-red in the glow of +the burning timbers, now lost for a moment in darkness, a groan broke +from it, and she saw pale flames appear at the windows of the house +next the Mansion House. They shot up rapidly, licking the front of the +buildings. + +Miss Sibson saw them at the same moment, and "The villains!" she +exclaimed. "God grant it be an accident!" + +Mary's lips moved, but no sound came from them. + +Lady Sybil laughed her shrill laugh. "The curs are biting bravely!" +she said. "What will Bristol say to this?" + +"Show them that they have gone too far!" Miss Sibson answered stoutly. +"The soldiers will act now, and put them in their places, as they did +in Wiltshire in the winter! And high time too!" + +But though they watched in tense anxiety for the first sign of action +on the part of the troops, for the first movement of the authorities, +they gazed in vain. The miscreants, who fed the flames and spread +them, were few; and in the Square were thousands who had property to +lose, and friends and interests in jeopardy. If a tithe only of those +who looked on, quiescent and despairing, had raised their hands, they +could have beaten the rabble from the place. But no man moved. The +fear of coming trouble, which had been long in the air, paralysed even +the courageous, while the ignorant and the timid believed that they +saw a revolution in progress, and that henceforth the mob would +rule--and woe betide the man who set himself against it! As it had +been in Paris, so it would be here. And so the flames spread, before +the eyes of the terrified women at the window, before the eyes of the +inert multitude, from the house first attacked to its neighbour, and +from that to the next and the next. Until the noise of the +conflagration, the crash of sinking walls, the crackling of beams were +as the roar of falling waters, and the Square in that hideous red +light, which every moment deepened, resembled an inferno, in which the +devils of hell played awful pranks, and wherein, most terrible sight +of all, thousands who in ordinary times held the salvation of property +to be the first of duties, stood with scared eyes, passive and cowed. + +It was such a scene--and they were only women, and alone in the +house--as the mind cannot imagine and the eye views but once in a +generation, nor ever forgets. In quiet Clifton, and on St. Michael's +Hill, children were snatched from their midnight slumbers and borne +into the open, that they might see the city stretched below them in a +pit of flame, with the overarching fog at once confining and +reflecting the glare. Dundry Tower, five miles from the scene, shone a +red portent visible for leagues; and in Chepstow and South Monmouth, +beyond the wide estuary of the Severn, the light was such that men +could see to read. From all the distant Mendips, and from the Forest +of Dean, miners and charcoal-burners gazed southward with scared +faces, and told one another that the revolution was begun; while +Lansdowne Chase sent riders galloping up the London Road with the news +that all the West was up. Long before dawn on the Monday horsemen and +yellow chaises were carrying the news through the night to Gloucester, +to Southampton, to Salisbury, to Exeter, to every place where scanty +companies of foot lay, or yeomanry had their headquarters. And where +these passed, alarming the sleeping inns and posthouses, panic sprang +up upon their heels, and the travellers on the down nightcoaches +marvelled at the tales which met them with the daylight. + +If the sight viewed from a distance was so terrible as to appal a +whole countryside, if, on those who gazed at it from vantage spots of +safety, and did not guess at the dreadful details, it left an +impression of terror never to be effaced, what was it to the three +women who, in the Square itself, watched the onward march of the +flames towards them, were blinded by the glare, choked by the smoke, +deafened by the roar? Whom distance saved from no feature of the scene +played under their windows: who could shun neither the savage cries of +the drunken rabble, dancing before the doomed houses, nor the sight, +scarce less amazing, of the insensibility which watched the march of +the flames and stretched forth not a finger to stay them! Who, chained +by Lady Sybil's weakness to the place where they stood, saw house +after house go up in flames, until all the side of the Square +adjoining their own was a wall of fire; and who then were left to +guess the progress, swift or slow, which the element was making +towards them! For whom the copper-hued fog above them must have +seemed, indeed, the roof of a furnace, from which escape grew moment +by moment less likely? + + + + + XXXIV + + HOURS OF DARKNESS + + +Long before this the women of the house had fled, taking Lady Sybil's +maid with them. And dreadful as was the situation of those who +remained, appalling as were the fears of two of them, they were able +to control themselves; the better because they knew that they had no +aid but their own to look to, and that their companion was helpless. +Fortunately Lady Sybil, who had watched the earlier phases of the riot +with the detachment which is one of the marks of extreme weakness, had +at a certain point turned faint, and demanded to be removed from the +window. She was ignorant, therefore, of the approach of the flames and +of the imminence of the peril. She had even, in spite of the uproar, +dozed off, after a few minutes of trying irritation, into an uneasy +sleep. + +Mary and Miss Sibson were thus left free. But for what? Compelled to +watch in suspense the progress of the flames, driven at times to fancy +that they could feel the heat of the fire, assailed more than once by +gusts of fear, as one or the other imagined that they were already cut +off, they could not have held their ground but for their +unselfishness; but for their possession of those qualities of love and +heroism which raise women to the height of occasion, and nerve them to +a pitch of endurance of which men are rarely capable. In the +schoolmistress, with her powdered nose and her portly figure, and her +dull past of samplers and backboards and Mrs. Chapone, there dwelt as +sturdy a spirit as in any of the rough Bristol shipmasters from whom +she sprang. She might be fond of a sweetbread, and a glass of port +might not come amiss to her. But the heart in her was stout and large, +and she had as soon dreamed of forsaking her forlorn companions as +those bluff sailormen would have dreamed of striking their flag to a +codfish Don, or to a shipload of mutinous slaves. + +And Mary? Perchance the gentlest and the mildest are also the bravest, +when the stress is real. Or perhaps those who have never known a +mother's love cling to the veriest shred and tatter of it, if it fall +in their way. Or perhaps--but why explain that which all history has +proved a hundred times over---that love casts out fear. Mary quailed, +deafened by the thunder of the fire, with the walls of the room +turning blood-red round her, and the smoke beginning to drift before +the window. But she stood; and only once, assailed by every form of +fear, did her courage fail her, or sink below the stronger nerve of +the elder woman. + +That was when Miss Sibson, after watching that latest and most +pregnant sign, the eddying of smoke past the window, spoke out. "I'm +going next door," she cried in Mary's ear. "There are papers I must +save; they are all I have for my old age. The rest may go, but I can't +see them burn when five minutes may save them." + +But Mary clung to her desperately. "Oh!" she cried, "don't leave me!" + +Miss Sibson patted her shoulder. "I shall come back," she said. "I +shall come back, my dear, never fear. And then we must move your +mother--into the Square if no better can be. Do you come down and let +me in when I knock three times." + +Lady Sybil was still dozing, with a woollen wrap about her head to +deaden the noise; and giving way to the cooler brain Mary went down +with the schoolmistress. In the hall the roar of the fire was less, +for the only window was shuttered. But the raucous voices of the mob, +moving to and fro outside, were more clearly heard. + +Miss Sibson, however, remained undaunted. "Put up the chain the moment +I am outside," she said. + +"But are you not afraid?" Mary cried, holding her back. + +"Of those scamps?" Miss Sibson replied truculently. "They had better +not touch me!" And she turned the key and slipped out. Nor did she +leave the step until Mary had put up the chain and re-locked the door. + +Mary waited--oh, many, many minutes it seemed--in the gloom of the +hall, pierced here and there by a lurid ray; with half her mind on her +mother upstairs, and the other half on the ribald laughter, the +drunken oaths and threats and curses which penetrated from the Square. +It was plain that Miss Sibson had not gone too soon, for twice or +thrice the door was struck with some heavy instrument, and harsh +voices called on the inmates to open if they did not wish to be +burned. Uncertain how the fire advanced, Mary heard them with a sick +heart. But she held her ground, until, oh, joy! she heard voices +raised in altercation, and among them the schoolmistress's. A hand +knocked thrice, she turned the key and let down the chain. The door +opened upon her, and on the steps, with her hand on a man's shoulder, +appeared Miss Sibson. Behind her and her captive, between them and +that background of flame and confusion, stood a group of four or five +men--dock labourers, in tarpaulins and frocks, who laughed tipsily. + +"This lad will help to carry your mother out," Miss Sibson said with +the utmost coolness. "Come, my lad, and no nonsense! You don't want to +burn a sick lady in her bed!" + +"No, I don't, Missis," the man grumbled sheepishly. "But I'm none here +for that! I'm none here for that, and----" + +"You'll do it, all the same," the schoolmistress replied. "And I want +one more. Here, you," she continued, addressing a grinning hobbledehoy +in a sealskin cap. "I know your face, and you'll want someone to speak +for you at the Assizes. Come in, you two, and the rest must wait until +the lady's carried out!" + +And thereon, with that strange mixture of humanity and unreasoning +fury of which the night left many examples, the men complied. The two +whom she had chosen entered, the others suffered her to shut the door +in their faces. Only, "You'll be quick!" one bawled after her. "She's +afire next door!" + +That was the warning that went with them upstairs, and it nerved them +for the task before them. Over that task it were well to draw a veil. +The poor sick woman, roused anew and abruptly to a sense of her +surroundings, to the flickering lights, the smell of smoke, the +strange faces, to all the horrors of that scene rarely equalled in our +modern England, shrieked aloud. The courage, which had before upheld +her, deserted her. She refused to be moved, refused to believe that +they were there to save her; she failed even to recognise her +daughter, she resisted their efforts, and whatever Mary could say or +do, she added to the peril of the moment all the misery which frantic +terror and unavailing shrieks could add. They did not know, while they +reasoned with her, and tried to lift her, and strove to cloak her +against the outer air, the minute at which the house might be entered; +nor even that it was not already entered, already in some part on +fire. The girl, though her hands were steady, though she never +wavered, though she persisted, was white as paper. And even Miss +Sibson was almost unnerved, when at last nature came to their aid, and +with a frantic protest, a last attempt to thrust them from her, the +poor woman swooned; and the men who had looked on, as unhappy as those +engaged, lifted the couch and bore her down the stairs. Odd are the +windings of chance and fate. These men, in whom every good instinct +was awakened by the sight before them, might, had the schoolmistress's +eye alighted on others, have plundered on with their fellows; and with +the more luckless of those fellows have stood on the scaffold a month +later! + +Still, time had been lost. And perforce the men descended slowly, so +that as they reached the hall the door gave way, and admitted a dozen +rascals, who tumbled over one another in their greed. The moment was +critical, the inrush of horrid sounds and sights appalling. But Mary +rose to the occasion. With a courage which from this time remained +with her to the end, she put herself forward. + +"Will you let us pass out?" she said. "My mother is ill. You do not +wish to harm her?" + +Now Lady Sybil had made Mary put off the Quaker-like costume in which +she had wished to nurse her, and she had had no time to cover the +light muslin dress she wore. The men saw before them a beautiful +creature, white-robed, bareheaded, barenecked--even the schoolmistress +had not snatched up so much as a cloak--a Una with sweet shining eyes, +before whom they fell aside abashed. + +"Lord love you, Miss!" one cried heartily. "Take her out! And God +bless you!" while the others grinned fatuously. + +So down the steps and into the turmoil of the seething Square, walled +on two sides by fire, and full of a drunken, frenzied rabble--for all +decent onlookers had fled, awake at last to the result of their +quiescence--the strange procession moved, the girl going first. Tipsy +groups, singing and dancing delirious jigs to the music of falling +walls, pillagers hurrying in ruthless haste from house to house, or +quarrelling over their spoils, householders striving to save a remnant +of their goods from dwellings past saving--all made way for it. Men +who swayed on their feet, brandishing their arms and shouting obscene +songs, being touched on the shoulder by others, stared, and gave place +with mouths agape. Even boys, whom the madness of that night made +worse than men, and unsexed women, shrank at sight of it, and were +silent--nay, followed with a strange homage the slender white figure, +the shining eyes, the pure sweet face. + +In the worst horrors of the French Revolution it is said that the +devotion of a daughter stayed the hands which were raised to slay her +father. Even so, on this night in Bristol, amid surroundings less +bloody, but almost as appalling, the wildest and the most furious made +way for the daughter and the mother. + +Led by instinct rather than by calculation, Mary did not pause, or +look aside, but moved onward, until she reached the middle of the +Square; until some sixty or seventy yards divided her charge from the +nearest of the burning houses. The heat was less scorching here, the +crowd less compact. A fixed seat afforded shelter on one side, and by +it she signed to the bearers to set the couch down. The statue stood +not far away on the other side, and secured them against the ugly +rushes which were caused from time to time by the fall of a roof or a +rain of sparks. + +Mary gazed round her in stupor. And no wonder. The whole of the north +side of the great Square, and a half of the west side--thirty lofty +houses in all--were in flames, or were sinking in red-hot ruin. The +long wall of fire, the canopy of glowing smoke, the ceaseless roar of +the element, the random movements of the forms which, pigmy-like, +played between her and the conflagration, the doom which threatened +the whole city, held her awestruck, spellbound, fascinated. + +But even the feelings which she experienced, confronted by that sight, +were exceeded by the emotions of one who had seen her advance, and, at +first with horror, then as he recognised her, with incredulity, had +watched the white figure which threaded its way through this rout of +satyrs, this orgy of recklessness. She had not succeeded in wresting +her eyes from the spectacle before a trembling hand fell on her arm, +and the last voice she expected to hear called her by name. + +"Mary!" Sir Robert cried. "Mary! My God! What are you doing here?" +For, taken up with staring at her, he had seen neither who accompanied +her nor what they bore. + +A sob of relief and joy broke from her, as she recognised him and +flung herself into his arms and clung to him. + +"Oh!" she cried. "Oh!" She could say no more at that moment. But the +joy of it! To have at last a man to turn to, a man to lean upon, a man +to look to! + +And still he could not grasp the position. "My God!" he repeated in +wonder. "What, child, what are you doing here?" + +But before she could answer him, his eyes sank to the level of the +couch, which the figures about it shaded from the scorching light. And +he started--and stepped back. In a lower voice and a quavering tone he +called upon his Maker. He was beginning to understand. + +"We had to bring her out," she sobbed. "We had to bring her out. The +house is on fire. See!" She pointed to the house beside Miss Sibson's, +from the upper windows of which smoke was beginning to curl and eddy. +Men were pouring from the door below, carrying their booty and +jostling others who sought to enter. + +"You have been here all day?" he asked, passing his hand over his +brow. + +"Yes." + +"All day? All day?" he repeated. + +"Yes." + +He covered his eyes with his hand, while Mary, recalled by a touch +from Miss Sibson, knelt beside her mother, to feel her pulse, to rub +her hands, to make sure that life still lingered in the inanimate +frame. He had not asked, he did not ask who it was over whom his +daughter hung with so tender a solicitude. He did not even look at the +cloaked figure. But the sidelong glance which at once sought and +shunned, the quivering of his mouth, which his shaking fingers did not +avail to hide, the agitation which unnerved a frame, erect but feeble, +all betrayed his knowledge. And what must have been his thoughts, how +poignant his reflections as he considered that there, there, enveloped +in those shapeless wraps, there lay the bride whom he had wedded with +hopes so high a score of years before! The mother of his child, the +wife whom he had last seen in the pride of her beauty, the woman from +whom he had been parted for sixteen years, and who through all those +sixteen years had never been absent from his thoughts for an hour, +nor ever been aught in them but an abiding, clinging, embittering +memory--she lay there! + +What wonder, if the scene about them rolled away and he saw her again +in the stately gardens at Stapylton, walking, smiling, talking, +flirting, the gayest of the gay, the lightest of the butterflies, the +admired of all? Or if his heart bled at the remembrance--at that +remembrance and many another? Or again, what wonder if his mind went +back to long hours of brooding in his sombre library, hours given up +to the rehearsal of grave remonstrances, vain reproofs, bitter +complaints, all destined to meet with defiance? And if his head sank +lower, his hands trembled more senilely, his breast heaved at this +picture of the irrevocable past? + +Of all the strange things wrought in Bristol that night, of all the +strangely begotten brood of riot and fire, and Reform, none were +stranger than this meeting, if meeting that could be called where one +was ignorant of the other's presence, and he would not look upon her +face. For he would not, perhaps he dared not. He stood with bent head, +pondering and absorbed, until an uprush of sparks, more fiery than +usual, and the movement of the crowd to avoid them, awoke him from his +thoughts. Then his eyes fell on Mary's uncovered head and neck, and he +took the cloak from his own shoulders and put it on her, with a touch +as if he blessed her. She was kneeling beside the couch at the moment, +her head bent to her mother's, her hair mingling with her mother's, +but he contrived to close his eyes and would not see his wife's face. + +After that he moved to the farther side of the couch, where some +sneaking hobbledehoys showed a disposition to break in upon them. And +old as he was, and shaken and weary, he stood sentry there, a gaunt +stooping figure, for long hours, until the prayed-for day began to +break above Redcliffe and to discover the grim relics of the night's +work. + + + + + XXXV + + THE MORNING OF MONDAY + + +It has been said that midnight of that Sunday saw the alarm speeding +along every road by which the forces of order could hope to be +recruited; nevertheless in Bristol itself nothing was done to stay the +work of havoc. A change had indeed come over the feeling in the city; +for to acquiescence had succeeded the most lively alarm, and to +approval, rage and boundless indignation. But the handful of officials +who all day long had striven, honestly if not very capably, to restore +order, were exhausted; and the public without cohesion or leaders were +in no state to make head against the rioters. So great, indeed, was +the confusion that a troop of Gloucestershire Yeomanry which rode in +soon after dark received neither orders nor billets; and being poorly +led, withdrew within the hour. This, with the tumult at Bath, where +the quarters of the Yeomanry were beset by a mob of Reformers, who +would not let them go to the rescue, completed the isolation of the +city. + +One man only, indeed, in the midst of that welter, had it in his power +to intervene with effect. And he could not be found. From Queen's +Square to Leigh's Bazaar, where the Third Dragoons stood inactive by +their horses; from Leigh's to the Recruiting Office on College Green, +where a couple of non-commissioned officers stood inactive; from the +Recruiting Office to his lodgings in Unity Street, men, panting and +protesting, in terror for their property, hurried in vain nightmare +pursuit of that man. For to such men it seemed impossible that in face +of the damage already done, of thirty houses in flames, of a mob which +had broken all bounds, of a city disturbed to its entrails, he could +still refuse to act. + +But to go to Unity Street was one thing, and to gain speech with +Brereton was another. He had gone to bed. He was asleep. He was not +well. He was worn out and was resting. The seekers, with the roar of +the fire in their ears and ruin staring them in the face, heard these +incredible things, and went away, swearing profanely. Nor did anyone, +it would seem, gain speech with him, until the small hours were well +advanced. Then Arthur Vaughan, unable to abide by the vow he had taken +not to importune him, arrived, he, too, furious, at the door, and +found a knot of gentlemen clamouring for admission. + +Vaughan had parted from Sir Robert Vermuyden some hours earlier, +believing that, bad as things were, he might make head against the +rioters, if he could rally his constables. But he had found no one +willing to act without the soldiery; and he was here in the last +resort, determined to compel Colonel Brereton to move, if it were by +main force. For Vaughan had the law-keeping instincts of an Englishman +and his blood boiled at the sights he had seen in the streets, at the +wanton destruction of property, at the jeopardy of life, at the women +made homeless, at the men made paupers. Nor was it quite out of his +thoughts that if anything could harm the cause of Reform it was these +deeds done in its name, these outrages fulfilling to the letter the +worst which its enemies had predicted of it! + +He spoke a few words to the persons who, angry and nonplussed, were +wrangling at the door, then he pushed his way in, deaf to the +remonstrances of the woman of the house. He did not believe, he could +not believe the excuse given--that Brereton was in bed. Nero, fiddling +while Rome burned, seemed nought beside that! And his surprise was +great when, opening the sitting-room door, he saw before him only the +Honourable Bob; who, standing on the hearth-rug, met his indignant +look with one of forced and sickly amusement. + +"Good Heavens!" Vaughan cried, staring at him. "What are you doing +here? Where's the Chief?" + +Flixton shrugged his shoulders. "There," he said irritably, "it's no +use blaming me! Man alive, if he won't, he won't! And it's his +business, not mine!" + +"Then I'd make it mine!" Vaughan retorted. "Where is he?" + +Flixton flicked his thumb in the direction of an inner door. "He's +there," he said. "He's there safe enough! For the rest, it is easy to +find fault! Very easy for you, my lad! You're no longer in the +service." + +"There are a good many will leave the service for this!" Vaughan +replied; and he saw on the instant that the shot told. Flixton's face +fell, he opened his mouth to reply. But disdaining to listen to +excuses, of which the speaker's manner betrayed the shallowness, +Vaughan opened the bedroom door and passed in. + +To his boundless astonishment Brereton was really in bed, with a light +beside him. Asleep he probably was not, for he rose at once to a +sitting posture and, with wild and dishevelled hair, confronted the +intruder with a mingling of wrath and discomfiture in his looks. His +sword and an undress cap, blue with a silver band, lay beside the +candle on the table, and Vaughan saw that though in his shirt-sleeves +he was not otherwise undressed. + +"Mr. Vaughan!" he cried. "What, if you please, does this mean?" + +"That is what I am here to ask you!" Vaughan answered, his face +flushed with indignation. He was too angry to pick his words. "Are +you, can you be aware, sir, what is done while you sleep?" + +"Sleep?" Brereton rejoined, with a sombre gleam in his eyes. "Sleep, +man? God knows it is the last thing I do!" He clapped his hand to his +brow and for a moment remained silent, holding it there. Then, "Sleep +has been a stranger to me these three nights!" he said. + +"Then what do you do here?" Vaughan answered, in astonishment. And +looked round the room as if he might find his answer there. + +"Ah!" Brereton rejoined, with a look half suspicious, half cunning. +"That is another matter. But never mind! Never mind! I know what I am +doing." + +"Know----" + +"Yes, well!" the soldier replied, bringing his feet to the floor, but +continuing to keep his seat on the bed. "Very well, sir, I assure +you." + +Vaughan looked aghast at him. "But, Colonel Brereton," he rejoined, +"do you consider that you are the only person in this city able to +act? That without you nothing can be done and nothing can be +ventured?" + +"That," Brereton returned, with the same shrewd look, "is just what I +do consider! Without me they cannot act! They cannot venture. And +I--go to bed!" + +He chuckled at it, as at a jest; and Vaughan, checked by the oddity of +his manner, and with a growing suspicion in his mind, knew not what to +think. For answer, at last, "I fear that you will not be able to go to +bed, Colonel Brereton," he said gravely, "when the moment comes to +face the consequences." + +"The consequences?" + +"You cannot think that a city such as this can be destroyed, and no +one be called to account?" + +"But the civil power----" + +"Is impotent!" Vaughan answered, with returning indignation, "in the +face of the disorder now prevailing! I warn you! A little more delay, +a little more license, let the people's passions be fanned by farther +impunity, and nothing, nothing, I warn you, Colonel Brereton," he +continued with emphasis, "can save the major part of the city from +destruction!" + +Brereton rose to his feet, a certain wildness in his aspect. "Good +God!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean it! Do you really mean it, +Vaughan? But--but what can I do?" He sank down on the bed again, and +stared at his companion. "Eh? What can I do? Nothing!" + +"Everything!" + +He sprang to his feet. "Everything! You say everything?" he cried, and +his tone rose shrill and excited. "But you don't know!" he continued, +lowering his voice as quickly as he had raised it and laying his hand +on Vaughan's sleeve--"you don't know! You don't know! But I know! Man, +I was set in command here on purpose. If I acted they counted on +putting the blame on me. And if I didn't act--they would still put the +blame on me." + +His cunning look shocked Vaughan. + +"But even so, sir," he answered, "you can do your duty." + +"My duty?" Brereton repeated, raising his voice again. "And do you +think it is my duty to precipitate a useless struggle? To begin a +civil war? To throw away the lives of my own men and cut down innocent +folk? To fill the streets with blood and slaughter? And the end the +same?" + +"Ay, sir, I do," Vaughan answered sternly. "If by so doing a worse +calamity may be averted! And, for your men's lives, are they not +soldiers? For your own life, are you not a soldier? And will you shun +a soldier's duty?" + +Brereton clapped his hand to his brow, and, holding it there, paced +the room in his shirt and breeches. + +"My God! My God!" he cried, as he went. "I do not know what to do! But +if--if it be as bad as you say----" + +"It is as bad, and worse!" + +"I might try once more," looking at Vaughan with a troubled, undecided +eye, "what showing my men might do? What do you think?" + +Vaughan thought that if he were once on the spot, if he saw with his +own eyes the lawlessness of the mob, he might act. And he assented. +"Shall I pass on the order, sir," he added, "while you dress?" + +"Yes, I think you may. Yes, certainly. Tell the officer commanding to +march his men to the Square and I'll meet him there." + +Vaughan waited for no more. He suspected that the burden of +responsibility had proved too heavy for Brereton's mind. He suspected +that the Colonel had brooded upon his position between a Whig +Government and a Whig mob until the notion that he was sent there to +be a scapegoat had become a fixed idea; and with it the determination +that he would not be forced into strong measures, had become also a +fixed idea. + +Such a man, if he was to be blamed, was to be pitied also. And +Vaughan, even in the heat of his indignation, did pity him. But he +entertained no such feeling for the Honourable Bob, and in delivering +the order to him he wasted no words. After Flixton had left the room, +however, he remembered that he had noted a shade of indecision in the +aide's manner. And warned by it, he followed him. "I will come with +you to Leigh's," he said. + +"Better come all the way," Flixton replied, with covert insolence. +"We've half a dozen spare horses." + +The next moment he was sorry he had spoken. For, "Done with you!" +Vaughan cried. "There's nothing I'd like better!" + +Flixton grunted. He had overreached himself, but he could not withdraw +the offer. + +Vaughan was by his side, and plainly meant to accompany him. + +Let no man think that the past is done with, though he sever it as he +will. The life from which he has cut himself off in disgust has none +the less cast the tendrils of custom about his heart, which shoot and +bud when he least expects it. Vaughan stood in the doorway of the +stable while the men bridled. He viewed the long line of tossing +heads, and the smoky lanthorns fixed to the stall-posts; he sniffed +the old familiar smell of "Stables." And he felt his heart leap to the +past. Ay, even as it leapt a few minutes later, when he rode down +College Green, now in darkness, now in glare, and heard beside him the +familiar clank of spur and scabbard, the rattle of the bridle-chains, +and the tramp of the shod hoofs. On the men's left, as they descended +the slope at a walk, the tall houses stood up in bright light; below +them on the right the Float gleamed darkly; above them, the mist +glowed red. Wild hurrahing and an indescribable babel of shouts, +mingled with the rushing roar of the flames, rose from the Square. +When the troop rode into it with the first dawn, they saw that two +whole sides--with the exception of a pair of houses--were burnt or +burning. In addition a monster warehouse was on fire in the rear, a +menace to every building to windward of it. + +The Colonel, with Flixton attending him, fell in on the flank, as the +troop entered the Square. But apparently--since he gave no orders--he +did not share the tingling indignation which Vaughan experienced as he +viewed the scene. A few persons were still engaged in removing their +goods from houses on the south side; but save for these, the decent +and respectable had long since fled the place, and left it a prey to +all that was most vile and dangerous in the population of a rough +seaport. The rabble, left to themselves, and constantly recruited as +the news flew abroad, had cast off the fear of reprisals, and believed +that at last the city was their own. Vaughan saw that if the dragoons +were to act with effect they must act at once. Nor was he alone in +this opinion. The troop had not ridden far into the open before he was +shocked, as well as astonished, by the appearance of Sir Robert +Vermuyden, who stumbled across the Square towards them. He was +bareheaded--for in an encounter with a prowler who had approached too +near he had lost his hat; he was without his cloak, though the morning +was cold. His face, too, unshorn and haggard, added to the tragedy of +his appearance; yet in a sense he was himself, and he tried to steady +his voice, as, unaware of Vaughan's presence, he accosted the nearest +trooper. + +"Who is in command, my man?" he said. + +Flixton, who had also recognised him, thrust his horse forward. "Good +Heavens, Sir Robert!" he cried. "What are you doing here? And in this +state?" + +"Never mind me," the Baronet replied. "Are you in command?" + +Colonel Brereton had halted his men. He came forward. "No, Sir +Robert," he said. "I am. And very sorry to see you in this plight." + +"Take no heed of me, sir," Sir Robert replied sternly. Through how +many hours, hours long as days, had he not watched for the soldiers' +coming! "Take no heed of me, sir," he repeated. "Unless you have +orders to abandon the loyal people of Bristol to their fate--act! Act, +sir! If you have eyes, you can see that the mob are beginning to fire +the south side on which the shipping abuts. Let that take fire and you +cannot save Bristol!" + +Brereton looked in the direction indicated, but he did not answer. +Flixton did. "We understand all that," he said, somewhat cavalierly. +"We see all that, Sir Robert, believe me. But the Colonel has to think +of many things; of more than the immediate moment. We are the only +force in Bristol, and----" + +"Apparently Bristol is no better for you!" Sir Robert replied with +tremulous passion. + +So far Vaughan, a horse's length behind Brereton and his aide, heard +what passed; but with half his mind. For his eyes, roving in the +direction whence Sir Robert had come, had discerned, amid a medley of +goods and persons huddled about the statue, in the middle of the +Square, a single figure, slender, erect, in black and white, which +appeared to be gazing towards him. At first he resisted as incredible +the notion which besieged him--at sight of that figure. But the longer +he looked the more sure he became that it was, it was Mary! Mary, +gazing towards him out of that welter of miserable and shivering +figures, as if she looked to him for help! + +Perhaps he should have asked Sir Robert's leave, to go to her. Perhaps +Colonel Brereton's to quit the troop, which he had volunteered to +accompany. But he gave no thought to either. He slipped from his +saddle, flung the reins to the nearest man, and, crossing the roadway +in three strides, he made towards her through the skulking groups who +warily watched the dragoons, or hailed them tipsily, and in the name +of Reform invited them to drink. + +And Mary, who had risen in alarm to her feet, and was gazing after her +father, her only hope, her one protection through the night, saw +Vaughan coming, tall and stern, through the prowling night-birds about +her, as if she had seen an angel! She said not a word, when he came +near and she was sure. Nor did he say more than "Mary!" But he threw +into that word so much of love, of joy, of relief, of forgiveness--and +of the appeal for forgiveness--that it brought her to his arms, it +left her clinging to his breast. All his coldness in Parliament +Street, his cruelty on the coach, her father's opposition, all were +forgotten by her, as if they had not been! + +And for him, she might have been the weakest of the weak, and fickle +and changeable as the weather, she might have been all that she was +not--though he had yet to learn that and how she had carried herself +that night--but he knew that in spite of all he loved her. She had the +old charm for him! She was still the one woman in the world for him! +And she was in peril. But for that there is no knowing how long he +might have held her. That thought, however, presently overcame all +others, made him insensible even to the sweetness of that embrace, ay, +even put words in his mouth. + +"How come you here?" he cried. "How come you here, Mary?" + +She freed herself and pointed to her mother. "I am with her," she +said. "We had to bring her here. It was all we could do." + +He lowered his eyes and saw what she was guarding; and he understood +something of the tragedy of that night. From the couch came a low +continuous moaning which made the hair rise on his head. He looked at +Mary. + +"She is insensible," she said quietly. "She does not know anything." + +"We must remove her!" he said. + +She looked at him, and from him to that part of the Square where the +rioters wrought still at their fiendish work. And she shuddered. +"Where can we take her?" she answered. "They are beginning to burn +that side also." + +"Then we must remove them!" he answered sternly. + +"That's sense!" a hearty voice cried at his elbow. "And the first I've +heard this night!" On which he became aware of Miss Sibson, or rather +of a stout body swathed in queer wrappings, who spoke in the +schoolmistress's tones, and though pale with fatigue continued to show +a brave face to the mischief about her. "That's talking!" she +continued. "Do that, and you'll do a man's work!" + +"Will you have courage if I leave you?" he asked. And when Mary, +bravely but with inward terror, answered "Yes," he told her in brief +sentences--with his eyes on the movements in the Square--what to do, +if the rabble made a rush in that direction, and what to do, if the +troops charged too near them, and how, by lying down, to avoid danger +if the crowd resorted to firearms, since untrained men fired high. +Then he touched Miss Sibson on the arm. "You'll not leave her?" he +said. + +"God bless the man, no!" the schoolmistress replied. "Though, for the +matter of that, she's as well able to take care of me as I of her!" + +Which was not quite true. Or why in after-days did Miss Sibson, at +many a cosy whist-party and over many a glass of hot negus, tell of a +particular box on the ear with which she routed a young rascal, more +forward than civil? Ay, and dilate with boasting on the way his teeth +had rattled, and the gibes with which his fellows had seen him driven +from the field? + +But, if not quite true, it satisfied Vaughan. He went from them in a +cold heat, and finding Sir Robert, still at words and almost at blows +with the officers, was going to strike in, when another did so. +Daylight was slowly overcoming the glare of the fire and dispelling +the shadows which had lain the deeper and more confusing for that +glare. It laid the grey of reality upon the scene, showing all things +in their true colours, the ruins more ghastly, the pale licking flames +more devilish. The fire, which had swept two sides of the Square, +leaving only charred skeletons of houses, with vacant sockets gaping +to the sky, was now attacking the third side, of which the two most +westerly houses were in flames. It was this, and the knowledge of its +meaning, that, before Vaughan could interpose, flung at Colonel +Brereton a man white with passion, and stuttering under the pressure +of feelings too violent for utterance. + +"Do you see? Do you see?" he cried brandishing his fist in Brereton's +face--it was Cooke. "You traitor! If the fire catches the fourth house +on that side, it'll get the shipping! The shipping, d'you hear, you +Radical? Then the Lord knows what'll escape? But, thank God, you'll +hang! You'll--if it gets to the fourth house, I tell you, it'll catch +the rigging by the Great Crane! Are you going to move?" + +Vaughan did not wait for Brereton's answer. "We must charge, Colonel +Brereton!" he cried, in a voice which burst the bonds of discipline, +and showed that he was determined that others should burst them also. +"Colonel Brereton," he repeated, setting his horse in motion, "we must +charge without a moment's delay!" + +"Wait!" Brereton answered hoarsely. "Wait! Let me----" + +"We must charge!" Vaughan replied, his face pale, his mind made up. +And turning in his saddle he waved his hand to the men. "Forward!" he +cried, raising his voice to its utmost. "Trot! Charge, men, and charge +home!" + +He spurred his horse to the front, and the whole troop, some thirty +strong, set in motion by the magic of his voice, followed him. Even +Brereton, after a moment's hesitation, fell in a length behind him. +The horses broke into a trot, then into a canter. As they bore down +along the south side upon the southwest corner, a roar of rage and +alarm rose from the rioters collected there; and scores and hundreds +fled, screaming, and sought safety to right and left. + +Vaughan had time to turn to Brereton, and cry, "I beg your pardon, +sir; I could not help it!" The next moment he and the leading troopers +were upon the fleeing, dodging, ducking crowd; were upon them and +among them. Half a dozen swords gleamed high and fell, the horses did +the rest. The rabble, taken by surprise, made no resistance. In a +trice the dragoons were through the mob, and the roadway showed clear +behind them. Save where here and there a man rose slowly and limped +away, leaving a track of blood at his heels. + +"Steady! Steady!" Vaughan cried. "Halt! Halt! Right about!" and then, +"Charge!" + +He led the men back over the same ground, chasing from it such as had +dared to return, or to gather upon the skirts of the troop. Then he +led his men along the east side, clearing that also and driving the +rioters in a panic into the side streets. Resistance worthy of the +name there was none, until, having led the troop back across the open +Square and cleared that of the skulkers, he came back again to the +southwest corner. There the rabble, rallying from their surprise, had +taken up a position in the forecourts of the houses, where they were +protected by the railings. They met the soldiers with a volley of +stones, and half a dozen pistol-shots. A horse fell, two or three of +the men were hit; for an instant there was confusion. Then Vaughan +spurred his horse into one of the forecourts, and, followed by half a +dozen troopers, cleared it, and the next and the next; on which, +volunteers who sprang up, as by magic, at the first act of authority, +entered the houses, killed one rioter, flung out the rest, and +extinguished the flames. Still the more determined of the rascals, +seeing the small number against them, clung to the place and the +forecourts; and, driven from one court, retreated to another, and +still protected by the railings, kept the troopers at bay with +missiles. + +Vaughan, panting with his exertions, took in the position, and looked +round for Brereton. + +"We must send for the Fourteenth, sir!" he said. "We are not enough to +do more than hold them in check." + +"There is nothing else for it now," Brereton replied, with a gloomy +face and in such a tone that the very men shrank from looking at him; +understanding, the very dullest of them, what his feelings must be, +and how great his shame, who, thus superseded, saw another successful +in that which it had been his duty to attempt. + +And what were Vaughan's feelings? He dared not allow himself the +luxury of a glance towards the middle of the Square. Much less--but +for a different reason--had he the heart to meet Brereton's eyes. "I'm +not in uniform, sir," he said. "I can pass through the crowd. If you +think fit, and will give me the order, I'll fetch them, sir?" + +Brereton nodded without a word, and Vaughan wheeled his horse to +start. As he pushed it clear of the troop he passed Flixton. + +"That was capital!" the Honourable Bob cried heartily. "Capital! We'll +handle 'em easily now, till you come back!" + +Vaughan did not answer, nor did he look at Flixton; his look would +have conveyed too much. Instead, he put his horse into a trot along +the east side of the Square, and, regardless of a dropping fire of +stones, made for the opening beside the ruins of the Mansion House. At +the last moment, he looked back, to see Mary if it were possible. But +he had waited too long, he could distinguish only confused forms about +the base of the statue; and he must look to himself. His road to +Keynsham lay through the lowest and most dangerous part of the city. + +But though the streets were full of rough men, navigators and seamen, +whose faces were set towards the Square, and who eyed him suspiciously +as he rode by them, none made any attempt to stop him. And when he had +crossed Bristol Bridge and had gained the more open outskirts towards +Totterdown, where he could urge his horse to a gallop, the pale faces +of men and women at door and window announced that it was not only the +upper or the middle class which had taken fright, and longed for help +and order. Through Brislington and up Durley Hill he pounded; and it +must be confessed that his heart was light. Whatever came of it, +though they court-martialled him, were that possible, though they +tried him, he had done something, he had done right, and he had +succeeded. Whatever the consequences, whatever the results to himself, +he had dared; and his daring, it might be, had saved a city! Of the +charge, indeed, he thought nothing, though she had seen it. It was +nothing, for the danger had been of the slightest, the defence +contemptible. But in setting discipline at defiance, in superseding +the officer commanding the troops, in taking the whole responsibility +on his own shoulders--a responsibility which few would have dreamed of +taking--there he had dared, there he had played the man, there he had +risen to the occasion! If he had been a failure in the House, here, by +good fortune, he had not been a failure. And she would know it. Oh, +happy thought! And happy man, riding out of Bristol with the murk and +smoke and fog at his back, and the sunshine on his face! + +For the sun was above the horizon as, with full heart, he rode down +the hill into Keynsham, and heard the bugle sound "Boots and saddles!" +and poured into sympathetic ears---and to an accompaniment of strong +words--the tale of the night's doings. + + + * * * * * + + +An hour later he rode in with the Fourteenth and heard the Blues +welcomed with thanksgiving, in the very streets which had stoned them +from the city twenty-four hours before. By that time the officer in +command of the main body of the Fourteenth at Gloucester had posted +over, followed by another troop, and, seeing the state of things, had +taken his own line and assumed, though junior to Colonel Brereton, the +command of the forces. + +After that the thing became a military evolution. One hour, two hours +at most, and twenty charges along the quays and through the streets +sufficed--at the cost of a dozen lives--to convince the most obstinate +of the rabble of several things. _Imprimis_, that the reign of terror +was not come. On the contrary, that law and order, and also Red +Judges, survived. That Reform did not spell fire and pillage, and that +at these things even a Reforming Government could not wink. In a word, +by noon of that day, Monday, and many and many an hour before the +ruins had ceased to smoke, the bubble which might have been easily +burst before was pricked. Order reigned in Bristol, patrols were +everywhere, two thousand zealous constables guarded the streets. And +though troops still continued to hasten by every road to the scene, +though all England trembled with alarm, and distant Woolwich sent its +guns, and Greenwich horsed them, and the Yeomanry of six counties +mustered on Clifton Down, or were quartered on the public buildings, +the thing was nought by that time. Arthur Vaughan had pricked it in +the early morning light when he cried "Charge!" in Queen's Square. + + + + + XXXVI + + FORGIVENESS + + +The first wave of thankfulness for crowning blessings or vital escapes +has a softening quality against which the hearts of few are wholly +proof. Old things, old hopes, old ties, old memories return on that +gentle flood tide to eyes and mind. The barriers raised by time, the +furrows of ancient wrong are levelled with the plain, and the generous +breast cries "_Non nobis!_ Not to us only be the benefit!" + +Lady Lansdowne, with something of this kind in her thoughts and pity +in her heart, sat eying Miss Sibson in a silence which disclosed +nothing, and which the schoolmistress found irksome. Miss Sibson could +beard Sir Robert at need; but of the great of her own sex--and she +knew Lady Lansdowne for a very great lady, indeed--her sturdy nature +went a little in awe. Had her ladyship encroached indeed, Miss Sibson +would have known how to put her in her place. But a Lady Lansdowne +perfectly polite and wholly silent imposed on her. She rubbed her nose +and was glad when the visitor spoke. + +"Sir Robert has not seen her, then?" + +Miss Sibson smoothed out the lap of her dress. "No, my lady, not since +she was brought into the house. Indeed, I can't say that he saw her +before, for he never looked at her." + +"Do you think that I could see her?" + +The schoolmistress hesitated. "Well, my lady," she said, "I am afraid +that she will hardly live through the day." + +"Then he must see her," Lady Lansdowne replied quickly. And Miss +Sibson observed with surprise that there were tears in the great +lady's eyes. "He must see her. Is she conscious?" + +"She's so-so," Miss Sibson answered more at her ease. After all, the +great lady was human, it seemed. "She wanders, and thinks that she is +in France, my lady; believes there's a revolution, and that they are +come to take her to prison. Her mind harps continually on things of +that kind. And not much wonder either! But, then again she's herself. +So that you don't know from one minute to another whether she's +sensible or not." + +"Poor thing!" Lady Lansdowne murmured. "Poor woman!" Her lips moved +without sound. Presently, "Her daughter is with her?" she asked. + +"She has scarcely left her for a minute since she was carried in," +Miss Sibson answered warmly. And to her eyes, too, there rose +something like a tear. "Only with difficulty have I made her take the +most necessary rest. But if your ladyship pleases, I will ask whether +she will see you." + +"Do so, if you please." + +Miss Sibson retired for this purpose, and Lady Lansdowne, left to +herself, rose and looked from the window. As soon as it had been +possible to move her, the dying woman had been carried into the +nearest house which had escaped the flames, and Lady Lansdowne, gazing +out, looked on the scene of conflict, saw lines of ruins, still asmoke +in parts, and discerned between the scorched limbs of trees, from +which the last foliage had fallen, the blackened skeletons of houses. +A gaping crowd was moving round the Square, under the eyes of special +constables, who, distinguished by white bands on their arms, guarded +the various entrances. Hundreds, doubtless, who would fain have robbed +were there to stare; but for the most part the guilty shunned the +scene, and the gazers consisted mainly of sightseers from the country, +or from Bath, or of knots of merchants and traders and the like who +argued, some that this was what came of Reform, others that not Reform +but the refusal of Reform was to blame for it. + +Presently she saw Sir Robert's stately figure threading its way +through the crowd. He walked erect, but with effort; yet though her +heart swelled with pity, it was not with pity for him. He would have +his daughter and in a few days, in a few weeks, in a few months at +most, the clouds would pass and leave him to enjoy the clear evening +of his days. + +But for her whom he had taken to his house twenty years before in the +bloom of her beauty, the envied, petted, spoiled child of fortune, who +had sinned so lightly and paid so dearly, and who now lay distraught +at the close of all, what evening remained? What gleam of light? What +comfort at the last? + +In her behalf, the heart which Whig pride, and family prejudice, and +the cares of riches had failed to harden, swelled to bursting. "He +must forgive her!" she ejaculated. "He shall forgive her!" And gliding +to the door she stayed Mary, who was in the act of entering. + +"I must see your father," she said. "He is mounting the stairs now. Go +to your mother, my dear, and when I ring, do you come!" + +What Mary read in her face, of feminine pity and generous purpose, +need not be told. Whatever it was, the girl seized the woman's hand, +kissed it with wet eyes, and fled. And when Sir Robert, ushered +upstairs by Miss Sibson, entered the room and looked round for his +daughter, he found in her stead the wife of his enemy. + +On the instant he remembered the errand on which she had sought him +six months before, and he was quick to construe her presence by its +light, and to feel resentment. The wrong of years, the daily, hourly +wrong, committed not against him only but against the innocent and the +helpless, this woman would have him forgive at a word; merely because +the doer, who had had no ruth, no pity, no scruples, hung on the verge +of that step which all, just and unjust, must take! And some, he knew, +standing where he stood, would forgive; would forgive with their lips, +using words which meant nought to the sayer, though they soothed the +hearers. But he was no hypocrite; he would not forgive. Forgive? Great +Heaven, that any should think that the wrongs of a lifetime could be +forgiven in an hour! At a word! Beside a bed! As soon might the +grinding wear of years be erased from the heart, the wrinkles of care +from the brow, the snows of age from the head! As easily might a word +give back to the old the spring and flame and vigour of their youth! + +Something of what he thought impressed itself on his face. Lady +Lansdowne marked the sullen drop of his eyebrows, and the firm set of +the lower face; but she did not flinch. "I came upon your name," she +said, "in the report of the dreadful doings here--in the 'Mercury,' +this morning. I hope, Sir Robert, I shall be pardoned for intruding." + +He murmured something, as much no as yes, and with a manner as frigid +as his breeding permitted. And standing--she had reseated herself--he +continued to look at her, his lips drawn down. + +"I grieve," she continued, "to find the truth more sad than the +report." + +"I do not know that you can help us," he said. + +"No?" + +"No." + +"Because," she rejoined, looking at him softly, "you will not let me +help you. Sir Robert----" + +"Lady Lansdowne!" He broke in abruptly, using her name with emphasis, +using it with intention. "Once before you came to me. Doubtless you +remember. Now, let me say at once, that if your errand to-day be the +same, and I think it likely that it is the same----" + +"It is not the same," she replied with emotion which she did not try +to hide. "It is not the same! For then there was time. And now there +is no time. Let a day, it may be an hour, pass, and at the cost of all +you possess you will not be able to buy that which you can still have +for nothing!" + +"And what is that?" he asked, frowning. + +"An easy heart." He had not looked for that answer, and he started. +"Sir Robert," she continued, rising from her seat, and speaking with +even deeper feeling, "forgive her! Forgive her, I implore you. The +wrong is past, is done, is over! Your daughter is restored----" + +"But not by her!" he cried, taking her up quickly. "Not by her act!" +he repeated sternly, "or with her will! And what has she done that I +should forgive? I, whose life she blighted, whose pride she stabbed, +whose hopes she crushed? Whom she left solitary, wifeless, childless +through the years of my strength, the years that she cannot, that no +one can give back to me? Through the long summer days that were a +weariness, and the dark winter days that were a torpor? Yet--yet I +could forgive her, Lady Lansdowne, I could forgive her, I do forgive +her that!" + +"Sir Robert!" + +"That, all that!" he continued, with a gesture and in a tone of +bitterness which harmonised but ill with the words he uttered. "All +that she ever did amiss to me I forgive her. But--but the child's +wrong, never! Had she relented indeed, at the last, had she of her own +motion, of her own free will given me back my daughter, had she +repented and undone the wrong, then--but no matter! she did not! She +did not one," he repeated with agitation, "she did not any of these +things. And I ask, what has she done that I should forgive her?" + +She did not answer him at once, and when she did it was in a tone so +low as to be barely audible. + +"I cannot answer that," she said. "But is it the only question? Is +there not another question, Sir Robert--not what she has done, or left +undone, but what you--forgive me and bear with me--have left undone, +or done amiss? Are you--you clear of all spot or trespass, innocent +of all blame or erring? When she came to you a young girl, a young +bride--and, oh, I remember her, the sunshine was not brighter, she was +a child of air rather than of earth, so fair and heedless, so +capricious, and yet so innocent!--did you in the first days never lose +patience? Never fail to make allowance? Never preach when wisdom would +have smiled, never look grave when she longed for lightness, never +scold when it had been better to laugh? Did you never forget that she +was a score of years younger than you, and a hundred years more +frivolous? Or"--Lady Lansdowne's tone was a mere whisper now--"if you +are clear of all offence against her, are you clear of all offence +against any, of all trespass? Have you no need to be forgiven, no +need, no----" + +Her voice died away into silence. She left the appeal unfinished. + +Sir Robert paced the room. And other scenes than those on which he had +taught himself to brood, other days than those later days of wasted +summers and solitary winters, of dulness and decay, rose to his +memory. Sombre moods by which it had pleased him--at what a cost!--to +make his displeasure known. Sarcastic words, warrant for the facile +retort that followed, curt judgments and ill-timed reproofs; and +always the sense of outraged dignity to freeze the manner and embitter +the tone. + +So much, so much which he had forgotten came back to him as he walked +the room with averted face! While Lady Lansdowne waited with her hand +on the bell. Minutes were passing, minutes; who knew how precious they +might be? And with them was passing his opportunity. + +He spoke at last. "I will see her," he said huskily. + +And on that Lady Lansdowne performed a last act of kindness. She said +nothing, bestowed no thanks. But when Mary entered--pale, yet with +that composure which love teaches the least experienced--she was gone. +Nor as she drove in all the pomp of her liveries and outriders through +Bath, through Corsham, through Chippenham, did those who ran out to +watch my lady's four greys go by, see her face as the face of an +angel. But Lady Louisa, flying down the steps to meet her--four at a +time and hoidenishly--was taken to her arms, unscolded; and knew by +instinct that this was the time to pet and be petted, to confess and +be forgiven, and to learn in the stillness of her mother's room those +thrilling lessons of life, which her governess had not imparted, nor +Mrs. Fairchild approved. + + + _But more than wisdom sees, love knows. + What eye has scanned the perfume of the rose? + Has any grasped the low grey mist which stands + Ghost-like at eve above the sheeted lands?_ + + +Meanwhile Sir Robert paused on the threshold of the room--_her_ room, +which he had first entered two-and-twenty years before. And as the +then and the now, the contrast between the past and the present, +forced themselves upon him, what could he do but pause and bow his +head? In the room a voice, her voice, yet unlike her voice, high, +weak, never ceasing, was talking as from a great distance, from +another world; talking, talking, never ceasing. It filled the room. +Yet it did not come from a world so distant as he at first fancied, +hearing it; a world that was quite aloof. For when, after he had +listened for a time in the shadow by the door, his daughter led him +forward, Lady Sybil's eyes took note of their approach, though she +recognised neither of them. Her mind was still busy amid the scenes of +the riot; twisting and weaving them, it seemed, into a piece with old +impressions of the French Terror, made on her mind in childhood by +talk heard at her nurse's knee. + +"They are coming! They are coming now," she muttered, her bright eyes +fixed on his. "But they shall not take her. They shall not take her," +she repeated. "Hide behind me, Mary. Hide, child! Don't tremble! They +shan't take you. One neck's enough and mine is growing thin. It used +not to be thin. But that's right. Hide, and they'll not see you, and +when I am gone you'll escape. Hush! Here they are!" And then in a +louder tone, "I am ready," she said, "I am quite ready." + +Mary leant over her. + +"Mother!" she cried, unable to bear the scene in silence. "Mother! +Don't you know me?" + +"Hush!" the dying woman answered, a look of terror crossing her face. +"Hush, child! Don't speak! I'm ready, gentlemen; I will go with you. I +am not afraid. My neck is small, and it will be but a squeeze." And +she tried to raise herself in the bed. + +Mary laid gentle hands on her, and restrained her. "Mother," she said. +"Mother! Don't you know me? I am Mary." + +But Lady Sybil, heedless of her, looked beyond her, with fear and +suspicion in her eyes. "Yes," she said. "I know you. I know you. I +know you. But who is--that? Who is that?" + +"My father. It is my father. Don't you know him?" + +But still, "Who is it? Who is it?" Lady Sybil continued to ask. "Who +is it?" + +Mary burst into tears. + +"What does he want? What does he want? What does he want?" the dying +woman asked in endless, unreasoning repetition. + +Sir Robert had entered the room in the full belief that with the best +of wills it would be hard, it would be well-nigh impossible to +forgive; to forgive his wife with more than the lips. But when he +heard her, weak and helpless as she was, thinking of another; when he +understood that she who had done so great a wrong to the child was +willing to give up her own life for the child; when he felt the sudden +drag at his heart-strings of many an old and sacred recollection, +shared only by her, and which that voice, that face, that form brought +back, he fell on his knees by the bed. + +She shrank from him, terrified. "What does he want?" she repeated. + +"Sybil," he said, in a husky voice, "I want your forgiveness, Sybil, +wife! Do you hear me? Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me, late as +it is?" + +Strange to say, his voice pierced the confusion which filled the sick +brain. She looked at him steadily and long; and she sighed, but she +did not answer. + +"Sybil," he repeated in a quavering voice. "Do you not know me? Don't +you remember me? I am your husband." + +"Yes, I know," she muttered. + +"This is your daughter." + +She smiled. + +"Our daughter," he repeated. "Our daughter!" + +"Mary?" she murmured. "Mary?" + +"Yes, Mary." + +She smiled faintly on him. Mary's head was touching his, but she did +not answer. She remained looking at them. They could not tell whether +she understood, or was slipping away again. He took her hand and +pressed it gently. "Do you hear me?" he said. "If I was harsh to you +in the old days, if I made mistakes, if I wronged you, I want +you--wife, say that you forgive me." + +"I--forgive you," she murmured. A faint gleam of mischief, of +laughter, of the old Lady Sybil, shone for an instant in her eyes, as +if she knew that she had the upper hand. "I forgive you--everything," +she murmured. Yes, for certain now, she was slipping away. + +Mary took her other hand. But she did not speak again. And before the +watch on the table beside her had ticked many times she had slipped +away for good, with that gleam of triumph in her eyes--forgiving. + + + + + XXXVII + + IN THE MOURNING COACH + + +It is a platitude that the flood is followed by the ebb. In the heat +of action, and while its warmth cheered his spirits, Arthur Vaughan +felt that he had done something. True, what he had done brought him no +nearer to making his political dream a reality. Not for him the +promise, + + + _It shall be thine in danger's hour + To guide the helm of Britain's power + And midst thy country's laurelled crown + To twine a garland all thy own_. + + +Yet he had done something. He had played the man when some others had +not played the man. + +But now that the crisis was over, and he had made his last round, now +that he had inspected for the last time the patrols over whom he was +set, seen order restored on the Welsh Back, and panic driven from +Queen's Square, he owned the reaction. There is a fatigue which one +night's rest fails to banish; and low in mind and tired in body, he +felt, when he rose late on Tuesday afternoon, that he had done nothing +worth doing; nothing that altered his position in essentials. + +For a time, indeed, he had fancied that things were changed. Sir +Robert had requested his assistance, and allowed him to share his +search; and though it was possible that the merest stranger, cast by +fortune into the same adventure, had been as welcome, it was also +possible that the Baronet viewed him with a more benevolent eye. And +Mary--Mary, too, had flown to his arms as to a haven; but in such a +position, amid surroundings so hideous, was that wonderful? Was it not +certain that she would have behaved in the same way to the merest +acquaintance if he brought her aid and protection? + +The answer might be yes or no! What was certain was that it could not +avail him. For between him and her there stood more than her father's +aversion, more than the doubt of her affection, more than the unlucky +borough, of which he had despoiled Sir Robert. There were her +possessions, there was the suspicion which Sir Robert had founded on +them--on Mary's gain and his loss--there was the independence, which +he must surrender, and which pride and principle alike forbade him to +relinquish. + +In the confusion of the night Vaughan had almost forgotten and quite +forgiven. Now he saw that the thing, though forgotten, though +forgiven, was there. He could not owe all to a man who had so +misconstrued him, and who might misconstrue him again. He could not be +dependent on one whose views, thoughts, prejudices, were opposed to +his own. No, the night and its doing must stand apart. He and she had +met, they had parted. He had one memory more, and nothing was changed. + +In this mood the fact that the White Lion regarded him as a hero +brought him no comfort. Neither the worshipping eyes of the young lady +who had tried to dissuade him from going forth on the Sunday, nor the +respectful homage which dogged his movements, uplifted him. He had +small appetite for his solitary dinner, and was languidly reading the +"Bristol Mercury," when a name was brought up to him, and a letter. + +"Gentleman will wait your pleasure, sir," the man said. + +He broke open the letter, and felt the blood rise to his face as his +eyes fell on the signature. The few lines were from his cousin, and +ran as follows: + + +"Dear Sir,--I feel it my duty to inform you, as a connection of the +family, that Lady Sybil Vermuyden died at five minutes past three +o'clock this afternoon. Her death, which I am led to believe could in +no event have been long delayed, was doubtless hastened by the +miserable occurrences of the last few days. + +"I have directed Isaac White to convey this intimation to your hands, +and to inform you from time to time of the arrangements made for her +ladyship's funeral, which will take place at Stapylton. I have the +honour to be, sir, + + "Your obedient servant, + + "Robert Vermuyden." + + +Vaughan laid the letter down with a groan. As he did so he became +aware that Isaac White was in the room. "Halloa, White," he said. "Is +that you?" + +White looked at him with unconcealed respect. "Yes, sir," he said. +"Sir Robert bade me wait on you in person without delay. If I may +venture," he continued, "to compliment you on my own account, sir--a +very great honour to the family, Mr. Vaughan--in all the west country, +I may say----" + +Vaughan stopped him, and said something of Lady Sybil's death; adding +that he had never seen her but once. + +"Twice, begging your pardon," White answered, smiling. "Do you +remember I met you at Chippenham before the election, Mr. Vaughan? +Well, sir, she came up to the coach, and as good as touched your +sleeve, poor lady, while I was talking to you. Of course, she knew +that her daughter was on the coach." + +"I learned afterwards that Lady Sybil travelled by it that day," +Vaughan replied. Then with a frown he took up the letter. "Of course," +he continued, "I have no intention of attending the funeral." + +"But I think his honour wishes much----" + +"There is no possible reason," Vaughan said doggedly. + +"Pardon me, sir," White answered anxiously. "You are not aware, I am +sure, how highly Sir Robert appreciates your gallant conduct +yesterday. No one in Bristol can view it in a stronger light. It is a +happy thing he witnessed it. He thinks, indeed, that but for you her +ladyship would have died in the crowd. Moreover----" + +"That's enough, White," Vaughan said coldly. "It is not so much what +Sir Robert thinks now, too, as what he thought formerly." + +"But indeed, sir, his honour's opinion of that matter, too----" + +"That's enough, White," the young gentleman repeated, rising from his +seat. He was telling himself that he was not a dog to be kicked away +and called to heel again. He would forgive, but he would not return. +"I don't wish to discuss the matter," he added with an air of +finality. + +And White did not venture to say more. + +He did wisely. For Vaughan, left to himself, had not reflected two +minutes before he felt that he had played the churl. To make amends, +he called at the house to inquire after the ladies at an hour next +morning when they could not be stirring. Having performed that duty, +and having learned that no inquiry into the riots would be opened for +some days--and also that a proposal to give him a piece of gold plate +was under debate at the Commercial Rooms, he fled, pride and love at +odds in his breast. + +It is possible that in Sir Robert's heart, also, there was a battle +going on. On the eve of the funeral he sat alone in the library at +Stapylton, that room in which he had passed so many unhappy hours, and +with which the later part of his life seemed bound up. Doubtless, as +he sat, he gave solemn thought to the past and the future. The room +was no longer dusty, the furniture was no longer shabby; there were +fresh flowers on his table; and by his great leather chair, a smaller +chair, filled within the last few minutes, had its place. Yet he could +not forget what he had suffered there; how he had brooded there. And +perhaps he thanked God, amid his more solemn thoughts, that he was not +glad that she who had plagued him would plague him no more. All that +her friend had urged in her behalf, all that was brightest and best in +his memories of her, this generous whim, that quixotic act rose, it +may be supposed, before him. And the picture of her fair young beauty, +of her laughing face in the bridal veil or under the Leghorn, of her +first words to him, of her first acts in her new home! And but that +the tears of age flow hardly, it is possible that he would have wept. + +Presently--perhaps he was not sorry for it--a knock came at the door +and Isaac White entered. He came to take the last instructions for the +morrow. A few words settled what remained to be settled, and then, +after a little hesitation, "I promised to name it to you, sir," White +said. "I don't know what you'll say to it. Dyas wishes to walk with +the others." + +Sir Robert winced. "Dyas?" he muttered. + +"He says he's anxious to show his respect for the family, in every way +consistent with his opinions." + +"Opinions?" Sir Robert echoed. "Opinions? Good Lord! A butcher's +opinions! Who knows but some day he'll have a butcher to represent +him? Or a baker or a candlestick-maker! If ever they have the ballot, +that'll come with it, White." + +White waited, but as the other said no more, "You won't forbid him, +sir?" he said, a note of appeal in his voice. + +"Oh, let him come," Sir Robert answered wearily. "I suppose," he +continued, striving to speak in the same tone, "you've heard nothing +from his--Member?" + +"From--oh, from Mr. Vaughan, sir? No, sir. But Mr. Flixton is coming." + +Sir Robert muttered something under his breath, and it was not +flattering to the Honourable Bob. Then he turned his chair and held +his hands over the blaze. "That will do, White," he said. "That will +do." And he did not look round until the agent had left the room. + +But White was certain that even on this day of sad memories, with the +ordeal of the morrow before him, Arthur Vaughan's attitude troubled +his patron. And when, twenty-four hours later, the agent's eyes +travelling round the vast assemblage which regard for the family had +gathered about the grave, fell upon Arthur Vaughan, and he knew that +he had repented and come, he was glad. + +The young Member held himself a little apart from the small group of +family mourners; a little apart also from the larger company whom +respect or social ties had brought thither. Among these last, who were +mostly Tories, many were surprised to see Lord Lansdowne and his son. +But more, aware of the breach between Mr. Vaughan and his cousin, and +of the former's peculiar position in the borough, were surprised to +see him. And these, while their thoughts should have been elsewhere, +stole furtive glances at the sombre figure; and when Vaughan left, +still alone and without speaking to any, followed his departure with +interest. In those days of mutes and crape-coloured staves, mourning +cloaks and trailing palls, it was not the custom for women to bury +their dead. And Vaughan, when he had made up his mind to come, knew +that he ran no risk of seeing Mary. + +That he might escape with greater case, he had left his post-chaise at +a side-gate of the park. The moment the ceremony was over, he made his +way to it, now traversing beds of fallen chestnut and sycamore leaves, +now striding across the sodden turf. The solemn words which he had +heard, emphasised as they were by the scene, the grey autumn day, the +lonely park, and the dark groups threading their way across it, could +not hold his thoughts from Mary. She would be glad that he had come. +Perhaps it was for that reason that he had come. + +He had passed through the gate of the park and his foot was on the +step of the chaise, when he heard White's voice, calling after him. He +turned and saw the agent hurrying desperately after him. White's +mourning suit was tight and new and ill made for haste; and he was hot +and breathless. For a moment, "Mr. Vaughan! Mr. Vaughan!" was all he +could say. + +Vaughan turned a reluctant, almost a stern face to him. Not that he +disliked the agent, but he thought that he had got clear. + +"What is it?" he asked, without removing his foot from the step. + +White looked behind him. "Sir Robert, sir," he said, "has something to +say to you. The carriage is following. If you'll be good enough," he +continued, mopping his face, "to wait a moment!" + +"Sir Robert cannot wish to see me at such a time," Vaughan answered, +between wonder and impatience. "He will write, doubtless." + +"The carriage should be in sight," was White's answer. As he spoke it +came into view; rounding the curve of a small coppice of beech trees, +it rolled rapidly down a declivity, and ascended towards them as +rapidly. + +A moment and it would be here. Vaughan looked uncertainly at his +post-boy. He wished to catch the York House coach at Chippenham, and +he had little time to spare. + +It was not the loss of time, however, that he really had in his mind. +But he could guess, he fancied, what Sir Robert wished to say; and he +did not deny that the old man was generous in saying it at such a +moment, if that were his intention. But his own mind was made up; he +could only repeat what he had said to White. It was not a question of +what Sir Robert had thought, or now thought, but of what _he_ thought. +And the upshot of all his thoughts was that he would not be dependent +upon any man. He had differed from Sir Robert once, and the elder had +treated the younger man with injustice, and contumely; that might +occur again. Indeed, taking into account the difference in their +political views in an age when politics counted for much, it was sure +to occur again. But his mind was made up that it should not occur to +him. Unhappy as the resolution made him, he would be free. He would be +his own man. He would remember nothing except that that night had +changed nothing. + +It was with a set face, therefore, that he watched the carriage draw +near. Apparently it was a carriage which had conveyed guests to the +funeral, for the blinds were drawn. + +"It will save time, if it takes you a mile on your way," White said, +with some nervousness. "I will tell your chaise to follow." And he +opened the door. + +Vaughan raised his hat, and stepped in. It was only when the door was +closing behind him and the carriage starting anew at a word from +White, that he saw that it contained, not Sir Robert Vermuyden, but a +lady. + +"Mary!" he cried. The name broke from him in his astonishment. + +She looked at him with self-possession, and a gentle, unsmiling +gravity. She indicated the front seat, and "Will you sit there?" she +said. "I can talk to you better, Mr. Vaughan, if you sit there." + +He obeyed her, marvelling. The blind on the side on which she sat was +raised a few inches, and in the subdued light her graceful head showed +like some fair flower rising from the depth of her mourning. For she +wore no covering on her head, and he might have guessed, had he had +any command of his thoughts, that she had sprung as she was into the +nearest carriage. Amazement, however, put him beyond thinking. + +Her eyes met his seriously. "Mr. Vaughan," she said, "my presence must +seem extraordinary to you. But I am come to ask you a question. Why +did you tell me six months ago that you loved me if you did not?" + +He was as deeply agitated as she was quiet on the surface. "I told you +nothing but the truth," he said. + +"No," she said. + +"But yes! A hundred times, yes!" he cried. + +"Then you are altered? That is it?" + +"Never!" he cried. "Never!" + +"And yet--things are changed? My father wrote to you, did he not, +three days ago? And said as much as you could look to him to say?" + +"He said----" + +"He withdrew what he had uttered in an unfortunate moment. He withdrew +that which, I think, he had never believed in his heart. He said as +much as you could expect him to say?" she repeated, her colour +mounting a little, her eyes challenging him with courageous firmness. + +"He said," Vaughan answered in a low voice, "what I think it became +him to say." + +"You understood that his feelings were changed towards you?" + +"To some extent." + +She drew a deep breath and sat back. "Then it is for you to speak," +she said. + +But before, agitated as he was, he could speak, she leant forward +again. "No," she said, "I had forgotten. I had forgotten." And the +slight quivering of her lips, a something piteous in her eyes, +reminded him once more, once again--and the likeness tugged at his +heart--of the Mary Smith who had paused on the threshold of the inn at +Maidenhead, alarmed and abashed by the bustle of the coffee-room. "I +had forgotten! It is not my father you cannot forgive--it is I, who am +unworthy of your forgiveness? You cannot make allowance," she +continued, stopping him by a gesture, as he opened his mouth to speak, +"for the weakness of one who had always been dependent, who had lived +all her life under the dominion of others, who had been taught by +experience that, if she would eat, she must first obey. You can make +no allowance, Mr. Vaughan, for such an one placed between a father, +whom it was her duty to honour, and a lover to whom she had indeed +given her heart, she knew not why--but whom she barely knew, with +whose life she had no real acquaintance, whose honesty she must take +on trust, because she loved him? You cannot forgive her because, +taught all her life to bend, she could not, she did not stand upright +under the first trial of her faith?" + +"No!" he cried violently. "No! No! It is not that!" + +"No?" she said. "You do forgive her then? You have forgiven her? The +more as to-day she is not weak. The earth is not level over my +mother's grave, some may say hard things of me--but I have come to you +to-day." + +"God bless you!" he cried. + +She drew a deep breath and sat back. "Then," she said, with a sigh as +of relief, "it is for you to speak." + +There was a gravity in her tone, and so complete an absence of all +self-consciousness, all littleness, that he owned that he had never +known her as she was, had never measured her true worth, had never +loved her as she deserved to be loved. Yet--perhaps because it was all +that was left to him--he clung desperately to the resolution he had +formed, to the position which pride and prudence alike had bidden him +to take up. + +"What am I to say?" he asked hoarsely. + +"Why, if you love me, if you forgive me," she answered softly, "do you +leave me?" + +"Can you not understand?" + +"In part, I can. But not altogether. Will you explain? I--I think," +she continued with a movement of her flower-like head, that for gentle +dignity he had never seen excelled, "I have a right to an +explanation." + +"You know of what Sir Robert accused me?" + +"Yes." + +"Am I to justify him? You know what was the difference which came +between us, which first divided us? And what I thought right then, I +still think right. Am I to abandon it? You know what I bore. Am I to +live on the bounty of one who once thought so ill of me, and may think +as ill again? Of one who, differing from me, punished me so cruelly? +Am I to sink into dependence, to sacrifice my judgment, to surrender +my political liberty into the hands of one who----" + +"Of my father!" she said gravely. + +He could not, so reminded, say what he had been going to say, but he +assented by a movement of the head. And after an interval of silence, +"I cannot," he cried passionately, "I cannot, even to secure my +happiness, run that risk!" + +She looked from the window of the carriage, and in a voice which shook +a little, "No," she said, "I suppose not." + +He was silent and he suffered. He dared not meet her eyes. Why had she +sought this interview? Why had she chosen to torment him? Ah, if she +knew, if she only knew what pain she was inflicting upon him! + +But apparently she did not know. For by and by she spoke again. "No," +she said. "I suppose not. Yet have you thought"--and now there was a +more decided tremor in her voice--"that that which you surrender is +not all there is at stake? Your independence is precious to you, and +you have a right, Mr. Vaughan, to purchase it even at the cost of your +happiness. But have you a right to purchase it at the cost of +another's? At the cost of mine? Have you thought of my happiness?" she +continued, "or only of yours--and of yourself? To save your +independence--shall I say, to save your pride?--you are willing to set +your love aside. But have you asked me whether I am willing to pay my +half of the price? My heavier half? Whether I am willing to set my +happiness aside? Have you thought of--me at all?" + +If he had not, then, when he saw how she looked at him, with what +eyes, with what love, as she laid her hand on his arm, he had been +more than man if he had resisted her long! But he still fought with +himself, and with her; staring with hard, flushed face straight before +him, telling himself that by all that was left to him he must hold. + +"I think, I think," she said gently, yet with dignity, "you have not +thought of me." + +"But your father--Sir Robert----" + +"He is an ogre, of course," she cried in a tone suddenly changed. "But +you should have thought of that before, sir," she continued, tears and +laughter in her voice. "Before you travelled with me on the coach! +Before you saved my life! Before you--looked at me! For you can never +take it back. You can never give me myself again. I think that you +must take me!" + +And then he did not resist her any longer. And the carriage was +stayed; and orders were given. And, empty and hugely overpaid, the +yellow post-chaise ambled on to Chippenham; and bearing two inside, +and a valise on the roof, the mourning coach drove slowly and solemnly +back to Stapylton. As it wound its way over the green undulations of +the park, the rabbits that ran, and then stopped, cocking their scuts, +to look at it, saw nothing strange in it. Nor the fallow-deer of the +true Savernake breed, who, before they fled through the dying bracken, +eyed it with poised heads. Nay, the heron which watched its approach +from the edge of the Garden Pool, and did not even deign to drop a +second leg, saw nothing strange in it. Yet it bore for all that the +strangest of all earthly passengers, and the strongest, and the +bravest, and the fairest--and withal, thank God, the most familiar. +For it carried Love. And love the same yet different, love gaunt and +grey-haired, yet kind and warm of heart, met it at the door and gave +it welcome. + + + + + XXXVIII + + THREADS AND PATCHES + + +Though England had not known for fifty years an outbreak so formidable +or so destructive as that of which the news was laid on men's +breakfast-tables on the Tuesday morning, it had less effect on the +political situation than might have been expected. It sent, indeed, a +thrill of horror through the nation. And had it occurred at an earlier +stage of the Reform struggle, before the middle class had fully +committed itself to a trial of strength with the aristocracy, it must +have detached many more of the timid and conservative of the +Reformers. But it came too late. The die was cast; men's minds were +made up on the one side and the other. Each saw events coloured to his +wish. And though Wetherell and Croker, and the devoted band who still +fought manfully round those chieftains, called heaven and earth to +witness the first-fruits of the tree of Reform, the majority of the +nation preferred to see in these troubles the alternative to the +Bill--the abyss into which the whole country would be hurled if that +heaven-sent measure were not passed. + +On one thing, however, all were agreed. The outrage was too great to +be overlooked. The law must be vindicated, the lawbreakers must be +punished. To this end the Government, anxious to clear themselves of +the suspicion of collusion, appointed a special Commission, and sent +it to Bristol to try the rioters; and four poor wretches were hanged, +a dozen were transported, and many received minor sentences. Having +thus, a little late in the day, taught the ignorant that Reform did +not spell Revolution after the French pattern, the Cabinet turned +their minds to the measure again. And in December they brought in the +Third Reform Bill, with the fortunes and passage of which this story +is not at pains to deal. + +But of necessity the misguided creatures who kindled the fires in +Queen's Square on that fatal Sunday, and swore that they would not +leave a gaol standing in England, were not the only men who suffered. +Sad as their plight was, there was one whose plight--if pain be +measured by the capacity to feel--was sadder. While they were being +tried in one part of Bristol, there was proceeding in another part an +inquiry charged with deeper tragedy. Not those only who had done the +deed, but those who had suffered them to do it, must answer for it. +And the fingers of all pointed to one man. The magistrates might +escape--the Mayor indeed had done his duty creditably, if to little +purpose; for war was not their trade, and the thing at its crisis had +become an affair of war. But Colonel Brereton could not shield himself +behind that plea: so many had behaved poorly that the need to bring +one to book was the greater. + +He was tried by court-martial, and among the witnesses was Arthur +Vaughan. By reason of his position, as well as of the creditable part +he had played, the Member for Chippinge was heard by the Court with +more than common attention; and he moved all who listened to him by +his painful anxiety to set the accused's conduct in the best light; to +show that what was possible by daylight on the Monday morning might +not have been possible on the Sunday night, and that the choice +from first to last was between two risks. No question of Colonel +Brereton's courage--for he had served abroad with credit, nay, with +honour--entered into the inquiry; and it was proved that a soldier's +duty in such a case was not well defined. But afterwards Vaughan much +regretted that he had not laid before the Court the opinion he had +formed at the time--that during the crisis of the riots Brereton, +obsessed by one idea, was not responsible for his actions. For, sad to +say, on the fifth day of the inquiry, sinking under a weight of mental +agony which a man of his reserved and melancholy temper was unable to +support, the unfortunate officer put an end to his life. Few have paid +so dearly for an error of judgment and the lack of that coarser fibre +which has enabled many an inferior man to do his duty. The page +darkens with his fate, too tragical for such a theme as this. And if +by chance these words reach the eye of any of his descendants, theirs +be the homage due to the memory of a signal misfortune and an +honourable but hapless man. + +Of another and greater personage whose life touched Arthur Vaughan's +once and twice, and of whom, with all his faults, it was never said by +his worst enemy that he feared responsibility or shunned the post of +danger, a brief word must suffice. If Lord Brougham did not live to +see that complete downfall of the great Whig houses which he had +predicted, he lived to see their power ruinously curtailed. He lived +to see their influence totter under the blow which the Repeal of the +Corn Laws dealt the landed interest, he lived to see the Reform Bill +of 1867, he lived almost to see the _coup de grce_ given to their +leadership by the Ballot Act. And in another point his prophecy came +true. As it had been with Burke and Sheridan and Tierney, it was with +him. His faults were great, as his merits were transcendent; and +presently in the time of his need his highborn associates remembered +only the former. They took advantage of them to push him from power; +and he spent nearly forty years, the remnant of his long life, in the +cold shade of Opposition. The most brilliant, the most versatile, and +the most remarkable figure of the early days of the century, whose +trumpet voice once roused England as it has never been roused from +that day to this, and whose services to education and progress are +acknowledged but slightly even now, paid for the phenomenal splendour +of his youth by long years spent in a changed and changing world, +jostled by a generation forgetful or heedless of his fame. To us he is +but the name of a carriage; remembered otherwise, if at all, for his +part in Queen Caroline's trial. While Wetherell, that stout fighter, +Tory of the Tories, witty, slovenly, honest man, whose fame was once +in all mouths, whose caricature was once in all portfolios, and whose +breeches made the fortune of many a charade, is but the shadow of a +name. + + + * * * * * + + +The year had waned and waxed, and it was June again. At Stapylton the +oaks were coming to their full green; the bracken was lifting its +million heads above the sod, and by the edge of the Garden Pool the +water voles sat on the leaves of the lilies and clean their fur. +Arthur Vaughan--strolling up and down with his father-in-law, not +without an occasional glance at Mary, recumbent on a seat on the +lawn--looked grave. + +"I fancy," he said presently, "that we shall learn the fate of the +Bill to-day." + +"Very like, very like," Sir Robert answered, in an offhand fashion, as +if the subject were not to his taste. And he turned about and by the +aid of his stick expounded his plan for enlarging the flower garden. + +But Vaughan returned to the subject. "If not to-day, to-morrow," he +said. "And that being so, I've wanted for some time, sir, to ask you +what you wish me to do." + +"To do?" + +"As to the seat at Chippinge." + +Sir Robert's face expressed his annoyance. "I told you--I told you +long ago," he replied, "that I should never interfere with your +political movements." + +"And you have kept your word, sir. But as Lord Lansdowne cedes the +seat to you for this time, I assume----" + +"I don't know why you assume anything!" Sir Robert retorted irritably. + +"I assume only that you will wish me to seek another seat." + +"I certainly don't wish you to lead an idle life," Sir Robert +answered. "When the younger men of our class do that, when they cease +to take an interest in political life, on the one side or the other, +our power will, indeed, be ended. Nothing is more certain than that. +But for Chippinge, I don't choose that a stranger should hold a seat +close to my own door. You might have known that! For the party, I have +taken steps to furnish Mr. Cooke, a man whose opinions I thoroughly +approve, with a seat elsewhere; and I have therefore done my duty in +that direction. For the rest, the mischief is done. I suppose," he +continued in his driest tones, "you won't want to bring in another +Reform Bill immediately?" + +"No, sir," Vaughan answered gratefully. "Nor do I think that we are so +far apart as you assume. The truth is, Sir Robert, that we all fear +one of two things, and according as we fear the one or the other we +are dubbed Whigs or Tories." + +"What are your two things?" + +"Despotism, or anarchy," Vaughan replied modestly. + +Sir Robert sniffed. "You don't refine enough," he said, pleased with +his triumph. "We all fear despotism; you, the despotism of the one: I, +a worse, a more cruel, a more hopeless despotism, the despotism of the +many! That's the real difference between us." + +Vaughan looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you are right," he said. +"But--what is that, sir?" He raised his hand. The deep note of a +distant gun rolled up the valley from the town. + +"The Lords have passed the Bill," Sir Robert replied. "They are +celebrating the news in Chippinge. Well, I am not sorry that my day is +done. I give you the command. See only, my boy," he continued, with a +loving glance at Mary, who had risen, and, joined by Miss Sibson, was +coming to the end of the bridge to meet them, "see only that you hand +it on to others--I do not say as I give it to you, but as little +impaired as may be." + +And again, as Mary called to them to know what it was, the sound of +the gun rolled up the valley--the knell of the system, good or bad, +under which England had been ruled so long. The battle of which +Brougham had fired the first shot in the Castle Yard at York was past +and won. + +_Boom!_ + + + + THE END + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chippinge Borough, by Stanley J. Weyman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIPPINGE BOROUGH *** + +***** This file should be named 38871-8.txt or 38871-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/7/38871/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by +Google Books (The Library of the University of Michigan) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/38871-8.zip b/old/38871-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..18e71ad --- /dev/null +++ b/old/38871-8.zip diff --git a/old/38871.txt b/old/38871.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b587668 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/38871.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16456 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chippinge Borough, by Stanley J. Weyman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Chippinge Borough + +Author: Stanley J. Weyman + +Release Date: February 13, 2012 [EBook #38871] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIPPINGE BOROUGH *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by +Google Books (The Library of the University of Michigan) + + + + + + + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + 1. Page scan source: + http://books.google.com/books?id=DxcrAAAAMAAJ + + 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. + + + + + + + Chippinge Borough + + + BY + + STANLEY J. WEYMAN + + Author of "The Long Night," Etc. + + + + + + NEW YORK + McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. + MCMVI + + + + + + + _Copyright_, 1906, _by_ + McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. + + + + + + Copyright, 1905, 1905, by Stanley J. Weyman. + + + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER + + I. The Dissolution. + + II. The Spirit of the Storm. + + III. Two Letters. + + IV. Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! + + V. Rosy-fingered Dawn. + + VI. The Patron of Chippinge. + + VII. The Winds of Autumn. + + VIII. A Sad Misadventure. + + IX. The Bill for Giving Everybody Everything. + + X. The Queen's Square Academy for Young Ladies. + + XI. Don Giovanni Flixton. + + XII. A Rotten Borough. + + XIII. The Vermuyden Dinner. + + XIV. Miss Sibson's Mistake. + + XV. Mr. Pybus's Offer. + + XVI. Less than a Hero. + + XVII. The Chippinge Election. + + XVIII. The Chippinge Election (_Continued_). + + XIX. The Fruits of Victory. + + XX. A Plot Unmasked. + + XXI. A Meeting of Old Friends. + + XXII. Women's Hearts. + + XXIII. In the House. + + XXIV. A Right and Left. + + XXV. At Stapylton. + + XXVI. The Scene in the Hall. + + XXVII. Wicked Shifts. + + XXVIII. Once More, Tantivy! + + XXIX. Autumn Leaves. + + XXX. The Mayor's Reception in Queen's Square. + + XXXI. Sunday in Bristol. + + XXXII. The Affray at the Palace. + + XXXIII. Fire. + + XXXIV. Hours of Darkness. + + XXXV. The Morning of Monday. + + XXXVI. Forgiveness. + + XXXVII. In the Mourning Coach. + + XXXVIII. Threads and Patches. + + + + + + + CHIPPINGE BOROUGH + + + + + + + I + + THE DISSOLUTION + + +Boom! + +It was April 22, 1831, and a young man was walking down Whitehall in +the direction of Parliament Street. He wore shepherd's plaid trousers +and the swallow-tail coat of the day, with a figured muslin cravat +wound about his wide-spread collar. He halted opposite the Privy +Gardens, and, with his face turned skywards, listened until the sound +of the Tower guns smote again on the ear and dispelled his doubts. To +the experienced, his outward man, neat and modestly prosperous, +denoted a young barrister of promise or a Treasury clerk. His figure +was good, he was above the middle height, and he carried himself with +an easy independence. He seemed to be one who both held a fair opinion +of himself and knew how to impress that opinion on his fellows; yet +was not incapable of deference where deference was plainly due. He was +neither ugly nor handsome, neither slovenly nor a _petit-maitre_; +indeed, it was doubtful if he had ever seen the inside of Almack's. +But his features were strong and intellectual, and the keen grey eyes +which looked so boldly on the world could express both humour and good +humour. In a word, this young man was one upon whom women, even great +ladies, were likely to look with pleasure, and one woman--but he had +not yet met her--with tenderness. + +Boom! + +He was only one among a dozen, who within the space of a few yards had +been brought to a stand by the sound; who knew what the salute meant, +and in their various ways were moved by it. The rumour which had flown +through the town in the morning that the King was about to dissolve +his six-months-old Parliament was true, then! so true that already in +the clubs, from Boodle's to Brooks's, men were sending off despatches, +while the long arms of the semaphore were carrying the news to the +Continent. Persons began to run by Vaughan--the young man's name was +Arthur Vaughan; and behind him the street was filling with a multitude +hastening to see the sight, or so much of it as the vulgar might see. +Some ran towards Westminster without disguise. Some, of a higher +station, walked as fast as dignity and their strapped trousers +permitted; while others again, who thought themselves wiser than their +neighbours, made quickly for Downing Street and the different openings +which led into St. James's Park, in the hope of catching a glimpse of +the procession before the crowd about the Houses engulfed it. + +Nine out of ten, as they ran or walked--nay, it might be said more +truly, ninety-nine out of a hundred--evinced a joy quite out of the +common, and such as no political event of these days produces. One +cried, "Hip! Hip! Hip!"; one flung up his cap; one swore gaily. +Strangers told one another that it was a good thing, bravely done! And +while the whole of that part of the town seemed to be moving towards +the Houses, the guns boomed on, proclaiming to all the world that the +unexpected had happened; that the Parliament which had passed the +People's Bill by one--a miserable one in the largest House which had +ever voted--and having done that, had shelved it by some shift, some +subterfuge, was meeting the fate which it deserved. + +No man, be it noted, called the measure the Reform Bill, or anything +but the Bill, or, affectionately, the People's Bill. But they called +it that repeatedly, and in their enthusiasm, exulted in the fall of +its enemies as in a personal gain. And though here and there amid the +general turmoil a man of mature age stood aside and scowled on the +crowd as it swept vociferating by him, such men were but as straws in +a backwater of the stream--powerless to arrest the current, and liable +at any moment to be swept within its influence. + +That generation had seen many a coach start laurel-clad from St. +Martin's and listened many a time to the salvoes that told of +victories in France or Flanders. But it was no exaggeration to say +that even Waterloo had not flung abroad more general joy, nor sown the +dingy streets with brighter faces, than this civil gain. For now--now, +surely--the People's Bill would pass, and the people be truly +represented in Parliament! Now, for certain, the Bill's ill-wishers +would get a fall! And if every man--about which some doubts were +whispered even in the public-houses--did not get a vote which he could +sell for a handful of gold, as his betters had sold their votes time +out of mind, at least there would be beef and beer for all! Or, if not +that, something indefinite, but vastly pleasant. Few, indeed, knew +precisely what they wished and what they were going to gain, but + + + _Hurrah for Mr. Brougham!_ + _Hurrah for Gaffer Grey!_ + _Hurrah for Lord John!_ + + +Hurrah, in a word, for the Ministry, hurrah for the Whigs! And above +all, three cheers for the King, who had stood by Lord Grey and +dissolved this niggling, hypocritical Parliament of landowners. + +Meanwhile the young man who has been described resumed his course; but +slowly, and without betraying by any marked sign that he shared the +general feeling. Still, he walked with his head a little higher than +before; he seemed to sniff the battle; and there was a light in his +eyes as if he saw a wider arena before him. "It is true, then," he +muttered. "And for to-day I shall have my errand for my pains. He will +have other fish to fry, and will not see me. But what of that! Another +day will do as well." + +At this moment a ragamuffin in an old jockey-cap attached himself to +him, and, running beside him, urged him to hasten. + +"Run, your honour," he croaked in gin-laden accents, "and you'll 'ave +a good place! And I'll drink your honour's health, and Billy the +King's! Sure he's the father of his country, and seven besides. Come +on, your honour, or they'll be jostling you!" + +Vaughan glanced down and shook his head. He waved the man away. + +But the lout looked only to his market, and was not easily repulsed. +"He's there, I tell you," he persisted. "And for threepence I'll get +you to see him. Come on, your honour! It's many a Westminster election +I've seen, and beer running, from Mr. Fox, that was the gentleman had +always a word for the poor man, till now, when maybe it's your +honour's going to stand! Anyway, it's, Down with the mongers!" + +A man who was clinging to the wall at the corner of Downing +Street waved his broken hat round his head. "Ay, down with the +borough-mongers!" he cried. "Down with Peel! Down with the Dook! Down +with 'em all! Down with everybody!" + +"And long live the Bill!" cried a man of more respectable appearance +as he hurried by. "And long live the King, God bless him!" + +"They'll know what it is to balk the people now," chimed in a fourth. +"Let 'em go back and get elected if they can. Ay, let 'em!" + +"Ay, let 'em! Mr. Brougham'll see to that!" shouted the other. "Hurrah +for Mr. Brougham!" + +The cry was taken up by the crowd, and three cheers were given for the +Chancellor, who was so well known to the mob by the style under which +he had been triumphantly elected for Yorkshire that his peerage was +ignored. + +Vaughan, however, heard but the echo of these cheers. Like most young +men of his time, he leant to the popular side. But he had no taste for +the populace in the mass; and the sight of the crowd, which was fast +occupying the whole of the space before Palace Yard and even surging +back into Parliament Street, determined him to turn aside. He shook +off his attendant and, crossing into Whitehall Place, walked up and +down, immersed in his reflections. + +He was honestly ambitious, and his thoughts turned naturally on the +influence which this Bill--which must create a new England, and for +many a new world--was likely to have on his own fortunes. The owner of +a small estate in South Wales, come early to his inheritance, he had +sickened of the idle life of an officer in peacetime; and after three +years of service, believing himself fit for something higher, he had +sold his commission and turned his mind to intellectual pursuits. He +hoped that he had a bent that way; and the glory of the immortal +three, who thirty years before had founded the "Edinburgh Review," +and, by so doing, made this day possible, attracted him. Why should +not he, as well as another, be the man who, in the Commons, the +cockpit of the nation, stood spurred to meet all comers--in an uproar +which could almost be heard where he walked? Or the man who, in the +lists of Themis, upheld the right of the widow and the poor man's +cause, and to whom judges listened with reluctant admiration? Or best +of all, highest of all, might he not vie with that abnormal and +remarkable man who wore at once the three crowns, and whether as +Edinburgh Reviewer, as knight of the shire for York, or as Chancellor +of England, played his part with equal ease? To be brief, it was +prizes such as these, distant but luminous, that held his eyes, +incited him to effort, made him live laborious days. He believed that +he had ability, and though he came late to the strife, he brought his +experience. If men living from hand to mouth and distracted by +household cares could achieve so much, why should not he who had his +independence and his place in the world? Had not Erskine been such +another? He, too, had sickened of barrack life. And Brougham and the +two Scotts, Eldon and Stowell. To say nothing of this young Macaulay, +whose name was beginning to run through every mouth; and of a dozen +others who had risen to fame from a lower and less advantageous +station. + +The goal was distant, but it was glorious. Nor had the eighteen months +which he had given to the study of the law, to attendance at the +Academic and at a less ambitious debating society, and to the output +of some scientific feelers, shaken his faith in himself. He had not +yet thought of a seat at St. Stephen's; for no nomination had fallen +to him, nor, save from one quarter, was likely to fall. And his +income, some six hundred a year, though it was ample for a bachelor, +would not stretch to the price of a seat at five thousand for the +Parliament, or fifteen hundred for the Session--the quotations which +had ruled of late. A seat some time, however, he must have; it was a +necessary stepping-stone to the heights he would gain. And the subject +in his mind as he paced Whitehall Place was the abolition of the close +boroughs and the effect which the transfer of electoral power to the +middle-class would have on his chances. + +A small thing--no more than a quantity of straw laid thickly before +one of the houses--brought his thoughts down to the present. By a +natural impulse he raised his eyes to the house; by a coincidence, +less natural, a hand, even as he looked, showed itself behind one of +the panes of a window on the first floor, and drew down the blind. +Vaughan stood after that, fascinated, and watched the lowering of +blind after blind. And the solemn contrast between his busy thoughts +and that which had even then happened in the house--between that which +lay behind the darkened windows and the bright April sunshine about +him, the twittering of the sparrows in the green, and the tumult of +distant cheering--went home to him. + +He thought of the lines, so old and so applicable: + + + _Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium_ + _Versatur urna, serius, ocius_, + _Sors exitura, et nos in aeternum_ + _Exilium impositura cymbae_. + + +He was still rolling the words on his tongue with that love of the +classical rhythm which was a mark of his day--and returns no more than +the taste for the prize-ring which was coeval with it--when the door +of the house opened and a man came clumsily and heavily out, closed +the door behind him, and, with his head bent low and the ungainly +movements of an automaton, made off down the street. + +The man was very stout as well as tall, his dress slovenly and +disordered. His hat was pulled awry over his eyes, and his hands were +plunged deep in his breeches pockets. Vaughan saw so much. Then the +door opened again, and a face, unmistakably that of a butler, looked +out. + +The servant's eyes met his, and though the man neither spoke nor +beckoned, his eyes spoke for him. Vaughan crossed the way to him. +"What is it?" he asked. + +The man was blubbering. "Oh, Lord; oh, Lord!" he said. "My lady's gone +not five minutes, and he'll not be let nor hindered! He's to the +House, and if the crowd set upon him he'll be murdered. For God's +sake, follow him, sir! He's Sir Charles Wetherell, and a better master +never walked, let them say what they like. If there's anybody with +him, maybe they'll not touch him." + +"I will follow him," Vaughan answered. And he hastened after the stout +man, who had by this time reached the corner of the street. + +Vaughan was surprised that he had not recognised Wetherell. For in +every bookseller's window caricatures of the "Last of the +Boroughbridges," as the wits called him, after the pocket borough for +which he sat, were plentiful as blackberries. Not only was he the +highest of Tories, but he was a martyr in their cause; for, +Attorney-General in the last Government, he had been dismissed for +resisting the Catholic Claims. Since then he had proved himself, of +all the opponents of the Bill, the most violent, the most witty, and, +with the exception of Croker perhaps, the most rancorous. At this date +he passed for the best hated man in England; and representative to the +public mind of all that was old-fashioned and illiberal and exclusive. +Vaughan knew, therefore, that the servant's fears were not unfounded, +and with a heart full of pity--for he remembered the darkened +house--he made after him. + +By this time Sir Charles was some way ahead and already involved in +the crowd. Fortunately the throng was densest opposite Old Palace +Yard, whence the King was in the act of departing; and the space +before the Hall and before St. Stephen's Court--the buildings about +which abutted on the river--though occupied by a loosely moving +multitude, and presenting a scene of the utmost animation, was not +impassable. Sir Charles was in the heart of the crowd before he was +recognised; and then his stolid unconsciousness and the general +good-humour, born of victory, served him well. He was too familiar a +figure to pass altogether unknown; and here and there a man hissed +him. One group turned and hooted after him. But he was within a dozen +yards of the entrance of St. Stephen's Court, with Vaughan on his +heels, before any violence was offered. There a man whom he happened +to jostle recognised him and, bawling abuse, pushed him rudely; and +the act might well have been the beginning of worse things. But +Vaughan touched the man on the shoulder and looked him in the face. "I +shall know you," he said quietly. "Have a care!" And the fellow, +intimidated by his words and his six feet of height, shrank into +himself and stood back. + +Wetherell had barely noticed the rudeness. But he noted the +intervention by a backward glance. "Much obliged," he grunted. "Know +you, too, again, young gentleman." And he went heavily on and passed +out of the crowd into the court, followed by a few scattered hisses. + +Behind the officers of the House who guarded the entrance a group of +excited talkers were gathered. They were chiefly members who had just +left the House and had been brought to a stand by the sight of the +crowd. On seeing Wetherell, surprise altered their looks. "Good G--d!" +cried one, stepping forward. "You've come down, Wetherell?" + +"Ay," the stricken man answered without lifting his eyes or giving the +least sign of animation. "Is it too late?" + +"By an hour. There's nothing to be done. Grey and Bruffam have got the +King body and soul. He was so determined to dissolve, he swore that +he'd come down in a hackney-coach rather than not come. So they say!" + +"Ay!" + +"But I hope," a second struck in, in a tone of solicitude, "that as +you are here, Lady Wetherell has rallied." + +"She died a quarter of an hour ago," he muttered. "I could do no more. +I came here. But as I am too late, I'll go back." + +Yet he stood awhile, as if he had no longer anything to draw him one +way more than another; with his double chin and pendulous cheeks +resting on his breast and his leaden eyes sunk to the level of the +pavement. And the others stood round him with shocked faces, from +which his words and manner had driven the flush of the combat. +Presently two members, arguing loudly, came up, and were silenced by a +glance and a muttered word. The ungainly attitude, the ill-fitting +clothes, did but accentuate the tragedy of the central figure. They +knew--none better--how fiercely, how keenly, how doggedly he had +struggled against death, against the Bill. + +And yet, had they thought of it, the vulgar caricatures that had hurt +her, the abuse that had passed him by to lodge in her bosom, would +hurt her no more! + +Meanwhile, Vaughan, as soon as he had seen Sir Charles within the +entrance reserved for members, had betaken himself to the main door of +the Hall, a few paces to the westward. He had no hope that he would +now be able to perform the errand on which he had set forth; for the +Chancellor, for certain, would have other fish to fry and other people +to see. But he thought that he would leave a card with the usher, so +that Lord Brougham might know that he had not failed to come, and +might make a fresh appointment if he still wished to see him. + +Of the vast congeries of buildings which then encased St. Stephen's +Chapel and its beautiful but degraded cloisters, little more than the +Hall is left to us. The Hall we have, and in the main in the condition +in which the men of that generation viewed it; as Canning viewed it, +when with death in his face he paced its length on Peel's arm, and +suspecting, perhaps, that they two would meet no more, proved to +all men the good-will he bore his rival. Those among us whose memories +go back a quarter of a century, and who can recall its aspect in +term-time, with three score barristers parading its length, and thrice +as many suitors and attorneys darting over its pavement--all under the +lofty roof which has no rival in Europe--will be able to picture it as +Vaughan saw it when he entered. To the bustle attending the courts of +law was added on this occasion the supreme excitement of the day. In +every corner, on the steps of every court, eager groups wrangled and +debated; while above the hubbub of argument and the trampling of feet, +the voices of ushers rose monotonously, calling a witness or enjoining +order. + +Vaughan paused beside the cake-stall at the door and surveyed the +scene. As he stood, one of two men who were pacing near saw him, and +with a whispered word left his companion and came towards him. + +"Mr. Vaughan," he said, extending his hand with bland courtesy, "I +hope you are well. Can I do anything for you? We are dissolved, but a +frank is a frank for all that--to-day." + +"No, I thank you," Vaughan answered. "The truth is, I had an +appointment with the Chancellor for this afternoon. But I suppose he +will not see me now." + +The other's eyebrows met, with the result that his face looked less +bland. He was a small man, with keen dark eyes and bushy grey +whiskers, and an air of hawk-like energy which sixty years had not +tamed. He wore the laced coat of a sergeant at law, powdered on the +shoulders, as if he had but lately and hurriedly cast off his wig. +"Good G--d!" he said. "With the Chancellor!" And then, pulling himself +up, "But I congratulate you. A student at the Bar, as I believe you +are, Mr. Vaughan, who has appointments with the Chancellor, has +fortune indeed within his grasp." + +Vaughan laughed. "I fear not," he said. "There are appointments and +appointments, Sergeant Wathen. Mine is not of a professional nature." + +Still the sergeant's face, do what he would, looked grim. He had his +reasons for disliking what he heard. "Indeed!" he said drily. "Indeed! +But I must not detain you. Your time," with a faint note of sarcasm, +"is valuable." And with a civil salutation the two parted. + +Wathen went back to his companion. "Talk of the Old One!" he said. "Do +you know who that is?" + +"No," the other answered. They had been discussing the coming +election. "Who is it?" + +"One of my constituents." + +His friend laughed. "Oh, come," he said. "I thought you had but one, +sergeant--old Vermuyden." + +"Only one," Wathen answered, his eyes travelling from group to group, +"who counts; or rather, who did count. But thirteen who poll. And +that's one of them." He glanced frowning in the direction which +Vaughan had taken. "And what do you think his business is here, +confound him?" + +"What?" + +"An appointment with old Wicked Shifts." + +"With the Chancellor? Pheugh!" + +"Ay," the sergeant answered morosely, "you may whistle. There's some +black business on foot, you may depend upon it. And ten to one it's +about my seat. He's a broom," he continued, tugging at the whiskers +which the late King had stamped with the imprimatur of fashion, "that +will make a clean sweep of us if we don't take care. Whatever he does, +there's something behind it. Some bedchamber plot, or some intrigue to +get A. out and put B. in. If it was a charwoman's place he wanted, +he'd not ask for it and get it. That wouldn't please him. But he'd +tunnel and tunnel and tunnel--and so he'd get it." + +"Still," the other replied, with secret amusement--for he had no seat, +and the woes of our friends, especially our better-placed friends, +have their comic side--"I thought that you had a safe thing, Wathen? +That old Vermuyden's nomination at Chippinge was as good as an order +on the Bank of England?" + +"It was," Wathen answered drily. "But with the country wild for the +Bill, there's no saying what may happen anywhere. Safe!" he continued, +with a snarl. "Was there ever a safer seat than Westbury? Or a man who +had a place in better order than old Lopes, who owned it, and died +last month; taken from the evil to come, Jekyll said, for he never +could have existed in a world without rotten boroughs! It's not far +from Chippinge, so I know--know it well. And I tell you his system was +beautiful--beautiful! Yet when Peel was there--after he had rattled on +the Catholic Claims and been thrown out at Oxford, Lopes made way for +him, you remember?--he would not have got in, no, by G--d, he wouldn't +have got in if there had been a man against him. And the state in +which the country was then, though there was a bit of a Protestant +cry, too, wasn't to compare with what it will be now. That man"--he +shook his fist stealthily in the direction of the Chancellor's +Court--"has lighted a fire in England that will never be put out till +it has consumed King, Lords, and Commons--ay, every stick and stone of +the old Constitution. You take my word for it. And to think--to +think," he added still more savagely, "that it is the Whigs have done +this. The Whigs! who own more than half the land in the country; who +are prouder and stiffer than old George the Third himself; who +wouldn't let you nor me into their Cabinet to save our lives. By the +Lord," he concluded with gusto, "they'll soon learn the difference!" + +"In the meantime--there'll be dead cats and bad eggs flying, you +think?" + +Wathen groaned. "If that were the end of it," he said, "I'd not mind." + +"Still, with it all, you are pretty safe, I suppose?" + +"With that fellow closeted with the Chancellor? No, no!" + +"Who is the young spark!" the other asked carelessly. "He looked a +decentish kind of fellow. A little of the prig, perhaps." + +"He's that!" Wathen answered. "A d----d prig. What's more, a cousin of +old Vermuyden's. And what's worse, his heir. That's why they put him +in the corporation and made him one of the thirteen. Thought the vote +safe in the family, you see? And cheaper?" He winked. "But there's no +love lost between him and old Sir Robert. A bed for a night once a +year, and one day in the season among the turnips, and glad to see +your back, my lad! That's about the position. Now I wonder if Brougham +is going to try--but Lord! there's no guessing what is in that man's +head! He's fuller of mischief than an egg of meat!" + +The other was about to answer when one of the courts, in which a case +of some difficulty had caused a late sitting, discharged its noisy, +wrangling, perspiring crowd. The two stepped aside to avoid the +evasion, and did not resume their talk. Wathen's friend made his way +out by the main door near which they had been standing; while the +sergeant, with looks which mirrored the gloom that a hundred Tory +faces wore on that day, betook himself to the robing-room. There he +happened upon another unfortunate. They fell to talking, and their +talk ran naturally upon the Chancellor, upon old Grey's folly in +letting himself be led by the nose by such a rogue; finally, upon the +mistakes of their own party. They differed on the last topic, and in +that natural and customary state we may leave them. + + + + + II + + THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM + + +The Court of Chancery, the preserve for nearly a quarter of a +century of Eldon and Delay, was the farthest from the entrance on the +right-hand side of the Hall--a situation which enabled the Chancellor +to pass easily to that other seat of his labours, the Woolsack. Two +steps raised the Tribunals of the Common Law above the level of the +Hall. But as if to indicate that this court was not the seat of +anything so common as law, but was the shrine of that more august +conception, Patronage, and the altar to which countless divines of the +Church of England looked with unwinking devotion, a flight of six or +eight steps led up to the door. + +The privacy thus secured had been much to the taste of Lord Eldon. +Doubt and delay flourish best in a close and dusty atmosphere; and if +ever there was a man to whom that which was was right, it was "Old +Bags." Nor had Lord Lyndhurst, his immediate successor, quarrelled +with an arrangement which left him at liberty to devote his time to +society and his beautiful wife. But the man who now sat in the marble +chair was of another kind from either of these. His worst enemy could +not lay dulness to his charge; nor could he who lectured the +Whitbreads on brewing, who explained their art to opticians, who vied +with Talleyrand in the knowledge of French literature, who wrote +eighty articles for the first twenty numbers of the "Edinburgh +Review," be called a sluggard. Confident of his powers, Brougham loved +to display them; and the wider the arena the better he was pleased. +His first sitting had been graced by the presence of three royal +dukes, a whole Cabinet, and a score of peers in full dress. Having +begun thus auspiciously, he was not the man to vegetate in the gloom +of a dry-as-dust court, or to be content with an audience of suitors, +whom equity, blessed word, had long stripped of their votes. + +Again and again during the last six months, by brilliant declamations +or by astounding statement, he had filled his court to the last inch. +The lions in the Tower, the tombs in the Abbey, the New Police--all +were deserted; and countryfolk flocked to Westminster, not to hear the +judgments of the highest legal authority in the land, but to see with +their own eyes the fugleman of reform--the great orator, whose voice, +raised at the Yorkshire election, had found an echo that still +thundered in the ears and the hearts of England. + +"I am for Reform!" he had said in the castle yard of York; and the +people of England had answered: "So are we; and we will have it, +or----" + +The lacuna they had filled, not with words, but with facts stronger +than words--with the flames of Kentish farmhouses and Wiltshire +factories; with political unions counting their numbers by scores of +thousands; with midnight drillings and vague and sullen murmurings; +above all, with the mysterious terror of some great change which was +to come--a terror that shook the most thoughtless and affected even +the Duke, as men called the Duke of Wellington in that day. For was +not every crown on the Continent toppling? + +Vaughan did not suppose that, in view of the startling event of the +day, he would be admitted. But the usher, who occupied a high stool +outside the great man's door, no sooner read his card than he slid to +the ground. "I think his lordship will see you, sir," he murmured +blandly; and he disappeared. + +He was back on the instant, and, beckoning to Vaughan to follow him, +he proceeded some paces along a murky corridor, which the venerable +form of Eldon seemed still to haunt. Opening a door, he stood aside. + +The room which Vaughan saw before him was stately and spacious, and +furnished with quiet richness. A deep silence, intensified by the fact +that the room had no windows, but was lighted from above, reigned in +it--and a smell of law-calf. Here and there on a bookcase or a +pedestal stood a marble bust of Bacon, of Selden, of Blackstone. And +for a moment Vaughan fancied that these were its only occupants. On +advancing further, however, he discovered two persons, who were +writing busily at separate side-tables; and one of them looked up and +spoke. + +"Your pardon, Mr. Vaughan!" he said. "One moment, if you please!" + +He was almost as good as his word, for less than a minute later he +threw down the pen, and rose--a gaunt figure in a black frockcoat, and +with a black stock about his scraggy neck--and came to meet his +visitor. + +"I fear that I have come at an untimely moment, my lord," Vaughan +said, a little awed in spite of himself by what he knew of the man. + +But the other's frank address put him at once at his ease. "Politics +pass, Mr. Vaughan," the Chancellor answered lightly, "but science +remains." He did not explain, as he pointed to a seat, that he loved, +above all things, to produce startling effects; to dazzle by the ease +with which he flung off one part and assumed another. + +Henry Brougham--so, for some time after his elevation to the peerage, +he persisted in signing himself--was at this time at the zenith of his +life, as of his fame. Tall, but lean and ungainly, with a long neck +and sloping shoulders, he had one of the strangest faces which genius +has ever worn. His clownish features, his high cheek-bones, and queer +bulbous nose are familiar to us; for, something exaggerated by the +caricaturist, they form week by week the trailing mask which mars the +cover of "Punch." Yet was the face, with all its ugliness, singularly +mobile; and the eyes, the windows of that restless and insatiable +soul, shone, sparkled, laughed, wept, with incredible brilliance. That +which he did not know, that which his mind could not perform--save sit +still and be discreet--no man had ever discovered. And it was the +knowledge of this, the sense of the strange and almost uncanny +versatility of the man, which for a moment overpowered Vaughan. + +The Chancellor seated himself opposite his visitor, and placed a hand +on each of his wide-spread knees. He smiled. + +"My friend," he said, "I envy you." + +Vaughan coloured shyly. "Your lordship has little cause," he answered. + +"Great cause," was the reply, "great cause! For as you are I +was--and," he chuckled, as he rocked himself to and fro, "I have not +found life very empty or very unpleasant. But it was not to tell you +this that I asked you to wait on me, Mr. Vaughan, as you may suppose. +Light! It is a singular thing that you at the outset of your +career--even as I thirty years ago at the same point of mine--should +take up such a parergon, and alight upon the same discovery." + +"I do not think I understand." + +"In your article on the possibility of the permanence of +reflection--to which I referred in my letter, I think?" + +"Yes, my lord, you did." + +"You have restated a fact which I maintained for the first time more +than thirty years ago! In my paper on colours, read before the Royal +Society in--I think it was '96." + +Vaughan stared. His colour rose slowly. "Indeed?" he said, in a tone +from which he vainly strove to banish incredulity. + +"You have perhaps read the paper?" + +"Yes, I have." + +The Chancellor chuckled. "And found nothing of the kind in it?" he +said. + +Vaughan coloured still more deeply. He felt that the position was +unpleasant. "Frankly, my lord, if you ask me, no." + +"And you think yourself," with a grin, "the first discoverer?" + +"I did." + +Brougham sprang like a boy to his feet, and whisked his long, lank +body to a distant bookshelf. Thence he took down a much-rubbed +manuscript book. As he returned he opened this at a place already +marked, and, laying it on the table, beckoned to the young man to +approach. "Read that," he said waggishly, "and confess, young sir, +that there were chiefs before Agamemnon." + +Vaughan stooped over the book, and having read looked up in +perplexity. "But this passage," he said, "was not in the paper read +before the Royal Society in '96?" + +"In the paper read? No. Nor yet in the paper printed? There, too, you +are right. And why? Because a sapient dunder-head who was in authority +requested me to omit this passage. He did not believe that light +passing through a small hole in the window-shutter of a darkened room +impresses a view of external objects on white paper; nor that, as I +suggested, the view might be made permanent if cast instead on ivory +rubbed with nitrate of silver!" + +Vaughan was dumbfounded, and perhaps a little chagrined. "It is most +singular!" he said. + +"Do you wonder now that I could not refrain from sending for you?" + +"I do not, indeed." + +The Chancellor patted him kindly on the shoulder, and by a gesture +made him resume his seat. "No, I could not refrain," he continued; +"the coincidence was too remarkable. If you come to sit where I sit, +the chance will be still more singular." + +Vaughan coloured with pleasure. "Alas!" he said, smiling, "one +swallow, my lord, does not made a summer." + +"Ah, my friend," with a benevolent look. "But I know more of you than +you think. You were in the service, I hear, and left it. _Cedant arma +togae_, eh?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I, too, after a fashion. Thirty years ago I served a gun with +Professor Playfair in the Volunteer Artillery of Edinburgh. God +knows," he continued complacently, "if I had gone on with it, where I +should have landed! Where the Duke is, perhaps! More surprising things +have happened." + +Vaughan did not know whether to take this, which was gravely and even +sentimentally spoken, for jest or earnest. He did not speak. And +Brougham, seated in his favourite posture, with a hand on either knee, +his lean body upright, and the skirts of his black coat falling to the +floor on either side of him, resumed. "I hear, too, that you have done +well at the Academic," he said, "and on the right side, Mr. Vaughan. +Light? Ay, always light, my friend, always light! Let that be our +motto. For myself," he continued earnestly, "I have taken it in hand +that this poor country shall never lack light again; and by God's help +and Johnny Russell's Bill I'll bring it about! And not the +phosphorescent light of rotten boroughs and corrupt corporations, Mr. +Vaughan. No, nor the blaze of burning stacks, kindled by wretched, +starving, ignorant--ay, above all, Mr. Vaughan, ignorant men! But the +light of education, the light of a free Press, the light of good +government and honest representation; so that, whatever they lack, +henceforth they shall have voices and means and ways to make their +wants known. You agree with me? But I know you do, for I hear how well +you have spoken on that side. Mr. Cornelius," turning and addressing +the gentleman who still continued to write at his table, "who was it +told us of Mr. Vaughan's speech at the Academic?" + +"I don't know," Mr. Cornelius answered gruffly. + +"No?" the Chancellor said, not a whit put out. "He never knows +anything!" And then, throwing one knee over the other, he regarded +Vaughan with closer attention. "Mr. Vaughan," he said, "have you ever +thought of entering Parliament?" + +Vaughan's heart bounded, and his face betrayed his emotions. Good +heavens, was the Chancellor about to offer him a Government seat? He +scarcely knew what to expect or what to say. The prospect, suddenly +opened, blinded him. He muttered that he had not as yet thought of it. + +"You have no connection," Brougham continued, "who could help you to a +seat? For if so, now is the time. Presently there will be a Reformed +Parliament and a crowd of new men, and the road will be blocked by the +throng of aspirants. You are not too young. Palmerston was not so old +when Perceval offered him a seat in the Cabinet." + +The words, the tone, the assumption that such things were for +him--that he had but to hold out his hand and they would fall into +it--dropped like balm into the young man's soul. Yet he was not sure +that the other was serious, and he made a tremendous effort to hide +the emotion he felt. "I am afraid," he said, with a forced smile, +"that I, my lord, am not Lord Palmerston." + +"No?" Brougham answered with a faint sneer. "But not much the worse +for that, perhaps. So that if you have any connection who commands a +seat, now is the time." + +Vaughan shook his head. "I have none," he said, "except my cousin, Sir +Robert Vermuyden." + +"Vermuyden of Chippinge?" the Chancellor exclaimed, in a voice of +surprise. + +"The same, my lord." + +"Good G--d!" Brougham cried. It was not a mealy-mouthed age. And he +leant back and stared at the young man. "You don't mean to say that he +is your cousin?" + +"Yes." + +The Chancellor laughed grimly. "Oh, dear, dear!" he said. "I am afraid +that he won't help us much. I remember him in the House--an old high +and dry Tory. I am afraid that, with your opinions, you've not much to +expect of him. Still--Mr. Cornelius," to the gentleman at the table, +"oblige me with Oldfield's 'House of Commons,' the Wiltshire volume, +and the private Borough List. Thank you. Let me see--ah, here it is!" + +He proceeded to read in a low tone, skipping from heading to heading: +"Chippinge, in the county of Wilts, has returned two members since the +twenty-third of Edward III. Right of election in the Alderman and the +twelve capital burgesses, who hold their places for life. Number of +voters, thirteen. Patron, Sir Robert Vermuyden, Bart., of Stapylton +House. + +"Umph, as I thought," he continued, laying down the book. "Now what +does the list say?" And, taking it in turn from his knee, he read: + +"In Schedule A for total disfranchisement, the population under 2000. +Present members, Sergeant Wathen and Mr. Cooke, on nomination of Sir +Robert Vermuyden; the former to oblige Lord Eldon, the latter by +purchase. Both opponents of Bill; nothing to be hoped from them. The +Bowood interest divides the corporation in the proportion of four to +nine, but has not succeeded in returning a member since the election +of 1741--on petition. The heir to the Vermuyden interest is----" He +broke off sharply, but continued to study the page. Presently he +looked over it. + +"Are you the Mr. Vaughan who inherits?" he asked gravely. + +"The greater part of the estates--yes." + +Brougham laid down the book and rubbed his chin. "Under those +circumstances," he said, after musing a while, "don't you think that +your cousin could be persuaded to return you as an independent +member?" + +Vaughan shook his head with decision. + +"The matter is important," the Chancellor continued slowly, and as if +he weighed his words. "I cannot precisely make a promise, Mr. Vaughan; +but if your cousin could see the question of the Bill in another +light, I have little doubt that any object in reason could be secured +for him. If, for instance, it should be necessary in passing the Bill +through the Upper House to create new--eh?" + +He paused, looking at Vaughan, who laughed outright. "Sir Robert would +not cross the park to save my life, my lord," he said. "And I am sure +he would rather hang outside the White Lion in Chippinge marketplace +than resign his opinions or his borough!" + +"He'll lose the latter, whether or no," Brougham answered, with a +touch of irritation. "Was there not some trouble about his wife? I +think I remember something." + +"They were separated many years ago." + +"She is alive, is she not?" + +"Yes." + +Brougham saw, perhaps, that the subject was not palatable, and he +abandoned it. With an abrupt change of manner he flung the books from +him with the recklessness of a boy, and raised his sombre figure to +its height. "Well, well," he said, "I hoped for better things; but I +fear, as Tommy Moore sings-- + + + "_He's pledged himself, though sore bereft + Of ways and means of ruling ill, + To make the most of what are left + And stick to all that's rotten still!_ + + +And by the Lord, I don't say that I don't respect him. I respect every +man who votes honestly as he thinks." And grandly, with appropriate +gestures, he spouted: + + + "_Who spurns the expedient for the right + Scorns money's all-attractive charms, + And through mean crowds that clogged his flight + Has nobly cleared his conquering arms_. + + +That's the Attorney-General's. He turns old Horace well, doesn't he?" + +Vaughan coloured. Young and candid, he could not bear the thought of +taking credit where he did not deserve it. "I fear," he said +awkwardly, "that would bear rather hardly on me if we had a contest at +Chippinge, my lord. Fortunately it is unlikely." + +"How would it bear hardly on you?" Brougham asked, with interest. + +"I have a vote." + +"You are one of the twelve burgesses?" in a tone of surprise. + +"Yes, by favour of Sir Robert." + +The Chancellor, smiling gaily, shook his head. "No," he said, "no; I +do not believe you. You do yourself an injustice. Leave that sort of +thing to older men, to Lyndhurst, if you will, d----d Jacobin as he +is, preening himself in Tory feathers, and determined whoever's in +he'll not be out; or to Peel. Leave it! And believe me you'll not +repent it. I," he continued loftily, "have seen fifty years of life, +Mr. Vaughan, and lived every year of them and every day of them, and I +tell you that the thing is too dearly bought at that price." + +Vaughan felt himself rebuked; but he made a fight. "And yet," he said, +"are there no circumstances, my lord, in which such a vote may be +justified?" + +"A vote against your conscience--to oblige someone?" + +"Well, yes." + +"A Jesuit might justify it. There is nothing which a Jesuit could not +justify, I suppose. But though no man was stronger for the Catholic +Claims than I was, I do not hold a Jesuit to be a man of honour. And +that is where the difference lies. There! But," he continued, with an +abrupt change from the lofty to the confidential, "let me tell you a +fact, Mr. Vaughan. In '29--was it in April or May of '29, Mr. +Cornelius?" + +"I don't know to what you refer," Mr. Cornelius grunted. + +"To be sure you don't," the Chancellor replied, without any loss of +good-humour; "but in April or May of '29, Mr. Vaughan, the Duke +offered me the Rolls, which is L7000 a year clear for life, and +compatible with a seat in the Commons. It would have suited me better +in every way than the Seals and the House of Lords. It was the prize, +to be frank with you, at which I was aiming; and as at that time the +Duke was making his right-about-face on the Catholic question, and was +being supported by our side, I might have accepted it with an +appearance of honour and consistency. But I did not accept it. I did +not, though my refusal injured myself, and did no one any good. But +there, I am chattering." He broke off, with a smile, and held out his +hand. "However, + + + "_Est et fideli tuta silentio + Merces!_ + + +You won't forget that, I am certain. And you may be sure I shall +remember you. I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Mr. +Vaughan. Decide on the direction, politics or the law, in which you +mean to push, and some day let me know. In the meantime follow the +light! Light, more light! Don't let them lure you back into old Giant +Despair's cave, or choke you with all the dead bones and rottenness +and foulness they keep there, and that, by God's help, I'll sweep out +of the world before it's a year older!" + +And still talking, he saw Vaughan, who was murmuring his +acknowledgments, to the door. + +When that had closed on the young man Brougham came back, and, +throwing wide his arms, yawned prodigiously. "Now," he said, "if +Lansdowne doesn't effect something in that borough, I am mistaken." + +"Why," Cornelius muttered curtly, "do you trouble about the borough? +Why don't you leave those things to the managers?" + +"Why? Why, first because the Duke did that last year, and you see the +result--he's out and we're in. Secondly, Corny, because I am like the +elephant's trunk, that can tear down a tree or pick up a pin." + +"But in picking up a pin," the other grunted, "it picks up a deal of +something else." + +"Of what?" + +"Dirt!" + +"Old Pharisee!" the Chancellor cried. + +Mr. Cornelius threw down his pen, and, turning in his seat, opened +fire on his companion. "Dirt!" he reiterated sternly. "And for what? +What will be the end of it when you have done all for them, clean and +dirty? They'll not keep you. They use you now, but you're a new man. +What, you--_you_ think to deal on equal terms with the Devonshires and +the Hollands, the Lansdownes and the Russells! Who used Burke, and +when they had squeezed him tossed him aside? Who used Tierney till +they wore him and his fortune out? Who would have used Canning, but he +did not trust them, and so they worried him--though they were all dumb +dogs before him--to his death. Ay, and presently, when you have served +their turn, they will cast you aside." + +"They will not dare!" Brougham cried. + +"Pshaw! You are Samson, but you are shorn of your strength. They have +been too clever for you. While you were in the Commons they did not +dare. Harry Brougham was their master. So they lured you, poor fool, +into the trap, into the Lords, where you may spout, and spout, and +spout, and it will have as much effect as the beating of a bird's +wings against the bars of its cage!" + +"They will not dare!" Brougham reiterated. + +"You will see. They will throw you aside." + +Brougham walked up and down the room, his eyes glittering, his quaint, +misshapen features working passionately. + +"They will throw you aside," Mr. Cornelius repeated, watching him +keenly. "You are a man of the people. You are in earnest. You are +honestly in favour of retrenchment, of education, of reform. But to +these Whigs--save and except to Althorp, who is that _lusus naturae_, +an honest man, and to Johnny Russell, who is a fanatic--these are +but catchwords, stalking-horses, the means by which, after the +dull old fashion of their fathers and their grandfathers and their +great-grandfathers, they think to creep into power. Reform, if reform +means the representation of the people by the people, the rule of the +people by the people, or by any but the old landed families--why, the +very thought would make them sick!" + +Brougham stopped in his pacing to and fro. "You are right," he said +sombrely. + +"You acknowledge it?" + +"I have known it--here!" And, drawing himself to his full height, he +clapped his hand to his breast. "I have known it here for months. Ay, +and though I have sworn to myself that they would not dare to treat me +as they treated Burke, and Sheridan, and Tierney, and as they would +have treated Canning, I knew it was a lie, my lad; I knew they would. +My mother--ay, my old mother, sitting by the chimneyside, out of the +world there, knew it, and warned me." + +"Then why did you go into the Lords?" Cornelius asked. "Why be lured +into the gilded cage, where you are helpless?" + +"Because, mark you," Brougham replied sternly, "if I had not, they had +not brought in this Bill. And we had waited, and the people had +waited, another twenty years, maybe!" + +"And so you went into the prison-house shorn of your strength?" + +Brougham looked at him with a gleam of ferocity in his brilliant eyes. +"Ay," he said, "I did. And by that act," he continued, stretching his +long arms to their farthest extent, "mark you, mark you, never forget +it, I avenged all--not only all I may suffer at their hands, but all +that every slave who ever ground in their mill has suffered, the +slights, the grudged meticulous office, the one finger lent to +shake--all, all! I went into the prison-house, but when I did so I +laid my hands upon the pillars. And their house falls, falls. I +hear it--I hear it falling even now about their ears. They may +throw me aside. But the house is falling, and the great Whig +families--pouf!--they are not in the heaven above, or in the earth +beneath, or in the water that is under the earth. You call Reform +their stalking-horse? Ay, but it is into their own Troy that they +have dragged it; and the clatter of strife which you hear is the +death-knell of their power. They have let in the waves of the sea, and +dream fondly that they can say where they shall stop and what they +shall not touch. They may as well speak to the tide when it flows; +they may as well command the North Sea in its rage; they may as well +bid Hume be silent, or Wetherell be sane. You say I am spent, +Cornelius; and so I am, it may be. I know not. But this I know. Never +again will the families say 'Go!' and he goeth, and 'Do!' and he +doeth, as in the old world that is passing--passing even at this +minute, passing with the Bill. No," he continued, flinging out his +arms with passion; "for when they thought to fool me, and to shut me +dumb among dumb things behind the gilded wires, I knew--I knew that I +was dragging down their house upon their heads." + +Mr. Cornelius stared at him. "By G--d!" he said, "I believe you are +right. I believe that you are a cleverer man than I thought you were." + + + + + III + + TWO LETTERS + + +The Hall was empty when Vaughan came forth; and as the young man +strode down its echoing length there was nothing save his own +footsteps on the pavement to distract his mind from the scene in which +he had taken part. He was excited and a little uplifted, as was +natural. The promises made, if they were to be counted as promises, +were of the vague and indefinite character which it is as easy to +evade as to fulfil. But the Chancellor had spoken to him as to an +equal and treated him as one who had but to choose a career to succeed +in it, and to win the highest prizes which it could bestow. This was +flattering; nor was it to a young man who had little experience of the +world, less flattering to be deemed the owner of a stake in the +country, and a person through whom offers of the most confidential and +important character might be properly made. + +He walked to his rooms in Bury Street with a pleasant warmth at his +heart. And at the Academic that evening, where owing to the events of +the day there was a fuller house than had ever been known, and a +fiercer debate, he championed the Government and upheld the +dissolution in a speech which not only excelled his previous efforts, +but was a surprise to those who knew him best. Afterwards he +recognised that his peroration had been only a paraphrase of +Brougham's impassioned "Light! More Light!" and that the whole owed +more than he cared to remember to the same source. But, after all, why +not? It was not to be expected that he could at once rise to the +heights of the greatest of living orators. And it was much that he had +made a hit; that as he left the room he was followed by all eyes. + +Nor did a qualm worthy of the name trouble him until the morning of +the 27th, five days later--a Wednesday. Then he found beside his +breakfast plate two letters bearing the postmark of Chippinge. + +"What's afoot?" he muttered. But he had a prevision before he broke +the seal of the first. And the contents bore out his fears. The letter +ran thus: + + + "Stapylton, Chippinge. + +"Dear Sir--I make no apology for troubling you in a matter in which +your interest is second only to mine and which is also of a character +to make apology beside the mark. It has not been necessary to require +your presence at Chippinge upon the occasion of former elections. But +the unwholesome ferment into which the public mind has been cast by +the monstrous proposals of Ministers has nowhere been more strongly +exemplified than here, by the fact that, for the first time in half a +century, the right of our family to nominate the members for the +Borough is challenged. Since the year 1783 no serious attempt has +been made to disturb the Vermuyden interest. And I have yet to learn +that--short of this anarchical Bill, which will sweep away all the +privileges attaching to property--such an attempt can be made with any +chance of success. + +"I am informed nevertheless that Lord Lansdowne, presuming on a small +connection in the Corporation, intends to send at least one candidate +to the poll. Our superiority is so great that I should not, even so, +trouble you to be present, were it not an object to discourage these +attempts by the exhibition of our full strength, and were it not still +more important to do so at a time when the existence of the Borough +itself is at stake. + +"Isaac White will apprise you of the arrangements to be made and will +keep you informed of all matters which you should know. Be good enough +to let Mapp learn the day and hour of your arrival, and he will see +that the carriage and servants meet the coach at Chippenham. Probably +you will come by the York House. It is the most convenient. + + "I have the honour to be + + "Your sincere kinsman, + + "Robert Vermuyden. + + +"To Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, Esquire, + +"17 Bury Street, St. James's." + + +Vaughan's face grew long, and his fork hung suspended above his plate, +as he perused the old gentleman's epistle. When all was read he laid +it down, and whistled. "Here's a fix!" he muttered. And he thought of +his speech at the Academic; and for the first time he was sorry that +he had made it. "Here's a fix!" he repeated. "What's to be done?" + +He was too much disturbed to go on with his breakfast, and he tore +open the other letter. It was from Isaac White, his cousin's attorney +and agent. It ran thus: + + + "High Street, Chippinge, + + "April 25, 1831. + + "_Chippinge Parliamentary Election_. + +"Sir.--I have the honour to inform you, as upon former occasions, that +the writ in the above is expected and that Tuesday the 3rd day of May +will be appointed for the nomination. It has not been needful to +trouble you heretofore, but on this occasion I have reason to believe +that Sir Robert Vermuyden's candidates will be opposed by nominees in +the Bowood Interest, and I have therefore, honoured Sir, to intimate +that your attendance will oblige. + +"The Vermuyden dinner will take place at the White Lion on Monday the +2nd, when the voters and their friends will sit down at 5 P. M. The +Alderman will preside, and Sir Robert hopes that you will be present. +The procession to the Hustings will leave the White Lion at ten on +Tuesday the 3d, and a poll, if demanded, will be taken after the usual +proceedings. + +"Any change in the order of the arrangements will be punctually +communicated to you. + + "I have the honour to be, Sir, + + "Your humble obedient servant, + + "Isaac White. + +"Arthur V. Vaughan, Esq., +(late H.M.'s 14th Dragoons), + +"17 Bury Street, London." + + +Vaughan flung the letter down and resumed his breakfast moodily. It +was a piece of shocking ill-fortune, that was all there was to be +said. + +Not that he really regretted his speech! It had committed him a little +more deeply, but morally he had been committed before. It is a poor +conscience that is not scrupulous in youth; and he was convinced, or +almost convinced, that if he had never seen the Chancellor he would +still have found it impossible to support Sir Robert's candidates. + +For he was sincere in his support of the Bill; a little because it +flattered his intellect to show himself above the prejudices of the +class to which he belonged; more, because he was of an age to view +with resentment the abuses which the Bill promised to sweep away. A +Government truly representative of the people, such as this Bill must +create, would not tolerate the severities which still disgraced the +criminal law. It would not suffer the heartless delays which made the +name of Chancery synonymous with ruin. Under it spring-guns and +man-traps would no longer scare the owner from his own coverts. The +poor would be taught, the slave would be freed. Above all, whole +classes of the well-to-do would no longer be deprived of a voice in +the State. No longer would the rights of one small class override the +rights of all other classes. + +He was at an age, in a word, when hope invites to change; and he was +for the Bill. "Ay, by Jove, I am!" he muttered, casting the die in +fancy, "and I'll not be set down! It will be awkward! It will be +odious! But I must go through with it!" + +Still, he was sorry. He sprang from the class which had profited by +the old system--that system under which some eight-score men returned +a majority of the House of Commons. He had himself the prospect of +returning two members. He could, therefore enter, to a degree--at +times to a greater degree than he liked,--into the feelings with which +the old-fashioned and the interested, the prudent and the timid, +viewed a change so great and so radical. But his main objection was +personal. He hated the necessity which forced him to cross the wishes +and to trample on the prejudices of an old man whom he regarded with +respect, and even with reverence: a solitary old man, the head of his +family, to whom he owed the very vote he must withhold; and who would +hardly, even by the logic of facts, be brought to believe that one of +his race and breeding could turn against him. + +Still it must be done; the die was cast. The sooner, therefore, it was +done, the better. He would go down to Stapylton at once, while his +courage was high; and he would tell Sir Robert. Then, whatever came of +it, he would have nothing with which to reproach himself. In the heat +of resolve he felt very brave and very virtuous; and the moment he +rose from breakfast he went to the coach office, and finding that the +York House, the fashionable Bath, coach was full for the following +day, he booked an outside seat on the Bristol White Lion Coach, which +also passed through Chippenham. From Chippenham, Chippinge is distant +a short nine miles. + +That evening proved to be memorable; for the greater part of London +was illuminated by the Reformers in honour of the Dissolution; not +without rioting and drunkenness, violence on the part of the mob, and +rage on the side of the minority. When Vaughan passed through the +streets before six next morning, on his way to the White Horse +Cellars, traces of the night's work still remained; and where the +early sun fell on them showed ugly and grisly and menacing enough. A +moderate reformer might well have blenched at the sight, and +questioned--as many did question--whither this was tending. But +Vaughan was late; the coach, one out of three which were waiting to +start, was horsed. He had only eyes, as he came hurriedly up, for the +seat he had reserved behind the coachman. + +It was empty, and so far his fears were vain. But it annoyed him to +find that his next-door neighbour was a young lady travelling alone. +She had the seat on the near side. + +He climbed up quickly, and to reach his place had to pass before her. +The space between the seat and the coachman's box was narrow, and as +she rose to allow him to pass she glanced up. Their eyes met; Vaughan +raised his hat in mute apology, and took his seat. He said no word. +But a miracle had happened, as miracles do happen, when the world is +young. In his mind, as he sat down, he was not repeating, "What a +nuisance!" but was saying, "What eyes! What a face! And, oh, heaven, +what beauty! What blush-rose cheeks! What a lovely mouth!" + + + _For 'twas from eyes of liquid blue + A host of quivered Cupids flew, + And now his heart all bleeding lies + Beneath the army of the eyes_. + + +He gazed gravely at the group of watermen and night-birds who stood in +the roadway below waiting to see the coach start. And apparently he +was unmoved. Apparently he was the same Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan who +had passed round the boot of the coach to reach the ladder and his +place. But he was not the same. His thoughts were no longer querulous, +full of the haste he had made, and the breakfast he had to make; but +of a pair of gentle eyes which had looked for one instant into his, of +a modest face, sweet and shy, of a Quaker-like bonnet that ravished as +no other bonnet had ever ravished the most susceptible! + +He was still gazing at the group of loiterers, without seeing them, +when he became aware that an elderly woman plainly but respectably +dressed, who was standing by the forewheel of the coach, was looking +up at him, and trying to attract his attention. Seeing that she had +caught his eye she spoke: + +"Gentleman! Gentleman!" she said--but in a restrained voice, as if she +did not wish to be generally heard. "The young lady's address! Please +say that she's not left it! For the laundress!" + +He turned and made sure that there was only one of the sex on the +coach. Then--to be honest, not without a tiny flutter at his heart--he +addressed his neighbour. "Pardon me," he said "but there is someone +below who wants your address." + +She turned her eyes on him and his heart gave a perceptible jump. "My +address?" she echoed in a voice as sweet as her face. "I think that +there must be some mistake." And then for a moment she looked at him +as if she doubted his intentions. + +The doubt was intolerable. "It's for the laundress," he said. "See, +there she is!" + +The girl rose to look over the side of the coach and perforce leant +across him. He saw that she had the slenderest waist and the prettiest +figure--he had every opportunity of seeing. Then the coach started +with a jerk, and if she had not steadied herself by laying her hand on +his shoulder, she must have relapsed on his knees. As it was she fell +back safely into her seat. She blushed. + +"I beg your pardon," she said. + +But he was looking back. He had his eye on the woman, who remained in +the roadway, pointing after the coach and apparently asking a +bystander some question respecting it--perhaps where it stopped. +"There she is!" he exclaimed. "The woman with the umbrella! She is +pointing after us." + +His neighbour looked back but made nothing of it. "I know no one in +London," she said a little primly--but with sweet primness--"except +the lady at whose house I stayed last night. And she is not able to +leave the house. It must be a mistake." And with a gentle reserve +which had in it nothing of coquetry, she turned her face from him. + +Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! They were away, bowling down the slope of +broad empty Piccadilly with the four nags trotting merrily, and the +April sun gilding the roofs of the houses, and falling aslant on the +verdure of the Green Park. Then merrily up the rise to Hyde Park +Corner, where the new Grecian Gates looked across at the equally new +arch on Constitution Hill; and where Apsley House, the residence of +"the Duke," hiding with its new coat of Bath stone the old brick +walls, peeped through the trees at the statue of Achilles, erected ten +years back in the Duke's honour. + +But, alas! what was this? Wherefore the crowd that even at this early +hour was large enough to fill the roadway and engage the attention of +the New Police? Vaughan looked and saw that every blind in Apsley +House was lowered, and that more than half of the windows were +shattered. And the little French gentleman who, to the coachman's +disgust, had taken the box-seat, saw it too; nay, had seen it before, +for he had come that way to the coach office. He pointed to the +silent, frowning mansion, and snapped his fingers. + +"That is your reward for your Vellington!" he cried, turning in his +excitement to the two behind him. "And his lady, I am told, she lie +dead behind the broken vindows! They did that last night, your +_canaille!_ But he vill not forget! And when the refolution +come--bah--he vill have the iron hand! He vill be the Emperor and he +vill repay!" + +No one answered; they treated him with silent British scorn. But they +one and all stared back at the scene, at the grim blind house in the +early sunshine, and the gaping crowd--as long as it remained in sight. +And some, no doubt, pondered the sight. But who, with a pretty face +beside him and a long day's drive before him, a drive by mead and +shining river, over hill and down, under the walls of grey churches +and by many a marketplace and cheery inn-yard--who would long dwell on +changes past or to come? Or fret because in the womb of time might lie +that "refolution" of which the little Frenchman spoke? + + + + + IV + + TANTIVY! TANTIVY! TANTIVY! + + +The White Lion coach was a light coach carrying only five passengers +outside, and merrily it swept by Kensington Church, whence the +travellers had a peep of Holland House--home of the Whigs--on their +right. And then in a twinkling they were swinging through +Hammersmith, where the ale-houses were opening and lusty girls were +beginning to deliver the milk. They passed through Turnham, through +Brentford, awakening everywhere the lazy with the music of their horn. +They saw Sion House on their left, and on their right had a glimpse of +the distant lawns of Osterley--the seat of Lady Jersey, queen of +Almack's, and the Holland's rival. Thence they travelled over Hounslow +Heath, and by an endless succession of mansions and lawns and orchards +rich at this season with apple blossom, and framing here and there a +view of the sparkling Thames. + +Vaughan breathed the air of spring and let his eyes dwell on scene +after scene; and he felt that it was good to be young and to sit +behind fast horses. He stole a glance at his neighbour and judged by +the brightness of her eyes, her parted lips and rapt expression, that +she felt with him. And he would have said something to her, but he +could think of nothing worthy of her. At last: + +"It's a beautiful morning," he ventured, and cursed his vapidity. + +But she did not seem to find bathos in the words. "It is, indeed!" she +answered with an enthusiasm which showed that she had forgotten her +doubts of him. "And," she added simply, "I have not been on a coach +since I was a child!" + +"Not on a coach?" he cried in astonishment. + +"No. Except on the Clapham Stage. And that is not a coach like this!" + +"No, perhaps it is not," he said. And he thought of her, and--oh, +Lord!--of Clapham! And yet after all there was something about her, +about her grey, dove-like dress and her gentleness, which smacked of +Clapham. He wondered who she was and what she was; and he was still +wondering when she turned her eyes on him, and, herself serenely +unconscious, sent a tiny shock through him. + +"I enjoy it the more," she said, "because I--I am not usually free in +the morning." + +"Oh, yes!" + +He could say no more; not another word. It was the stupidest thing in +the world, but he was tongue-tied. Seeing, however, that she had +turned from him and was absorbed in the view of Windsor rising stately +amid its trees, he had the cleverness to steal a glance at the neat +little basket which nestled at her feet. Surreptitiously he read the +name on the label. + + + Mary Smith + Miss Sibson's + Queen's Square, Bristol. + + +Mary Smith! Just Mary Smith! For the moment--it is not to be +denied--he was sobered by the name. It was not a romantic name. It was +anything but high-sounding. The author of "Tremayne" or "De Vere," +nay, the author of "Vivian Grey"--to complete the trio of novels which +were in fashion at the time--would have turned up his nose at it. But +what did it matter? He desired no more than to make himself agreeable +for the few hours which he and this beautiful creature must pass +together--in sunshine and with the fair English landscape gliding by +them. And that being so, what need he reck what she called herself or +whence she came. It was enough that under her modest bonnet her ears +were shells and her eyes pure cornflowers, and that a few pleasant +words, a little April dalliance--if only that Frenchman would cease to +peep behind him and grin--would harm neither the one nor the other. + +But opportunities let slip do not always recur. As he turned to +address her they rose the ascent of Maidenhead Bridge, had on either +hand a glimpse of the river framed in pale green willows, and halted +with sweating horses before the King's Arms. The boots advanced, amid +a group of gazers, and reared a ladder against the coach. "Half an +hour for breakfast, gentlemen!" he cried briskly. And through the +windows of the inn the travellers had a view of a long table whereat +the passengers on the up night-coach were already feasting. + +Our friends hastened to descend, but not so fast that Vaughan failed +to note the girl's look of uncertainty, almost of distress. He guessed +that she was not at ease in a scene so bustling and so new to her. And +the thought gave him the courage that he needed. + +"Will you allow me to find you a place at the table?" he said. "I know +this inn and they know me. Guard, the ladder here!" And he took her +hand--oh, such a little, little hand!--and aided her in her descent. + +"Will you follow me?" he said. And he made way for her through the +knot of starers who cumbered the doorway. But once in the coffee-room +he had, cunning fellow, an inspiration. "Find this lady a seat!" he +commanded one of the attendant damsels. And when he had seen her +seated and the coffee set before her, he took himself deliberately to +the other end of the room. But whether he did so out of pure respect +for her feelings, or because he thought--and hugged himself on the +thought--that he would be missed, he did not himself know. Nor was he +so much a captive, though he counted how many rolls she ate, and +looked a dozen times to see if she looked at him, as to be unable to +make an excellent breakfast. + +The cheery, noisy throng at the tables, the brisk coming and going of +the servants, the smell of hot coffee, the open windows, and the +sunshine outside--where the fresh team of the up night-coach were +already tossing their heads impatiently--he wondered how it all struck +her, new to such scenes and to this side of life. And then while he +wondered he saw that she had risen from the table and was going out +with one of the waiting-maids. To reach the door she had to pass near +him; and, oh bliss, her eyes found him--and she blushed. She blushed, +ye heavens! He saw it clearly, and he sat thinking about it until, +though the coach was not due to start for another five minutes and he +might count on the guard summoning him, he was taken with fear lest +some one should steal his seat. And he hurried out. + +She was alone on the top of the coach, and a youthful waterman, one of +the crowd of loiterers below, was making eyes at her to the delight of +his companions. When Vaughan came forth, "I'd like to be him," the wag +said, winking with vulgar gusto. And the bystanders grinned at the +good-looking young man who stood in the doorway buttoning up his +box-coat. The position might soon have become embarrassing to her if +not to him; but in the nick of time the eye of an inside passenger, +who had followed him through the doorway, alighted on a huge placard +which hung behind the coach. + +"Take that down!" the stranger cried loudly and pompously. And in a +moment all eyes were upon him. He prodded with his umbrella at the +offending bill. "Do you hear me? Take it down, sir," he repeated, +turning to the guard. He was a portly man, reddish about the gills. +"Take it down, sir, or I will! It is disgraceful! I shall report this +conduct to your employers." + +The guard hesitated. "It don't harm you, sir," he pleaded, anxious, it +was clear, to propitiate a man who would presently be good for half a +crown. + +"Don't harm me?" the choleric gentleman retorted. "Don't harm me? +What's that to do with it? What right--what right have you, man, to +put party filth like that on a public vehicle in which I pay to ride? +'The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the Bill!' D--n the Bill, +sir!" with violence. "Take it down! Take it down at once!" he +repeated, as if his order closed the matter. + +The guard frowned at the placard, which bore, largely printed, the +legend which the gentleman found so little to his taste. He rubbed his +head. "Well, I don't know, sir," he said. And then--the crowd about +the coach was growing--he looked at the driver. "What do you say, +Sammy?" he asked. + +"Don't touch it," growled the driver, without deigning to turn his +head. + +"You see, sir, it is this way," the guard ventured civilly. "Mr. +Palmer has a Whig meeting at Reading to-day and the town will be full. +And if we don't want rotten eggs and broken windows--we'll carry +that!" + +"I'll not travel with it!" the stout gentleman answered positively. +"Do you hear me, man? If you don't take it down I will!" + +"Best not!" cried a voice from the little crowd about the coach. And +when the angry gentleman turned to see who spoke, "Best not!" cried +another behind him. And he wheeled about again, so quickly that the +crowd laughed. This raised his wrath to a white heat. + +He grew purple. "I shall have it taken down!" he said. "Guard, remove +it!" + +"Don't touch it," growled the driver--one of a class noted in that day +for independence and surly manners. "If the gent don't choose to +travel with it, let him stop here and be d--d!" + +"Do you know," the insulted passenger cried, "that I am a Member of +Parliament?" + +"I'm hanged if you are!" coachee retorted. "Nor won't be again!" + +The crowd roared at this repartee. The guard was in despair. "Anyway, +we must go on, sir," he said. And he seized his horn. "Take your +seats, gents! Take your seats!" he cried. "All for Reading! I'm sorry, +sir, but I've to think of the coach." + +"And the horses!" grumbled the driver. "Where's the gent's sense?" + +They all scrambled to their seats except the ex-member. He stood, +bursting with rage and chagrin. But at the last moment, when he saw +that the coach would really go without him, he swallowed his pride, +plucked open the coach-door, and amid the loud jeers of the crowd, +climbed in. The driver, with a chuckle, bade the helpers let go, and +the coach swung cheerily away through the streets of Maidenhead, the +merry notes of the horn and the rattle of the pole-chains drowning the +cries of the gutter-boys. + +The little Frenchman turned round. "You vill have a refolution," he +said solemnly. "And the gentleman inside he vill lose his head." + +The coachman, who had hitherto looked askance at Froggy, as if he +disdained his neighbourhood, now squinted at him as if he could not +quite make him out. "Think so?" he said gruffly. "Why, Mounseer?" + +"I have no doubt," the Frenchman answered glibly. "The people vill +have, and the nobles vill not give! Or they vill give a leetle--a +leetle! And that is the worst of all. I have seen two refolutions!" he +continued with energy. "The first when I was a child--it is forty +years! My bonne held me up and I saw heads fall into the basket--heads +as young and as lofly as the young Mees there! And why? Because the +people would have, and the King, he give that which is the worst of +all--a leetle! And the trouble began. And then the refolution of last +year--it was worth to me all that I had! The people would have, and +the Polignac, our Minister--who is the friend of your Vellington--he +would not give at all! And the trouble began." + +The driver squinted at him anew. "D'you mean to say," he asked, "that +you've seen heads cut off?" + +"I have seen the white necks, as white and as small as the Mees there; +I have seen the blood spout from them; bah! like what you call pump! +Ah, it was ogly, it was very ogly!" + +The coachman turned his head slowly and with difficulty, until he +commanded a full view of Vaughan's pretty neighbour; at whom he gazed +for some seconds as if fascinated. Then he turned to his horses and +relieved his feelings by hitting one of the wheelers below the trace; +while Vaughan, willing to hear what the Frenchman had to say, took up +the talk. + +"Perhaps here," he said, "those who have will give, and give enough, +and all will go well." + +"Nefer! Nefer!" the Frenchman answered positively. "By example, the +Duke whose chateau we pass--what you call it--Jerusalem House?" + +"Sion House," Vaughan answered, smiling. "The Duke of Northumberland." + +"By example he return four members to your Commons House. Is it not +so? And they do what he tell them. He have this for his nefew, and +that for his niece, and the other thing for his _maitre d'hotel!_ And +it is he and the others like him who rule the country! Gives he up all +that? To the _bourgeoisie?_ Nefer! Nefer!" he continued with emphasis. +"He will be the Polignac! They will all be the Polignacs! And you will +have a refolution. And by-and-by, when the _bourgeoisie_ is frightened +of the _canaille_ and tired of the blood-letting, your Vellington he +will be the Emperor. It is as plain as the two eyes in the face! So +plain for me, I shall not take off my clothes the nights!" + +"Well, King Billy for me!" said the driver. "But if he's willing, +Mounseer, why shouldn't the people manage their own affairs?" + +"The people! The people! They cannot! Your horses, will they govern +themselves? Will you throw down the reins and leave it to them, up +hill, down hill? The people govern themselves Bah!" And to express his +extreme disgust at the proposition, the Frenchman, who had lost his +all with Polignac, bent over the side and spat into the road. "It is +no government at all!" + +The driver looked darkly at his horses as if he would like to see them +try it on. "I am afraid," said Vaughan, "that you think we are in +trouble either way then, whether the Tories give or withhold?" + +"Eizer way! Eizer way!" the Frenchman answered _con amore_. "It is +fate! You are on the edge of the what you call it--_chute!_ And you +must go over! We have gone over. We have bumped once, twice! We shall +bump once, twice more, _et voila_--Anarchy! Now it is your turn, sir. +The government has to be--shifted--from the one class to the other!" + +"But it may be peacefully shifted?" + +The little Frenchman shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "I have nefer +seen the government shifted without all that that I have told you. +There will be the guillotine, or the barricades. For me, I shall not +take off my clothes the nights!" + +He spoke with a sincerity so real and a persuasion so clear that even +Vaughan was a little shaken, and wondered if those who watched the +game from the outside saw more than the players. As for the coachman: + +"Dang me," he said that evening to his cronies in the tap of the White +Lion at Bristol, "if I feel so sure about this here Reform! We want +none of that nasty neck-cutting here! And if I thought Froggy was +right I'm blest if I wouldn't turn Tory!" + +And for certain the Frenchman voiced what a large section of the timid +and the well-to-do were thinking. For something like a hundred and +fifty years a small class, the nobility and the greater gentry, +turning to advantage the growing defects in the representation--the +rotten boroughs and the close corporations--had ruled the country +through the House of Commons. Was it to be expected that the basis of +power could be shifted in a moment? Or that all these boroughs and +corporations, in which the governing class were so deeply interested, +could be swept away without a convulsion; without opening the +floodgates of change, and admitting forces which no man could measure? +Or, on the other side, was it likely that, these defects once seen and +the appetite of the middle class for power once whetted, their claims +could be refused without a struggle from which the boldest must +flinch? No man could say for certain, and hence these fears in the +air. The very winds carried them. They were being discussed in that +month of April not only on the White Lion coach, not on the Bath road +only, but on a hundred coaches, and a hundred roads over the length +and breadth of England. Wherever the sway of Macadam and Telford +extended, wherever the gigs of "riders" met, or farmers' carts stayed +to parley, at fair and market, sessions and church, men shook their +heads or raised their voices in high debate; and the word _Reform_ +rolled down the wind! + +Vaughan soon overcame his qualms; for his opinions were fixed. But he +thought that the subject might serve him with his neighbour, and he +addressed her. + +"You must not let them alarm you," he said. "We are still a long way, +I fancy, from guillotines or barricades." + +"I hope so," she answered. "In any case I am not afraid." + +"Why, if I may ask?" + +She glanced at him with a gleam of humour in her eyes. "Little shrubs +feel little wind," she murmured. + +"But also little sun, I fear," he replied. + +"That does not follow," she said, without raising her eyes again. +"Though it is true that I--I am so seldom free in a morning that a +journey such as this, with the sunshine, is like heaven to me." + +"The morning is a delightful time," he said. + +"Oh!" she cried, as if she now knew that he felt with her. "That is +it! The afternoon is different." + +"Well, fortunately, you and I have--much of the morning left." + +She made no reply to that, and he wondered in silence what was the +employment which filled her mornings and fitted her to enjoy with so +keen a zest this early ride. The Gloucester up-coach was coming to +meet them, the guard tootling merrily on his horn, and a blue and +yellow flag--the Whig colours--flying on the roof of the coach, which +was crowded with smiling passengers. Vaughan saw the girl's eyes +sparkle as the two coaches passed one another amid a volley of +badinage; and demure as she was, he was sure that she had a store of +fun within. He wished that she would remove her cheap thread gloves +that he might see if her hands were as white as they were small. She +was no common person, he was sure of that; her speech was correct, +though formal, and her manner was quiet and refined. And her eyes--he +must make her look at him again! + +"You are going to Bristol?" he said. "To stay there?" + +Perhaps he threw too much feeling into his voice. At any rate the tone +of her answer was colder. "Yes," she said, "I am." + +"I am going as far as Chippenham," he volunteered. + +"Indeed!" + +There! He had lost all the ground he had gained. She thought him a +possible libertine, who aimed at putting himself on a footing of +intimacy with her. And that was the last thing--confound it, he meant +that to do her harm was the last thing he had in his mind. + +It annoyed him that she should think anything of that kind. And he +cudgelled his brain for a subject at once safe and sympathetic, +without finding one. But either she was not so deeply offended as he +fancied, or she thought him sufficiently punished. For presently she +addressed him; and he saw that she was ever so little embarrassed. + +"Would you please to tell me," she said, in a low voice, "how much I +ought to give the coachman?" + +Oh. bless her! She did not think him a horrid libertine. "You?" he +said audaciously. "Why nothing, of course." + +"But--but I thought it was usual?" + +"Not on this road," he answered, lying resolutely. "Gentlemen are +expected to give half a crown, others a shilling. Ladies nothing at +all. Sam," he continued, rising to giddy heights of invention, "would +give it back to you, if you offered it." + +"Indeed!" He fancied a note of relief in her tone, and judged that +shillings were not very plentiful. Then, "Thank you," she added. "You +must think me very ignorant. But I have never travelled." + +"You must not say that," he returned. "Remember the Clapham Stage!" + +She laughed at the jest, small as it was; and her laugh gave him the +most delicious feeling--a sort of lightness within, half exhilaration, +half excitement. And of a sudden, emboldened by it, he was grown so +foolhardy that there is no knowing what he would not have said, if the +streets of Reading had not begun to open before them and display a +roadway abnormally thronged. + +For Mr. Palmer's procession, with its carriages, riders, and flags, +was entering ahead of them; and the train of tipsy rabble which +accompanied it blocked King Street, and presently brought the coach to +a stand. The candidate, lifting his cocked hat from time to time, was +a hundred paces before them and barely visible through a forest of +flags and banners. But a troop of mounted gentry in dusty black, and +smiling dames in carriages--who hardly masked the disgust with which +they viewed the forest of grimy hands extended to them to shake--were +under the travellers' eyes, and showed in the sunlight both tawdry and +false. Our party, however, were not long at ease to enjoy the +spectacle. The crowd surrounded the coach, leapt on the steps, and +hung on to the boot. And presently the noise scared the horses, which +at the entrance to the marketplace began to plunge. + +"The Bill! The Bill!" cried the rabble. And with truculence called on +the passengers to assent. "You lubbers," they bawled, "shout for the +Bill! Or we'll have you over!" + +"All right! All right!" replied Sammy, controlling his horses as well +as he could. "We're all for the Bill here! Hurrah!" + +"Hurrah! Palmer for ever, Tories in the river!" cried the mob. +"Hurrah!" + +"Hurrah!" echoed the guard, willing to echo anything. "The Bill for +ever! But let us pass, lads! Let us pass! We're for the Bear, and +we've no votes." + +"Britons never will be slaves!" shrieked a drunken butcher as the +marketplace opened before them. The space was alive with flags and gay +with cockades, and thronged by a multitude, through which the +candidate's procession clove its way slowly. "We'll have votes now! +Three cheers for Lord John!" + +"Hurrah! Hurrah!" + +"And down with Orange Peel!" squeaked a small tailor in a high +falsetto. + +The roar of laughter which greeted the sally startled the horses +afresh. But the guard had dropped down by this time and fought his way +to the head of one of the leaders; and two or three good-humoured +fellows seconded his efforts. Between them the coach was piloted +slowly but safely through the press; which, to do it justice, meant +only to exercise the privileges which the Election season brought with +it. + + + + + V + + ROSY-FINGERED DAWN + + +"_Beaucoup de bruit, pas de mal!_" Vaughan muttered in his neighbour's +ear; and saw with as much surprise as pleasure that she understood. + +And all would have gone well but for the imprudence of the inside +passenger who had distinguished himself by his protest against the +placard. The coach was within a dozen paces of the Bear, the crowd was +falling back from it, the peril, if it had been real, seemed past, the +most timid was breathing again, when he thrust out his foolish head, +and flung a taunt--which those on the roof could not hear--at the +rabble. + +Whatever the words, their effect was disastrous. A bystander caught +them up and repeated them, and in a trice half-a-dozen louts flung +themselves on the door and strove to drag it open, and get at the man; +while others, leaning over their shoulders, aimed missiles at the +inside passengers. + +The guard saw that more than the glass of his windows was at stake; +but he could do nothing. He was at the leaders' heads. And the +passengers on the roof, who had risen to their feet to see the fray, +were as helpless. Luckily the coachman kept his head and his reins. +"Turn 'em into the yard!" he yelled. "Turn 'em in!" + +The guard did so, almost too quickly. The frightened horses wheeled +round, and, faster than was prudent, dashed under the low arch, +dragging the swaying coach after them. + +There was a cry of "Heads! Heads!" and then, more imperatively, +"Heads! Stoop! Stoop!" + +The warning was needed. The outsides were on their feet engrossed in +the struggle at the coach door. And so quickly did the coach turn +that--though a score of spectators in the street and on the balcony of +the inn saw the peril--it was only at the last moment that Vaughan and +the two passengers at the back, men well used to the road, caught the +warning, and dropped down. And it was only at the very last moment +that Vaughan felt rather than saw that the girl was still standing. He +had just time, by a desperate effort, and amid a cry of horror--for to +the spectators she seemed to be already jammed between the arch and +the seat--to drag her down. Instinctively, as he did so, he shielded +her face with his arm; but the horror was so near that, as they swept +under the low brow, he was not sure that she was safe. + +He was as white as she was, when they emerged into the light again. +But he saw that she was safe, though her bonnet was dragged from her +head; and he cried unconsciously, "Thank God! Thank God!" Then, with +that hatred of a scene which is part of the English character, he put +her quickly back into her seat again, and rose to his feet, as if he +wished to separate himself from her. + +But a score of eyes had seen the act; and however much he might wish +to spare her feelings, concealment was impossible. + +"Christ!" cried the coachman, whose copper cheeks were perceptibly +paler. "If your head's on your shoulders, Miss, it is to that young +gentleman you owe it. Don't you ever go to sleep on the roof of a +coach again! Never! Never!" + +"Here, get a drop of brandy!" cried the landlady, who, from one of the +doors flanking the archway, had seen all. "Do you stay where you are, +Miss," she continued, "and I'll send it up to you." + +Then amid a babel of exclamations and a chorus of blame and praise, +the ladder was brought, and Vaughan made haste to descend. A waiter +tripped out with the brown brandy and water on a tray; and the young +lady, who had not spoken, but had remained, sitting white and still, +where Vaughan had placed her, sipped it obediently. Unfortunately the +landlady's eyes were sharp; and as Vaughan passed her to go into the +house--for the coach must be driven up the yard and turned before they +could set off again--she let fall a cry. + +"Lord, sir!" she said, "your hand is torn dreadful! You've grazed +every bit of skin off it!" + +He tried to silence her; and failing, hurried into the house. She +fussed after him to attend to him; and Sammy, who was not a man of the +most delicate perceptions, seized the opportunity to drive home his +former lesson. "There, Miss," he said solemnly, "I hope that'll teach +you to look out another time! But better his hand than your head. +You'd ha' been surely scalped!" + +The girl, a shade whiter than before, did not answer. And he thought +her, for so pretty a wench, "a right unfeelin' un!" + +Not so the Frenchman. "I count him a very locky man!" he said +obscurely. "A very locky man." + +"Well," the coachman answered with a grunt, "if you call that +lucky----" + +"_Vraiment! Vraiment!_ But I--alas!" the Frenchman answered with an +eloquent gesture, "I have lost my all, and the good fortunes are no +longer for me!" + +"Fortunes!" the coachman muttered, looking askance at him. "A fine +fortune, to have your hand flayed! But where's"--recollecting +himself--"where's that there fool that caused the trouble! D--n me, if +he shall go any further on my coach. I'd like to double-thong him, and +it'd serve him right!" + +So when the ex-M.P. presently appeared, Sammy let go his tongue to +such purpose that the political gentleman; finding himself in a +minority of one, retired into the house and, with many threats of what +he would do when he saw the management, declined to go on. + +"And a good riddance of a d--d Tory!" the coachman muttered. "Think +all the world's made for them! Fifteen minutes he's cost us already! +Take your seats, gents, take your seats! I'm off!" + +Vaughan, with his hand hastily bandaged, was the last to come out. He +climbed as quickly as he could to his place, and, without looking at +his neighbour, he said some common-place word. She did not reply, and +they swept under the arch. For a moment the sight of the thronged +marketplace diverted him. Then he looked at her, and he saw that she +was trembling. + +If he was not quite so wise as the Frenchman, having had no _bonnes +fortunes_ to speak of, he had, nevertheless, keen perceptions. And he +guessed that the girl, between her maiden shyness and her womanly +gratitude, was painfully placed. It could not be otherwise. A girl who +had spent her years, since childhood, within the walls of a school at +Clapham, first as genteel apprentice, and then as assistant; who had +been taught to consider young men as roaring lions with whom her own +life could have nothing in common, and from whom it was her duty to +guard the more giddy of her flock; who had to struggle at once +with the shyness of youth, the modesty of her sex, and her +inexperience--above all, perhaps with that dread of insult which +becomes the instinct of lowly beauty--how was she to carry herself in +circumstances so different from any which she had ever imagined? How +was she to express a tithe of the feelings with which her heart was +bursting, and which overwhelmed her as often as she thought of the +hideous death from which he had snatched her? + +She could not; and with inborn good taste she refrained from the +commonplace word, the bald acknowledgment, in which a shallow nature +might have taken refuge. On his side, he guessed some part of this, +and discerned that if he would relieve her he must himself speak. +Accordingly, when they had left the streets behind them and were +swinging merrily along the Newbury Road, he leant towards her. + +"May I beg," he said in a low voice, "that you won't think of what has +happened? The coachman would have done as much, and scolded you! I +happened to be next you. That was all." + +In a strangled voice, "But your hand," she faltered. "I fear--I----" +She shuddered, unable to go on. + +"It is nothing!" he protested. "Nothing! In three days it will be +well!" + +She turned her eves on him, eyes which possessed an eloquence of which +their owner was unconscious. "I will pray for you," she murmured. "I +can do no more." + +The pathos of her simple gratitude was such that Vaughan could not +laugh it off. "Thank you," he said quietly. "We shall then be more +than quits." And having given her a few moments in which to recover +herself, "We are nearly at Speenhamland," he resumed cheerfully. +"There is the George and Pelican! It's a great baiting-house for +coaches. I am afraid to say how much corn and hay they give out in a +day. They have a man who does nothing else but weigh it out." And so +he chattered on, doing his utmost to talk of indifferent matters in an +indifferent tone. + +She could not repulse him after what had passed. And now and then, by +a timid word, she gave him leave to talk. Presently he began to speak +of things other than those under their eyes, and when he thought that +he had put her at her ease, "You understand French?" he said looking +at her suddenly. + +"I spoke it as a child," she answered. "I was born abroad. I did not +come to England until I was nine." + +"To Clapham?" + +"Yes. I have been employed in a school there." + +Prudently he hastened to bring the talk back to the road again. And +she took courage to steal a look at him when his eyes were elsewhere. +He seemed so strong and gentle and courteous; this unknown creature +which she had been taught to fear. And he was so thoughtful of her! He +could throw so tender a note into his voice. Beside d'Orsay or +Alvanley--but she had never heard of them--he might have passed muster +but tolerably; but to her he seemed a very fine gentleman. She had a +woman's eye for the fineness of his linen, and the smartness of his +waistcoat--had not Sir James Graham, with his chest of Palermo stuffs, +set the seal of Cabinet approval on fancy waistcoats? Nor was she +blind to the easy carriage of his head, and his air of command. + +And there she caught herself up: reflecting with a blush that it was +by the easy path of thoughts such as these that the precipice was +approached; that so it was the poor and pretty let themselves be led +from the right road. Whither was she travelling? In what was this to +end? She trembled. And if they had not at that moment swung out of +Savernake Forest and sighted the red roofs of Marlborough, lying warm +and sung at the foot of the steep London Hill, she did not know what +she should have done, since she could not repulse him. + +They rattled in merry style through the town, the leaders cantering, +the bars swinging, the guard tootling, the sun shining; past a score +of inn signs before which the heavy stages were baiting; past the two +churches, while all the brisk pleasantness of this new, this living +world, appealed to her to go its way. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! Swerving to +the right they pulled up bravely, with steaming horses, before the +door of the far-famed Castle Inn. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! "Half an hour +for dinner, gentlemen!" + +"Now," said Vaughan, thinking that all was well, or rather declining +to think of anything but her shy glances and the delightful present. +"You must cut my meat for me!" + +She did not reply, and he saw that her eyes went to the basket at her +feet. He guessed that she wished to avoid the expense of dining. "Or, +perhaps, you are not coming in?" he said. + +"I did not intend to do so," she replied. "I suppose," she continued +timidly, "that I may stay here?" + +"Certainly. You have something with you?" + +"Yes." + +He nodded pleasantly and left her; and she remained in her seat. As +she ate, the target for many a sly glance of admiration, she was +divided between gratitude and self-reproach; now thinking of him with +a quickened heart, now taking herself to task for her weakness. The +result was that when he strode out, confident and at ease, and looked +up at her with laughing eyes, she blushed furiously--to her own +unspeakable mortification. + +Vaughan was no Lothario, and for a moment the telltale colour took him +aback. Then he told himself that at Chippenham, less than twenty miles +down the road, he was leaving her. It was absurd to suppose that, in +the short space which remained, either could be harmed. And he mounted +gaily, and masking his knowledge of her emotion with a skill which +surprised himself, he chatted pleasantly, unaware that with every word +he was stamping the impression of her face, her long eyelashes, her +graceful head, her trick of this and that, more deeply upon his +memory. While she, reassured by the same thought that they would part +in an hour--and in an hour what harm could happen?--closed her eyes +and drank the sweet draught--the sweeter for its novelty, and for the +bitter which lurked at the bottom of the cup. Meantime Sammy winked +sagely at his horses, and the Frenchman cast envious glances over his +shoulders, and Silbury Hill, Fyfield, and the soft folds of the downs +swept by, and on warm commons and southern slopes the early bees +hummed above the gorse. + +Here was Chippenham at last; and the end was come. He must descend. A +hasty touch, a murmured word, a pang half-felt; she veiled her eyes. +If her colour fluttered and she trembled, why not? She had cause to be +grateful to him. And if he felt as his foot touched the ground that +the world was cold, and the prospect cheerless, why not, when he had +to face Sir Robert, and when his political embarrassments, forgotten +for a time, rose nearer and larger? + +It had often fallen to him to alight before the Angel at Chippenhan. +From boyhood he had known the wide street, in which the fairs were +held, the red Georgian houses, and the stone bridge of many arches +over the Avon. But he had never seen these things, he had never +alighted there, with less satisfaction than on this day. + +Still this was the end. He raised his hat, saluted silently, and +turned to speak to the guard. In the act he jostled a person who was +approaching to accost him. Vaughan stared. "Hallo, White!" he said. "I +was coming to see you." + +White's hat was in his hand. "Your servant, sir," he said. "Your +servant, sir. I am glad to be here to meet you, Mr. Vaughan." + +"But you didn't expect me?" + +"No, sir, no; I came to meet Mr. Cooke, who was to arrive by this +coach. But I do not see him." + +A light broke in upon Vaughan. "Gad! he must be the man we left behind +at Reading," he said. "Is he a peppery chap?" + +"He might be so called, sir," the agent answered with a smile. "I +fancied that you knew him." + +"No. Sergeant Wathen I know; not Mr. Cooke. Any way, he's not come, +White." + +"All the better, sir, if I can get a message to him by the up-coach. +For he's not needed. I am glad to say that the trouble is at an end. +My Lord Lansdowne has given up the idea of contesting the borough, and +I came over to tell Mr. Cooke, thinking that he might prefer to go on +to Bristol. He has a house at Bristol." + +"Do you mean," Vaughan said, "that there will be no contest?" + +"No, sir, no. Not now. And a good thing, too. Upset the town for +nothing! My lord has no chance, and Pybus, who is his lordship's man +here, he told me himself----" + +He paused with his mouth open, and his eyes on a tall lady wearing a +veil, who, after standing a couple of minutes on the further side of +the street, was approaching the coach. To enter it she had to pass by +him, and he stared, as if he saw a ghost. "By Gosh!" he muttered under +his breath. And when, with the aid of the guard, she had taken her +seat inside, "By Gosh!" he muttered again, "if that's not my +lady--though I've not seen her for ten years--I've the horrors!" + +He turned to Vaughan to see if he had noticed anything. But Vaughan, +without waiting for the end of his sentence, had stepped aside to tell +a helper to replace his valise on the coach. In the bustle he had +noted neither White's emotion nor the lady. + +At this moment he returned. "I shall go on to Bristol for the night, +White," he said. "Sir Robert is quite well?" + +"Quite well, sir, and I shall be happy to tell him of your promptness +in coming." + +"Don't tell him anything," the young man said, with a flash of +peremptoriness. "I don't want to be kept here. Do you understand, +White? I shall probably return to town to-morrow. Anyway, say +nothing." + +"Very good, sir," White answered. "But I am sure Sir Robert would be +pleased to know that you had come down so promptly." + +"Ah, well, you can let him know later. Good-bye, White." + +The agent, with one eye on the young squire and one on the lady, whose +figure was visible through the small coach-window, seemed to be about +to refer to her. But he checked himself. "Good-bye, sir," he said. +"And a pleasant journey! I'm glad to have been of service, Mr. +Vaughan." + +"Thank you, White, thank you," the young man answered. And he swung +himself up, as the coach moved. A good-natured nod, and--Tantivy! +Tantivy! Tantivy! The helpers sprang aside, and away they went down +the hill, and over the long stone bridge, and so along the Bristol +road; but now with the shades of evening beginning to spread on the +pastures about them, and the cawing rooks, that had been abroad all +day on the uplands, streaming across the pale sky to the elms beside +the river. + +But _varium et mutabile femina_. When he turned, eager to take up the +fallen thread, Clotho could not have been more cold than his +neighbour, nor Atropos with her shears more decisive. "I've had good +news," he said, as he settled his coat about him. "I came down with a +very unpleasant task before me. And it is lifted from me." + +"Indeed!" + +"So I am going on to Bristol instead of staying at Chippenham." + +No answer. + +"It is a great relief to me," he continued cheerfully. + +"Indeed!" She spoke in the most distant of voices. + +He raised his brows in perplexity. What had happened to her? She had +been so grateful, so much moved, a few minutes before. The colour had +fluttered in her cheek, the tear had been visible in her eye, she had +left her hand the fifth of a second in his. And now! + +Now she was determined that she would blush and smile and be kind no +more. She was grateful--God knew she was grateful, let him think what +he would. But there were limits. Her weakness, as long as she believed +that Chippenham must part them, had been pardonable. But if he had it +in his mind to attend her to Bristol, to follow her or haunt her--as +she had known foolish young cits at Clapham to haunt the more giddy of +her flock--then her mistake was clear; and his conduct, now merely +suspicious, would appear in its black reality. She hoped that he was +innocent. She hoped that his change of plan at Chippenham had been no +subterfuge; that he was not a roaring lion. But appearances were +deceitful and her own course was plain. + +It was the plainer, as she had not been blind to the respect with +which all at the Angel had greeted her companion; even White, a man of +substance, with a gold chain and seals hanging from his fob, had stood +bareheaded while he talked to him. It was plain that he was a fine +gentleman; one of those whom young persons in her rank of life must +shun. + +So he drew scarcely five words out of her in as many miles. At last, +thrice rebuffed, "I am afraid you are tired," he said. Was it for this +that he had chosen to go on to Bristol? + +"Yes," she answered. "I am rather tired. If you please I would prefer +not to talk." + +He was a little huffed then, and let her be; nor did he guess, though +he was full of conjectures about her, how she hated her seeming +ingratitude. But there was nought else for it; better seem thankless +now than be worse hereafter. For she was growing frightened. She was +beginning to have more than an inkling of the road by which young +things were led to be foolish. Her ear retained the sound of his +voice though he was silent. The fashion in which he had stooped to +her--though he was looking another way now--clung to her memory. +His laugh, though he was grave now, rang for her, full of glee and +good-fellowship. She could have burst into tears. + +They stayed at Marshfield to take on the last team. And she tried to +divert her mind by watching a woman in a veil who walked up and down +beside the coach, and seemed to return her curiosity. But she tried to +little purpose, for she felt strained and weary, and more than ever +inclined to cry. Doubtless the peril through which she had passed had +shaken her. + +So that she was thankful when, after descending perilous Tog Hill, +they saw from Kingswood heights the lights of Bristol shining through +the dusk; and she knew that she was at her journey's end. To arrive in +a strange place on the edge of night is trying to anyone. But to +alight friendless and alone, amid the bustle of a city, and to know +that new relations must be created and a new life built up--this may +well raise in the most humble and contented bosom a feeling of +loneliness and depression. And doubtless that was why Mary Smith, +after evading Vaughan with a success beyond her hopes, felt as she +followed her modest trunk through the streets that--but she bent her +head to hide the unaccustomed tears. + + + + + VI + + THE PATRON OF CHIPPINGE + + +Much about the time that the "Spectator" was painting in Sir Roger the +most lovable picture of an old English squire which our gallery +contains, Cornelius Vermuyden, of a younger branch of the Vermuydens +who drained the fens, was making a fortune in the Jamaica trade. +Having made it in a dark office at Bristol, and being, like all +Dutchmen, of a sedentary turn, he proceeded to found a family, +purchase a borough, and, by steady support of Whig principles and the +Protestant succession, to earn a baronetcy in the neighbouring county +of Wilts. + +Doubtless the first Vermuyden had things to contend with, and at +assize ball and sessions got but two fingers from the De Coverleys and +their long-descended dames. But he went his way stolidly, married his +son into a family of like origin--the Beckfords--and, having seen +little George II. firmly on the throne, made way for his son. + +This second Sir Cornelius rebuilt Stapylton, the house which his +father had bought from the decayed family of that name, and after +living for some ten years into the reign of Farmer George, vanished in +his turn, leaving Cornelius Robert to succeed him, Cornelius George, +the elder son, having died in his father's lifetime. + +Sir Cornelius Robert was something after the pattern of the famous Mr. +Onslow-- + + + _What can Tommy Onslow do? + He can drive a chaise and two. + What can Tommy Onslow more? + He can drive a chaise and four._ + + +Yet he fitted the time, and, improving his father's pack of +trencher-fed hounds by a strain of Mr. Warde's blood, he hunted the +country so conscientiously that at his death a Dutch bottle might have +been set upon his table without giving rise to the slightest +reflection. He came to an end, much lamented, with the century, and +Sir Robert, fourth and present baronet, took over the estates. + +By that time, rid of the foreign prenomen, well allied by three good +marriages, and since the American war of true blue Tory leanings, and +thorough Church and King principles, the family was able to hold up +its head among the best in the south of England. There might be some +who still remembered that-- + + + _Saltash was a borough town + When Plymouth was a breezy down_. + + +But the property was good, the borough safe, and any time these twenty +years their owner might have franked his letters "Chippinge" had he +willed it. As it was, he passed, almost as much as Mr. Western in the +east or Sir Thomas Acland in the west, for the type of a country +gentleman. The most powerful Minister gave him his whole hand; and at +county meetings, at Salisbury or Devizes, no voice was held more +powerful, nor any man's hint more quickly taken than Sir Robert +Vermuyden's. + +He was a tall and very thin man, of almost noble aspect, with a nose +after the fashion of the Duke's, and a slight stoop. In early days he +had been something of a beau, though never of the Prince's following, +and he still dressed finely and with taste. With a smaller sense of +personal dignity, or with wider sympathies, he might have been a +happier man. But he had married too late--at forty-five; and the four +years which followed, and their sequel, had darkened the rest of his +life, drawn crow's-feet about his eyes and peevish lines about his +mouth. Henceforth he had lived alone, nursing his pride; and the +solitude of this life--which was not without its dignity, since no +word of scandal touched it--had left him narrow and vindictive, a man +just but not over-generous, and pompous without complacency. + +The neighbourhood knew that he and Lady Sybil--he had married the +beautiful daughter of the last Earl of Portrush--had parted under +circumstances which came near to justifying divorce. Some held that he +had divorced her; but in those days an Act of Parliament was +necessary, and no such Act stood on the Statute-book. Many thought +that he ought to have divorced her. And while the people who knew that +she still lived and still plagued him were numerous, few save Isaac +White were aware that it was because his marriage had been made and +marred at Bowood--and not purely out of principle--that Sir Robert +opposed the very name of Lansdowne, and would have wasted a half of +his fortune to wreck his great neighbour's political power. + +Not that his Tory principles were not strong. During five Parliaments +he had filled one of his own seats, and had spoken from time to time +after a dignified fashion, with formal gestures and a copious +sprinkling of classical allusions. The Liberal Toryism of Canning had +fallen below his ideal, but he had continued to sit until the betrayal +of the party by Peel and the Duke--on the Catholic Claims--drove him +from the House in disgust, and thenceforth Warren's Hotel, his +residence when in town, saw him but seldom. He had fancied then that +nothing worse could happen; that the depths were plumbed, and that he +and those who thought with him might punish the traitor and take +no harm. With the Duke of Cumberland, the best hated man in +England--which was never tired of ridiculing his moustachios--Eldon, +Wetherell, and the ultra-Tories, he had not rested until he had seen +the hated pair flung from office; nor was any man more surprised and +confounded when the result of the work began to show itself. The +Whigs, admitted to power by this factious movement, and after an exile +so long that Byron could write of them-- + + + _Naught's permanent among the human race + Except the Whigs not getting into place_ + + +--brought in no mild and harmless measure of reform, promising little +and giving nothing, such as foe and friend had alike expected; but a +measure of reform so radical that O'Connell blessed it, and Cobbett +might have fathered it: a measure which, if it passed, would sweep +away Sir Robert's power and the power of his class, destroy his +borough, and relegate him to the common order of country squires. + +He was at first incredulous, then furious, then aghast. To him the +Bill was not only the doom of his own influence but the knell of the +Constitution. Behind it he saw red revolution and the crash of things. +Lord Grey was to him Mirabeau, Lord John was Lafayette, Brougham was +Danton; and of them and of their kind, when they had roused the +many-headed, he was sure that the end would be as the end of the +Gironde. + +He was not the less furious, not the less aghast, when the moderates +of his party pointed out that he had himself to thank for the +catastrophe. From the refusal to grant the smallest reform, from the +refusal to transfer the franchise of the rotten borough of Retford to +the unrepresented city of Birmingham--a refusal which he had urged his +members to support--the chain was complete; for in consequence of that +refusal Mr. Huskisson had left the Duke's Cabinet. The appointment of +Mr. Fitzgerald to fill his seat had rendered the Clare election +necessary. O'Connell's victory at the Clare election had converted +Peel and the Duke to the necessity of granting the Catholic Claims. +That conversion had alienated the ultra-Tories, and among these Sir +Robert. The opposition of the ultra-Tories had expelled Peel and the +Duke from power--which had brought in the Whigs--who had brought in +the Reform Bill. + +_Hinc illae lacrimae!_ For, in place of the transfer of the franchise of +one rotten borough to one large city--a reform which now to the most +bigoted seemed absurdly reasonable--here were sixty boroughs to be +swept away, and nearly fifty more to be shorn of half their strength, +a Constitution to be altered, an aristocracy to be dethroned! + +And Calne, Lord Lansdowne's pocket borough, was spared! + +Sir Robert firmly believed that the limit had been fixed with an eye +to Calne. They who framed the Bill, sitting in wicked, detestable +confabulation, had fixed the limit of Schedule B so as to spare Calne +and Tavistock--_Arcades ambo_, Whig boroughs both. Or why did they +just escape? In the whole matter it was this, strangely enough, which +troubled him most sorely. For the loss of his own borough--if the +worst came to the worst--he could put up with it. He had no +children, he had no one to come after him except Arthur Vaughan, the +great-grandson of his grandmother. But the escape of Calne, this clear +proof of the hypocrisy of the righteous Grey, the blatant Durham, the +whey-faced Lord John, the demagogue Brougham--this injustice kept him +in a state of continual irritation. + +He was thinking of this as he paced slowly up and down the broad walk +beside the Garden Pool, at Stapylton--a solitary figure dwarfed by the +great elms. The placid surface of the pool, which mirrored the shaven +lawns beyond it and the hoary church set amidst the lawns, the silence +about him, broken only by the notes of song-birds or a faint yelp from +the distant kennels, the view over the green undulations of park and +covert--all vainly appealed to him to-day, though on summer evenings +his heart took sad and frequent leave of them. For that which +threatened him every day jostled aside for the present that which must +happen one day. The home of his fathers might be his for some years +yet, but shorn of its chief dignity, of its pride, its mastery; while +Calne--Calne would survive, to lift still higher the fortunes of those +who had sold their king and country, and betrayed their order. + +Daily a man and horse awaited the mail-coach at Chippenham that he +might have the latest news; and, seeing a footman hurrying towards him +from the house, he supposed that the mail was in. But when the man, +after crossing the long wooden bridge which spanned the pool, +approached with no diminution of speed, he remembered that it was too +early for the post; and hating to be disturbed in his solitary +reveries, he awaited the servant impatiently. + +"What it is?" he asked. + +"If you please, Sir Robert, Lady Lansdowne's carriage is at the door." + +Only Sir Robert's darkening colour betrayed his astonishment. He had +made his feelings so well known that none but the most formal +civilities now passed between Stapylton and Bowood. + +"Who is it?" + +"Lady Lansdowne, Sir Robert. Her ladyship bade us say that she wishes +to see you urgently, sir." The man, as well as the master, knew that +the visit was unusual. + +The baronet was a proud man, and he bethought him that the +drawing-rooms, seldom used and something neglected, were not in the +state in which he would wish his enemy's wife to see them. "Where have +you put her ladyship?" he asked. + +"In the hall, Sir Robert." + +"Very good. I will come." + +The man hastened away over the bridge, and Sir Robert followed, more +at leisure, but still quickly. When he had passed the angle of the +church which stood in a line with the three blocks of building, +connected by porticos, which formed the house, and which, placed on a +gentle eminence, looked handsomely over the park, he saw that a +carriage with four greys ridden by postillions and attended by two +outriders stood before the main door. In the carriage, her face shaded +by the large Tuscan hat of the period, sat a young lady reading. She +heard Sir Robert's footstep, and looked up, and in some embarrassment +met his eyes. + +He removed his hat. "It is Lady Louisa, is it not?" he said, looking +gravely at her. + +"Yes," she said; and she smiled prettily at him. + +"Will you not go into the house?" + +"Thank you," she replied, with a faint blush; "I think my mother +wishes to see you alone, Sir Robert." + +"Very good." And with a bow, cold but perfectly courteous, he turned +and passed up the broad, shallow steps, which were of the same +time-tinted lichen-covered stone as the rest of the building. Mapp, +the butler, who had been looking out for him, opened the door, and he +entered the hall. + +In his heart, which was secretly perturbed, was room for the wish that +he had been found in other than the high-buttoned gaiters and breeches +of his country life. But he suffered no sign of that or of his more +serious misgivings to appear, as he advanced to greet the still +beautiful woman, who sat daintily warming one sandalled foot at the +red embers on the hearth. She was far from being at ease herself. +Warnings which her husband had addressed to her at parting recurred +and disturbed her. But it is seldom that a woman of the world betrays +her feelings, and her manner was perfect as he bent low over her hand. + +"It is long," she said gently, "much longer than I like to remember, +Sir Robert, since we met." + +"It is a long time," he answered gravely; and when she had reseated +herself he sat down opposite her. + +"It is an age," she said slowly; and she looked round the hall, with +its panelled walls, its deep window-seats, and its panoply of +fox-masks and antlers, as if she recalled the past, "It is an age," +she repeated. "Politics are sad dividers of friends." + +"I fear," he replied, in a tone as cold as courtesy permitted, "that +they are about to be greater dividers." + +She looked at him quickly, with appeal in her eyes. "And yet," she +said, "we saw more of you once." + +"Yes." He was wondering much, behind the mask of his civility, what +had drawn her hither. He knew that it could be no light, no passing +matter which had brought her over thirteen miles of Wiltshire roads to +call upon a man with whom intercourse had been limited, for years +past, to a few annual words, a formal invitation as formally declined, +a measured salutation at race or ball. She must have a motive, and a +strong one. It was only the day before that he had learned that Lord +Lansdowne meant to drop his foolish opposition at Chippinge; was it +possible that she was here to make a favour of this? And perhaps a +bargain? If that were her errand, and my lord had sent her, thinking +to make refusal less easy, Sir Robert felt that he would know how to +answer. He waited. + + + + + VII + + THE WINDS OF AUTUMN + + +Lady Lansdowne looked pensively at the tapering sandal which she held +forward to catch the heat. "Time passes so very, very quickly," she +said with a sigh. + +"With some," Sir Robert answered. "With others," he bowed, "it stands +still." + +His gallantry did not deceive her. She knew it for the salute which +duellists exchange before the fray, and she saw that if she would do +anything she must place herself within his guard. She looked at him +with sudden frankness. "I want you to bear with me for a few minutes, +Sir Robert," she said in a tone of appeal. "I want you to remember +that we were once friends, and, for the sake of old days, to believe +that I am here to play a friend's part. You won't answer me? Very +well. I do not ask you to answer me." She pointed to the space above +the mantel. "The portrait which used to hang there?" she said. "Where +is it? What have you done with it? But there, I said I would not ask, +and I am asking!" + +"And I will answer!" he replied. This was the last, the very last +thing for which he had looked; but he would show her that he was not +to be overridden. "I will tell you," he repeated. "Lady Lansdowne, I +have destroyed it." + +"I do not blame you," she rejoined. "It was yours to do with as you +would. But the original--no, Sir Robert," she said, staying him +intrepidly--she had taken the water now, and must swim--"you shall not +frighten me! She was, she is your wife. But not yours, not your +property to do with as you will, in the sense in which that +picture--but there, I am blaming where I should entreat. I----" + +He stayed her by a peremptory gesture. "Are you here--from her?" he +asked huskily. + +"I am not." + +"She knows?" + +"No, Sir Robert, she does not." + +"Then why,"--there was pain, real pain mingled with the indignation in +his tone--"why, in God's name, Madam, have you come?" + +She looked at him with pitying eyes. "Because," she said, "so many +years have passed, and if I do not say a word now I shall never say +it. And because--there is still time, but no more than time." + +He looked at her fixedly. "You have another reason," he said. "What is +it?" + +"I saw her yesterday. I was in Chippenham when the Bristol coach +passed, and I saw her face for an instant at the window." + +He breathed more quickly; it was evident that the news touched him +home. But he would not blench nor lower his eyes. "Well?" he said. + +"I saw her for a few seconds only, and she did not see me. And of +course--I did not speak to her. But I knew her face, though she was +changed." + +"And because"--his voice was harsh--"you saw her for a few minutes at +a window, you come to me?" + +"No, but because her face called up the old times. And because we are +all growing older. And because she was--not guilty." + +He started. This was getting within his guard with a vengeance. "Not +guilty?" he cried in a tone of extreme anger. And he rose. But as she +did not move he sat down again. + +"No," she replied firmly. "She was not guilty." + +His face was deeply red. For a moment he looked at her as if he would +not answer her, or, if he answered, would bid her leave his house. +Then, "If she had been," he said grimly, "guilty, Madam, in the sense +in which you use the word, guilty of the worst, she had ceased to be +my wife these fifteen years, she had ceased to bear my name, ceased to +be the curse of my life!" + +"Oh, no, no!" + +"It is yes, yes!" And his face was dark. "But as it was, she was +guilty enough! For years"--he spoke more rapidly as his passion +grew--"she made her name a byword and dragged mine in the dirt. She +made me a laughing-stock and herself a scandal. She disobeyed me--but +what was her whole life with me, Lady Lansdowne, but one long +disobedience? When she published that light, that foolish book, and +dedicated it to--to that person--a book which no modest wife should +have written, was not her main motive to harass and degrade me? Me, +her husband? While we were together was not her conduct from the first +one long defiance, one long harassment of me? Did a day pass in which +she did not humiliate me by a hundred tricks, belittle me by a hundred +slights, ape me before those whom she should not have stooped to know, +invite in a thousand ways the applause of the fops she drew round her? +And when"--he rose, and paced the room--"when, tried beyond patience +by what I heard, I sent to her at Florence and bade her return to me, +and cease to make herself a scandal with that person, or my house +should no longer be her home, she disobeyed me flagrantly, wilfully, +and at a price she knew! She went out of her way to follow him to +Rome, she flaunted herself in his company, ay, and flaunted herself in +such guise as no Englishwoman had been known to wear before! And after +that--after that----" + +He stopped, proud as he was, mastered by his feelings; she had got +within his guard indeed. For a while he could not go on. And she, +picturing the old days which his passionate words brought back, days +when her children had been infants, saw, as it had been yesterday, the +young bride, beautiful as a rosebud and wild and skittish as an Irish +colt--and the husband staid, dignified, middle-aged, as little in +sympathy with his captive's random acts and flighty words as if he had +spoken another tongue. + +Thus yoked, and resisting the lightest rein, the young wife had shown +herself capable of an infinity of folly. Egged on by the plaudits of a +circle of admirers, she had now made her husband ridiculous by +childish familiarities: and again, when he found fault with these, by +airs of public offence, which covered him with derision. But beauty's +sins are soon forgiven; and fretting and fuming, and leading a +wretched life, he had yet borne with her, until something which she +chose to call a passion took possession of her. "The Giaour" and "The +Corsair" were all the rage that year; and with the publicity with +which she did everything she flung herself at the head of her soul's +affinity; a famous person, half poet, half dandy, who was staying at +Bowood. + +The world which knew her decided that the affair was more worthy of +laughter than of censure, and laughed immoderately. But to the +husband--the humour of husbands is undeveloped--it was terrible. She +wrote verses to the gentleman, and he to her; and she published, with +ingenuous pride, the one and the other. Possibly this or the laughter +determined the admirer. He fled, playing the innocent AEneas; and her +lamentations, crystallising in the shape of a silly romance which made +shop-girls weep and great ladies laugh, caused a separation between +the husband and wife. Before this had lasted many months the illness +of their only child brought them together again; and when, a little +later, the doctors advised a southern climate, Sir Robert reluctantly +entrusted the girl to her. She went abroad with the child, and the +parents never met again. + +Lady Lansdowne, recalling the story, could have laughed with her mind +and wept with her heart; scenes so absurd under the leafy shades of +Bowood or Lacock jostled the tragedy; and the ludicrous--with the +husband an unwilling actor in it--so completely relieved the pathetic! +But her bent towards laughter was short. Sir Robert, unable to bear +her eyes, had turned away; and she must say something. + +"Think," she said gently, "how young she was!" + +"I have thought of it a thousand times!" he retorted. "Do you +suppose," turning on her with harshness, "that there is a day on which +I do not think of it!" + +"So young!" + +"She had been three years a mother!" + +"For the dead child's sake, then," she pleaded with him, "if not for +hers." + +"Lady Lansdowne!" There were both anger and pain in his voice as he +halted and stood before her. "Why do you come to me? Why do you +trouble me? Why? Is it because you feel yourself--responsible? Because +you know, because you feel, that but for you my home had not been left +to me desolate? Nor a foolish life been ruined?" + +"God forbid!" she said solemnly. And in her turn she rose in +agitation; moved for once out of the gracious ease and self-possession +of her life, so that in the contrast there was something unexpected +and touching. "God forbid!" she repeated. "But because I feel that I +might have done more. Because I feel that a word from me might have +checked her, and it was not spoken. True, I was young, and it might +have made things worse--I do not know. But when I saw her face at the +window yesterday--and she was changed, Sir Robert--I felt that I might +have been in her place, and she in mine!" Her voice trembled. "I might +have been lonely, childless, growing old; and alone! Or again, if I +had done something, if I had spoken as I would have another speak, +were the case my girl's, she might have been as I am! Now," she added +tremulously, "you know why I came. Why I plead for her! In our world +we grow hard, very hard; but there are things which touch us still, +and her face touched me yesterday--I remembered what she was." She +paused a moment, and then, "After long years," she continued softly, +"it cannot be hard to forgive; and there is still time. She did +nothing that need close your door, and what she did is forgotten. +Grant that she was foolish, grant that she was wild, indiscreet, what +you will--she is alone now, alone and growing old, Sir Robert, and if +not for her sake, for the sake of your dead child----" + +He stopped her by a peremptory gesture, but for the moment he seemed +unable to speak. At length, "You touch the wrong chord," he said +hoarsely. "It is for the sake of my dead child I shall never, never +forgive her! She knew that I loved it. She knew that it was all to me. +It grew worse! Did she tell me? It was in danger; did she warn me? No! +But when I heard of her disobedience, of her folly, of things which +made her a byword, and I bade her return, or my house should no longer +be her home, then, then she flung the news of the child's death at me, +and rejoiced that she had it to fling. Had I gone out then and found +her in the midst of her wicked gaiety, God knows what I should have +done! I did try to go. But the Hundred Days had begun, I had to +return. Had I gone, and learned that in her mad infatuation she had +neglected the child, left it to servants, let it fade, I think--I +think, Madam, I should have killed her!" + +Lady Lansdowne raised her hands. "Hush! Hush!" she said. + +"I loved the child. Therefore she was glad when it died, glad that she +had the power to wound me. Its death was no more to her than a weapon +with which to punish me! There was a tone in her letter--I have it +still--which betrayed that. And, therefore--therefore, for the child's +sake, I will never forgive her!" + +"I am sorry," she murmured in a voice which acknowledged defeat. "I am +very sorry." + +He stood for a moment gazing at the blank space above the fireplace; +his head sunk, his shoulders brought forward. He looked years older +than the man who had walked under the elms. At length he made an +effort to speak in his usual tone. "Yes," he said, "it is a sorry +business." + +"And I," she said slowly, "can do nothing." + +"Nothing," he replied. "Time will cure this, and all things." + +"You are sure that there is no mistake?" she pleaded. "That you are +not judging her harshly?" + +"There is no mistake." + +Then she saw the hopelessness of argument and held out her hand. + +"Forgive me," she said simply. "I have given you pain, and for +nothing. But the old days were so strong upon me--after I saw +her--that I could not but come. Think of me at least as a friend, and +forgive me." + +He bowed low over her hand, but he gave her no assurance. And seeing +that he was mastering his agitation, and fearing that if he had +leisure to think he might resent her interference, she wasted no time +in adieux. She glanced round the well-remembered hall--the hall once +smart, now shabby--in which she had seen the flighty girl play many a +mad prank. Then she turned sorrowfully to the door, more than +suspecting that she would never pass through it again. + +He had rung the bell, and Mapp, the butler, and the two men were in +attendance. But he handed her to the carriage himself, and placed her +in it with old-fashioned courtesy, and with the same scrupulous +observance stood bareheaded until it moved away. None the less, his +face by its set expression betrayed the nature of the interview; and +the carriage had scarcely swept clear of the grounds and entered the +park when Lady Louisa turned to her mother. + +"Was he very angry?" she asked, eager to be instructed in the +mysteries of that life which she was entering. + +Lady Lansdowne essayed to snub her. "My dear," she said, "it is not a +fit subject for you." + +"Still, mother dear, you might tell me. You told me something, and it +is not fair to turn yourself into Mrs. Fairchild in a moment. Besides, +while you were with him I came on a passage so beautiful, and so pat, +it almost made me cry." + +"My dear, don't say 'pat,' say 'apposite.'" + +"Then apposite, mother," Lady Louisa answered. "Do you read it. There +it is." + +Lady Lansdowne sniffed, but suffered the book to be put into her hand. +Lady Louisa pointed with enthusiasm to a line. "Is it a case like +that, mother?" she asked eagerly. + + + _But never either found another + To free the hollow heart from paining. + They stood aloof, the scars remaining, + Like cliffs which had been rent asunder. + A dreary sea now flows between, + But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, + Shall wholly do away, I ween, + The marks of that which once hath been_. + + +The mother handed the book back to the daughter without looking at +her. "No," she said; "I don't think it is a case like that." + +But a moment later she wiped her eyes furtively, and then she told her +daughter more, it is to be feared, than Mrs. Fairchild would have +approved. + + + * * * * * + + +Sir Robert, when they were gone, went heavily to the library, a +panelled room looking to the back, in which it was his custom to sit. +For many years he had passed some hours of every day, when he was at +home, in that room; and until now it had never occurred to his mind +that it was dull or shabby. But it was old Mapp's habit to lower the +blinds for his master's after-luncheon nap, and they were still down; +and the half light which filtered in was like the sheet which rather +accentuates than hides the sharp features of the dead. The faded +engravings and the calf-bound books which masked the walls, the +escritoire, handsome and massive, but stained with ink and strewn with +dog's eared accounts, the leathern-covered chair long worn out of +shape by his weight, the table beside it with yesterday's "Standard," +two or three volumes of the "Anti-Jacobin," and the "Quarterly," a +month old and dusty--all to his opened eyes wore a changed aspect. +They spoke of the slow decay of years, unchecked by a woman's eye, a +woman's hand. They told of the slow degradation of his lonely life. +They indicated a like change in himself. + +He stood a few moments on the hearth, looking about him with a +shocked, pained face. The months and the years had passed irrevocably, +while he sat in that chair, poring in a kind of lethargy over those +books, working industriously at those accounts. Asked, he had answered +that he was growing old, and grown old. But he had never for a moment +comprehended, as he comprehended now, that he was old. He had never +measured the difference between this and that; between those days +troubled by a hundred annoyances, vexations, cares, when in spite of +all he had lived, and these days of sullen stagnancy and mere +vegetation. + +He found the room, he found the reflection, intolerable. And he went +out, took with an unsteady hand his garden hat and returned to that +broad walk under the elms beside the pool which was his favourite +lounge. Perhaps he fancied that the wonted scene would deaden the pain +of memory and restore him to his wonted placidity. But his thoughts +had been too violently broken. His hands shook, hid lip trembled with +the tearless passion of later life. And when his agitation began to +die down and something like calmness supervened, this did but enable +him to feel more keenly the pangs, not of remorse, but of regret; of +bitter, unavailing regret for all the things of which the woman who +had lain on his bosom had robbed his life. + +Stapylton stood in a side valley projected among the low green hills +which fringe the vale of the Wiltshire Avon. From where he stood all +within sight, the gentle downs above the house, the arable land which +fringed them, the rich pastures below--all, mill and smithy and inn, +snug farm and thatched cottage, called him lord. Nay, from the south +end of the pool, where a wicket gave entrance to the park--whence also +a side view of the treble front of the house could be obtained--the +spire of Chippinge church was visible, rising from its ridge in the +Avon alley; and to the base of that spire all was his, all had been +his father's and his grandfather's. But not an acre, not a rood, would +be his child's. + +This was no new thought. It was a thought that had saddened him on +many and many a summer evening when the shadow of the elms lay far +across the sward, and the silence of the stately house, the pale +water, the far-stretching farms whispered of the passing of the +generations, of the passage of time, of the inevitable end. Where he +walked his father had walked; and soon he would go whither his father +had gone. And the heir would walk where he walked, listen to the same +twilight carollings, hear the first hoot of the distant owl. + + + _Cedes coemptis saltibus, el domo + Villaque, flavus quam Tiberis lavit, + Cedes, et exstructis in altum + Divitiis potietur heres_. + + +But no heir of his blood. No son of his. No man of the Vermuyden name. +And for that he had to thank her. + +It was this which to-day gave the old thought new poignancy. For that +he had to thank her. Truly, in the words wrung from him by the +bitterness of his feelings, she had left his house unto him desolate. +If even the little girl had lived, the child would have succeeded; and +that had been something, that had been much. But the child was dead; +and in his heart he laid her death at his wife's door. And a stranger, +or one in essentials a stranger, the descendant by a second marriage +of his grandmother, Katherine Beckford, was the heir. + +Presently the young man would succeed and the old chattels would be +swept away to cottage or lumber-room. The old horses would be shot, +the old dogs would be hanged, the old servants discharged, perhaps the +very trees under which he walked and which he loved would be cut down. +The house, the stables, the kennels, all but the cellars would be +refurnished; and in the bustle and glitter of the new _regime_, begun +in the sunshine, the twilight of his own latter days would be +forgotten in a month. + + + _We die and are forgotten, 'tis Heaven's decree, + And thus the lot of others will be the lot of me!_ + + +Sunday by Sunday he had read those lines on the grave of a kinsman, a +man whom he had known. He had often repeated them, he could as soon +forget them as his prayers. To-day the old memories and the old times, +which Lady Lansdowne had made to rise from the dead, gave them a new +meaning and a new bitterness. + + + + + VIII + + A SAD MISADVENTURE + + +Arthur Vaughan was not a little relieved by the tidings which Isaac +White had conveyed to him at Chippenham. The news freed him from a +duty which did not appear the less distasteful because it was no +longer inevitable. To cast against Sir Robert the vote which he owed +to Sir Robert must have exposed him to odium, whatever the matter at +stake. But at this election, at which the issue was, aye or no, was +the borough to be swept away or not, to vote "aye" was an act from +which the least sensitive must have shrunk, and which the most honest +must have performed with reluctance. Add the extreme exasperation of +public feeling, of which every day and every hour brought to light the +most glaring proofs, and he had been fortunate indeed if he had not +incurred some general blame as well as the utmost weight of Sir +Robert's displeasure. + +He was spared all this, and he was thankful. Yet, when he rose on the +morning after his arrival at Bristol, his heart was not as light as a +feather. On the contrary, as he looked from the window of the White +Lion into the bustle of Broad Street, he yawned dolefully; admitting +that life, and particularly the prospect before him, of an immediate +return to London, was dull. Why go back? Why stay here? Why do +anything? The Woolsack? Bah! The Cabinet? Pooh! They were but gaudy +baits for the shallow and the hard-hearted. Moreover, they were so +distant, so unattainable, that pursuit of them seemed the merest +moonshine; more especially on this fine April morning, made for +nothing but a coach ride through an enchanted country, by the side of +the sweetest face, the brightest eyes, the most ravishing figure, the +prettiest bonnet that ever tamed the gruffest of coachmen. + +Heigh-ho! If it were all to do over again how happy would he be! How +happy had he been, and not known it, the previous morning! It was +pitiful to think of him in his ignorance, with that day, that blissful +day, before him. + +Well, it was over. And he must return to town. For he would play no +foolish tricks. The girl was not in his rank in life, and he could not +follow her without injury to her. He was no preacher, and he had lived +for years among men whose lives, if not worse than the lives of their +descendants, wore no disguise; who, if they did not sin more, sinned +more openly. But he had a heart, and to mar an innocent life for his +pleasure had shocked him; even if the girl's modesty and self-respect, +disclosed by a hundred small things, had not made the notion of +wronging her abhorrent. None the less he took his breakfast in a kind +of dream, whispered "Mary!" three times in different tones, and, being +suddenly accosted by the waiter, was irritable. + +With all this he was wise enough to know his own weakness, and that +the sooner he was out of Bristol the better. He sent to the Bush +office to book a place by the midday coach to town; and then only, +when he had taken the irrevocable step, he put on his hat to kill the +intervening time in Bristol. + +Unfortunately, as he crossed the hall, intending to walk towards +Clifton, he heard himself named; and turning, he saw that the speaker +was the lady in black, and wearing a veil, whom he had remarked +walking up and down beside the coach, while the horses were changing +at Marshfield. + +"Mr. Vaughan?" she said. + +He raised his hat, much surprised. "Yes," he answered. He fancied that +she was inspecting him very closely through her veil. "I am Mr. +Vaughan." + +"Pardon me," she continued--her voice was refined and low--"but they +gave me your name at the office. I have something which belongs to the +lady who travelled with you yesterday, and I am anxious to restore +it." + +He blushed; nor could he have repressed the blush if his life had hung +upon it. "Indeed?" he murmured. His confusion did not permit him to +add another word. + +"Doubtless it was left in the coach," the lady explained, "and was +taken to my room with my luggage. Unfortunately I am leaving Bristol +at once, within a few minutes, and I cannot myself return it. I shall +be much obliged if you will see that she has it safely." + +She spoke as if the thing were a matter of course. But Vaughan had now +recovered himself. "I would with pleasure," he said; "but I am myself +leaving Bristol at midday, and I really do not know how--how I can do +it." + +"Then perhaps you will arrange the matter," the lady replied in a tone +of displeasure. "I have sent the parcel to your room and I have not +time to regain it. I must go at once. There is my maid! Good morning!" +And with a distant bow she glided from him, and disappeared through +the nearest doorway. + +He stood where she had left him, looking after her in bewilderment. +For one thing he was sure that she was a stranger, and yet she had +addressed him in the tone of one who had a right to be obeyed. Then +how odd it was! What a coincidence! He had made up his mind to end the +matter, to go and walk the Hot Wells like a good boy; and this +happened and tempted him! + +Yes, tempted him. + +He would---- But he could not tell what he would do until he had seen +if the parcel were really in his room. The parcel! The mere thought +that it was hers sent a foolish thrill through him. He would go and +see, and then---- + +But he was interrupted. There were people standing or sitting round +the hall, a low-ceiled, dark wainscoted room, with sheaves of +way-bills hung against the square pillars, and theatre notices +flanking the bar window. As he turned to seek his rooms a hand gripped +his arm and twitched him round, and he met the grinning face of a man +in his old regiment, Bob Flixton, commonly called the Honourable Bob. + +"So I've caught you, my lad," said he. "This is mighty fine. Veiled +ladies, eh? Oh, fie! fie!" + +Vaughan, innocent as he was, was a little put out. But he answered +good-humouredly, "What brought you here, Flixton?" + +"Ay, just so! Very unlucky, ain't it?" grinning. "Fear I'll cut you +out, eh? You're a neat artist, I must say." + +"I don't know the good lady from Eve!" + +"Tell that to---- But here, let me make you known to Brereton," +hauling him towards a gentleman who was seated in one of the window +recesses. "Old West Indian man, in charge of the recruiting district, +and a good fellow, but a bit of a saint! Colonel," he rattled on, as +they joined the gentleman, "here's Vaughan, once of ours, become a +counsellor, and going to be Lord Chancellor. As to the veiled lady, +mum, sir, mum!" with an exaggerated wink. + +Vaughan laughed. It was impossible to resist Bob's impudent +good-humour. He was a fair young man, short, stout, and inclining to +baldness, with a loud, hearty voice, and a manner which made those who +did not know him for a peer's son, think of a domestic fowl with a +high opinion of itself. He was for ever damning this and praising that +with unflagging decision; a man with whom it was impossible to be +displeased, and in whom it was next to impossible not to believe. Yet +at the mess-table it was whispered that he did not play his best when +the pool was large; nor had he ever seen service, save in the lists of +love, where his reputation stood high. + +His companion, Vaughan saw, was of a different stamp. He was tall and +lean, with the air and carriage of a soldier, but with features of a +refined and melancholy cast, and with a brooding sadness in his eyes +which could not escape the most casual observer. He was somewhat +sallow, the result of the West Indian climate, and counted twenty +years more than Flixton, for whom his gentle and quiet manner formed +an admirable foil. He greeted Vaughan courteously, and the Honourable +Bob forced our hero into a seat beside them. + +"That's snug!" he said. "And now mum's the word, Vaughan. We'll not +ask you what you're doing here among the nigger-nabobs. It's clear +enough." + +Vaughan explained that the veiled lady was a stranger who had come +down in the coach with him, and that, for himself, it was election +business which had brought him. + +"Old Vermuyden?" returned the Honourable Bob. "To be sure! Man you've +expectations from! Good old fellow, too. I know him. Go and see him +one of these days. Gad, Colonel, if old Sir Robert heard your views +he'd die on the spot! D----n the Bill, he'd say! And I say it too!" + +"But afterwards?" Brereton returned, drawing Vaughan into the argument +by a courteous gesture. "Consider the consequences, my dear fellow, if +the Bill does not pass." + +"Oh, hang the consequences!" + +"You can't," drily. "You can hang men--we've been too fond of hanging +them--but not consequences! Look at the state of the country; +everywhere you will find excitement, and dangerous excitement. +Cobbett's writings have roused the South; the papers are full of +rioters and special commission to try them! Not a farmer can sleep for +thinking of his stacks, nor a farmer's wife for thinking of her +husband. Then for the North; look at Birmingham and Manchester and +Glasgow, with their Political Unions preaching no taxation without +representation. Or, nearer home, look at Bristol here, ready to drown +the Corporation, and Wetherell in particular, in the Float! Then, if +that is the state of things while they still expect the Bill to pass, +what will be the position if they learn it is not to pass? No, no! You +may shrug your shoulders, but the three days in Paris will be nothing +to it." + +"What I say is, shoot!" Flixton answered hotly. "Shoot! Shoot! Put 'em +down! Put an end to it! Show 'em their places! What do a lot of d----d +shopkeepers and peasants know about the Bill? Ride 'em down! Give 'em +a taste of the Float themselves! I'll answer for it a troop of the +14th would soon bring the Bristol rabble to their senses!" + +"I should be sorry to see it tried," Brereton answered, shaking his +head. "They took that line in France last July, and you know the +result. You'll agree with me, Mr. Vaughan, that where Marmont failed +we are not likely to succeed. The more as his failure is known. The +three days of July are known." + +"Ay, by the Lord," the Honourable Bob cried. "The revolution in France +bred the whole of this trouble!" + +"The mob there won, and the mob here know it. In my opinion," Brereton +continued, "conciliation is our only card, if we do not want to see a +revolution." + +"Hang your conciliation! Shoot, I say!" + +"What do you think, Mr. Vaughan?" + +"I think with you, Colonel Brereton," Vaughan answered, "that the only +way to avoid such a crisis as has befallen France is to pass the Bill, +and to set the Constitution on a wider basis by enlisting as large a +number as possible in its defence." + +"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" from Flixton. + +"On the other hand," Vaughan continued, "I would put down the +beginnings of disorder with a strong hand. I would allow no +intimidation, no violence. The Bill should be passed by argument." + +"Argument? Why, d----n me, intimidation is your argument!" the +Honourable Bob struck in, with more acuteness than he commonly +evinced. "Pass the Bill or we'll loose the dog! At 'em, Mob, good dog! +At 'em! That's your argument!" triumphantly. "But I'll be back in a +minute." And he left them. + +Vaughan laughed. Brereton, however, seemed to be unable to take the +matter lightly. "Do you really mean, Mr. Vaughan," he said, "that if +there were trouble, here, for instance, you would not hesitate to give +the order to fire?" + +"Certainly, sir, if it could not be put down with the cold steel." + +The Colonel shook his head despondently. "I don't think I could," he +said. "I don't think I could. You have not seen war, and I have. And +it is a fearful thing. Bad enough abroad, infinitely worse here. The +first shot--think, Mr. Vaughan, of what it might be the beginning! +What hundreds and thousands of lives might hang upon it! How many +scores of innocent men shot down, of daughters made fatherless!" He +shuddered. "And to give such an order on your own responsibility, when +the first volley might be the signal for a civil war, and twenty-four +hours might see a dozen counties in a blaze! It is horrible to think +of! Too horrible! It's too much for one man's shoulders! Flixton +would do it--he sees no farther than his nose! But you and I, Mr. +Vaughan--and on one's own judgment, which might be utterly, fatally +wrong! My God, no!" + +"Yet there must be a point," Vaughan replied, "at which such an order +becomes necessary; becomes mercy!" + +"Ay," Brereton answered eagerly; "but who is to say when that point is +reached; and that peaceful methods can do no more? Or, granted that +they can do no more, that provocation once given, your force is +sufficient to prevent a massacre! A massacre in such a place as this!" + +Vaughan saw that the idea had taken possession of the other's mind, +and, aware that he had distinguished himself more than once on foreign +service, he wondered. It was not his affair, however; and "Let us hope +that the occasion may not arise," he said politely. + +"God grant it!" Brereton replied. And then again, to himself and more +fervently, "God grant it!" he muttered. The shadow lay darker on his +face. + +Vaughan might have wondered more, if Flixton had not returned at that +moment and overwhelmed him with importunities to dine with him the +next evening. "Gage and Congreve of the 14th are coming from +Gloucester," he said, "and Codrington and two or three yeomanry chaps. +You must come. If you don't, I'll quarrel with you and call you out! +It'll do you good after the musty, fusty, goody-goody life you've been +leading. Brereton's coming, and we'll drink King Billy till we're +blind!" + +Vaughan hesitated. He had taken his place on the coach, but--but after +all there was that parcel. He must do something about it. It seemed to +be his fate to be tempted, yet--what nonsense that was! Why should he +not stay in Bristol if he pleased? + +"You're very good," he said at last. "I'll stay." + +Yet on his way to his room he paused, half-minded to go. But he was +ashamed to change his mind again, and he strode on, opened his door, +and saw the parcel, a neat little affair, laid on the table. + +It bore in a clear handwriting the address which he had seen on the +basket at Mary Smith's feet. But, possibly because an hour of the +Honourable Bob's company had brushed the bloom from his fancy, it +moved him little. He looked at it with something like indifference, +felt no inclination to kiss it, and smiled at his past folly as he +took it up and set off to return it to its owner. He had exaggerated +the affair and his feelings; he had made much out of little, and a +romance out of a chance encounter. He could smile now at that which +had moved him yesterday. Certainly: + + + _Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, + 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range + The Court, camp, Church, the vessel and the mart, + Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange + Pride, fame, ambition to fill up his heart_. + + +And the Honourable Bob, with his breezy self-assertion, had brought +this home to him and, with a puff of everyday life, had blown the +fantasy away. + +He was still under this impression when he reached Queen's Square, +once the pride of Bristol, and still, in 1831, a place handsome and +well inhabited. Uniformly and substantially built, on a site +surrounded on three sides by deep water, it lay, indeed, rather +over-near the quays, of which, and of the basins, it enjoyed a view +through several openings. But in the reign of William IV. merchants +were less averse from living beside their work than they are now. The +master's eye was still in repute, and though many of the richest +citizens had migrated to Clifton, and the neighbouring Assembly Rooms +in Prince's Street had been turned into a theatre, the spacious +square, with its wide lawn, its lofty and umbrageous elms, its colony +of rooks, and, last of all, its fine statue of the Glorious and +Immortal Memory, was still the abode of many respectable people. In +one corner stood the Mansion House; a little further along the same +side the Custom House; and a third public department, the Excise, also +had offices here. + +The Cathedral and the Bishop's Palace, on College Green, stood, as the +crow flies, scarce a bow-shot from the Square; on which they looked +down from the westward, as the heights of Redcliffe looked down on it +from the east. But marsh as well as water divided the Square from +these respectable neighbours; nor, it must be owned, was this the only +drawback. The centre of the city's life, but isolated on three sides +by water, the Square was as easily reached from the worse as from the +better quarters, and owing to the proximity of the Welsh Back, a +coasting quay frequented by the roughest class, it was liable in times +of excitement to abrupt and boisterous inroads. + +Vaughan entered the Square by Queen Charlotte Street, and had +traversed one half of its width when his nonchalance failed him. Under +the elms, in the corner which he was approaching, were a dozen +children. They were at play, and overlooking them from a bench, with +their backs to him, sat two young persons, the one in that mid-stage +between childhood and womanhood when the eyes are at their sharpest +and the waist at its thickest, the other, Mary Smith. + +The colour rose to his brow, and to his surprise he found that he was +not indifferent. Nor was the discovery that the back of her head and +an inch of the nape of her neck had this effect upon him the worst. He +had to ask himself what, if he was not indifferent, he was doing +there, sneaking on the skirts of a ladies' school. What were his +intentions, and what his aim? For to healthy minds there is something +distasteful in the notion of an intrigue connected, ever so remotely, +with a girls' school. Nor are conquests gained on that scene laurels +of which even a Lothario is over-proud. If Flixton saw him, or some +others of the gallant Fourteenth! + +And yet, in the teeth of all this, and under the eyes of all Queen's +Square, he must do his errand. And sheepish within, brazen without, he +advanced and stood beside her. She heard his step, and, unsuspicious +as the youngest of her flock, looked up to see who came--looked, and +saw him standing within a yard of her, with the sunshine falling +through the leaves on his wavy, fair hair. For the twentieth part of a +second he fancied a glint of glad surprise in her eyes. Then, if +anything could have punished him, it was the sight of her confusion; +it was the blush of distress which covered her face as she rose to her +feet. + +Oh, cruel! He had pursued her, when to pursue was an insult! He had +followed her when he should have known that in her position a breath +of scandal was ruin! And oh, the round eyes of the round-faced child +beside her! + +"I must apologise," he murmured humbly, "but I am not trespassing upon +you without a cause. I--I think that this is yours." And rather +lamely, for the distress in her face troubled him, he held out the +parcel. + +She put her hand behind her, and as stiffly as Miss Sibson--of the +Queen's Square Academy for Young Ladies of the Genteel and +Professional Classes--could have desired. "I do not understand, sir," +she said. She was pale and red by turns, as the round eyes saw. + +"You left this in the coach." + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"You left this in the coach," he repeated, turning very red himself. +Was it possible that she meant to repudiate her own property because +he brought it? "It is yours, is it not?" + +"No." + +"It is not!" in incredulous astonishment. + +"No." + +"But I am sure it is," he persisted. Confound it, this was a little +overdoing modesty! He had no desire to eat the girl! "You left it +inside the coach, and it has your address upon it. See!" And he tried +to place it in her hands. + +But she drew back with a look of reprobation of which he would not +have believed her eyes capable. "It is not mine, sir," she said. "Be +good enough to leave us!" And then, drawing herself up, mild creature +as she was, "You are intruding, sir," she said. + +Now, if Vaughan had really been guilty of approaching her upon a +feigned pretext, he had certainly retired on that with his tail +between his legs. But being innocent, and both incredulous and angry, +he stood his ground, and his eyes gave back some of the reproach which +hers darted. + +"I am either mad or it is yours," he said stubbornly, heedless of the +ring of staring children who, ceasing to play, had gathered round +them. "It bears your name and address, and it was left in the coach by +which you travelled yesterday. I think, Miss Smith, you will be sorry +afterwards if you do not take it." + +She fancied that his words imported a bribe; and in despair of ridding +herself of him, or in terror of the tale which the children would +tell, she took her courage in both hands. "You say that it is mine?" +she said, trembling visibly. + +"Certainly I do," he answered. And again he held it out to her. + +But she did not take it. Instead, "Then be good enough to follow +me," she replied, with something of the prim dignity of the +school-mistress. "Miss Cooke, will you collect the children and bring +them into the house?" + +And, avoiding his eyes, she led the way across the road to the door of +one of the houses. He followed, but reluctantly, and after a moment of +hesitation. He detested the scene which he now foresaw, and bitterly +regretted that he had ever set foot inside Queen's Square. To be +suspected of thrusting an intrigue upon a little schoolmistress, to be +dragged, with a pack of staring, chattering children in his train, +before some grim-faced duenna--he, a man of years and affairs, with +whom the Chancellor of England did not scorn to speak on equal terms! +It was hateful; it was an intolerable position. Yet to turn back, to +say that he would not go, was to acknowledge himself guilty. He +wished--he wished to heaven that he had never seen the girl. Or at +least that he had had the courage, when she first denied the thing, to +throw the parcel on the seat and go. + +It was not an heroic frame of mind; but neither was the position +heroic. And something may be forgiven him in the circumstances. + +Fortunately the trial was short. She opened the door of the house, and +on the threshold he found himself face to face with a tall, bulky +woman, with a double chin, and an absurdly powdered nose, who wore a +cameo of the late Queen Charlotte on her ample bosom. Miss Sibson had +viewed the encounter from an upper window, and her face was a picture +of displeasure, slightly tempered by powder. + +"What is this?" she asked, in an intimidating voice. "Miss Smith, what +is this, if you please?" + +Perhaps Mary, aware that her place was at stake, was desperate. At any +rate she behaved with a dignity which astonished Vaughan. "This +gentleman, Madam," she explained, speaking with firmness though her +face was on fire, "travelled with me on the coach yesterday. A few +minutes ago he appeared and addressed me, and insisted that the--the +parcel he carries is mine, and that I left it in the coach. It is not +mine, and I have not seen it before." + +Miss Sibson folded her arms upon her ample person. The position was +not altogether new to her. + +"Sir," she said, eying the offender majestically, "have you any +explanation to offer--of this extraordinary conduct?" + +He had, indeed. As clearly as his temper permitted he told his tale, +his tone half ironical, half furious. + +When he paused, "Who do you say gave it to you?" Miss Sibson asked in +a deep voice. + +"I do not know her name. A lady who travelled in the coach." + +Miss Sibson's frown grew even deeper. "Thank you," she replied, "that +will do. I have heard enough, and I understand. I understand, sir. Be +good enough to leave the house." + +"But, Madam----" + +"Be good enough to leave the house," she repeated. "That is the door," +pointing to it. "That is the door, sir! Any apology you may wish to +make, you can make by letter to me. To me, you understand! I think one +were not ill-fitting!" + +He lost his temper altogether at that, and he flung the parcel with +violence, and with a violent word, on a chair. "Then at any rate I +shall not take that, for it's not mine!" he cried. "You may keep it, +Madam!" + +And he flung out, his retreat hampered and made humiliating by the +entrance of the pupils, who, marshalled by the round-eyed one, and all +round-eyed themselves, blocked the doorway at that unlucky moment. He +broke through them without ceremony, though they represented the most +respectable families in Bristol, and with his head bent he strode +wrathfully across the Square. + +To be turned out of a girls' boarding-school! To be shown the door +like some wretched philandering schoolboy, or a subaltern in his first +folly! He, the man of the world, of experience, of ambition! The man +with a career! He was furious. + +"The little cat!" he cried as he went. "I wish I had never seen her +face! What a fool, what a fool I was to come!" + +Unheroic words and an unheroic mood. But though there were heroes +before Agamemnon, it is not certain that there were any after George +the Fourth. At any rate, any who, like that great man, were heroic +always and in all circumstances. + +Probably Vaughan would have forgiven the little cat had he known that +she was at that moment weeping very bitterly, with her face plunged +into the pillow of her not over-luxurious bed. For she was young, and +a woman. And because, in her position, the name of love was taboo; +because to her the admiring look, which to a more fortunate sister was +homage, was an insult; because the _petits soins_, the flower, the +note, the trifle that to another were more precious than jewels, were +not for her, it did not follow that she was not flesh and blood, that +she had not feeling, affection, passion. True, the pang was soon +deadened, for habit is strong. True, the bitter tears were soon dried, +for employers like not gloomy looks. True, she soon cried shame on her +own discontent, for she was good as gold. And yet to be debarred, in +the tender springtime, from the sweet scents, the budding blooms, the +gay carols, to have but one April coach-ride in a desert of days, is +hard--is very hard. Mary Smith, weeping on her hopeless pillow--not +without thought of the cruel arch stooping to crush her, the cruel +fate from which he had snatched her, not without thought of her own +ingratitude, her black ingratitude--felt that it was hard, very hard. + + + + + IX + + THE BILL FOR GIVING EVERYBODY + EVERYTHING! + + +It is difficult to describe and impossible to exaggerate the heat of +public feeling which preceded the elections of '31. Four-fifths of the +people of this country believed that the Bill--from which they +expected so much that a satirist has aptly given it the title at the +head of this chapter--had been defeated in the late House by a trick. +That trick the King, God bless him, had punished by dissolving the +House. It remained for the people to show their sense of the trick by +returning a very different House; such a House as would not only pass +the Bill, but pass it by a majority so decisive that the Lords, and +particularly the Bench of Bishops, whose hostility was known, would +not dare to oppose the public will. + +But as no more than a small proportion of these four-fifths had votes, +they were forced to act, if they would make their will obeyed, +indirectly; in one place by the legitimate pressure of public opinion, +in another by bribery, in a third by intimidation, in a fourth, and a +fifth, and a sixth by open violence; everywhere by the unspoken threat +of revolution. And hence arose the one good, sound, and firm argument +against the Bill which the Tory party enjoyed. + +One or two of their other arguments are not without interest, if only +as the defence set up for a system so anomalous as to seem to us +incredible--a system under which Gatton, with no inhabitants, returned +two members, and Sheffield, with something like a hundred thousand +inhabitants, returned none; under which Dunwich, long drowned under +the North Sea, returned two members, and Birmingham returned none; +under which the City of London returned four and Lord Lonsdale +returned nine; under which Cornwall, with one-fourth of the population +of Lancashire, returned thrice as many representatives; under which +the South vastly outweighed the North, and land mightily outweighed +all other property. + +Moreover, in no two boroughs was the franchise the same. One man lived +in a hovel and had a vote; his neighbour lived in a mansion and had no +vote. Frequently the whole of the well-to-do townsfolk were voteless. +Then, while any man with five thousand pounds might buy a seat, nor +see the face of a single elector, on the other hand, the poll might be +kept open for fifteen days, and a single county election might cost +two hundred thousand pounds. Bribery, forbidden in theory, was +permitted in practice. The very Government bribed under the rose, and +it was humorously said that all that a man's constituents required was +to be satisfied of the _impurity_ of his intentions! + +An anomalous system; yet its defenders had something to say for it. + +First, that narrow as the franchise seemed, every class found +somewhere in England its mouthpiece. At Preston, where all could vote +who slept in the borough the previous night, the poorest class; in the +potwalloping boroughs where a fireplace gave a vote, the next class; +in a city like Westminster, the ratepayers; in the counties, the +freeholders; in the universities, the clergy. And so on, the argument +being that the very anomalies of the system provided a mixed +representation without giving the masses a preponderant voice. + +Secondly, they said that it insured a House of ability, by enabling +young men of parts, but small means, to obtain seats. Those who put +this forward flourished a long list of statesmen who had come in for +nomination boroughs. It began with Pitt and ended with Macaulay--a +feather plucked from the enemy's wing; and Burke stood for much in it. +It became one of the commonplaces of the struggle. + +The third contention was of greater weight. It was that, with all its +abuses, the old system had worked well. This argument, too, had its +commonplace. The proverb, _stare super antiquas vias_, was thundered +from a thousand platforms, coupled with copious references to the +French wars, and to the pilot who had weathered the storm. This was +the argument of the old, and the rich, and the timid--of those who +clung to top-boots in the daytime and to pantaloons in the evening. +But as the struggle progressed it came to be merged in the one sound +argument to which reference has been made. + +"If you do not pass the Bill," said the Whigs, "there will be a +revolution." + +"Possibly," the Tories rejoined. "And whom have we to thank for that? +Who, using the French Revolution of last July as a fulcrum, have +unsettled the whole country? And now, having disturbed everything, +tell us that we must grant to force what is not due to reason? You! +But if the Bill is to pass, not because it is a good Bill, but because +the mob desire it, where will this end? Pass Bills out of fear, and +where will you end? Presently there will arise a ranting adventurer, +more violent than Brougham, a hoary schemer more unscrupulous than +Grey, an angry boy, outscolding Durham, a pedant more bloodless than +Lord John, an honest fanatic blinder than Althorp! And when _they_ +threaten _you_ with the terrors of the mob, what will you say?" + +To which the Whigs could only reply that the people must be trusted; +and--and that the Bill must pass, or not only coronets but crowns +would be flying. + +Dry arguments nowadays; but in those days alive, and to the party on +its defence--the party which found itself thrust against the wall, +that its pockets might be emptied--of vital interest. From scores of +platforms candidates, leaning forward, bland and smiling, with one +hand under the coat-tails and the other gently pumping, pumping, +pumping, enunciated them--old hands these; or, red in the face, +thundered them, striking fist into palm and overawing opposition; or, +hopeless amid the rain of dead cats and stale eggs, muttered them in a +reporter's ear, since the hootings of the crowd made other utterance +impossible. But ever as the contest went on, the smiling candidate +grew rarer; for day by day the Tories, seeing their cause hopeless, +seeing even Whigs, such as Sir Thomas Acland in Devonshire and Mr. +Wilson Patten in Lancashire, cast out if they were lukewarm, grew more +desperate, cried more loudly on high heaven, asserted more frantically +that justice was dead on the earth. All this, while those who believed +that the Bill was going to give everything to everybody pushed their +advantage without mercy. Many a borough which had not known a contest +for a generation, many a county, was fought and captured. No Tory felt +safe; no bargain, though signed and sealed, held good; no patron, +though he had held his income from his borough as secure as any part +of his property, could say that his voters would dare to go to the +poll. + +This last was the apprehension in the mind of Isaac White, Sir Robert +Vermuyden's agent, as on the day after Lady Lansdowne's visit he drove +his gig and fast-trotting cob up the avenue. The treble front of the +house looked down on him from its gentle eminence; its windows blinked +in the afternoon sunshine, and the mellow tints of the stone +harmonised with the russet bloom which in April garbs the poplar and +the later-bursting trees. Tradition said that the second baronet had +built a wing for each of his two sons. After the death of the elder, +however, the east wing had been devoted to kitchens and offices, and +the west to a splendid hospitality. In these days the latter wing was +so seldom used that it had almost fallen into decay. Laurels grew up +before the side windows and darkened them, and bats lived in the dry +chimneys. The rooms above stairs were packed with the lumber of the +last century, with the old wig-boxes, the old travelling-trunks, the +old harpsichords, even an old sedan chair; while the lower rooms, +swept and bare, and hung with flat, hard portraits, enjoyed an evil +reputation in the servants' quarters, where many a one could tell of +skirts that rustled unseen, and dead feet that trod the polished +floors. + +But to Isaac White all this was nought. He had seen the house in every +aspect; and to-day his mind was filled with other things--with votes +and voters, with some anxiety on his own account and more on his +patron's. What would Sir Robert say if aught went wrong at Chippinge? +True, the loss of the borough seemed barely possible; it had been held +securely for many years. But the times were so stormy, public feeling +ran so high, the mob was so rough, that nothing seemed impossible, in +view of the stress to which the soundest candidates were exposed. If +Mr. Bankes stood to fail in Dorset, if Mr. Duncombe had small chance +in Yorkshire, if Sir Edward Knatchbull was a lost man in Kent, if Mr. +Hart Davies was no better in Bristol, if no man but an out-and-out +Reformer could count on success, who was safe? + +White's grandfather, his father, he himself had lived and thriven by +the system which he saw tottering to its fall. He belonged to it, he +was part of it; did he not mark his allegiance to it by wearing +top-boots in the daytime and shorts in full dress? And he was +prepared--were it only out of gratitude to the ladder by which he had +risen--to stand by it and by his patron to the last. But, strange +anomaly, White was at heart a Cobbett man. His sneaking sympathies +were, in his own despite, with the class from which he sprang. He saw +commons filched from the poor, while the labourers fell on the rates. +He saw large taxes wrung from the country to be spent in the town. He +saw the severity of the laws, and especially the game laws. He saw +absentee rectors and starving curates. He saw the dumb impotence of +nine-tenths of the people; and he felt that the system under which +these things had grown up was wrong. But wrong or right, he was part +of it, he was pledged to it; and all the theories in the world, and +all the "Political Registers" which he digested of an evening, would +not induce him to betray it. + +Notwithstanding, he feared that in the matter of the borough he had +not been quite so wide-awake as became him; or Pybus, the Bowood man, +would not have stolen a march upon him. His misgivings grew as he came +in sight of the door, and saw Sir Robert on the flight of steps which +led to it. Apparently the baronet had seen him, for as White drove up +a servant appeared to lead the mare to the stables. + +Sir Robert looked her over as she was led away. "The grey looks well, +White," he said. She was of his breeding. + +"Yes, Sir Robert. Give me a good horse and they may have the +new-fangled railroads that like them. But I am afraid, sir----" + +"One moment!" The servant was out of hearing, and the baronet's tone, +as he caught White up, betrayed agitation. "Who is that looking over +the Lower Wicket, White?" he continued. "She has been there a quarter +of an hour, and--and I can't make her out." + +His tone surprised White, who looked and saw at a distance of a +hundred paces the figure of a woman leaning on the wicket-gate nearest +the stables. She was motionless, and he had not looked many seconds +before he caught the thought in Sir Robert's mind. "He's heard," he +reflected, "that her ladyship is in the neighbourhood, and it has +alarmed him." + +"I cannot see at this distance, sir," he answered prudently, "who it +is." + +"Then go and ask her her business," Sir Robert said, as indifferently +as he could. "She has been there a long time." + +White went, a little excited himself; but half-way to the woman, who +continued to gaze at the house as if unconscious of his approach, he +discovered that, whoever she was, she was not Lady Sybil. She was +stout, middle-aged, plain; and he took a curt tone with her when he +came within earshot. "What are you doing here?" he said. "That's the +way to the servants' hall." + +The woman looked at him. "You don't know me, Mr. White?" she said. + +He looked hard in return. "No," he answered bluntly, "I don't." + +"Ah, well, I know you," she replied. "More by token----" + +He cut her short. "Have you any message?" he asked. + +"If I have, I'll give it myself," she retorted drily. "Truth is, I'm +in two minds about it. What you have, you have, d'you see, Mr. White; +but what you've given ain't yours any more. Anyway----" + +"Anyway," impatiently, "you can't stay here!" + +"Very good," she replied, "very good. As you are so kind, I'll take a +day to think of it." And with a cool nod she turned her back on the +puzzled White, and went off down the park towards the town. + +He went back to Sir Robert. "She's a stranger, sir," he said; "and, I +think, a bit gone in the head. I could make nothing of her." + +Sir Robert drew a deep breath. "You're sure she was a stranger?" he +said. + +"She's no one I know, sir. After one of the men, perhaps." + +Sir Robert straightened himself. He had spent a bad ten minutes gazing +at the distant figure. "Just so," he said. "Very likely. And now what +is it, White?" + +"I've bad news, sir, I'm afraid," the agent said, in an altered tone. + +"What is it?" + +"It's that d----d Pybus, sir! I'm afraid that, after all----" + +"They're going to fight?" + +"I'm afraid, Sir Robert, they are." + +The old gentleman's eyes gleamed. "Afraid, sir, afraid?" he cried. "On +the contrary, so much the better. It will cost me some money, but I +can spare it; and it will cost them more, and nothing for it. Afraid? +I don't understand you." + +The agent, standing on the step below him, coughed dubiously. "Well, +sir," he said, "what you say is reasonable. But----" + +"But! But what?" + +"There is so much excitement in the country at this time----" + +"So much greediness in the country," Sir Robert retorted, striking his +stick upon the stone steps. "So much unscrupulousness, sir; so many +liars promising, and so many fools listening; so much to get, and so +many who would like it! There's all that, if you please; but for +excitement, I don't know"--with a severe look--"what you mean, or what +it has to do with us." + +"I am afraid, sir, there is bad news from Devon, where it is said our +candidate is retiring." + +"A good man, but weak; neither one side nor the other." + +"And from Dorset, sir, where they say Mr. Bankes will be beaten." + +"I'll not believe it," Sir Robert answered positively. "I'll never +believe it. Mr. Bankes beaten in Dorset! Absurd! Why do you listen to +such tales? Why do you listen? By G--d, White, what is the matter with +you? Or how does it touch us if Mr. Bankes is beaten? Nine votes to +four! Nine will still be nine, and four four, if he be beaten. When +you can make four to be more than nine you may come whining to me!" + +White coughed. "Dyas, the butcher----" + +"What of him?" + +"Well, Sir Robert, I am afraid he has been getting some queer +notions." + +"Notions?" the baronet echoed in astonishment. + +"He has been listening to someone, and--and thinks he has views on the +Bill." + +Sir Robert exploded. "Views!" he cried. "Views! The butcher with +views! Why, damme, White, you must be mad! Mad! Since when have +butchers taken to politics, or had views?" + +"I don't know anything about that, sir," White mumbled. + +Sir Robert struck his stick fiercely on a step. "But I do! I do! And I +know this," he continued, "that for twenty years he's had thirty +pounds a year to vote as I tell him. By gad, I never heard such a +thing in my life! Never! You don't mean to tell me that the man thinks +the vote's his own to do what he likes with?" + +"I am afraid," the agent admitted reluctantly, "that that is what he's +saying, sir." + +Sir Robert's thin face turned a dull red. "I never heard of such +impudence in all my life," he said, "never! A butcher with views! And +going to vote for them! Why, damme," he continued, with angry sarcasm, +"we'll have the tailors, the bakers, and the candlestickmakers voting +their own way next. Good G--d! What does the man think he's had thirty +pounds a year for for all these years, if not to do as he is bid?" + +"He's behaving very ill, sir," White said, severely, "very ill." + +"Ill!" Sir Robert cried; "I should think he was, the scoundrel!" And +he foamed over afresh, though we need not follow him. When he had +cooled somewhat, "Well," he said, "I can turn him out, and that I'll +do, neck and crop! By G--d, I will! I'll ruin him. But there, it's the +big rats set the fashion and the little ones follow it. This is +Spinning Jenny's work. I wish I had cut off my hand before I voted for +him. Well, well, well!" And he stood a moment in bitter contemplation +of Sir Robert Peel's depravity. It was nothing that Sir Robert was +sound on reform. By adopting the Catholic side on the claims he--he, +whose very nickname was Orange Peel--had rent the party. And all these +evils were the result! + +The agent coughed. + +Sir Robert, who was no fool, looked sharply at him. "What!" he said +grimly. "Not another renegade?" + +"No, sir," White answered timidly. "But Thrush, the pig-killer--he's +one of the old lot, the Cripples, that your father put into the +corporation----" + +"Ay, and I wish I had kept them cripples." Sir Robert growled. "All +cripples! My father was right, and I was a fool to think better men +would do as well, and do us credit. In his time there were but two of +the thirteen could read and write; but they did as they were bid. They +did as they were bid. And now--well, man, what of Thrush?" + +"He was gaoled yesterday by Mr. Forward, of Steynsham, for assault." + +"For how long?" + +"For a fortnight, sir." + +Sir Robert nearly had a fit. He reared himself to his full height, and +glared at White. "The infernal rascal!" he cried. "He did it on +purpose!" + +"I've no doubt, sir, that it determined them to fight," the agent +answered. "With Dyas they are five. And five to seven is not +such--such odds that they may not have some hope of winning." + +"Five to seven!" Sir Robert repeated; and at an end of words, at an +end of oaths, could only stare aghast. "Five to seven!" he muttered. +"You're not going to tell me--there's something more." + +"No, sir, no; that's the worst," White answered, relieved that his +tale was told. "That's the worst, and may be bettered. I've thought it +well to postpone the nomination until Wednesday the 4th, to give +Sergeant Wathen a better chance of dealing with Dyas." + +"Well, well!" Sir Robert muttered. "It has come to that. It has come +to dealing with such men as butchers, to treating them as if they had +minds to alter and views to change. Well, well!" + +And that was all Sir Robert could say. And so it was settled; the +Vermuyden dinner for the 2nd, the nomination and polling for the 4th. +"You'll let Mr. Vaughan know," Sir Robert concluded. "It's well we can +count on somebody." + + + + + X + + THE QUEEN'S SQUARE ACADEMY FOR + YOUNG LADIES + + +Miss Sibson sat in state in her parlour in Queen's Square. Rather more +dignified of mien than usual, and more highly powdered of nose, the +schoolmistress was dividing her attention between the culprit in the +corner, the elms outside--between which fledgeling rooks were making +adventurous voyages--and the longcloth which she was preparing for the +young ladies' plain-sewing; for in those days plain-sewing was still +taught in the most select academies. Nor, while she was thus engaged +in providing for the domestic training of her charges, was she without +assurance that their minds were under care. The double doors which +separated the schoolroom from the parlour were ajar, and through the +aperture one shrill voice after another could be heard, raised in +monotonous perusal of Mrs. Chapone's "Letters to a Young Lady upon the +Improvement of the Mind." + +Miss Sibson wore her best dress, of black silk, secured half-way down +the bodice by the large cameo brooch. But neither this nor the reading +in the next room could divert her attention from her duties. + +"The tongue," she enunciated with great clearness, as she raised the +longcloth in both hands and carefully inspected it over her glasses, +"is an unruly member. Ill-nature," she continued, slowly meting off a +portion, and measuring a second portion against it, "is the fruit of a +bad heart. Our opinions of others"--this with a stern look at Miss +Hilhouse, fourteen years old, and in disgrace--"are the reflections of +ourselves." + +The young lady, who was paying with the backboard for a too ready wit, +put out the unruly member, and, narrowly escaping detection, looked +inconceivably sullen. + +"The face is the mirror to the mind," Miss Sibson continued +thoughtfully, as she threaded a needle against the light. "I hope, +Miss Hilhouse, that you are now sorry for your fault." + +Miss Hilhouse maintained a stolid silence. Her shoulders ached, but +she was proud. + +"Very good," said Miss Sibson placidly; "very good! With time comes +reflection." + +Time, a mere minute, brought more than reflection. A gentleman walked +quickly across the fore-court to the door, the knocker fell sharply, +and Miss Hilhouse's sullenness dropped from her. She looked first +uncomfortable, then alarmed. "Please, may I go now?" she muttered. + +Wise Miss Sibson paid no heed. "A gentleman?" she said to the maid who +had entered. "Will I see him? Procure his name." + +"Oh, Miss Sibson," came from the corner in an agonised whisper, +"please may I go?" Fourteen standing on a stool with a backboard could +not bear to be seen by the other sex. + +Miss Sibson looked grave. "Are you sincerely sorry for your fault?" +she asked. + +"Yes." + +"And will you apologise to Miss Smith for your--your gross rudeness?" + +"Ye-es." + +"Then go and do so," Miss Sibson replied; "and close the doors after +you." + +The girl fled. And simultaneously Miss Sibson rose, with a mixture of +dignity and blandness, to receive Arthur Vaughan. The schoolmistress +of that day who had not manner at command had nothing; for deportment +ranked among the essentials. And she was quite at her case. The same +could not be said of the gentleman. But that his pride still smarted, +but that the outrage of yesterday was fresh, but that he drew a savage +satisfaction from the prospect of the apologies he was here to +receive, he had not come. Even so, he had told himself more than once +that he was a fool to come; a fool to set foot in the house. He was +almost sure that he had done more wisely had he burned the letter in +which the schoolmistress informed him that she had an explanation to +offer--and so had made an end. + +But if in place of meeting him with humble apologies, this confounded +woman were going to bear herself as if no amends were due, he had +indeed made a mistake. + +Yet her manner said almost as much as that. "Pray be seated, sir," she +said; and she indicated a chair. + +He sat down stiffly, and glowered at her. "I received your note," he +said. + +She smoothed her ample lap, and looked at him more graciously. "Yes," +she said, "I was relieved to find that the unfortunate occurrence of +yesterday was open to another explanation." + +"I have yet," he said curtly, "to hear the explanation." Confound the +woman's impudence! + +"Exactly," she said slowly. "Exactly. Well, it turns out that the +parcel you left behind you when you"--for an instant a smile broke the +rubicund placidity of her face--"when you retired so hurriedly +contained a pelisse." + +"Indeed?" he said drily. + +"Yes; and a letter." + +"Oh?" + +"Yes; a letter from a lady who has for some years taken an interest in +Miss Smith. The pelisse proved to be a gift from her." + +"Then I fail to see----" + +"Exactly," Miss Sibson interposed blandly, indeed too blandly. "You +fail to see why you came to be selected as the bearer? So do I. +Perhaps you can explain that." + +"No," he answered shortly. "Nor is that my affair. What I fail to see, +Madam, is why Miss Smith did not at once suspect that the present came +from the lady in question." + +"Because," Miss Sibson replied, "the lady was not known to be in this +part of England; and because you, sir, maintained that Miss Smith had +left the parcel in the coach." + +"I maintained what I was told." + +"But it was not the fact. However, let that pass." + +"No," Vaughan retorted, with some warmth. "For it seems to me, Madam, +very extraordinary that in a matter which was capable of so simple an +explanation you should have elected to insult a stranger--a stranger +who----" + +"Who was performing no more than an office of civility, you would +say?" + +"Precisely." + +"Well--yes." Miss Sibson spoke slowly, and was silent for a moment +after she had spoken. Then, somewhat abruptly, "You are an usher, I +think," she said, "at Mr. Bengough's?" + +Vaughan almost jumped in his chair. "I, Madam?" he cried. "Certainly +not!" + +"Not at Mr. Bengough's?" + +"Certainly not!" he repeated, with indignation. Was the woman mad? An +usher? Good heavens! + +"I know your name," she said slowly. "But----" + +"I came from London the day before yesterday. I am staying at the +White Lion, and I am late of the 14th Dragoons." + +She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, indeed," she said. "Is that so? Well," +rubbing a little of the powder from her nose with a needlecase, and +looking at him very shrewdly, "I think," she continued, "that that is +the answer to your question." + +Vaughan stared. + +"I do not understand you," he said. + +"Then I must speak more plainly. Were you an usher at Mr. Bengough's +your civility--civility, I think you called it?--to my assistant had +passed very well, Mr. Vaughan. But the civility of a gentleman, late +of the 14th Dragoons, fresh from London, and staying at the White +Lion, to a young person in Miss Smith's position is apt, as in this +case--eh?--to lead to misconstruction." + +"You do me an injustice!" he said, reddening to the roots of his hair. + +"Possibly, possibly," Miss Sibson said. But on that, without warning, +she gave way to a fit of silent laughter, which caused her portly form +to shake like a jelly. It was a habit with her, attributed by some to +her private view of Mrs. Chapone's famous letters on the improvement +of the mind; by others, to that knowledge of the tricks and turns of +her sex with which thirty years of schoolkeeping had endowed her. + +No doubt the face of rueful resentment with which Arthur Vaughan +regarded her did not shorten the fit. But at last, "Young gentleman," +she said, "you do not deceive me! You did not come here to-day merely +to hear an old woman make an apology." + +He tried to maintain an attitude of dignified surprise. But her jolly +laugh, her shrewd red face were too much for him. His eyes fell. "Upon +my honour," he said, "I meant nothing." + +She shook with fresh laughter. "It is just of that I complain, sir," +she said. + +"You can trust me." + +"I can trust Miss Smith," she retorted, shaking her head. "Her I know, +though our acquaintance is of the shortest. Still, I know her from top +to toe. You, young gentleman, I don't know. Mind," she continued, with +good-nature, "I don't say that you meant any harm when you came +to-day. But I'll wager you thought that you'd see her." + +Vaughan laughed out frankly. Her humour had conquered him. "Well," he +said audaciously, "and am I not to see her?" + +Miss Sibson looked at him, and rubbed a little more powder from her +nose. "Umph!" she said doubtfully. "If I knew you I'd know what to say +to that. A pretty girl, eh?" she added with her head on one side. + +He smiled. + +"And a good one! And if you were the usher at Mr. Bengough's I'd ask +no more, but I'd send for her. But----" + +She stopped. Vaughan said nothing, but a little out of countenance +looked at the floor. + +"Just so, just so," Miss Sibson said, as quietly as if he had answered +her. "Well, I am afraid I must not send for her." + +He looked at the carpet. "I have seen so little of her," he said. + +"And I daresay you are a man of property?" + +"I am independent." + +"Well, well, there it is." Miss Sibson smoothed out the lap of her +silk dress. + +"I do not think," he said, in some embarrassment, "that five minutes' +talk would hurt her." + +"Umph!" + +He laughed--an awkward laugh. "Come, Miss Sibson," he said. "Let us +have the five minutes, and let us both have the chance." + +She looked out of the window, and rubbed her glasses reflectively. +"Well," she said at length, as if she had not quite made up her mind, +"I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Vaughan. I did not intend to be +so, but you have met me half-way, and I believe you to be a gentleman. +The truth is, I should not have gone as far with you as I have +unless"--she looked at him suddenly--"I had had a character of you." + +"Of me?" he cried in astonishment. + +"Yes." + +"From Miss Smith?" + +Miss Sibson smiled at his simplicity. "Oh, no," she said; "you are +going to see the character." And with that the schoolmistress drew +from her workbox a small slip of paper, which she unfolded and gave to +him. "It is from the lady," she said, "who made use of you yesterday." + +He took it in much astonishment. On the inner side of the paper, which +was faintly scented, he read a dozen words in a fine handwriting: + +"Mary Smith, from her fairy godmother. The bearer may be trusted." + +Vaughan stared at the paper in undiminished surprise. "I don't +understand," he said. "Who is the lady, and what does she know of me?" + +"I cannot tell you, nor can Miss Smith," Miss Sibson replied. "Who, +indeed, has seen her only twice or thrice, at long intervals, and has +not heard her name. But Miss Smith's education--she has never known +her parents--was defrayed, I presume, by this godmother. And once a +year Miss Smith has been in the habit of receiving a gift, of some +value to a young person in her position, accompanied by a few words in +that handwriting." + +Vaughan stared. "And," he said, "you draw the inference +that--that----" + +"I draw no inference," Miss Sibson replied drily, "save that I have +authority from--shall I say her godmother--to trust you farther than I +should have trusted you. That is the only inference I draw. But I have +one thing to add," she continued. "Miss Smith did not enter my +employment in an ordinary way. My late assistant left me abruptly. +While I was at a loss an attorney of character in this city called on +me and said that a client desired to place a young person in safe +hands; that she was a trained teacher, and must live by teaching, but +that care was necessary, since she was very young, and had more than +her share of good looks. He hinted, Mr. Vaughan, at the inference +which you, I believe, have already drawn. And--and that is all." + +Vaughan looked thoughtfully at the carpet. + +Miss Sibson waited awhile. At last: "The point is," she said shrewdly, +"do you still wish to have the five minutes?" + +Arthur Vaughan hesitated. He knew that he ought, that it was his duty, +to say "No." But something in the woman's humorous eye challenged him, +and recklessly--for the gratification of a moment--he said: "Yes, if +you please, I will see her." + +"Very good, very good," Miss Sibson answered slowly. She had not been +blind to the momentary hesitation. "Then I will send her to you to +make her apologies. Only be kind enough to remember that she does not +know that you have seen that slip of paper." + +He assented, and with a good-natured nod Miss Sibson rose and went +heavily from the room. Not for nothing was she held in Bristol a woman +of sagacity, whose game of whist it was a pleasure to watch; nor +without reason had that attorney of character, of whom we have heard, +chosen 'her _in custodiam puellae_. + +Vaughan waited, and to be frank, his heart beat more quickly than +usual. He knew that he was doing a foolish thing, though he had +refused to commit himself; and an unworthy thing, though Miss Sibson, +perhaps for her own reasons, had winked at it. He knew that he had no +right to see the girl if he did not mean her well; and how could he +mean her well when he had no intention of marrying her? For, for a man +with his career in prospect to marry a girl in her position--to say +nothing of the stigma which no doubt lay upon her birth--was a folly +of which none but boys and old men were capable. + +He listened, ill at ease, already repenting. The voices in the next +room, reduced to a faint murmur by the closed doors, ceased. She was +being told. She was being sent to him. He coloured. Yes, he was +ashamed of himself. He rose and went to the window, and wished that he +had said "No"; that he had taken himself off. What was he doing here +at his time of life--the most sane and best balanced time of life--in +this girls' school? It was unworthy of him. + +The door opened, and he forgot his unworthiness, he forgot all. The +abnormal attraction, allurement, charm, call it what you will, which +had overcome him when she turned her eyes on him on the coach overcame +him again--and tenfold. He thought that it must lie in her eyes, +gentle as a dove's. And yet he did not know. He had not seen her +indoors before, and her hair gathered in a knot at the back of her +head was a Greek surprise to him; while her blushes, the quivering of +her mouth, her figure slender but full of grace, and high-girdled +after the mode of the day--all, all were so perfect, so enticing, that +he knew not where the magic lay. + +But magic there was. And such magic that though he had prepared +himself, and though the last thing in his thoughts was to insult her, +he forgot himself. As she paused, her hand still resting on the door, +her face downcast and distressed, "Good G--d," he cried, "how +beautiful you are!" + +And she saw that he meant no insult, that the words burst from him +spontaneously. But not the less for that was their effect on her. She +turned white, her very heart seeming to stop, she appeared to be about +to swoon. While he, forgetting all but her shrinking beauty, devoured +her with his eyes. + +Until he remembered himself. Then he turned from her to the window. +"Forgive me!" he cried. "I did not know what I said. You came on me so +suddenly; you looked so beautiful----" + +He stopped; he could not go on. + +And she was trembling from head to foot; but she made an effort to +escape back to the commonplace. "I came," she stammered--it was clear +that she hardly knew what she was saying--"Miss Sibson told me to come +to say that I--I was sorry, sir, that I--I misjudged you yesterday." + +"Yesterday? Yesterday?" he cried, almost angrily. "Bah, it is an age +since yesterday!" + +She could make no answer to that, though she knew well what he meant. +If she answered him it was only by suffering him to gaze at her in an +eloquent silence--a silence in which his eyes cried again and again, +"How beautiful you are!" While her eyes, downcast, under trembling +lashes, her heart beaten down, defenceless, cried only for "Quarter, +quarter!" + +They were yards apart. The table, and on it Miss Sibson's squat +workbox and a pile of longcloth, was between them. Miss Sibson herself +could have desired nothing more proper. And yet-- + + + _Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield, + Thy lord at length is forced to yield. + Vain, vain is every outward care, + The foe's within and triumphs there!_ + + +It was all over. In her ears would ring for ever his words of +worship--the cry of the man to the woman, "How beautiful you are!" She +would thrill with pleasure when she thought of them, and burn with +shame, and never, never, never be the same again! And for him, with +that cry forced from him, love had become present, palpable, real, and +the idea of marriage real also; an idea to be withstood, to be +combated, to be treated as foolish, Byronic, impossible. But an idea +which would not leave him any more than the image of her gentle +beauty, indelibly stamped on his brain, would leave him. He might +spend some days or some weeks in doubt and wretchedness. But from that +moment the odds were against him--he was young, and passion had never +had her way with him--as seriously against him as against the army +that with spies and traitors in its midst moves against an united foe. + +Not a word that was _convenant_ had passed between them, though so +much had passed, when a hasty footstep crossed the forecourt, and +stopped at the door. The knocker fell sharply twice, and recalled them +to realities. + +"I--I must go," she faltered, wresting herself from the spell of his +eyes. "I have said what I--I hope you understand, and I--it is time I +went." How her heart was beating! + +"Oh, no, no!" + +"Yes, I must go!" + +Too late! A loud voice in the passage, a heavy step, announced a +visitor. The door flew open, and there entered, pushing the startled +maid aside, the Honourable Bob Flixton, at the height of his glory, +loud, impudent, and unabashed. + +"Run to earth, my lad!" he cried boisterously. "Run to earth! Run----" + +He broke off, gaping, as his eyes fell upon poor Mary, who, in making +way for him, had partly hidden herself behind the door. He whistled +softly, in great amazement, and "Hope I don't intrude," he continued. +And he grinned; while Vaughan, looking blackest thunder at him, could +find no words that were adequate. To think that this loud-voiced, +confident fool, the Don Giovanni of the regiment, had stumbled on his +pearl! + +"Well, well, well!" the Honourable Bob resumed, casting down his eyes +as if he were shocked. And again: "I hope I don't intrude," he +continued--it was the parrot cry of that year. "I didn't know. I'll +take myself off again"--he whistled low--"as fast as I can." + +But Vaughan felt that to let him go thus, to spread the tale with a +thousand additions and innuendoes, was worst of all. "Wait, if you +please," he said, with a note of sternness in his tone. "I am coming +with you, Flixton. Good-morning, Miss Smith." + +"See here, won't you introduce me?" cried the irrepressible Bob. + +"No!" Vaughan answered curtly, and without staying to reflect. "You +will kindly tell Miss Sibson, Miss Smith, that I am obliged, greatly +obliged to her. Now come, Flixton! I have done my business, and we are +not wanted here." + +"I come reluctantly," said Bob, allowing himself to be dragged out, +but not until he had cast a last languishing look at the beauty. And +on the doorstep, "Sly dog, sly dog!" he said. "To think that in +Bristol, where pretty girls are as scarce as mushrooms in March, there +should be such an angel! Damme, an angel! And you the discoverer. It +beats all!" + +"Shut up," Vaughan answered angrily. "You know nothing about it!" And +then, still more sourly, "See here, Flixton, I take it ill of you +following me here. It was too cool, I say." + +But the Honourable Bob was not quick to quarrel. "I saw you go in, +dear chap," he cried heartily. "I wanted to tell you that the hour of +dinner was changed. See? Did my own errand, and coming back thought +I'd--truth was, I fancied you'd some little game on hand." + +"Nothing of the kind!" + +The Honourable Bob stopped. "Honour bright? Honour bright?" he +repeated eagerly. "Mean to say, Vaughan, you're not on the track of +that little filly?" + +Vaughan scowled. "Not in the way you mean," he said sternly. "You make +a mistake. She's a good girl." + +Flixton winked. "Heard that before, my lad," he said, "more than once. +From my grandmother. I'll take my chance of that." + +Vaughan in his heart would have been glad to fall upon him and pommel +him. But there were objections to that course. On the other hand, his +feelings had cooled in the last few minutes, and he was far from +prepared to announce offhand that he was going to marry the beauty. So +"No, you will not, Flixton," he said. "Let it go! Do you hear? The +fact is," he continued, in some embarrassment, "I'm in a sort of +fiduciary relation to the young lady, and--and I am not going to see +her played with. That's the fact." + +"Fiduciary relation?" the Honourable Bob retorted, in perplexity. +"What the deuce is that? Never heard of it! D'you mean, man, that you +are--eh?--related to her? Of course, if so----" + +"No, I am not related to her." + +"Then----" + +"But I'm not going to see her made a fool of, that's all!" + +An idea struck the Honourable Bob. He stared. "See here," he said in a +tone of horror, "you ain't--you ain't thinking of marrying her?" + +Vaughan's cheeks burned. "May be, and may be not," he said curtly. +"But either way, it is my business!" + +"But surely you're not! Man alive!" + +"It is my business, I say!" + +"Of course, of course, if it is as bad as that," Flixton answered with +a grin. "But--hope I don't intrude, Vaughan, but ain't you making a +bit of a fool of yourself? What'll old Vermuyden say, eh?" + +"That's my business too!" Vaughan answered haughtily. + +"Just so, just so; and quite enough for me. All I say is--if you are +not in earnest yourself, don't play the dog in the manger!" + + + + + XI + + DON GIOVANNI FLIXTON + + +In the political world the last week of April and the first week of +May of that year were fraught with surprises. It is probable that they +saw more astonished people than are to be found in England in an +ordinary twelvemonth. The party which had monopolised power for half a +century, and to that end and the advancement of themselves, their +influence, their friends, and their dependants, had spent the public +money, strained the law, and supported the mob, were incredibly, nay, +were bitterly surprised when they saw all these engines turned against +them; when they found dependants falling off and friends growing cold; +above all, when they found that rabble, which they had so often +directed, aiming its yells and brickbats against their windows. + +But it is unlikely that any Tory of them all was more surprised by the +change in the political aspect than Arthur Vaughan--when he came to +think of it--by the position in which he had put himself. Certainly he +had taken no step that was not revocable. He had said nothing +positive; his honour was not engaged. But he had said a good deal. On +the spur of the moment, moved by the strange attraction which the girl +had for him, he had spoken after a fashion which only farther speech +could justify. And then, not content with that, as if fortune were +determined to make sport of his discretion, he had been led by another +impulse--call it generosity, call it jealousy, call it what you +will--to say more to Bob Flixton than he had said to her. + +He had done this who had hitherto held himself a little above the +common run of men. Who had chalked out his career and never doubted +that he had the strength to follow it. Who had not been content to +wait, idle and dissipated, for a dead man's shoes, but in the pride of +a mind which he believed to be the master of his passions had set his +face towards the high prizes of the senate and the forum. He, who if +he could not be Fox, would be Erskine. Who would be anything, in a +word, except the empty-headed man of pleasure, or the plain dullard +satisfied to sit in a corner with a little. + +He, who had planned such a future, now found himself on the brink--ay, +on the very point--of committing as foolish an act as the most +thoughtless could commit. He was proposing to marry a girl below him +in station, still farther below him in birth, whom he had only known +three days, whom he had only seen three times! And all because she had +beautiful eyes, and looked at him--Heavens, how she had looked at him! + +He went hot as he pictured her with her melting eyes, hanging towards +him a little as the ivy inclines to the oak. And then he turned cold. +And cold, he considered what he was going to do! + +Of course he was not going to marry her. + +No doubt he had said to her more than he had the right to say. But his +honour was not engaged. The girl was not the worse for him; even if +that which he had read in her eyes were true, she would get over it as +quickly as he would. But marry her, give way to a feeling doubtless +evanescent, let himself be swayed by a fancy at which he would laugh a +year later--no! No! He was not so weak. He had not only his career to +think of, but the family honours which would be his one day. What +would old Vermuyden say if he impaled a baton sinister with the family +arms, added a Smith to the family alliances, married the nameless, +penniless teacher in a girls' school? + +No, of course, he was not going to marry her. He had said what he had +said to the Honourable Bob merely to shield her from a Don Juan. He +had not meant it. He would go for a long fatiguing walk and put the +notion and the girl out of his head, and come back cured of his folly, +and make a merry night of it with the old set. And to-morrow--no, the +morrow was Sunday--on Monday he would return to London and to all the +chances which the changing political situation must open to an +ambitious man. He regretted that he had not taken the Chancellor's +hint and sought for a seat in the House. + +But the solitary ramble in the valley of the Avon, which was a +hundredfold more beautiful in those days than in these, because less +spoiled by the hand of man, a ramble by the Logwood Mills, with their +clear-running weedy stream, by King's Weston and Leigh Woods--such a +ramble, tuneful with the songs of birds and laden with the scents of +spring, may not be the surest cure for that passion, which + + + _is not to be reasoned down or lost + In high ambition or a thirst for greatness!_ + + +At any rate he returned uncured, and for the first part of the +Honourable Bob's dinner was wildly merry. After that, and suddenly, he +fell into a moody silence which his host was not the last to note. + +Fortunately with the removal of the cloth and the first brisk journey +of the decanters came news. A waiter brought it. Hart Davies, the Tory +candidate for Bristol, and for twenty years its popular member, had +withdrawn, seeing his chance hopeless. The retirement was unexpected, +and it caused so much surprise that the party could think of nothing +else. Nine-tenths of those present were Tories, and Flixton proposed +that they should sally forth and vent their feelings by smashing the +windows of the Bush, the Radical headquarters; a feat performed many a +time before with no worse consequences than a broken head or two. But +Colonel Brereton set his foot sharply on the proposal. + +"I'll put you under arrest if you do," he said. "I'm senior officer of +the district, and I'll not have it, Flixton! Do you think that this is +the time, you madmen," he continued, looking round the table and +speaking with indignation, "to provoke the rabble, and get the throats +of half Bristol cut?" + +"Oh, come, Colonel, it is not as bad as that!" Flixton remonstrated. + +"You don't know how bad it is," Brereton answered, his brooding eyes +kindling. And he developed anew his fixed idea that the forces of +disorder, once provoked, were irresistible; that the country was at +their mercy, and that only by humouring them, a course suggested also +by humanity, could the storm be weathered. + +The company consisted, for the most part, of reckless young subalterns +flushed with wine. They listened out of respect to his rank, but they +winked and grinned behind his back; until, half conscious of ridicule, +he grew angry. On ordinary occasions Flixton would have been the worst +offender. But he had the grace to remember that the Colonel was his +guest, and he sought to turn the subject. + +"Come, come!" he cried, hammering the table and pushing the bottle. +"Let the Colonel alone. For Heaven's sake shelve the cursed Bill! I'm +sick of it! It's the death of all fun and jollity. I'll give you a +sentiment: 'The Fair when they are Kind, and the Kind when they are +Fair.' Fill up! Fill up, all, and drink it!" + +They echoed the toast in various tones, sober or fuddled. And some +began to grow excited. A glass was shattered and flung noisily into +the fire. A new one was called for, also noisily. + +"Now, Bill," Flixton continued to his right-hand neighbour, "it's your +turn! Give us something spicy!" And he hammered the table. "Captain +Codrington's sentiment." + +"Let's have a minute!" pleaded the gentleman assailed. + +"Not a minute," boisterously. "See, the table's waiting for you! +Captain Codrington's sentiment!" + +Men of small genius kept a written list, and committed some lines to +memory before dinner. The Captain was one of these. But the call on +him was sudden, and he sought, with an agonised mind, for one which +would seem in the least degree novel. At last, with a sigh of relief, +"_Maids and Missuses!_" he cried. + +"Ay, ay, Maids and Missuses!" the Honourable Bob echoed, raising his +glass. "And especially," he whispered, calling his neighbour's +attention to Vaughan by a shove, "schoolmissuses! Schoolmissuses, my +lad! Here, Vaughan," he continued aloud, "you must drink this, and no +heeltaps!" + +Vaughan caught his name and awoke from a reverie. "Very good," he +said, raising his glass. "What is it?" + +"Maids and Missuses!" the Honourable Bob replied, with a wink at his +neighbour. And then, incited by the fumes of the wine he had taken, he +rose to his feet and raised his glass. "Gentlemen," he said, +"gentlemen!" + +"Silence," they cried. "Silence! Silence for Bob's speech." + +"Gentlemen," he resumed, a spark of malice in his eyes, "I've a piece +of news to give you! It's news that--that's been mighty slyly kept by +a gentleman here present. Devilish close he's kept it, I'll say that +for him! But he's a neat hand that can bamboozle Bob Flixton, and I've +run him to earth, run him to earth this morning and got it out of +him." + +"Hear! Hear! Bob! Go on, Bob; what is it?" from the company. + +"You are going to hear, my Trojans! And no flam! Gentlemen, charge +your glasses! I've the honour to inform you that our old friend and +tiptopper, Arthur Vaughan, otherwise the Counsellor, has got himself +regularly put up, knocked down, and sold to as pretty a piece of the +feminine as you'll see in a twelvemonth! Prettiest in Bristol, 'pon +honour," with feeling, "be the other who she may! Regular case +of--" and in irresistibly comic accents, with his head and glass alike +tilted, he drolled, + + + "_There first for thee my passion grew, + Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen; + Thou wast the daughter of my tu- + tor, law professor at the U- + niversity of Goettingen!_ + + +'Niversity of Goettingen! Don't laugh, gentlemen! It's so! He's entered +on the waybill, book through to matrimony, and"--the Honourable Bob +was undoubtedly a little tipsy--"and it only remains for us to give +him a good send-off. So charge your glasses, and----" + +Brereton laid his hand on his arm. He was sober and he did not like +the look on Vaughan's disgusted face. "One moment, Flixton," he said; +"is this true, Mr. Vaughan?" + +Vaughan's brow was as black as thunder. He had never dreamt that, +drunk or sober, Flixton would be guilty of such a breach of +confidence. He hesitated. Then, "No!" he said. + +"It's not true?" Codrington struck in. "You are not going to be +married, old chap?" + +"No!" + +"But, man," Flixton hiccoughed, "you told me so--or something like +it---only this morning." + +"You either misunderstood me," Vaughan answered, in a tone so distinct +as to be menacing, "for you have said far more than I said. Or, if you +prefer it, I've changed my mind. In either case it is my business! And +I'll trouble you to leave it alone!" + +"Oh, if you put it--that way, old chap?" + +"I do put it that way!" + +"And any way," Brereton said, interposing hurriedly, "this is no time +for marrying! I've told you boys before, and I tell you again----" + +And he plunged into a fresh argument on the old point. Two or three +joined issue, grinning. And Vaughan, as soon as attention was diverted +from him, slipped away. + +He was horribly disgusted, and sunk very low in his own eyes. He +loathed what he had done. He had not, indeed, been false to the girl, +for he had given her no promise. He had not denied her, for her name +had not been mentioned. And he had not gone back on his resolution, +for he had never formed one seriously. Yet in a degree he had done all +these things. He had played a shabby part by himself and by the girl. +He had been meanly ashamed of her. And though his conduct had followed +the lines which he had marked out for himself, he hoped that he might +never again feel so unhappy, and so poor a thing, as he felt as he +walked the streets and cursed his discretion. + +Discretion! Cowardice was the right name for it. Because the girl, the +most beautiful, pure, and gentle creature on whom his eyes had ever +rested, was called Mary Smith, and taught in a school, he disavowed +her and turned his back on her. + +He did not know that he was suffering what a man, whose mind has so +far governed his heart, must suffer when the latter rebels. In +planning his life he had ignored his heart; now he must pay the +penalty. He went to bed at last, but not to sleep. Instead he lived +the scene over and over again, now wondering what he ought to have +done; now brooding on what Flixton must think of him; now on what she, +whose nature, he was sure, was as perfect as her face, would think of +him, if she knew. How she would despise him! + +The next day was Sunday, and he spent it, in accordance with a +previous promise, with Brereton, at his pleasant home at Newchurch, a +mile from the city. Though the most recent of his Bristol +acquaintances, Brereton was the most congenial; and a dozen times +Vaughan was on the point of confiding his trouble to him. He was +deterred by the melancholy cast of Brereton's character, which gave +promise of no decisive advice. And early in the evening he took leave +of his host and strolled towards the Downs, balancing _I would_ +against _I will not_; now facing the bleak of a prudent decision, now +thrilling with foolish rapture, as he pondered another event. Lord +Eldon had married young and with as little prudence; it had not +impeded his rise, nor Erskine's. Doubtless Sir Robert Vermuyden would +say that he had disgraced himself; but he cared little for that. What +he had to combat was the more personal pride of the man who, holding +himself a little wiser than his fellows, cannot bear to do a thing +that in the eyes of the foolish may set him below them! + +Of course he came to no decision; though he wandered on Brandon Hill +until the Float at his feet ceased to mirror the lights, and Bristol +lay dark below him. And Monday found him still hesitating. Thrice he +started to take his place on the coach. And thrice he turned back, +hating himself for his weakness. If he could not overcome a foolish +fancy, how could he hope to scale the heights of the Western Circuit, +or hurl Coleridge and Follett from their pride of place? Or, still +harder task, how would he dare to confront in the House the cold eye +of Croker or of Goulburn? No, he could not hope to do either. He had +been wrong in his estimate of himself. He was a poor creature, unable +to hold his own amongst his fellows, impotent to guide his own life! + +He was still contesting the matter when, a little before noon, he +espied Flixton in the act of threading his way through the busy crowd +of Broad Street. The Honourable Bob was wearing hessians, and a +high-collared green riding-coat, with an orange vest and a soft +many-folded cravat. In fine, he was so smart that suspicion entered +Vaughan's head; and on its heels--jealousy. + +In a twinkling he was on Flixton's track. Broad Street, the heart of +Bristol, was thronged, for Hart Davies's withdrawal was in the air and +an election crowd was abroad. Newsboys with their sheets, tipsy +ward-leaders, and gossiping merchants jostled one another. The beau's +green coat, however, shone conspicuous, + + + _Glorious was his course, + And long the track of light he left behind him!_ + + +and before Vaughan had asked himself if he were justified in +following, pursued and pursuer were over Bristol Bridge, and making, +by way of the Welsh Back--a maze of coal-hoys and dangling cranes--for +Queen's Square. + +Vaughan doubted no longer, weighed the propriety of his course no +longer. For a cool-headed man of the world, who asked nothing better +than to master a silly fancy, he was foolishly perturbed. He made on +with a grim face; but a dray loading at a Newport coal-hulk drew +across his path, and Flixton was pacing under the pleasant elms and +amid the groups that loitered up and down the sunlit Square, before +Vaughan came within hail, and called him by name. + +Flixton turned then, saw who it was, and grinned--nothing abashed. +"Well," he said, tipping his hat a little to one side, "well, old +chap! Are you let out of school too?" + +Vaughan had already discovered Mary Smith and her little troop under +the trees in the farthest corner. But he tried to smile--and did so, a +little awry. "This is not fair play, Flixton," he said. + +"That is just what I think it is," the Honourable Bob answered +cheerfully. "Eh, old chap? Neat trick of yours the other day, but not +neat enough! Thought to bamboozle me and win a clear field! Neat! But +no go, I found you out and now it is my turn. That's what I call fair +play." + +"Look here, Flixton," Vaughan replied--he was fast losing his +composure--"I'm not going to have it. That's plain." + +The Honourable Bob stared. "Oh!" he answered. "Let's understand one +another. Are you going to marry the girl after all?" + +"I've told you----" + +"Oh, you've told me, yes, and you've told me, no. The question is, +which is it?" + +Vaughan controlled himself. He could see Mary out of the corner of his +eye, and knew that she had not yet taken the alarm. But the least +violence might attract her attention. "Whichever it be," he said +firmly, "is no business of yours." + +"If you claim the girl----" + +"I do not claim her, Flixton. I have told you that. But----" + +"But you mean to play the dog in the manger?" + +"I mean to see," Vaughan replied sternly, "that you don't do her any +harm." + +Flixton hesitated. Secretly he held Vaughan in respect; and he would +have postponed his visit to Queen's Square had he foreseen that that +gentleman would detect him. But to retreat now was another matter. The +duel was still in vogue; barely two years before the Prime Minister +had gone out with a brother peer in Battersea Fields; barely twenty +years before one Cabinet Minister had shot another on Wimbledon +Common. He could not, therefore, afford to show the white feather, and +though he hesitated, it was not for long. "You mean to see to that, do +you?" he retorted. + +"I do." + +"Then come and see," he returned flippantly. "I'm going to have a chat +with the young lady now. That's not murder, I suppose?" And he turned +on his heel and strolled across the turf towards the group of which +Mary was the centre. + +Vaughan followed with black looks; and when Mary Smith, informed of +their approach by one of the children, turned a startled face towards +them, he was at Flixton's shoulder, and pressing before him. + +But the Honourable Bob had the largest share of presence of mind, and +he was the first to speak. "Miss Smith," he said, raising his hat with +_aplomb_, "I--you remember me, I am sure?" + +Vaughan pushed before him; and before the girl could speak--for +jealousy is a fine spoiler of manners, "This gentleman," he said, +"wishes to see----" + +"To see----" said Flixton, with a lower bow. + +"Miss Sibson!" Vaughan exclaimed. + +The children stared; gazing up into the men's faces with the +undisguised curiosity of childhood. Fortunately the Mary Smith who had +to confront these two was no longer the Mary Smith whom Vaughan's +appearance had stricken with panic three days before. For one thing, +she knew Miss Sibson better, and feared her less. For another, her +fairy godmother--the gleam of whose gifts never failed to leave a hope +of change, a prospect of something other than the plodding, endless +round--had shown a fresh sign. And last, not least, a more potent +fairy, a fairy whose wand had power to turn Miss Sibson's house into a +Palace Beautiful, and Queen's Square, with its cawing rooks and +ordered elms, into an enchanted forest, had visited her. + +True, Vaughan had left her abruptly--to cool her burning cheeks and +still her heart as she best might! But he had said what she would +never forget, and though he had left her doubting, he had left her +loving. And so the Mary who found herself addressed by two gallants +was much less abashed than she who on Friday had had to do with one. + +Still she was astonished by their address; and she showed this, +modestly and quietly. "If you wish to see Miss Sibson," she +said--instinctively she looked at Vaughan's companion--"I will send +for her." And she was in the act of turning, with comparative ease, to +despatch one of the children on the errand, when the Honourable Bob +interposed. + +"But we don't want Miss Sibson--now," he said. "A man may change his +mind as well as a woman! Eh, old chap?" turning to his friend with +simulated good-humour. "I'm sure you will say so, Miss Smith." + +She wondered what their odd manner to one another meant. And, to add +to her dignity, she laid her hand on the shoulder of one of her +charges and drew her closer. + +"Moreover, I'm sure," Flixton continued--for Vaughan after his first +hasty intervention, stood sulkily silent--"I'm sure Mr. Vaughan will +agree with me----" + +"I?" + +"Oh, yes he will, Miss Smith, because he is the most changeable of men +himself! A weathercock, upon my honour!" And he pointed to the tower +of St. Mary, which from the high ground of Redcliffe Parade on the +farther side of the water, looks down on the Square. "Never of the +same mind two days together!" + +Vaughan snubbed him savagely. "Be good enough to leave me out!" he +said. + +"There!" the Honourable Bob answered, laughing, "he wants to stop my +mouth! But I'm not to be stopped. Of all men he's the least right to +say that I mustn't change my mind. Why, if you'll believe me, Miss +Smith, no farther back than Saturday morning he was all for being +married! 'Pon honour! Went away from here talking of nothing else! In +the evening he was just as dead the other way! Nothing was farther +from his thoughts. Shuddered at the very idea! Come, old chap, don't +look fierce!" And he grinned at Vaughan. "You can't deny it!" + +Vaughan could have struck him; the trick was so neat and so malicious. +Fortunately a man who had approached the group touched Vaughan's elbow +at this critical moment, and diverted his wrath. "Express for you, +sir," he said. "Brought by chaise, been looking for you everywhere, +sir!" + +Vaughan smothered the execration which rose to his lips, snatched the +letter from the man, and waved him aside. Then, swelling with rage, he +turned upon Flixton. But before he could speak the matter was taken +out of his hands. + +"Children," said Mary Smith in a clear, steady voice, "it is time we +went in. The hour is up, collect your hoops. I think," she continued, +looking stiffly at the Honourable Bob, "you have addressed me under a +misapprehension, sir, intending to address yourself to Miss Sibson. +Good-morning! Good-morning!" with a slight and significant bow which +included both gentlemen. And taking a child by either hand, she turned +her back on them, and with her little flock clustering about her, and +her pretty head held high, she went slowly across the road to the +school. Her lips were trembling, but the men could not see that. And +her heart was bursting, but only she knew that. + +Without that knowledge Vaughan was furiously angry. It was not only +that the other had got the better of him by a sly trick; but he +was conscious that he had shown himself at his worst--stupid when +tongue-tied, and rude when he spoke. Still, he controlled himself +until Mary was out of earshot, and then he turned upon Flixton. + +"What right--what right," he snarled, "had you to say what I would do! +And what I would not do? I consider your conduct----" + +"Steady, man!" Flixton, who was much the cooler of the two, said. He +was a little pale. "Think before you speak. You would interfere. What +did you expect? That I was going to play up to you?" + +"I expected at least----" + +"Ah, well, you can tell me another time what you expected. I have an +engagement now and must be going," the Honourable Bob said. "See you +again!" And with a cool nod he turned on his heel, and assured that, +whatever came of the affair, he had had the best of that bout, he +strode off. + +Vaughan was only too well aware of the same fact; and but that he held +himself in habitual control, he would have followed and struck his +rival. As it was, he stood a moment looking blackly after him. Then, +sobered somewhat, though still bitterly chagrined, he took his way +towards his hotel, carrying in his oblivious hand the letter which had +been given him. Once he halted, half-minded to return to Miss Sibson's +and to see Mary and explain. He took, indeed, some steps in the +backward direction. But he reflected that if he went he must speak, +and plainly. And, angry as he was, furiously in love as he was, was he +prepared to speak? + +He was not prepared. And while he stood doubting between that eternal +would, and would not, his eyes fell on the letter in his hand. + + + + + XII + + A ROTTEN BOROUGH + + +Chippinge, Sir Robert Vermuyden's borough, was in no worse case than +two-thirds of the small boroughs of that day. Still, of its great men +Cowley might have written: + + + _Nothing they but dust can show, + Or bones that hasten to be so._ + + +And of its greatness he might have said the same. The one and the +other belonged to the past. + +The town occupies a low, green hill, dividing two branches of the Avon +which join their waters a furlong below. Built on the ridge and +clinging to the slopes of this eminence the stone-tiled houses look +pleasantly over the gentle undulations of the Wiltshire pastures--no +pastures more green; and at a distance are pleasantly seen from them. +But viewed more closely--at the date of which we write--the +picturesque in the scene became mean or incongruous. Of the Mitred +Abbey that crowned the hill and had once owned these fertile slopes +there remained but the maimed hulk, patched and botched, and long +degraded to the uses of that parish church its neighbour, of which +nothing but the steeple survived. The crown-shaped market cross, once +a dream of beauty in stone, still stood, but battered and defaced; +while the Abbot's gateway, under which sovereigns had walked, was sunk +to a vile lock-up, the due corrective of the tavern which stood cheek +by jowl with it. + +Still, to these relics, grouped as they were upon an open triangular +green, the hub of the town, there clung in spite of all some shadow of +greatness. The stranger whose eye fell on the doorway of the Abbey +Church, with its whorls of sculptured images, gazed and gazed again +with a sense of wondering awe. But let him turn his back on these +buildings, and his eye met, in cramped street and blind alley, a lower +depth. Everywhere were things once fine, sunk to base uses; old stone +mansions converted into tenements; the solid houses of mediaeval +burghers into crazy taverns; fretted cloisters into pigsties and +hovels; a Gothic arch propped the sagging flank of a lath-and-plaster +stable. Or if anything of the beauty of a building survived, it was +masked by climbing penthouses; or, like the White Lion, the old inn +which had been the Abbot's guesthouse, it was altered out of all +likeness to its former self. For the England of '31, gross and +matter-of-fact, was not awake to the value of those relics of a noble +past which generations of intolerance had hurried to decay. + +Doubtless in this mouldering, dusty shell was snug, warm living. +Georgian comfort had outlived the wig and the laced coat, and though +the influence of the Church was at its lowest ebb, and morals were not +much higher, inns were plenty and flourished, and in the panelled +parlours of the White Lion or the Heart and Hand was much good eating, +followed by deep drinking. The London road no longer passed through +the town; the great fair had fallen into disuse. But the cloth trade, +by which Chippinge had once thriven, had been revived, and the town +was not quite fallen. Still, of all its former glories, it retained +but one intact. It returned two members to Parliament. That which +Birmingham and Sheffield had not, this little borough of eighteen +hundred souls enjoyed. Fallen in all other points, it retained, or +rather its High Steward, Sir Robert Vermuyden, retained the right of +returning, by the votes of its Alderman and twelve capital burgesses, +two members to the Commons' House. + +And Sir Robert could not by any stretch of fancy bring himself to +believe that the town would willingly part with this privilege. Why +should it strip itself? he argued. It enjoyed the honour vicariously, +indeed. But did he not year by year pay the Alderman and eight of the +capital burgesses thirty pounds apiece for their interest, a sum which +quickly filtered through their pockets and enriched the town, besides +taking several of the voters off the rates? Did he not also at +election times set the taps running and distribute a moderate largesse +among the commonalty, and--and in fact do everything which it behoved +a liberal and enlightened patron to do? Nay, had he not, since his +accession, raised the status of the voters, long and vulgarly known as +"The Cripples," so that they, who in his father's time had been, +almost without exception, drunken illiterates, were now to the extent +of at least one half, men of respectable position? + +No, Sir Robert wholly declined to believe that Chippinge had any wish +for a change so adverse to its interests. The most he would admit was +that there might be some slight disaffection in the place, due to that +confounded Bowood, which was for ever sapping and mining and seeking +to rob its neighbours. + +But even he was presently to be convinced that there was a very odd +spirit abroad in this year '31. The new police and the new steam +railways and this cholera of which people were beginning to talk, were +not the only new things. There were new ideas in the air; and the +birds seemed to carry them. They took possession not only of the +troublesome and discontented--poachers whom Sir Robert had gaoled, or +the sons of men whom his father had pressed--but of the most unlikely +people. Backs that had never been aught but pliant grew stiff. Men who +had put up with the old system for more years than they could remember +grew restive. Others, who had all their lives stood by while their +inferiors ruled the roost, discovered that they had rights. Nay--and +this was the strangest thing of all--some who had thriven by the old +management and could not hope to gain by a change revolted, after the +fashion of Dyas the butcher, and proved the mastery of mind over +matter. Not many, indeed, these; martyrs for ideas are rare. But their +action went for much, and when later the great mass of the voteless +began to move, there were rats in plenty of the kind that desert +sinking ships. By that time he was a bold man who in tavern or +workshop spoke for the rule of the few, to which Sir Robert fondly +believed his borough to be loyal. + +His agent had never shared that belief, fortunately for him; or he had +had a rude awakening on the first Monday in May. It was customary for +the Vermuyden interest to meet the candidates on the Chippenham road, +half an hour before the dinner hour, and to attend them in procession +through the town to the White Lion. Often this was all that the +commonalty saw of an election, and a little horseplay was both +expected and allowed. In old days, when the "Cripples" had belonged to +the very lowest class, their grotesque appearance in the van of the +gentlemanly interest had given rise to many a home-jest. The crowd +would follow them, jeering and laughing, and there would be some +pushing, and a drunken man or two would fall. But all had passed in +good humour; the taps had been running in one interest, the ale was +Sir Robert's, and the crowd envied while they laughed. + +White, as he stood on the bridge reviewing the first comers, wished he +might have no worse to expect to-day. But he did not hope as much. The +town was crowded, and the streets down to the bridge were so cumbered +with moving groups that it was plain the procession would have to push +its way. For certain, too, many of the people did not belong to +Chippinge. With the townsfolk White knew he could deal. He did not +believe that there was a Chippinge man who, eye to eye with him, would +cast a stone. But here were yokels from Calne and Bowood, who knew not +Sir Robert; with Bristol lambs and men as dangerous, and not a few +Radicals from a distance, rabid with zeal and overflowing with +promises. Made up of such elements the crowd hooted from time to time, +and there was a threat in the sound that filled White with misgivings. + +Nor was this the worst. The cloth factory stood close to the bridge. +The procession must pass it. And the hands employed in it, hostile to +a man, were gathered before the doorway, in their aprons and paper +caps, waiting to give the show a reception. They had much to say +already, their jeers and taunts filling the air; but White had a +shrewd suspicion that they had worse missiles in their pockets. + +Still, he had secured the attendance of a score of sturdy fellows, +sons of Sir Robert's farmers, and these, with a proportion of the +tagrag and bobtail of the town, gave a fairly solid aspect to his +party. Nor was the jeering all on one side, though that deep and +unpleasant groaning which now and again rolled down the street was +wholly Whiggish. + +Alas, it was when the agent came to analyse his men that he had most +need of the smile that deceives. True, the rector was there and the +curate of Eastport, and the clerk and the sexton--the two last-named +were voters. And there were also four or five squires arrayed in +support of the gentlemanly interest, and as many young bucks come to +see the fun. Then there were three other voters: the Alderman, who +was a small grocer, and Annibal the basketmaker--these two were +stalwarts--and Dewell the barber, also staunch, but a timid man. There +was no Dyas, however, Sir Robert's burliest supporter in old days, and +his absence was marked. Nor any Thrush the pig-killer--the jaws of a +Radical gaol held him. Nor, last and heaviest blow of all--for it had +fallen without warning--was there any Pillinger of the Blue Duck. +Pillinger, his wife said, was ill. What was worse he was in the hands +of a Radical doctor capable, the agent believed, of hocussing him +until the polling was over. The truth about Pillinger--whether he lay +ill or whether he lay shamming, whether he was at the mercy of the +apothecary or under the thumb of his wife--White could not learn. He +hoped to learn it before it was too late. But for the present +Pillinger was not here. + +The Alderman, Annibal, Dewell, the clerk, the sexton, and Arthur +Vaughan. White totted them up again and again and made them six. The +Bowood voters he made five--four stalwarts and Dyas the butcher. + +Certainly he might still poll Pillinger. But, on the other hand, Mr. +Vaughan might arrive too late. White had written to his address in +town, and receiving no answer had sent an express to Bristol on the +chance that the young gentleman was still there. Probably he would be +in time. But when things are so very close--and when there were alarm +and defeat in the air--men grow nervous. White smiled as he chatted +with the pompous Rector and the country squires, but he was very +anxious. He thought of old Sir Robert at Stapylton, and he sweated at +the notion of defeat. Cobbett had reached his mind, but Sir Robert had +his heart! + +"Boo!" moaned the crowd higher up the street. The sound sank and the +harsh voice of a speaker came fitfully over the heads of the people. + +"Who's that?" asked old Squire Rowley, one of the country gentlemen. + +"Some spouter from Bristol, sir, I fancy," the agent replied +contemptuously. And with his eye he whipped in a couple of +hobbledehoys who seemed inclined to stray towards the enemy. + +"I suppose," the Squire continued, lowering his voice, "you can depend +on your men, White?" + +"Oh, Lord, yes, sir," White answered; like a good election agent he +took no one into his confidence. "We've enough here to do the trick. +Besides, young Mr. Vaughan will be here to-morrow, and the landlord of +the Blue Duck, who is not well enough to walk to-day, will poll. He'd +break his heart, bless you," White continued, with a brow of brass, +"if he could not vote for Sir Robert!" + +"Seven to five." + +"Seven to four, sir." + +"But Dyas, I hear, the d----d rogue, will vote against you?" + +White winked. + +"Bad," he said cryptically, "but not as bad as that, sir." + +"Oh! oh!" quoth the other, nodding, "I see." And then, glancing at the +gang before the cloth works, whose taunts of "Flunkies!" and "Sell +your birthright, will you?" were constant and vicious, "You've no fear +there'll be violence, White?" he asked. + +"Lord, no, sir," White answered; "you know what election rows are, all +bark and no bite!" + +"Still I hear that at Bath, where I'm told Lord Brecknock stands a +poor chance, they are afraid of a riot." + +"Ay, ay, sir," White answered indifferently, "this isn't Bath." + +"Precisely," the Rector struck in, in pompous tones. "I should like to +see anything of that kind here! They would soon," he continued with an +air, "find that I am not on the commission of the peace for nothing! I +shall make, and I am sure you will make," he went on, turning to his +brother justice, "very short work of them! I should like to see +anything of that kind tried here!" + +White nodded, but in his heart he thought that his reverence was +likely to have his wish gratified. However, no more was said, for the +approach of the Stapylton carriages, with their postillions, outriders +and favours, was signalled by persons who had been placed to watch for +them, and the party on the bridge, falling into violent commotion, +raised their flags and banners and hastened to form an escort on +either side of the roadway. As the gaily-decked carriages halted on +the crest of the bridge, loud greetings were exchanged. The five +voters took up a position of honour, seats in the carriages were found +for three or four of the more important gentry, and seven or eight +others got to horse. Meanwhile those of the smaller folk, who thought +that they had a claim to the recognition of the candidates, were +gratified, and stood back blushing, or being disappointed stood back +glowering; all this amid confusion and cheering on the bridge and +shrill jeers on the part of the cloth hands. Then the flags were waved +aloft, the band of five, of which the drummer could truly say "_Pars +magna fui_," struck up "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!" and White +stood back for a last look. + +Then, "Shout, lads, shout!" he cried, waving his hat. "Don't let 'em +have it all their own way!" And with a roar of defiance, not quite so +loud or full as the gentlemanly interest had raised of old, the +procession got under way, and, led by a banner bearing "Our Ancient +Constitution!" in blue letters on a red ground, swayed spasmodically +up the street. The candidates for the suffrages of the electors of +Chippinge had passed the threshold of the borough. "Hurrah! Yah! +Hurrah! Yah! Yah! Yah! Down with the Borough-mongers. Our Ancient +Constitution! Hurrah! Boo! Boo!" + +White had his eye on the clothmen, and under its spell they did not go +beyond hooting and an egg or two, spared from the polling day, and +flung at long range when the Tories had passed. No one was struck, and +the carriages moved onward, more or less triumphantly. Sergeant +Wathen, who was in the first, and whose sharp black eyes moved hither +and thither in search of friends, rose repeatedly to bow. But Mr. +Cooke, who did not forget that he was paying two thousand five hundred +pounds for his seat, and thought that it should be a soft one, +scarcely deigned to move. For as the procession advanced into the town +the clamour of the crowd which lined the narrow High Street and +continually shouted "The Bill! The Bill!" drowned the utmost efforts +of Sir Robert's friends, and left no doubt of the popular feeling. + +There was some good-humoured pushing and thrusting, the drum beating +and the church bells jangling bravely above the hubbub. And once or +twice the rabble came near to cutting the procession in two. But there +was no real attempt at mischief, and all went well until the foremost +carriage was abreast of the Cross, which stands at the head of the +High Street, where the latter debouches into the space before the +Abbey. + +Then some foolish person gave the word to halt before Dyas the +butcher's. And a voice--it was not White's--cried, "Three groans for +the Radical Rat! Rat! Rat!" + +The groans were given before the crowd fully understood their meaning +or the motive for the stoppage. The drummer beat out something which +he meant for the Rogues' March, and an unseen hand raising a large +dead rat, tied to a stick, waved it before the butcher's first-floor +windows. + +The effect was surprising--to old-fashioned folk. In a twinkling, with +a shout of "Down with the Borough-mongers!" a gang of white-aproned +clothmen rushed the rear of the procession, drove it in upon the main +body, and amid screams and uproar forced the whole line out of the +narrow street into the space before the Abbey. Fortunately the White +Lion, which faced the Abbey, stood only a score of paces to the left +of the Cross, and the carriages were able to reach it; but in +disorder, pressed on by such a fighting, swaying, shouting crowd as +Chippinge had not seen for many a year. + +It was no time to stand on dignity. The candidates tumbled out as best +they could, their chief supporters followed them, and while half a +dozen single combats proceeded at their elbows, they hastened across +the pavement into the house. The Rector alone disdained to flee. Once +on the threshold of the inn, he turned and raised his hat above his +head: + +"Order!" he cried, "Order! Do you hear me!" + +But "Yah! Borough-monger!" the rabble answered, and before he could +say more a young farmer was hurled against him, and a whip, of which a +postillion had just been despoiled, whizzed past his head. He, too, +turned tail at that, with his face a shade paler than usual; and with +his retreat resistance ceased. The carriages were hustled somehow and +anyhow into the yard, and there the greater part of the procession +also took refuge. A few, sad to say, sneaked off and got rid of their +badges, and a few more escaped through a neighbouring alley. No one +was much hurt; a few black eyes were the worst of the mischief, nor +could it be said that any vindictive feeling was shown. But the town +was swept clear, and the victory of the Radicals was complete. Left in +possession of the open space before the Abbey, they paraded for some +time under the windows of the White Lion, waving a captured flag, and +cheering and groaning by turns. + +Meantime in the hall of the inn the grandees were smoothing their +ruffled plumes, in a state of mind in which it was hard to say whether +indignation or astonishment had larger place. Oaths flew thick as +hail, unrebuked by the Church, the most outspoken perhaps being by the +landlord, who met them with a pale face. + +"Good Lord, good Lord, gentlemen!" he said, "what violence! What +violence! What are we coming to next? What's took the people, +gentlemen? Isn't Sir Robert here?" + +For to this simple person it seemed impossible that people should +behave badly in that presence. + +"No, he's not!" Mr. Cooke answered with choler. "I'd like to know why +he's not! I wish to Heaven"--only he did not say "Heaven"--"that he +were here, and he'd see what sort of thing he has let us into!" + +"Ah, well, ah, well!" returned the more discreet and philosophic +Sergeant, "shouting breaks no bones. We are all here, I hope? And +after all, this shows up the Bill in a pretty strong light, eh, +Rector? If it is to be carried by methods such as these--these---" + +"D----d barefaced intimidation!" Squire Rowley growled. + +"Or if it is to give votes to such persons as these----" + +"D----d Jacobins! Republicans every one!" interposed the Squire. + +"It will soon be plain to all," the Sergeant concluded, in his House +of Commons manner, "that it is a most revolutionary, dangerous, +and--and unconstitutional measure, gentlemen." + +"By G--d!" Mr. Cooke cried--he was thinking that if this was the kind +of thing he was to suffer he might as well have fought Taunton or +Preston, or any other open borough, and kept his money in his +pocket--"by G--d, I wish Lord John were stifled in the mud he's +stirred up, and Gaffer Grey with him!" + +"You can add Bruffam, if you like," Wathen answered +good-humouredly--he was not paying two thousand five hundred guineas +for his seat. "And rid me of a rival and the country of a pest, Cooke! +But come, gentlemen, now we're here and no bones broken, shall we sit +down? We are all safe, I trust, Mr. White? And especially--my future +constituents?" with a glance of his shrewd Jewish-looking eyes. + +"Yes, sir, no harm done," White replied as cheerfully as he could; +which was not overcheerfully, for in all his experience of Chippinge +he had known nothing like this; and he was a trifle scared. "Yes, +sir," he continued, looking round, "all here, I think! And--and by +Jove," in a tone of relief, "one more than I expected! Mr. Vaughan! I +am glad, sir, very glad, sir," he added heartily, "to see you. Very +glad!" + +The young man who had alighted from his postchaise a few minutes +before did not, in appearance at least, reciprocate the feeling. He +looked sulky and bored. But he shook the outstretched hand; he could +do no less. Then, saying scarcely a word, he stood back again. He had +hastened to Chippinge on receiving White's belated express, but rather +because, irritated by the collision with Flixton, he welcomed any +change, than because he was sure what he would do. In the chaise he +had thought more of Mary than of politics, more of the Honourable Bob +than of his cousin. And though, as far as Sir Robert was concerned, he +was resolved to be frank and to play the man, his mind had travelled +no farther. + +Now, thrown suddenly among these people, he was, in a churlish way, +taken somewhat aback. But, in a thoroughly bad temper, he told himself +it did not matter. If they did not like the line he was going to take, +that was their business. He was not responsible to them. In fine, he +was in a savage mood, with half his mind here and the other half +dwelling on the events of the morning. For the moment politics seemed +to him a poor game, and what he did or did not do of little +consequence! + +White and the others were not blind to his manner, and might have +resented it in another. But Sir Robert's heir was a great man and had +a right to moods if any man had; doubtless he was become a fine +gentleman and thought it a nuisance to vote in his own borough. They +were all politeness to him, therefore, and while his eyes passed +haughtily beyond them, seeking Sir Robert, they presented to him those +whom he did not know. + +"Very kind of you to come, Mr. Vaughan," said the Sergeant, who, like +many browbeaters, could be a sycophant at need. "Very kind indeed! I +don't know whether you know Mr. Cooke? He, equally with me, is obliged +to you for your attendance." + +"Greatly obliged, sir," Mr. Cooke muttered. "Certainly, certainly." + +Vaughan bowed coldly. + +"Is not Sir Robert here?" he asked. + +He was still looking beyond those to whom he spoke. + +"No, Mr. Vaughan." + +And then, "This way to dinner," White cried loudly. "Come, gentlemen! +Dinner, gentlemen, dinner!" + +And Vaughan, heedless what he did or where he dined, but inclined in a +sardonic way to amuse himself, went in with them. What did it matter? +He was not going to vote for them. But that was his business, and Sir +Robert's. He was not responsible to them. + +Certainly he was in a very bad temper. + + + + + XIII + + THE VERMUYDEN DINNER + + +Vaughan began to think more soberly of his position when he found +himself set down at the table. He had White, who took one end, on his +right; and the Sergeant was opposite him. At the other end the +Alderman presided, supported by Mr. Cooke and the Rector. + +The young man looked down the board, at the vast tureens that smoked +on it, and at the faces, smug or jolly, hungry or expectant, that +surrounded them; and amid the flood of talk which burst forth the +moment his reverence had said a short grace, he began to feel the +situation uncomfortable. True, he had a sort of right to be there, as +the heir, and a Vermuyden. True, too, he owed nothing to anyone there; +nothing to the Sergeant, whom he secretly disliked, nothing to Mr. +Cooke, whom he despised--in his heart he was as exclusive as Sir +Robert himself--nothing to White, who would one day be his paid +dependant. He owed them no explanation. Why then should he expose +himself to their anger and surprise? He would be silent and speak only +when the time came, and he could state his views to Sir Robert with a +fair chance of a fair hearing. + +Still he saw that the position in which he had placed himself was a +false one: and might become ridiculous. And it crossed his mind to +feign illness and to go out and incontinently walk over to Stapylton +and see Sir Robert. Or he might tell White quietly that he did not +find himself able to support his cousin's nominations: and before the +news got abroad he might withdraw and let them think what they would. +But he was too proud to do the one, and in too sulky a mood to do the +other. And he sat still. + +"Where is Sir Robert?" he asked. + +"He left home on a sudden call, this morning, sir," White explained; +wondering what made the young squire--who was wont to be affable--so +distant. "On unexpected business." + +"It must have been important as well as unexpected," Wathen said, with +a smile, "to take Sir Robert away today, Mr. White." + +"It was both, sir, as I understood," White answered, "for Sir Robert +did not make me acquainted with it. He seemed somewhat put out--more +put out than I have often seen him. But he said that whatever happened +he would be back before the nomination." And then, turning to Vaughan, +"You must have passed him, sir?" he added. + +"Well, now I think of it," Vaughan answered, his spoon suspended, "I +did. I met a travelling carriage and four with jackets like his. But, +I thought it was empty." + +"No, sir, that was Sir Robert. He will not be best pleased," White +continued, turning to the Sergeant, "when he hears what a reception we +had!" + +"Ah, well, ah, well!" the Sergeant replied--pleasantness was his cue +to-day. "Things are worse in Bath I'll be sworn, Mr. White." + +"No doubt, sir, no doubt! I think," White added, forgetting his study +of Cobbett, "the nation has gone mad." + +After that Vaughan's other neighbour, Squire Rowley, who met him +annually at Stapylton, claimed his ear. The old fellow, hearty and +good-natured, but a bigoted Tory, who would have given Orator Hunt +four dozen and thought Lord Grey's proper reward a block on Tower +Hill, was the last person whom Vaughan would have chosen for a +confidant; since only to hear of a Vermuyden turned Whig would have +gone near to giving him a fit. Perforce, nevertheless, Vaughan had to +listen to him and answer him; he could not without rudeness cut him +short. But all the time as they talked, Vaughan's uneasiness +increased. With every minute his eyes wandered more longingly to the +door. Improved in temper by the fare and by the politeness of his +neighbours, he began to see that he had been foolish to thrust himself +among people with whom he did not agree. Still he was there; and he +must see the dinner to an end. After all a little more or a little +less would not add to Sir Robert's anger. He could explain that he +thought it more delicate to avoid an open scandal. + +Meanwhile the collision with the crowd had loosened the guests' +tongues and never had a Vermuyden dinner gone more freely. Even the +"Cripples," whose wont it was to begin the evening with odious +obsequiousness and close it with a freedom as unpleasant, found speech +early, and were loudest in denunciation of a Bill which threatened to +deprive them of their annuities. By the time huge joints had taken the +place of the tureens, and bowls of potatoes and mounds of asparagus +dotted the table, the noise was incessant. There was claret for those +who cared for it, and strong ale for all. And while some discussed the +effect which a Bill that disfranchised Chippinge would have on their +pockets and interests, others driving their arguments home with blows +on the table recalled, almost with tears, the sacred name of Pitt--the +pilot who weathered the storm; or held up to execration a cabinet of +Whigs dead to every Whig principle, and alive only to the chance of +power which a revolution might afford. + +"But what was to be expected? What was to be expected?" old Rowley +insisted. "We've only ourselves to thank! When Peel and the Duke took +up the Catholic Claims they stepped into the Whigs' shoes--and +devilishly may they pinch them! The Whigs had to find another pair, +you see, sir, and stepped into the Radicals'! And the only people left +at a loss are the honest part of us; who are likely to end not only +barefoot but barebacked! Ay, by G--d, we are!" + +And so on, and so on; even White, who was vastly relieved by Vaughan's +arrival, which made his majority safe, talked freely, and gave Dyas +and Pillinger of the Blue Duck the rough side of his tongue. While +Vaughan, used to a freer atmosphere, listened to their one-sided +arguments, their trite prophecies, their incredible prejudices--such +they seemed to him--and now turned up his nose, now pitied them, as an +effete, a doomed, a dying race. + +While he thought of this the dinner wore on, the joints vanished, and +huge steaming puddings made their appearance on the board; those who +cared not for plum puddings could have marrow-puddings. Then cheese +and spring onions, and some special old ale, light coloured, heady, +and served in tall, spare glasses, went round. At length the rector, a +trifle flushed, rose to say grace, and Vaughan saw that the cloth was +about to be removed. Bottles of strong port and tawny Madeira were at +hand. Some called already for their favourite punch, or for hot grog. + +"Now," he thought, "I can escape with a good grace. And I will!" + +But as he made a movement to rise, the Sergeant rose opposite him, +lifted his glass, and fixed him with his eye. And Vaughan felt that he +could not leave at that moment without rudeness. "Gentlemen, on your +feet, if you please," he cried blandly. "The King! The King, God bless +him! The King, gentlemen, and may he never suffer for the faults of +his servants! May the Grey mare never run away with him. May William +the Good ne'er be ruined by a--bad Bill! Gentlemen, the King, God +bless him, and deliver him from the Whigs!" + +They drank the toast amid a roar of laughter and applause. And once +more as they sat down Vaughan thought that he would escape. Again he +was hindered. This time the interruption came from behind. + +"Hallo, Vaughan!" someone muttered in his ear. "You're the last person +I expected to see here!" + +He turned and disgust filled him. The speaker, who had just entered, +was the son of a clergyman in the neighbourhood and had gone to the +bar. He was a shifty, flattering fellow, at once a toady and a +backbiter; who had wormed himself into society too good for him, and +in London was Vaughan's _bete noir_. But had that been all! Alas, he +was also a member of the Academic. He had been present at Vaughan's +triumph ten days before, and had heard him proclaim himself a Reformer +of the Reformers. + +For a moment Vaughan could find not a word. He could only mutter "Oh!" +in a tone of dismay. He feared that his face betrayed the chagrin he +felt. + +"I thought you were quite the other way?" Mowatt said. And he grinned. +He was a weedy, pale young man, with thin lips and a false smile. + +Vaughan hesitated. "So I am!" he said curtly. + +"But--but I thought----" + +"Order! Order!" cried the Alderman, a trifle uplifted by wine and his +position. "Silence, if you please, gentlemen, for the Senior +Candidate! And charge your glasses!" + +Vaughan turned to the table, a frown on his brow. Wathen was on his +feet, holding his wine glass before his breast with one hand, while +the other rested on the table. His attitude was that of a man +confident of his powers and pleased to exert them. Nevertheless, as he +prepared to speak, he lowered his eyes to the table as if he thought +that a little mock-modesty became him. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "it is my privilege to propose a toast, that at +this time and in this place--this time, gentlemen, when to an extent +unknown within living memory, all is at stake, and this place which +has so much to lose--it is my privilege, I say, to propose a toast +that must go straight to the heart of every man in this room, nay, of +every true-born Englishman, and every lover of his country! It is _Our +Ancient Constitution, our Chartered Rights, our Vested Interests!_ +[Loud and continued applause.] Yes, gentlemen, our ancient +Constitution, the security of every man, woman, and child in this +realm! And coupled with it our Chartered Rights, our Vested Interests, +which, unassailed for generations, are to-day called in question by +the weakness of many, by the madness of some, by the wicked ambition +of a few. [Loud cheering]. Gentlemen, to one Cromwell this town owes +the destruction of your famous Abbey, once the pride of this county! +To another Cromwell it owes the destruction of the walls that in +troublous times secured the hearths of your forefathers! It lies with +us--but we must be instant and diligent--it lies with us, I say, to +see that those civil bulwarks which protect us and ours in the +enjoyment of all we have and all we hope for----" + +"In this world!" the Rector murmured in a deep bass voice. + +"In this world," the Sergeant continued, accepting the amendment with +a complimentary bow, "are not laid low by a third Cromwell! I care not +whether he mask himself under the name of Grey, or of Russell, or of +Brougham, or of Lansdowne!" + +He paused amid such a roar of applause as shook the room. + +"For think not"--the Sergeant resumed when it died down--"think not, +gentlemen, whatever the easily led vulgar may think, that sacrilegious +hands can be laid on the Ark of the Constitution without injury to +many other interests; without the shock being felt through all the +various members of the State down to the lowest: without endangering +all those multiform rights and privileges for which the Constitution +is our guarantee! Let the advocates of this pernicious, this +revolutionary Bill say what they will, they cannot deny that its +effect will be to deprive you in Chippinge who, for nearly five +centuries, have enjoyed the privilege of returning members to +Parliament--of that privilege, with all"--here he glanced at the rich +array of bottles that covered the board--"the amenities which it +brings with it! And for whose benefit? For that of men no better +qualified--nay, by practice and heredity less qualified--than +yourselves. But, gentlemen, mark me, that is not all! That is but the +beginning, and it may be the least part. That loss they cannot hide +from you. That loss they do not attempt to hide from you. But they do +hide from you," he continued in his deepest and most tragic tone, "a +fact to which the whole course of history is witness--that a policy of +robbery once begun is rarely stayed, if it be stayed, until the victim +is bare! Bare, gentlemen! Gentlemen, the freemen of this borough have +of ancient right, conferred by an ancient sovereign----" + +"God bless him!" from Annibal, now somewhat drunk. "God bless him! +Here's his health!" + +The Sergeant paused an instant and looked round the table. Then more +slowly, "Ay, God bless him!" he said. "God bless King Canute! But +what--what if those grants of land---I care not whether you call them +chartered rights or vested interests--which you freemen enjoy of +him--what if they do not enure? You have them," with a penetrating +glance from face to face, "but for how long, gentlemen, if this Bill +pass? You are too clear-sighted to be blind to the peril! Too shrewd +to think that you can part with one right, as old, as well vested, as +perfectly secured--and keep the others undiminished? Gentlemen, if you +are so blind, take warning! For wherever this anarchical, this +dangerous, this revolutionary Bill----" + +"Hear! Hear! Hear!" from Vaughan's neighbour, the Squire. + +"Wherever, I say, this Bill finds supporters--and I can well believe +that in Birmingham and Sheffield, where they have all to gain and +nothing to lose, it will find supporters, it should find none in +Chippinge! Where we have all to lose and nothing to gain, and where no +man but a fool or a rogue can in reason support it! Gentlemen, you are +neither fools nor rogues----" + +"No! No! No! No!" + +"No, gentlemen, and therefore, though a few silly fellows may shout +for the Bill in the streets, I am sure that I shall have the whole of +this influential company with me when I give you the toast of 'Our +Ancient Constitution, Our Chartered Rights, Our Vested Interests!' May +the Bill that assails them be defeated by the good sense of a sober +and united people! May those who urge it and those who support +it--rogues where they are not fools, and fools where they are not +rogues--meet with the fate they deserve! And may we be there to see! +Gentlemen," he continued, raising his hand for silence, "in the +absence upon pressing business of our beloved High Steward, the model +of an English gentleman and the pattern of an English landlord, I beg +to couple this toast"--here the Sergeant's sharp black eyes fixed +themselves suddenly on his opposite neighbour--"with the name of his +kinsman, Mr. Arthur Vaughan!" + +"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" The room shook with the volume of applause, +the tables trembled. And through it all Arthur Vaughan's heart beat +hard, and he swallowed nervously. He was caught. Whether the Sergeant +knew it or not, he was trapped. From the beginning of the speech he +had had his misgivings. He had listened anxiously; and though he had +lost nothing, though one half of his mind had followed the speaker's +thread, the other half had scanned the prospect feverishly, weighed +the chances of escape, and grown chill with the fear of what was +coming. If he had only withdrawn in time! If he had only---- + +"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" They were pounding the table with fist and +glass, and looking towards him--two long rows of flushed, excited, +tipsy faces. Some were drinking to him. Others were scanning him +curiously. All were waiting. + +He leant forward. "I don't wish to speak," he said, addressing the +Sergeant in a troubled voice. "Call on some one else, if you please." + +But "Impossible, sir!" White, surprised by his evident nervousness, +answered. He had thought Vaughan anything but a shy person. +"Impossible, sir!" + +"Get up! Get up!" cried the Squire, his neighbour, laying a jocund +hand on him and trying to lift him to his feet. + +But Vaughan resisted; his throat was so dry that he could hardly frame +his words. "I don't wish to speak," he muttered. "I don't agree----" + +"Say what you like, my dear sir!" the Sergeant rejoined blandly, but +with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He had had his doubts of Master +Vaughan ever since he had caught him on his way to the Chancellor: now +he thought that he had him pinned. He did not suppose that the young +man would dare to revolt openly. + +"Yes, sir, you must get up," said White, who had no suspicion that his +hesitation arose from any cause but shyness. "Anything will do." + +Vaughan rose--slowly, and with a beating heart. He rose perforce. For +a moment he stood, deafened by his reception. For the smaller men saw +in him one of the old family, the future landlord of two-thirds of +them, the sometime owner of the very roof under which they were +gathered. And he, while they greeted his rising and he stood waiting +with an unhappy face for silence, wondered, even at this last moment, +what he would say. And Heaven knows what he would have said--so hard +was it to disappoint those cheering men, all looking at him with +worship in their eyes--so painful was it to break old ties--if he had +not caught behind him Mowatt's whisper, "Eat his words! He'll have to +unsay----" + +No more than that, a fragment, but enough; enough to show him that he +had better, far better seem false to these men, to his blood, to the +past, than be false to himself. He straightened his shoulders, and +lifted his head. + +"Gentlemen," he said, and now his voice though low was steady, "I rise +unwillingly--unwillingly, because I feel too late that I ought not to +be here. That I have no right to be here. [No! No!] No right to be +here, for this reason," he continued, raising his hand for silence, +"for this reason, that in much of what Sergeant Wathen has said, I +cannot go with him." + +There, it was out! But no more than a stare of perplexity passed from +the more intelligent faces about him to the duller faces lower down +the table. They did not understand; it was only clear that he could +not mean what he seemed to mean. But he was going on in a silence so +complete that a pin falling to the floor might have been heard! + +"I rise unwillingly, I say again, gentlemen," he continued, "and I beg +you to remember this, and that I did not come here of set purpose to +flaunt my opinions before you. For I, too"--here he betrayed his +secret agitation--"thus far I do go with Sergeant Wathen,--I, too, am +for Our Ancient Constitution, I give place to no man in love of it. +And I, too, am against revolution, I will stand second to none in +abhorrence of it." + +"Hear! Hear!" cried the Rector in a tone of unmistakable relief. +"Hear, hear!" + +"Ay, go on," chimed in the Squire. "Go on, lad, go on! That's all +right!" And half aside in his neighbour's ear, "Gad! he frightened +me!" he muttered. + +"But--but to be plain," Vaughan resumed, pronouncing every word +clearly, "I do not regard the Bill which the Sergeant has mentioned, +the Bill which is in all your minds, as assailing the one, or as being +tantamount to the other! On the contrary, I believe that it restores +the ancient balance of the Constitution, and will avert, as nothing +else will avert, a Revolution!" + +As he paused on that word, the Squire, who was of a free habit, tried +to rise and speak, but choked. The Rector gasped. Only Mr. Cooke found +his voice. He sprang to his feet, purple in the face. "By G--d!" he +roared, "are we going to listen to this?" + +Vaughan sat down, pale but composed. But he found all eyes on him, and +he rose again. + +"It was against my will I said what I have said," he resumed. "I did +not wish to speak. I do not wish you to listen. I rose only because I +was forced to rise. But being up, I owed it to myself to say enough to +clear myself of--of the appearance of duplicity. That is all." + +The Sergeant did not speak, but gazed darkly at him, his mind busy +with the effect which this would have on the election. White, too, did +not speak--he sat stricken dumb. The Squire swore, and five or six of +the more intelligent hissed. But again it was Cooke who found words. + +"That all? But that is not all!" he shouted. "That is not all! What +are you, sir?" For still, in common with most of those at the table, +he could not believe that he heard aright. He fancied that this was +some trope, some nice distinction, which he had not followed. "You may +be Sir Robert Vermuyden's cousin ten times over," he continued, +vehemently, "but we'll have it clear what we have to expect. Speak +like a man, sir! Say what you mean!" + +Vaughan had taken his seat, but he rose again, a gleam of anger in his +eyes. "Have I not spoken plainly?" he said. "I thought I had. If you +have still any doubt, sir, I am for the Constitution, but I think that +it has suffered by the wear and tear of time and needs repair. I think +that the shifting of population during the last two centuries, the +decay of one place and the rise of another, call for some change in +the representation! I hold that the spread of education and the +creation of a large and wealthy class unconnected with the land, +render that change more urgent if we would avoid a revolution! I +believe that the more we enlarge the base upon which our institutions +rest, the more safely, the more steadily, and the longer will they +last!" + +They knew now, they understood, and the storm broke. The smaller men, +or such of them as were sober, stared. But the greater number burst +into a roar of dissent, of reprobation, of anger, led by the Squire. + +"A Whig, by Heaven!" he cried violently. And he thrust his chair as +far as possible from his neighbour. "A Whig, by Heaven! And here!" +While others cried, "Renegade!" "Radical!" and "What are you doing +here?" and hissed him. But above all, in some degree stilling all, +rose Cooke's crucial question, "Are you for the Bill? Answer me that!" +And he extended his hand for silence. "Are you for the Bill?" + +"I am," Vaughan answered. The storm steadied him. + +"You are?" + +"Yes." + +"Fool or rogue, then! which are you?" shrieked a voice from the lower +end of the table. "Fool or rogue? Which are you?" + +Vaughan turned sharply in the direction of the voice. "That reminds +me," he said with a vigour which seemed after a few seconds to gain +him a hearing--for the noise died down--"that reminds me, Sergeant +Wathen is against the Bill. But he has addressed himself solely and +only to your prejudices, gentlemen! I am for the Bill--I am for the +Bill," he repeated, seeing that their attention was wandering, "I----" + +He stopped, silenced and taken aback. For some were on their feet, +others were rising; the faces of nine out of ten were turned from him. +What was it? He turned to see; and he saw. + +A few paces within the door stood Sir Robert himself; his fur collared +travelling cloak hanging loose about him and showing his tall spare +figure at its best. He stooped, but his high-bred face, cynically +smiling, was turned full on the speaker; it was certain that he had +heard much, if not all. And Vaughan had been brave indeed, he had been +a hero, if taken by surprise and at this disadvantage he had not shown +some discomfiture. + +It is easy to smile now! Easy to say that this was but an English +gentleman, bound like others by the law! And Vaughan's own kinsman! +But few would have smiled then. He, through whose hands passed a +quarter of the patronage of a county, who dammed or turned the stream +of promotion, who had made many there and could unmake them, whose +mere hint could have consigned, a few years back, the troublesome to +the press-gang, who belonged almost as definitely, almost as +exclusively, to a caste, as do white men in the India of to-day; who +seldom showed himself to the vulgar save in his coach and four, or +riding with belted grooms behind him--about such an one in '81 there +was, if no divinity, at least the aegis of real power, that habit which +unquestioned authority confers, that port of Jove to which men bow! +Scan the pictured faces of the men who steered this country through +the long war--the faces of Liverpool and Castlereagh-- + + + _Daring pilots in extremity, + Scorning the danger when the waves ran high_; + + +or of those men, heirs to their traditions, who, for nearly twenty +years, confronted the no less formidable forces of discontent and +disaffection--of Peel and Wellington, Croker and Canning, and he is +blind who does not find there the reflection of that firm rule, the +shadow of that power which still survived, though maimed and weakened +in the early thirties. + +Certainly it was not easy to smile at such men then; at their pride or +their prejudices, their selfishness or their eccentricity. For behind +lay solid power. Small blame to Vaughan therefore, if in the face of +the servile attitude, the obsequious rising of the company about him, +he felt his countenance change, if he could not quite hide his dismay. +And though he told himself that his feelings were out of place, that +the man did but stand in the shoes which would one day be his, and was +but now what he would be, _vox faucibus haesit_--he was dumb. It was +Sir Robert who broke the silence. + +"I fear, Mr. Vaughan," he said, the gleam in his eyes alone betraying +his passion--for he would as soon have walked the country lanes in his +dressing robe as given way to rage in that company--"I fear you are +saying in haste words which you will repent at leisure! Did I hear +aright that--that you are in favour of the Bill?" + +"I am," Vaughan replied a little huskily. "I----" + +"Just so, just so!" Sir Robert replied with a certain lightness. And +raising his walking cane he pointed gravely and courteously to the +door a pace or two from him. "That is the door, Mr. Vaughan," he said. +"You must be here, I am sure, under an error." + +Vaughan coloured painfully. "Sir Robert," he said, "I owe you, I +know----" + +"You will owe me very little by to-morrow evening," Sir Robert +rejoined, interrupting him suavely. "Much less than you now think! But +that is not to the point. Will you--kindly withdraw?" + +"I would like at least to say this! That I came here----" + +"Will you kindly withdraw?" Sir Robert persisted. "That is all." And +he pointed again, and still more blandly, to the door. "Any +explanation you may please to offer--and I do not deny that one may be +in place--you can give to my agent to-morrow. He, on his part, will +have something to say. For the present--Annibal," turning with kindly +condescension, "be good enough to open the door for this gentleman. +Good-evening, Mr. Vaughan. You will not, I am sure, compel me to +remove with my friends to another room?" + +And as he continued to point to the door, and would listen to +nothing--and the room was certainly his--Vaughan walked out. And +Annibal closed the door behind him. + + + + + XIV + + MISS SIBSON'S MISTAKE + + +It was perhaps fortunate for Miss Hilhouse that she did not hazard any +remarks on that second escapade in the Square. Whether this amendment +in her manners was due to Miss Sibson's apothegms, or to the general +desire of the school to see the new teacher's new pelisse--which could +only be gratified by favour--or to a threatening rigidity in Mary +Smith's bearing must remain a question. But children are keen +observers. Their senses are as sharp as their tongues are cruel. And +it is certain that Miss Smith had not read four lines of the fifth +chapter of The Fairchild Family before a certain sternness in her tone +was noted by those who had not already marked the danger signal in her +eyes. For the gentlest eyes can dart lightnings on occasion. The sheep +will turn in defence of its lamb. Nor ever walked woman who could not +fight for her secret and her pride. + +So Miss Hilhouse bit her tongue and kept silence, the girls behaved +beautifully, and Mary read The Fairchild Family to them in a tone of +monotony that perfectly reflected the future as she saw it. She had +been very foolish, and very weak, but she was not without excuse. He +had saved her life, she could plead that. True, brought up as she had +been at Clapham, shielded from all dealings with the other sex, taught +to regard them as wolves, or at best as a race with which she could +have no safe parley, she should have known better. She should have +known that handsome, courteous, masterful-eyed, as they were--and with +a way with them that made poor girls' hearts throb at one moment and +stand still at another--she should have known that they meant nothing. +That they were still men, and that she must not trust them, must not +think of them, must not expect to find them more steadfast to a point +than the weather-cock on St. Mary's at Redcliffe. + +The weather-cock? Ah! + +She had no sooner framed the thought in the middle of the reading than +she was aware of a sensation; and a child, one of the youngest, raised +her hand. "Please--" + +Mary paused. + +"Yes?" she asked. "What is it?" + +"Please, Miss Smith, did the weather-cock speak?" + +Mary reddened violently. + +"Speak? The weather-cock? What do you mean, child?" + +"Please, Miss Smith, you said that the weather-cock told Lucy the +truth, the truth, and all the truth." + +"Impossible!" Mary stammered. "I--I should have said, the coachman." +And Mary resumed the story, but with a hot face; a face that blushed +more painfully and more intolerably because she was conscious that +every eye was upon it, and that a score of small minds were groping +for the cause of her confusion. + +She remembered, oh, how well she remembered, that the schoolmistress +at Clapham had told her that she had every good quality except +strength of will. And how thoroughly, how rapidly had she proved the +truth of the exception! Freed from control for only twenty-four hours, +left for that time to her own devices, she had listened to the first +voice that addressed her, believed the first flattering look that fell +on her, taken the most ordinary attentions--attentions at which any +girl with knowledge of the world or strength of will would have +smiled--for gold, real red gold! So that a light look without a spoken +word had drawn her heart from her. How it behoved her to despise +herself, loathe herself, discipline herself! How she ought to guard +herself in the future! Above all, how thankful should she be for the +dull but safe routine that fenced, and henceforth would fence, her +life from such dangers! + +True. Yet how dreary to her young eyes seemed that routine stretched +before her! How her courage fainted at the prospect of morning added +to morning, formal walk to formal walk, lesson to lesson, one +generation of pupils to another! For generation would follow +generation, one chubby face would give place to another, and still she +would be there, plodding through the stale task, listening with an +aching head to the strumming on the harpsichord, saying the same +things, finding the same faults, growing slowly into a correcting, +scolding, punishing machine. By and by she would know The Fairchild +Family by heart, and she would sicken at the "Letters on the +Improvement of the Mind." The children would still be young, but grey +hairs would come to her, she would grow stout and dull; and those +slender hands, those dainty fingers still white and fine, still meet +for love, would be seared by a million needle-pricks and roughened by +the wear and tear of ten thousand hours of plain sewing. + +She was ungrateful, oh, she was ungrateful to think such thoughts! For +in what was her lot worse than the lot of others? Or worse than it had +been a week before when, who more humble-minded or contented, more +cheerful or helpful than Mary Smith? When her only fault had been a +weakness of character which her old schoolmistress hoped would be +cured by time? When, though the shadow of an unknown Miss Sibson +loomed formidable before her, she had faced her fate bravely and +hopefully, supported not a little by the love and good wishes--won by +a thousand kind offices--which went with her into the unknown world. + +What had happened in the meantime? A little thing, oh, a very little +thing. But to think of it under the childrens' eyes made her face burn +again. She had lost her heart--to a man. To a man! The very word +seemed improper in that company. How much more improper when the man +cared nothing for her, but tossing her a smile for guerdon, had taken +her peace of mind and gone his way, with a laugh. At the best, if he +had ever dreamt seriously of her, ever done more than deem her an +innocent, easily flattered and as lightly to be won, he had changed +his mind as quickly as a weather-cock shifts in April. And he had +talked--that hurt her, that hurt her most! He had talked of her +freely, boasted of her silliness, told his companions what he would +do, or what he would not do; made her common to them! + +She got away for a few minutes at tea-time. But twenty pairs of eyes +followed her from the room and seized on her as she returned. And +"Miss Smith, ain't you well?" piped a tiny treble. + +She was controlling her voice to answer--that she was quite well, when +Miss Sibson intervened. "Miss Fripp," she said sombrely, "write 'Are +you not,' twenty times on your slate after tea! Miss Hilhouse, if you +stare in that fashion you will be goggle-eyed. Young ladies, elbows, +elbows! Have I not told you a score of times that the art of +deportment consists in the right use of the elbow? Now, Miss Claxton, +in what does the art of deportment consist?" + +"In the right use of the elbow, Ma'am." + +"And what is the right use of the elbow?" + +"To efface it, Ma'am." + +"That is better," Miss Sibson replied, somewhat mollified. "Understood +is half done. Miss Smith," looking about her with benevolence, "had +you occasion to commend any young lady's needle this afternoon?" + +Miss Smith looked unhappy: conscious that she had not been as +attentive to her duties as became her. "I had no occasion to find +fault, Ma'am," she said timidly. + +"Very good. Then every fourth young lady beginning at my right hand +may take a piece of currant cake. I see that Miss Burges is wearing +the silver medal for good conduct. She may take a piece, and give a +piece to a friend. When you have eaten your cake you may go to the +schoolroom and play for half an hour at Blind Man's Buff. But--elbows! +Elbows, young ladies," gazing austerely at them over her glasses. "In +all your frolics let deportment be your first consideration." + +The girls trooped out and Mary Smith rose to go with them. But Miss +Sibson bade her remain. "I wish to speak to you," she said. + +Poor Mary trembled. For Miss Sibson was still in some measure an +unknown quantity, a perplexing mixture of severity and benevolence, +sound sense and Mrs. Chapone. + +"I wish to speak to you," Miss Sibson continued when they were alone. +And then after a pause during which she poured herself out a third cup +of tea, "My dear," she said soberly, "the sooner a false step is +retraced the better. I took a false step yesterday--I blame myself for +it--when I allowed you--in spite of my rule to the contrary--to see a +gentleman. I made that exception partly out of respect to the note +which the parcel contained; the affair was strange and out of the +ordinary. And partly because I liked the gentleman's face. I thought +him a gentleman; he told me that he had an independence: I had no +reason to think him more than that. But I have heard to-day, my +dear--I thought it right to make some enquiry in view of the +possibility of a second visit--that he is a gentleman of large +expectations, who will one day be very rich and a man of standing in +the country. That alters the position," Miss Sibson continued gravely. +"Had I known it"--she rubbed her nose thoughtfully with the handle of +her teaspoon--"I should not have permitted the interview." And then +after a few seconds of silence, "You understand me, I think, my dear?" +she asked. + +"Yes," Mary said in a low voice. She spoke with perfect composure. + +"Just so, just so," Miss Sibson answered, pleased to see that the girl +was too proud to give way before her--though she was sure that she +would cry by and by. "I am glad to think that there is no harm done. +As I have said, the sooner a false step is retraced, the better; and +therefore if he calls again I shall not permit him to see you." + +"I do not wish to see him," Mary said with dignity. + +"Very good. Then that is understood." + +But strangely enough, the words had barely fallen from Miss Sibson's +lips when there came a knock at the house door, and the same thought +leapt to the mind of each; and to Mary's cheek a sudden vivid blush +that, fading as quickly as it came, left her paler than before. Miss +Sibson saw the girl's distress, and she was about to suggest, in +words equivalent to a command, that she should retire, when the door +opened and the neat maidservant announced--with poorly masked +excitement--that a gentleman wished to see Miss Smith. + +Miss Sibson frowned. + +"Where is he?" she asked, with majesty; as if she already scented the +fray. + +"In the parlour, Ma'am." + +"Very good. Very good. I will see him." But not until the maid had +retired did the schoolmistress rise to her feet. "You had better stay +here," she said, looking at her companion, "until my return. It is of +course your wish that I should dismiss him?" + +Mary shivered. Those dreams of something brighter, something higher, +something fuller than the daily round; of a life in the sunshine, of +eyes that looked into hers--this was their end! But she said "Yes," +bravely. + +"Good girl," said Miss Sibson, feeling, good, honest creature, more +than she showed. "I will do so." And she swam forth. + +Poor Mary! The door was barely shut before her heart whispered that +she had only to cross the hall and she would see him; that, on the +other hand, if she did not cross the hall, she would never, never, +never see him again! She would stay here for all time, bound hand and +foot to the unchanging round of petty duties, a blind slave in the +mill, no longer a woman--though her woman's heart hungered for +love--but a dull, formal, old maid, growing more stiff and angular +with every year! No farther away than the other side of the hall were +love and freedom. And she dared not, she dared not open the door! + +And then she bethought her, that he was no weathercock, for he had +come again! He had come! And it must be for something. For what? + +She heard the door open on the parlour side of the hall, and she knew +that he was going. And she stood listening, waiting with blanched +cheeks. + +The door opened and Miss Sibson came in, met her look--and started. + +"Oh!" the schoolmistress exclaimed; and for a moment she stood, +looking strangely at the girl, as if she did not know what to say to +her. Then, "We were mistaken," she said, with a serious face. "It is +not the gentleman you were expecting, my dear. On the contrary, it's a +stranger who wishes to see you on business." + +Mary tried to gain command of herself. "I had rather not," she said +faintly. "I don't think I can." + +"I fear--you must," Miss Sibson rejoined, with unusual gravity. +"Still, there is no hurry. He can wait a few minutes. He can await +your leisure. Do you sit down and compose yourself. You have no reason +to be disturbed. The gentleman"--she continued, with an odd inflection +in her voice--"is old enough to be your father." + + + + + XV + + MR. PYBUS'S OFFER + + +"A note for you, sir." Vaughan turned moodily to take it. It was the +morning after the Vermuyden dinner, and he had slept ill, he had risen +late, he was still sitting before his breakfast, toying with it rather +than eating it. His first feeling on leaving the dining-room had been +bitter chagrin at the ease with which Sir Robert had dealt with him. +This had given place a little later to amusement; for he had a sense +of humour. And he had laughed, though sorely, at the figure he had cut +as he beat his retreat. Still later, as he lay, excited and wakeful, +he had fallen a prey to doubt; that horrible three o'clock in the +morning doubt, which defies reason, which sees all the _cons_ in the +strongest light and reduces the _pros_ to shadows. However, one thing +was certain. He had crossed the Rubicon. He had divorced himself by +public act from the party to which his forbears--for the Vaughans as +well as the Vermuydens had been Tories--had belonged. He had joined +the Whigs; nay, he had joined the Reformers. But though he had done +this deliberately and from conviction, though his reason approved the +step, and his brain teemed with arguments in its favour, the chance +that he might be wrong haunted him. + +That governing class from which he was separating himself, from which +his policy would snatch power, which in future would dub him traitor, +what had it not done for England? With how firm a hand had it not +guided the country through storm and stress, with what success +shielded it not from foreign foes only, but from disruption and +revolution? He scanned the last hundred and fifty years and saw the +country, always under the steady rule of that class which had the +greatest stake in its prosperity, advancing in strength and riches and +comfort, ay, and, though slowly in these, in knowledge also and the +humanities and decencies. And the question forced itself upon him, +would that great middle class into whose hands the sway now fell, use +it better? Would they produce statesmen more able than Walpole or +Chatham, generals braver than Wolfe or Moore, a higher heart than +Nelson's? Nay, would the matter end there? Would not power slip into +the hands of a wider and yet a wider circle? Would Orator Hunt's dream +of Manhood Suffrage, Annual Parliaments and the Ballot become a +reality? Would government by the majority, government by tale of +heads, as if three chawbacons must perforce be wiser than one squire, +government by the ill-taught, untrained mass, with the least to lose +and the most to gain--would that in the long run plunge the country in +fatal misfortunes? + +It was just possible that those who deemed the balance of power, +established in 1688, the one perfect mean between despotism and +anarchy--it was just possible that they were right. And that he was a +fool. + +Then to divert his mind he had allowed himself to think of Mary Smith. +And he had tossed and tumbled, ill-satisfied with himself. He was +brave, he told himself, in the wrong place. He had the courage to +break with old associations, to defy opinion, to disregard Sir +Robert--where no more than a point of pride was concerned; for it was +absurd to fancy that the fate of England hung on his voice. But in a +matter which went to the root of his happiness--for he was sure that +he loved Mary Smith and would love no other--he had not the spirit to +defy a little gossip, a few smiles, the contempt of the worldly. He +flushed from head to foot at the thought of a life which, however +modest--and modesty was not incompatible with ambition--was shared by +her, and would be pervaded by her. And yet he dared not purchase that +life at so trifling a cost! No, he was weak where he should be strong, +and strong where he should be weak. And so he had tossed and turned, +and now after two or three hours of feverish sleep, he sat glooming +over his tea cup. + +Presently he broke open the note which the waiter had handed to him. +He read it, and "Who brought this?" he asked, with a perplexed face. + +"Don't know, sir," Sam replied glibly, beginning to collect the +breakfast dishes. + +"Will you enquire?" + +"Found it on the hall table, sir," the man answered, in the same tone. +"Fancy," with a grin, "it's a runaway knock, sir. Known a man find a +cabbage at the door and a whole year's wages under it--at election +time, sir! Yes, sir. Find funny things in funny places--election time, +sir." + +Vaughan made no reply, but a few minutes later he took his hat and +descending the stairs, strolled with an easy air into the street. He +paused as if to contemplate the Abbey Church, beautiful even in its +disfigurement. Then, but as if he were careless which way he went, he +turned to the right. + +The main street, with its whitened doorsteps and gleaming knockers, +lay languid in the sunshine; perhaps, enervated by the dissipation of +the previous evening. The candidates who would presently pay formal +visits to the voters were not yet afoot: and though taverns where the +tap was running already gave forth maudlin laughter, no other sign of +the coming event declared itself. A few tradesmen stood at their +doors, a few dogs lay stretched in the sun; and only Vaughan's common +sense told him that he was watched. + +From the High Street he presently turned into a narrow alley on the +right which descended between garden walls to the lower level of the +town. A man who was lounging in the mouth of the alley muttered +"second door on the left," as Vaughan passed, and the latter moved on +counting the doors. At the one indicated he paused, and, after making +certain that he was not observed, he knocked. The door opened a little +way. + +"For whom are you?" asked someone who kept himself out of sight. + +"Buff and Blue," Vaughan answered. + +"Right; sir," the voice rejoined briskly. The door opened wide and +Vaughan passed in. He found himself in a small walled garden smothered +in lilac and laburnum, and shaded by two great chestnut trees already +so fully in leaf as to hide the house to which the garden belonged. + +The person who had admitted him, a very small, very neat gentleman in +a high-collared blue coat and nankeen trousers, with a redundant soft +cravat wound about his thin neck, bowed low. "Happy to see you, Mr. +Vaughan," he chirped. "I am Mr. Pybus, his lordship's man of business. +Happy to be the intermediary in so pleasant a matter." + +"I hope it may turn out so," Vaughan replied drily. "You wrote me a +very mysterious note." + +"Can't be too careful, sir," the little man, who was said to model +himself upon Lord John Russell, answered with an important frown. +"Can't be too careful in these matters. You're watched and I am +watched, sir." + +"I dare say," Vaughan replied. + +"And the responsibility is great, very great. May I----" he continued, +pulling out his box, "but I dare say you don't take snuff?" + +"No." + +"No? The younger generation! Just so! Many of the young gentry smoke, +I am told. Other days, other manners! Well--we know of course what +happened last night. And I'm bound to say, I honour you, Mr. Vaughan! +I honour you, sir." + +"You can let that pass," Vaughan replied coldly. + +"Very good! Very good! Of course," he continued with importance, "the +news was brought to me at once, and his lordship knew it before he +slept." + +"Oh!" + +"Yes, indeed. Yes. And he wrote to me this morning--in his dressing +gown, I don't doubt. He commanded me to tell you----" + +But here Vaughan stopped him--somewhat rudely. "One minute, Mr. +Pybus," he said, "I don't wish to know what Lord Lansdowne said or +did--because it will not affect my conduct. I am here because you +requested me to grant you an interview. But if your purpose be merely +to convey to me Lord Lansdowne's approval--or disapproval," in a tone +a little more contemptuous than was necessary, "be good enough to +understand that they are equally indifferent to me. I have done what I +have done without regard to my cousin's--to Sir Robert Vermuyden's +feelings. You may take it for certain," he added loftily, "that I +shall not be led beyond my own judgment by any regard for his +lordship's." + +"But hear me out!" the little man cried, dancing to and fro in his +eagerness; so that, in the shifting lights under the great chestnut +tree, he looked like a pert, bright-coloured bird. "Hear me out, and +you'll not say that!" + +"I shall say, Mr. Pybus----" + +"I beg you to hear me out!" + +Vaughan shrugged his shoulders. + +"Go on!" he said. "I have said my say, and I suppose you understand +me." + +"I shall hold it unsaid," Mr. Pybus rejoined warmly, "until I have +spoken!" And he waved an agitated finger in the air. "Observe, Mr. +Vaughan--his lordship bade me take you entirely into confidence, and I +do so. We've only one candidate--Mr. Wrench. Colonel Petty is sure of +his election in Ireland and we've no mind to stand a second contest to +fill his seat: in fact we are not going to nominate him. Lord Kerry, +my lord's eldest son thought of it, but it is not a certainty, and my +lord wishes him to wait a year or two and sit for Calne. I say it's +not a certainty. But it's next door to a certainty since you have +declared yourself. And my lord's view, Mr. Vaughan, is that he who +hits the buck should have the haunch. You take me?" + +"Indeed, I don't." + +"Then I'll be downright, sir. To the point, sir. Will you be our +candidate?" + +"What?" Vaughan cried. He turned very red. "What do you mean?" + +"What I said, sir. Will you be our candidate? For the Bill, the whole +Bill, and nothing but the Bill? If so, we shall not say a word until +to-morrow and then we shall nominate you with Mr. Wrench, and take 'em +by surprise. Eh? Do you see? They've got their speeches ready full of +my lord's interference and my lord's dictation, and they will point to +Colonel Petty, my lord's cousin, for proof! And then," Mr. Pybus +winked, much after the fashion of a mischievous paroquet, "we'll knock +the stool from under 'em by nominating you! And, mind you, Mr. +Vaughan, we are going to win. We were hopeful before, for we've one of +their men in gaol, and another, Pillinger of the Blue Duck, is tied by +the leg. His wife owes a bit of money and thinks more of fifty guineas +in her own pocket than of thirty pounds a year in her husband's. And +she and the doctor have got him in bed and will see that he's not well +enough to vote! Ha! Ha! So there it is, Mr. Vaughan! There it is! My +lord's offer, not mine. I believe he'd word from London what you'd be +likely to do. Only he felt a delicacy about moving--until you declared +yourself." + +"I see," Vaughan replied. And indeed he did see more than he liked. + +"Just so, sir. My lord's a gentleman if ever there was one!" And Mr. +Pybus, pulling down his waistcoat, looked as if he suspected that he +had imbibed much of his lordship's gentility. + +Vaughan stood, thinking; his eyes gazing into the shimmering depths of +green where the branches of the chestnut tree under which he stood +swept the sun-kissed turf. And as he thought he tried to still the +turmoil in his brain. Here within reach of his hand, to take or leave, +was that which had been his ambition for years! No longer to play at +the game, no longer to make believe while he addressed the Forum or +the Academic that he was addressing the Commons of England; but verily +and really to be one of that august body, and to have all within +reach. Had not the offer of cabinet honours fallen to Lord Palmerston +at twenty-five? And what Lord Palmerston had done at twenty-five, he +might do at thirty-five! And more easily, if he gained a footing +before the crowd of new members whom the Bill would bring in, took the +floor. The thought set his pulse a-gallop. His chance! His chance at +last! But if he let it slip now, it might not be his for long years. +It is poor work waiting for dead men's shoes. + +And yet he hesitated, with a flushed face. For the thing offered +without price or preface, by a man who had power to push him, by the +man who even now was pushing Mr. Macaulay at Calne, tempted him +sorely. Nor less--nor less because he remembered with bitterness that +Sir Robert had made him no such offer, and now never would! So that if +he refused this offer, he could look for no second from either side! + +And yet he could not forget that Sir Robert was his kinsman, was the +head of his family, the donor of his vote. And in the night watches he +had decided that, his mind delivered, his independence declared, he +would not vote. Neither for Sir Robert--for conscience's sake; nor +against Sir Robert, for his name's sake! + +Then how could he not only take an active part against him, but raise +his fortunes on his fall? + +He drew a deep breath. And he put the temptation from him. "I am much +obliged to his lordship," he said quietly. "But I cannot accept his +offer." + +"Not accept it?" Mr. Pybus cried. "Mr. Vaughan! You don't mean it, +sir! You don't mean it! It's a safe seat! It's in your own hands, I +tell you! And after last night! Besides, it is not as if you had not +declared yourself." + +"I cannot accept it," Vaughan repeated coldly. "I am obliged to Lord +Lansdowne for his kind thought of me. I beg you to convey my thanks to +him. But I cannot--in the position I occupy--accept the offer." + +Mr. Pybus stared. Was it possible that the scene at the Vermuyden +dinner had been a ruse? A piece of play-acting to gain his secrets? If +so--he was undone! "But," he quavered with an unhappy eye, "you are in +favour of the Bill, Mr. Vaughan?" + +"I am. + +"And--and of Reform generally, I understand?" + +"Certainly." + +"Then--I don't understand? Why do you refuse?" + +Vaughan raised his head and looked at him with a movement which would +have reminded Isaac White of Sir Robert. "That is my business," he +said. + +"But you see," Mr. Pybus remonstrated timidly--he was rather a +crestfallen bird by this time--"I confess I was never more surprised +in my life! Never! You see I've told you all our secrets." + +"I shall keep them." + +"Yes, but--oh dear! oh dear!" Pybus was thinking of what he had said +about Mrs. Pillinger of the Blue Duck. "I--I don't know what to say," +he added. "I am afraid I have been too hasty, very hasty! Very +precipitate! Of course, Mr. Vaughan," he continued, "the offer would +not have been made if we had not thought you certain to accept it!" + +"Then," Vaughan replied with dignity, "you can consider that it has +not been made. I shall not name it for certain." + +"Well! Well!" + +"I can say no more," Vaughan continued coldly. "Indeed, there is +nothing more to be said, Mr. Pybus?" + +"No," piteously, "I suppose not. If you really won't change your mind, +sir?" + +"I shall not do that," the young man answered. And a minute later with +Mr. Pybus's faint appeals still sounding in his ears he was on the +other side of the garden door, and striding down the alley, towards +the King's Wall, whence making a detour he returned to the High +Street. + + + + + XVI + + LESS THAN A HERO + + +It was the evening of the day on which the meeting between Arthur +Vaughan and Mr. Pybus had taken place, and from the thirty-six windows +in the front of Stapylton lights shone on the dusky glades of the +park; here, twinkling fairy-like over the long slope of sward that +shimmered pale-green as with the ghostly reflection of dead daylight, +there, shining boldly upon the clump of beeches that topped an +eminence with blackness. Vaughan sat beside Isaac White in the +carriage which Sir Robert had sent for him; and looking curiously +forth on the demesne which would be his if he lived, he could scarcely +believe his eyes. Was the old squire so sure of victory that he +already illuminated his windows? Or was the house, long sparely +inhabited, and opened only at rare intervals and to dull and formal +parties, full now from attic to hall? Election or no election, it +seemed unlikely. Yet every window, yes, every window had its light! + +He was too proud to question the agent who, his errand done, and his +message delivered, showed no desire to talk. More than once, indeed, +in the course of their short companionship, Vaughan had caught White +looking at him strangely; with something like pity in his eyes. And +though the young man was far from letting this distress him--probably +White, with his inborn reverence for Sir Robert, despaired of all who +fell under his displeasure--it closed his lips and hardened his heart. +He was no paid servant; but a kinsman and the heir. And he would have +Sir Robert remember this. For his own part, he was not going to forget +who he was; that a Chancellor had stooped to flatter him and a Cabinet +Minister had offered him a seat. He had refused for a point of honour +a bait which few would have refused; and he was not going to be +browbeaten by an old gentleman whom the world had out-paced, and whose +beliefs, whose prejudices, whose views, were of yesterday. Who, in his +profound ignorance of present conditions, would plunge England into +civil war rather than resign a privilege as obsolete as ship-money, +and as illegal as the Dispensing Power. + +While he thought of this the carriage stopped at the door. He alighted +and ascended the steps. + +The hall more than made good the outside promise; it was brilliantly +lighted, and behind Mapp and the servant who received him Vaughan had +a passing glimpse of three or four men in full-dress livery. From the +dining-room on his left issued peals of laughter, and voices, so clear +that, though he had not the smallest reason to expect to hear them +there, he was sure that he caught Bob Flixton's tones. The discovery +was not pleasing; but Mapp, turning the other way and giving him no +time to think, went before him to the suite of state-rooms--which he +had not seen in use more than thrice within his knowledge of the +house. It must be so then--he thought with a slight shock of surprise. +The place must be full! For the gilt mirrors in both the large and +small drawing-rooms reflected the soft light of many candles, wood +fires burned and crackled on the hearths, the "Morning Chronicle," the +"Quarterly," and other signs of life lay about on the round tables, +and an air of cheerful _bienseance_ pervaded all. What did it mean? + +"Sir Robert has finished dinner, sir," Mapp said--even he seemed to +wear an unusual air of solemnity. "He will be with you, sir, +immediately. Hope you are well, sir?" + +"Quite well, Mapp, thank you." + +Then he was left alone--to wonder if a second surprise awaited him. He +had had one that day. If a second were in store for him what was its +nature? Could Sir Robert on his side be going to offer him one of the +seats--if he would recant? He hoped not. But he had not time to give +more than a thought to that before he heard footsteps and voices +crossing the hall. The next moment there entered the outer room--at +such a distance from the hearth of the room in which he stood, that he +had a leisurely view of all before they reached him--three persons. +The first was a tall burly man in slovenly evening clothes, and with +an ungainly rolling walk; after him came Sir Robert himself, and after +him again, Isaac White. + +Vaughan advanced a step or two, and Sir Robert passed by the burly +man, who had a pendulous under lip, and a face at once flabby and +melancholy. The baronet held out his hand. "We have not quarrelled +yet, Mr. Vaughan," he said, with a cordiality which took Vaughan quite +by surprise. "I trust and believe that we are not going to quarrel. I +bid you welcome therefore. This," he continued with a gesture of +courteous deference, "is Sir Charles Wetherell, whom you know by +reputation, and whom, for a reason which you will understand by and +by, I have asked to be present at our interview." + +The stout man eyed Vaughan from under bushy eyebrows. "I think we have +met before," he said in a deep voice. "At Westminster, Mr. Vaughan, on +the 22nd of last month." He had a habit of blinking as he talked. "I +was beholden to you on that occasion." + +Vaughan had already recognised him and recalled the incident in Palace +Yard. He bowed with an expression of silent sympathy. But he wondered +all the more. The presence of the late attorney-general, a man of mark +in the political world, whose defeat at Norwich was in that morning's +paper--what did it mean? Did they think to browbeat him? Or--had Sir +Charles Wetherell also an offer to make to him? In any event it seemed +that he had made himself a personage by his independence. Sought by +the one side, sought by the other! A resume of the answer he would +give flashed before him. However, they were not come to that yet! + +"Will you sit down," said Sir Robert. The great man's voice and +manner--to Vaughan's surprise--were less autocratic and more friendly +than he had ever known them. Indeed, in comparison of the lion of last +evening he was but a mouse. "In the first place," he continued, "I am +obliged to you for your compliance with my wishes." + +Vaughan murmured that he had come at no inconvenience to himself. + +"I hope not," Sir Robert replied. "In the next place let me say, that +we have to speak to you on a matter of the first importance; a matter +also on which we have the advantage of knowledge which you have not. +It is my desire, therefore, to admit you to a parity with us in that +respect, Mr. Vaughan, before you express yourself on any subject on +which we are likely to differ." + +Vaughan looked keenly, almost suspiciously at him; and an observer +would have noticed that there was a closer likeness between the two +men than the slender tie of blood warranted. "If it is a question, Sir +Robert," he said slowly, "of the subject on which we differed last +evening, I would prefer to say at once----" + +"Don't!" Wetherell, who was seated within a long reach of him, struck +in. "Don't!" And he laid an elephantine and not over-clean hand on +Vaughan's knee. "You can spill words as easy as water," he continued, +"and they are as hard to pick up again. Hear what Vermuyden has +to say, and what I've to say--'tisn't much--and then blow your +trumpet--if you've any breath left!" he added _sotto voce_, as he +threw himself back. + +Vaughan hesitated a moment. Then, "Very good," he said, "if you will +hear me afterwards. But----" + +"But and If are two wenches always raising trouble!" Wetherell cried +coarsely. "Do you listen, Mr. Vaughan. Do you listen. Now, Vermuyden, +go on." + +But Sir Robert did not seem to have words at command. He took a pinch +of snuff from the gold box with which his fingers trifled: and he +opened his mouth to resume; but he hesitated. At length, "What I have +to tell you, Mr. Vaughan," he said, in a voice more diffident than +usual, "had perhaps been more properly told by my attorney to yours. I +fully admit that," dusting the snuff from his frill. "And it would +have been so told but for--but for exigencies not immediately +connected with it, which are nevertheless so pressing as to--to induce +me to take the one step immediately possible. Less regular, but +immediately possible! In spite of this, you will believe, I am sure, +that I do not wish to take any advantage of you other than," he paused +with an embarrassed look at Wetherell, "that which my position gives +me. For the rest I"--he looked again at his snuffbox and hesitated--"I +think--I----" + +"You'd better come to the point!" Wetherell growled impatiently, +jerking his ungainly person back in his chair, and lurching forward +again. "To the point, man! Shall I tell him?" + +Sir Robert straightened himself--with a sigh of relief. "If you +please," he said, "I think you had better. It--it may come better from +you, as you are not interested." + +Vaughan looked from one to the other, and wondered what on earth they +meant, and what they would be at. His cordial reception followed by +this strange exordium, the preparations, the presence of the three men +seated about him and all, it seemed, ill at ease--these things begot +instinctive misgivings; and an uneasiness, which it was not in the +power of reason to hold futile. What were they meditating? What +threat, what inducement? And what meant this strange illumination of +the house, this air of festivity? It could be nothing to him. And +yet--but Wetherell was speaking. + +"Mr. Vaughan," he said gruffly--and he swayed himself as was his habit +to and fro in his seat, "my friend here, and your kinsman, has made a +discovery of--of the utmost possible importance to him; and, speaking +candidly, of scarcely less importance to you. I don't know whether you +read the trash they call novels now-a-days--'The Disowned'" with a +snort of contempt, "and 'Tremayne' and the rest? I hope not, I don't! +But it's something devilish like the stuff they put in them that I've +to tell you. You'll believe it or not, as you please. You think +yourself heir to the Stapylton estates? Of course you do. Sir Robert +has no more than a life-interest, and if he has no children, the +reversion in fee, as we lawyers call it, is yours. Just so. But if he +has children, son or daughter, you are ousted, Mr. Vaughan." + +"Are you going to tell me," Vaughan said, his face grown suddenly +rigid, "that he has children?" His heart was beating furiously under +his waistcoat, but, taken aback as he was, he maintained outward +composure. + +"That's it," Wetherell answered bluntly. + +"Then----" + +"He has a daughter." + +"It will have to be proved!" Vaughan said slowly and in the tone of a +man who chose his words. And he rose to his feet. He felt, perhaps he +was justified in feeling, that they had taken him at a disadvantage. +That they had treated him unfairly in trapping him hither, one to +three; in order that they might see, perhaps, how he took it! Not--his +thoughts travelled rapidly over the facts known to him--that the thing +could be true! The punishment for last night's revolt fell too pat, +too _a propos_, he'd not believe it! And besides, it could not be +true. For Lady Vermuyden lived, and there could be no question of a +concealed marriage, or a low-born family. "It will have to be proved!" +he repeated firmly. "And is matter rather for my lawyers than for me." + +Sir Robert, too, had risen to his feet. But it was Wetherell who +spoke. + +"Perhaps so!" he said. "Perhaps so. Indeed I admit it, young sir! It +will have to be proved. But----" + +"It should have been told to them rather than to me!" Vaughan +repeated, with a sparkling eye. And he turned as if he were determined +to treat them as hostile and to have nothing farther to say to them. + +But Wetherell stopped him. "Stay, young man," he said, "and be ashamed +of yourself! You forget yourself!" And before Vaughan, stung and +angry, could retort upon him, "You forget," he continued, "that this +touches another as closely as it touches you--and more closely! You +are a gentleman, sir, and Sir Robert's kinsman. Have you no word then, +for him!" pointing, with a gesture roughly eloquent, to his host. "You +lose, but have you no word for him who gains! You lose, but is it +nothing to him that he finds himself childless no longer, heirless no +longer? That his house is no longer lonely, his hearth no longer +empty! Man alive," he added, dropping with honest indignation to a low +note, "you lose, but what does he not gain? And have you no word, no +generous thought for him? Bah!" throwing himself back in his seat. +"Poor human nature." + +"Still it must be proved," said Vaughan sullenly, though in his heart +he acknowledged the truth of the reproach. + +"Granted! But will you not hear what it is, that is to be proved?" +Wetherell retorted. "If so, sit down, sir, sit down, and hear what we +have to tell you like a man. Will you do that," in a tone of extreme +exasperation, which did but reflect the slowly hardening expression of +Sir Robert's face, "or are you quite a fool?" + +Vaughan hesitated, looking with angry eyes on Wetherell. Then he sat +down. "Am I to understand," he said coldly, "that this is news to Sir +Robert?" + +"It was news to him yesterday." + +Vaughan bowed and was silent; aware that a more generous demeanour +would better become him, but unable to compass it on the spur of the +moment. He was ignorant--unfortunately--of the spirit in which he had +been summoned: consequently he could not guess that every word he +uttered rang churlishly in the ears of more than one of his listeners. +He was no churl; but he was taken unfairly--as it seemed to him. And +to be called upon in the first moment of chagrin to congratulate Sir +Robert on an event which ruined his own prospects and changed his +life--was too much. Too much! But again Wetherell was speaking. + +"You shall know what we know from the beginning," he said, in his +heavy melancholy way. "You are aware, I suppose, that Sir Robert +married--in the year '10, was it not?--Yes, in the year '10, and that +Lady Vermuyden bore him one child, a daughter, who died in Italy in +the year '15. It appears now--we are in a position to prove, I +think--that that child did not die in that year, nor in any year; but +is now alive, is in this country and can be perfectly identified." + +Vaughan coughed. "This is strange news," he said, "after all these +years; and somewhat sudden, is it not?" + +Sir Robert's face grew harder, but Wetherell only shrugged his +shoulders. "If you will listen," he replied, "you will know all that +we know. It is no secret, at any rate in this room it is no secret, +that in the year '14 Sir Robert fancied that he had grave reason to be +displeased with Lady Vermuyden. It was thought by her friends that a +better agreement might be produced by a temporary separation, and the +child's health afforded a pretext. Accordingly, Sir Robert suffered +Lady Vermuyden to take it abroad, her suite consisting of a courier, a +maid, and a nurse. The nurse she sent back to England not long +afterwards on the plea that an Italian woman from whom the child might +learn the language would be better. For my part, I believe that she +acted bona-fide in this. But in other respects," puffing out his +cheeks, "her conduct was such as to alarm her husband; and, in terms +perhaps too peremptory, Sir Robert bade her return at once--or cease +to consider his house as her home. Her answer was the announcement of +the child's death." + +"And that it did not die," Vaughan murmured, "as Lady Vermuyden said?" + +"We have this evidence. But first let me say, that Sir Robert on the +receipt of the news set out for Italy overland. The Hundred Days, +however, stopped him; he could not cross France, and he returned +without certifying the child's death. He had indeed no suspicion, no +reason for suspicion. Well, then, for evidence that it did not die. +The courier is dead, and there remains only the maid. She is alive, +she is here, she is in this house. And it is from her that we have +learned the truth--that the child did not die." + +He paused a moment, brooding in his fat, melancholy way on the pattern +of the carpet between his feet. Sir Robert, with a face hard and +proud, sat upright, listening to the tale of his misfortunes--and +doubtless suffered torments as he listened. + +"Her story," Wetherell resumed--possibly he had been arranging his +thoughts--"is this. Lady Vermuyden was living a life of the wildest +gaiety. She had no affection for the child; if the woman is to be +believed, she hated it. To part with it was nothing to her one way or +the other, and on receipt of Sir Robert's order to return, her +ladyship conceived the idea of punishing him by abducting the child +and telling him it was dead. She set out from Florence with it; on the +way she left it at Orvieto in charge of the Italian nurse, and +arriving in Rome she put about the story of its death. Shortly +afterwards she had it carried to England and bred up in an +establishment near London--always with the aid and connivance of her +maid." + +"The maid's name?" Vaughan asked. + +"Herapath--Martha Herapath. But to proceed. By and by Lady Vermuyden +returned to England, and settled at Brighton, and the maid left her +and married, but continued to draw a pension from her. Lady Vermuyden +persisted here--in the company of Lady Conyng--but I need name no +names--in the same course of giddiness, if no worse, which she had +pursued abroad; and gave little if any heed to the child. But this +woman Herapath never forgot that the pension she enjoyed was dependent +on her power to prove the truth: and when a short time back the girl, +now well-grown, was withdrawn from her knowledge, she grew restive. +She sought Lady Vermuyden, always a creature of impulse, and when her +ladyship, foolish in this as in all things, refused to meet her views +she--she came to us," he continued, lifting his head abruptly and +looking at Vaughan, "and told us the story." + +"It will have to be proved," Vaughan said stubbornly. + +"No doubt, strictly proved," Wetherell replied. "In the meantime if +you would like to peruse the facts in greater detail, they are here, +as taken down from the woman's mouth." He drew from his capacious +breast-pocket a manuscript consisting of several sheets which he +unfolded and flattened on his knee. He handed it to Vaughan. + +The young man took it, without looking at Sir Robert: and with his +thoughts in a whirl--and underlying them a sick feeling of impending +misfortune--he proceeded to read it, line after line, without taking +in a single word. For all the time his brain was at work measuring the +change. His modest competence would be left to him. He would have +enough to live as he was now living, and to pursue his career; or, in +the alternative, he might settle down as a small squire in his +paternal home in South Wales. But the great inheritance which had +loomed large in the background of his life and had been more to him +than he had admitted, the future dignity which he had undervalued +while he thought it his own, the position more enviable than many a +peer's, and higher by its traditions than any to which he could attain +by his own exertions, though he reached the Woolsack--these were gone +if Wetherell's tale was true. Gone in a moment, at a word! And though +he might have lost more, though many a man had lost his all by such a +stroke and smiled, he was no hero, and he could not on the instant +smile. He could not in a moment oust all bitterness. He knew that he +was taking the news unworthily; that he was playing a poor part. But +he could not force himself to play a better--on the instant. When he +had read with unseeing eyes to the bottom of the first page and had +turned it mechanically, he let the papers fall upon his knee. + +"You do not wish me," he said slowly, "to express an opinion now, I +suppose?" + +"No," Wetherell answered. "Certainly not. But I have not quite done. I +have not quite done," he repeated ponderously. "I should tell you that +for opening the matter to you now--we have two reasons, Mr. Vaughan. +Two reasons. First, we think it due to you--as one of the family. And +secondly, Vermuyden desires that from the beginning, his intentions +shall be clear and--be understood." + +"I thoroughly understand them," Vaughan answered drily. No one was +more conscious than he that he was behaving ill. + +"That is just what you do not!" Wetherell retorted stolidly. "You +spill words, young man, and by and by you will wish to pick them up +again. You cannot anticipate, at any rate, you have no right to +anticipate, Sir Robert's intentions, of which he has asked me to be +the mouthpiece. The estate, of course, and the settled funds must go +to his daughter. But there is, it appears, a large sum arising from +the economical management of the property, which is at his disposal. +He feels," Wetherell continued sombrely, an elbow on each knee and his +eyes on the floor, "that some injustice has been done to you, and he +desires to compensate you for that injustice. He proposes, therefore, +to secure to you the succession to two-thirds of this sum; which +amounts--which amounts, in the whole I believe"--here he looked at +White--"to little short of eighty thousand pounds." + +Vaughan, who had been more than once on the point of interrupting him, +did so at last. "I could not accept it!" he exclaimed impulsively. And +he rose, with a hot face, from his seat. "I could not accept it." + +"As a legacy?" Wetherell, who was fond of money, said with a queer +look. "As a legacy, eh? Why not?" While Sir Robert, with compressed +lips, almost repented of his generosity. He had looked for some show +of good-feeling, some word of sympathy, some felicitation from the +young man, who, after all, was his blood relation. But if this was to +be his return, if his advances were to be met with suspicion, his +benevolence with churlishness, then all, all in this young man was of +a piece--and detestable! + +And certainly Vaughan was not showing himself in the best light. He +was conscious that he had taken the news ill; but he could not change +his attitude in a moment. Under no circumstances is it an easy thing +to take a gift with grace: to take one with grace under these +circumstances--and when he had already misbehaved--was beyond him, as +it would have been beyond most men. + +For a moment drawn this way by his temper, that way by his better +feelings, he did not know how to answer Wetherell's last words. At +last and lamely, "May I ask," he said, "why Sir Robert makes me this +offer while the matter lies open?" + +"Sir Robert will prove his case," Wetherell answered gruffly, "if that +is what you mean." + +"I mean----" + +"He does not ask you to surrender anything." + +"I am bound to say, then, that the offer is very generous," Vaughan +replied, melting, and speaking with some warmth. "Most generous. +But----" + +"He asks you to surrender nothing," Wetherell repeated stolidly, his +face between his knees. + +"But I still think it is premature," Vaughan persisted doggedly. "And +handsome as it is, more than handsome as it is, I think that it would +have come with greater force, were my position first made clear!" + +"Maybe," Wetherell said, his face still hidden. "I don't deny that." + +"As it is," with a deep breath, "I am taken by surprise. I do not know +what to say. I find it hard to say anything in the first flush of the +matter." And Vaughan looked from one to the other. "So, for the +present, with Sir Robert's permission," he continued, "and without any +slight to his generosity, I will take leave. If he is good enough, to +repeat on some future occasion, this very handsome--this uncalled for +and generous offer, which he has now outlined, I shall know, I hope, +what is due to him, without forgetting what is due also to myself. In +the meantime I have only to thank him and----" + +But the belated congratulation which was on his lips and which might +have altered many things, was not to be uttered. + +"One moment!" Sir Robert struck in. "One moment!" He spoke with a +hardness born of long suppressed irritation. "You have taken your +stand, Mr. Vaughan, strictly on the defensive, I see----" + +"But I think you understand----" + +"Strictly on the defensive," the baronet repeated, requiring silence +by a gesture. "You must not be surprised therefore, if I--nay, let me +speak!--if I also say a word on a point which touches me." + +"I wouldn't!" Wetherell growled in his deep voice; and for an instant +he raised his huge face, and looked stolidly at the wall before him. + +But Sir Robert was not to be bidden. "I think otherwise," he said. +"Mr. Vaughan, the election to-morrow touches me very nearly--in more +ways than one. The vote you have, you received at my hands and hold +only as my heir. I take it for granted, therefore, that under the +present circumstances, you will use it as I desire." + +"Oh!" Vaughan said. And drawing himself up to his full height he +passed his eyes slowly from one to the other with a singular smile. +"Oh!" he repeated--and there was a world of meaning in his tone. "Am I +to understand then----" + +"I have made myself quite clear," Sir Robert cried, his manner +betraying his agitation. + +"Am I to understand," Vaughan persisted, "that the offer which you +made me a few minutes back, the generous and handsome offer," he +continued with a faint note of irony in his voice, "was dependent on +my conduct to-morrow? Am I to understand that?" + +"If you please to put it so," Sir Robert replied, his voice quivering +with the resentment he had long and patiently suppressed. "And if your +own sense of honour does not dictate to you how to act." + +"But do you put it so?" + +"Do you mean----" + +"I mean," Vaughan said, "does the offer depend on the use I make of my +vote to-morrow? That is the point, Sir Robert!" + +"No," Wetherell muttered indistinctly. + +But again Sir Robert would not be bidden. "I will be frank," he said +haughtily. "And my answer is, yes! yes! For I do not conceive, Mr. +Vaughan, that a gentleman would take so great a benefit, and refuse so +slight a service! A service, too, which, quite apart from this offer, +most men----" + +"Thank you," Vaughan replied, interrupting him. "That is clear +enough." And he looked from one to the other with a smile of +amusement; the smile of a man suddenly reinstated in his own +opinion--and once more master of his company. "Now I understand," he +continued. "I see now why the offer which a few minutes ago seemed so +premature, so strangely premature, was made this evening. To-morrow it +had been made too late! My vote had been cast and I could no longer +be--bribed!" + +"Bribed, sir?" cried Sir Robert, red with anger. + +"Yes, bribed, sir. But let me tell you," Vaughan went on, allowing the +bitterness which he had been feeling to appear, "let me tell you, Sir +Robert, that if not only my future, but my present, if my all, were at +stake--I should resent such an offer as an insult!" + +Sir Robert took a step towards the bell and stopped. + +"An insult!" Vaughan repeated firmly. "As great an insult as I should +inflict upon you, if I were unwise enough to do the errand I was asked +to do a week ago--by a cabinet minister. And offered you, Sir Robert, +here in your own house, a peerage conditional on your support of the +Bill!" + +"A peerage?" Sir Robert's eyes seemed to be starting from his head. "A +peerage! Conditional on my----" + +"Yes, sir, conditional on your renunciation of those opinions which +you honestly hold as I honestly hold mine!" Vaughan repeated coolly. +"I will make the offer if you wish it." + +Wetherell rose ponderously. "See here!" he said. "Listen to me, will +you, you two! You, Vermuyden, as well as the young man. You will both +be sorry for what you are saying now! Listen to me! Listen to me, +man!" + +But the baronet was already tugging at the bell-rope. He was no +longer red; he was white with anger. And not without reason. This +whipper-snapper, this pettifogging lad, just out of his teens, to talk +to him of peerages, to patronise him, to offer him--to--to---- + +For a moment he stammered and could not speak. At last, "Enough! +Enough, sir; leave my house!" he cried, shaking from head to foot with +passion, and losing for the first time in many years his self-control. +"Leave my house," he repeated furiously, "and never set foot in it +again! Not a pound, and not a penny will you have of mine! Never! +Never! Never!" + +Vaughan smiled, "Very good, sir," he said, shrugging his shoulders. +"Your fortune is your own. But----" + +"Begone, sir! Not another word, but go!" + +Vaughan raised his eyebrows, bowed in a ceremonious fashion to +Wetherell, and nodded to White, who stood petrified and gaping. Then +he walked slowly through that room and the next, and with one backward +smile--vanished. + +And this time, as he passed through the hall, narrowly missing Flixton +who was leaving the dining-room, there could be no doubt that the +breach was complete, that the small cordiality which had existed +between the two men was at an end. The Bill, which had played so many +mischievous tricks, severed so many old friends, broken the ties of so +many years, had dealt no one a more spiteful blow than it had dealt +Arthur Vaughan. + + + + + XVII + + THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION + + +The great day on which the Borough of Chippinge was to give its vote, +Aye or No, Reform or No Reform, the Rule of the Few or the Rule of the +Many, was come; and in the large room on the first floor of the White +Lion were assembled a score of persons deeply interested in the issue. +Those who had places at the three windows were gazing on what was +going forward in the space below; and it was noticeable that while the +two or three who remained in the background talked and joked, these +were silent; possibly because the uproar without made hearing +difficult. The hour was early, the business of the day was to come, +but already the hub-bub was indescribable. Nor was that all; every +minute some missile, a much enduring cabbage-stalk, or a dead +cat in Tory colours, rose to a level with the windows, hovered, and +sank--amid a storm of groans or cheers. For the most part, indeed, +these missiles fell harmless. But that the places of honour at the +windows were not altogether places of safety was proved by a couple of +shattered panes, as well as by the sickly hue of some among the +spectators. + +Nearly all who had attended the Vermuyden dinner were in the room. +But, for certain, things which had worn one aspect across the +mahogany, wore another now. At the table old and young had made light +of the shoving and mauling and drubbing through which they had forced +their way to the good things before them; they had even made a jest of +the bit of a rub they were likely to have on the polling day. Now, the +sight of the noisy crowd which filled the open space, from the head of +the High Street to the wall of the Abbey, and from the Vineyard east +of it, almost to the West Port--made their bones ache. They looked, +even the boldest, at one another. The heart of Dewell, the barber, was +in his boots; the rector stared aghast; and Mowatt, the barrister, +Arthur Vaughan's ill-found friend, wished for once that he was on the +vulgar side. + +True, the doors of the White Lion were guarded by a sturdy phalanx of +Vermuyden lads; mustered with what difficulty and kept together by +what arguments, White best knew. But what were two or three score, +however faithful, and however strong, against the hundreds and +thousands who swayed and cheered and groaned before the Inn? Who +swarmed upon the old town-cross until they hid every inch of the +crumbling stonework; who clung to every niche and buttress of the +Abbey; and from whose mass as from a sea the solitary church spire +rose like some lighthouse cut off by breakers? Who, here, forgetful of +their Wiltshire birth cheered the Birmingham tub-thumper to the echo, +and there, roared stern assent to the wildest statements of the +Political Union? + +True, a dozen banners and thrice as many flags gave something of a +festive air to the scene. But the timid who tried to draw solace from +these retreated appalled by the daring "Death or Freedom!" inscribed +on one banner: or the scarcely less bold "The Sovereign People," which +bellied above the clothiers. The majority of the placards bore nothing +worse than the watchword of the party: "The Bill, the whole Bill, and +nothing but the Bill!" or "Retrenchment and Reform!" or--in reference +to the King--"God bless the two Bills!" But for all that, Dewell, the +barber--and some more who would not have confessed it--wished the day +well over and no bones broken! A great day for Chippinge, but a day on +which many an old score was like to be paid, many a justice to hear +the commonalty's opinion of him, many a man who had thriven under the +old rule, to read the writing on the wall! + +Certainly nothing like the spectacle visible from the White Lion +windows had been seen in Chippinge within living memory. The Abbey, +indeed, which had seen the last of the mitred Abbots pass out--shorn +of his strength, and with weeping townsfolk about him in lieu of +belted knights--that pile, stately in its ruin, which had witnessed a +revolution greater even than this which impended, and more tragic, +might have viewed its pair, might have seen its precincts seethe as +they seethed now. But no living man. Nor did those who scanned the +crowd from the White Lion find aught to lessen its terrors. There +were, indeed, plenty of decent, respectable people in the crowd, who, +though they were set on gaining their rights, had no notion of +violence. But wood burns when it is kindled: and here at the corner of +the Heart and Hand, the Whig headquarters, was a spark like to light +the fire--Boston, the bruiser, and a dozen of his fellows; men who +were, one and all, the idols of the yokels who stood about them and +stared. Pybus, who had brought them hither, was not to be seen; he was +weaving his spells in the Heart and Hand. But Mr. Williams, White-Hat +Williams, the richest man in Chippinge, who, voteless, had only lived +of late to see this day--he was here at the head of his clothmen, and +as fierce as the poorest. And half-a-dozen lesser men there were of +the same kind; sallow Blackford, the Methodist, the fugleman of every +dissenter within ten miles; and two or three small lawyers whom the +landlords did not employ, and two or three apothecaries who were in +the same case. With these were one or two famished curates, with +Sydney Smith for their warranty, and his saying about Dame +Partington's Mop and the Atlantic on their lips; and a sprinkling of +spouters from the big towns--men who had the glories of Orator Hunt +and William Cobbett before their eyes. And everywhere, working in the +mass like yeast, moved a score of bitter malcontents--whom the old +system had bruised under foot--poachers whom Sir Robert had jailed, or +the lovers of maids as frail as fair, or labourers whom the Poor Laws +had crushed--a score of malcontents whose grievances long muttered in +pothouses now flared to light and cried for vengeance. In a word, +there were the elements of mischief in the crowd: and under the +surface an ugly spirit. Even the most peaceable were grim, knowing it +was now or never. So that the faces at the White Lion windows grew +longer as their owners gazed and listened. + +"I don't know what's come to the people!" the Rector bawled, turning +about to make himself heard by his neighbour. "Eh, what?" + +"I'd like to see Lord Grey hung!" answered Squire Rowley, his face +purple. "And Lord Lansdowne with him! What do you say, sir?" to +Sergeant Wathen. + +"Fortunate a show of hands don't carry it!" the Sergeant cried, +shrugging his shoulders with an assumption of easiness. + +"Carry it? Of course we'll carry it!" the Squire replied wrathfully. +"I suppose two and two still make four!" + +Isaac White, who was whispering with a man in a corner of the room, +wished that he was sure of that; or, rather, that three and two made +six. But the Squire was continuing. "Bah!" he cried in disgust. "Give +these people votes? Look at 'em! Look at 'em, sir! Votes indeed! Votes +indeed! Give 'em oakum, I say!" + +He forgot that nine-tenths of those below were as good as the voters +at his elbow, who were presently to return two members for Chippinge. +Or rather, it did not occur to him, good old Tory as he was, and +convinced, + + + _'Twas the Jacobins brought every mischief about_, + + +that Dewell's vote was Dewell's, or Annibal's Annibal's. + +Meanwhile, "I wish we were safe at the hustings!" young Mowatt shouted +in the ear of the man who stood in front of him. + +The man chanced to be Cooke, the other candidate. He turned. "At the +hustings?" he said irascibly. "Do you mean, sir, that we are expected +to fight our way through that rabble?" + +"I am afraid we must," Mowatt answered. + +"Then it--has been d----d badly arranged!" retorted the outraged +Cooke, who never forgot that as he paid well for his seat it ought to +be a soft one. "Go through this mob, and have our heads broken?" + +The faces of those who could hear him grew longer. "And it wants only +five minutes of ten," complained a third. "We ought to be going now." + +"D----n me, but suppose they don't let us go!" cried Cooke. "Badly +arranged! I should think it is, sir! D----d badly arranged! The +hustings should have been on this side." + +But hitherto the hustings had been at Chippinge a matter of form, and +it had not occurred to anyone to alter their position--cheek by jowl +with the Whig headquarters, but divided by seventy yards of seething +mob from the White Lion. However, White, on an appeal being made to +him, put a better face on the matter. "It's all right, gentlemen," he +said, "it's all right! If they have the hustings, we have the +returning officer, and they can do nothing without us. I've seen Mr. +Pybus, and I have his safe conduct for our party to go to the +hustings." + +But it is hard to satisfy everybody, and at this there was a fresh +outcry. "A safe conduct?" cried the Squire, redder about the gills +than before. "For shame, sir! Are we to be indebted to the other side +for a safe conduct! I never heard of such a thing!" + +"I quite agree with you," cried the Rector. "Quite! I protest, Mr. +White, against anything of the kind." + +But White was unmoved. "We've got to get our voters there," he said. +"Sir Robert will be displeased, I know, but----" + +"Never was such a thing heard of!" + +"No, sir, but never was such an election," White answered with spirit. + +"Where is Sir Robert?" + +"He'll be here presently," White replied. "He'll be here presently. +Anyway, gentlemen," he continued, "we had better be going down to the +hall. In a body, gentlemen, if you please, and voters in the middle. +And keep together, if you please. A little shouting," he added +cheerfully, "breaks no bones. We can shout too!" + +The thing was unsatisfactory, and without precedent; nay, humiliating. +But there seemed to be nothing else for it. As White said, this +election was not as other elections; Bath was lost, and Bristol, too, +it was whispered; the country was gone mad. And so, frowning and +ill-content, the magnates trooped out, and led by White began to +descend the stairs. There was much confusion, one asking if the +Alderman was there, another demanding to see Sir Robert, here a man +grumbling about White's arrangements, there a man silent over the +discovery, made perhaps for the first time, that here was like to be +an end of old Toryism and the loaves and the fishes it had dispensed. + +In the hall where the party was reinforced by a crowd of their smaller +supporters a man plucked White's sleeve and drew him aside. "She's out +now!" he whispered. "Pybus has left two with him and they won't leave +him for me. But if you went and ordered them out there's a chance +they'd go, and----" + +"The doctor's not there?" + +"No, and Pillinger's well enough to come, if you put it strong. He's +afraid of his wife and they've got him body and soul, but----" + +White cast a despairing eye on the confusion about him. "How can I +come?" he muttered. "I must get these to the poll first." + +"Then you'll never do it!" the man retorted. "There'll be no coming +and going, to-day, Mr. White, you take it from me. Now's the time +while they're waiting for you in front. You can slip out at the back +and bring him in and take him with you. It's the only way, so help me! +They're in that temper we'll be lucky if we're all alive to-morrow!" + +The man was right; and White knew it, yet he hesitated. If he had had +an _aide_ fit for the task, the thing might be done. But to go +himself--he on whom everything fell! He reflected. Possibly Arthur +Vaughan might not vote for the enemy after all. But if he did, Sir +Robert would poll only five to six, and be beaten! Unless he polled +Pillinger, when the returning officer's vote, of which he was sure, +would give him the election. Pillinger's vote, therefore, was vital; +everything turned upon it. And he determined to go. His absence would +only cause a little delay, and he must risk that. He slipped away. + +He was missed at once, and the discovery redoubled the confusion. One +asked where he was, and another where Sir Robert was; while Cooke in +tones louder and more irritable than was prudent found fresh fault, +and wished to heaven that he had never seen the place. Long accustomed +to one-sided contests of which both parties knew the issue, the Tory +managers were helpless; they were aware that the hour had struck, and +that they were expected, but without White they were uncertain how to +act. Some cried that White had gone on, and that they should follow; +some that Sir Robert was to meet them at the hustings, others that +they might as well be home as waiting there! While the babel without +deafened and distracted them. At last, without order given, they found +themselves moving out. + +Their reception did not clear their brains. Such a roar of execration +as greeted them had never been heard in Chippinge: the hair on Dewell, +the barber's, head stood up, the Alderman's checks grew pale, Cooke +dropped his cane, the stoutest flinched. Changed indeed were the times +from those a year or two past when their exit had been greeted by +sycophantic cheers, or, at worst, by a little good-humoured jesting! +Now the whole multitude in the open, not in one part, but in every +part, knew as by instinct of their setting forth, brandished on the +instant a thousand arms at them, deafened them with a thousand voices, +demanded monotonously "The Bill! The Bill!" Nor had the demonstration +stopped there, but for the intervention of a body of a hundred Whig +stalwarts who, posting themselves on the flanks of the derided +procession, conferred on its slow march an ignoble safety. + +No wonder that many a one who found himself thus guarded rubbed his +eyes. The times were changed indeed! No more despotism of Squire and +Parson, no more monopoly of places, no more nominated members, no more +elections that did but mock men who had no share in them, no more +"Cripples," no more snug jobs! The Tories might agree with Mr. Fudge + + + _That this passion for roaring had come in of late + Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the State_, + + +and foretell the ruinous outcome of it. But the thing was, the +many-headed, the many-handed had them in its grip. They must go +meekly, or not at all; with visions of French fish-fags and +guillotines before their eyes, and wondering, most of them--as they +tried to show a bold front, tried to wave their banners and give some +answering shout to the sea that beat upon them--how they would get +home again with whole skins! + +Perhaps there was only one of them who never had that thought; though +he, alone of them all, was unaware of the precautions taken for his +safety. That was Sir Robert Vermuyden, the master of all, the patron, +the Borough-monger! Attended by Bob Flixton, who had come with him +from Bristol to see the fun--and whose voice it will be remembered +Vaughan had overheard at Stapylton the evening before--and by two or +three other guests, he had entered the White Lion from the rear; +arriving in time to fall in--somewhat surprised at his supporters' +precipitation--at the tail of the procession. The moment he was +recognised by the crowd he was greeted with a roar of "Down with the +Borough-monger!" that fairly appalled his companions. But he faced it +calmly, imperturbably, quietly; a little paler, a little prouder, and +a little sterner perhaps than usual, but with a gleam in his eyes that +had not been seen in them for years. For answer to all he smiled with +a curling lip: and it is probable that as much as any hour in his life +he enjoyed this hour, which put him to the test before those over whom +he had ruled so long. His caste might be passing, the days of his +power might be numbered, the waves of democracy might be rising about +the system in which he believed the safety of England to lie; but no +man should see him falter. No veteran of the old noblesse in days +which Sir Robert could remember had gone to his fate more proudly than +the English patrician was prepared to go to his, ay, and though worse +than the guillotine awaited him. + +His contemptuous attitude, his fearless bearing, impressed the crowd, +appreciative at bottom, of courage. And presently, where he turned his +cold, smiling eyes they gaped instead of hissing: and one here and +there under the magic of his look doffed hat or carried hand to +forehead, and henceforth was mute. And so great is the sympathy of all +parts of a mob that this silence spread quickly, mysteriously, at +last, wholly. So that when he, last of his party, stepped on the +hustings, there was for a moment a complete stillness; a stillness of +expectation, while he looked round; such a stillness as startled the +leaders of the opposition. It could not be--it could not be, that +after all, the old lion would prove too much for them! + +White-Hat Williams roared aloud in his rage. "Up hats and shout, +lads," he yelled, "or by G--d the d----d Tories will do us after all! +Are you afraid of them, you lubbers! Shout, lads, shout!" + + + + + XVIII + + THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION (Continued) + + +The beast that was in the crowd answered to the spur. "Ye've robbed us +long enough, ye old rascal!" a harsh Midland voice shrieked over the +heads of the throng. "We'll have our rights now, you blood-sucker!" +And "Boo! Boo!" the lower elements of the mob broke forth. And then in +stern cadence, "The Bill! The Bill! The Bill!" + +"Out of Egypt, and out of the House of Bondage!" shrieked a Methodist +above the hub-bub. + +"Ay, ay!" + +"Slaves no longer!" + +"No! No! No!" + +"Hear that, ye hoary tyrant!" in a woman's shrill tones. "Who jailed +my man for a hare?" + +A roar of laughter which somewhat cleared the air followed this. Sir +Robert smiled grimly. + +The hustings, a mere wooden platform, raised four feet above the +ground, rested against the Abbey gateway. It was closed at the rear +and at each end; but in front it was guarded only by a stout railing. +And so public was it, and so exposed its dangerous eminence, that the +more timid of the unpopular party were no sooner upon it than they +yearned for the safe obscurity of the common level. Of the three +booths into which the interior was divided, the midmost was reserved +for the returning officer and his staff. + +Bob Flixton, who kept close to Sir Robert's elbow, looked down on the +sea of jeering faces. "I tell you what it is," he said. "We're going +to have a confounded row!" + +Mowatt, at some distance from him, was of the same opinion, but +regarded the outlook differently. "It's my belief," he muttered, "that +we shall all be murdered." + +And "D----n the Bill!" the old Squire ejaculated. "The people are off +their heads! Jack as good as his master, and better too!" + +These four, with the candidates, were in the front row. The Rector, +the Alderman, and one or two of the neighbouring gentry shared the +honour; and faced as well as they could the hooting and yelling, and +the occasional missile. In the front of the other booth were White-Hat +Williams and Blackford, the minister, Mr. Wrench, the candidate, +wreathed in smiles, a pair of Whig Squires from the Bowood side, a +curate of the same colour, Pybus--and Arthur Vaughan! + +A thrill ran through Sir Robert's supporters when they saw his young +kinsman on the other side; actually on the other side and arrayed +against them. Their hearts, already low, sank a peg lower. Of evil +omens this seemed the worst; sunk is the cause the young desert! And +many were the curious eyes that searched the renegade's features and +strove to read his thoughts. + +But in vain. His head high, his face firmly composed, Vaughan looked +stonily before him. Nor was it possible to say whether he was really +unmoved, was stolidly indifferent, or merely masked agitation. Sir +Robert on his side never looked at him, nor betrayed any sense of his +presence. But he knew. He knew! And with the first bitter presage of +defeat--for he was not a man to be intimidated by noise--he repeated +his vow: "Not a pound, nor a penny! Never! Never!" This public +renunciation, this wanton defiance--he would never forgive it! +Henceforth, it must be war to the knife between them. No thousands, no +compensation, no compromise! As the young man was sowing, so he should +reap. He who, in its darkest hour not only insulted but abandoned his +family, what punishment was too severe for him? + +Vaughan could make a good guess at the proud autocrat's feelings: and +he averted his eyes with care. The proceedings here opened, and he +listened laughingly; until midway in the reading of some document +which no one heeded--the crowd jeering and flouting merrily--he caught +a new note in the turmoil. The next moment he was conscious of a +swirling movement among those below him, there was a rush of the +throng to his right, and he looked quickly to see what it meant. + +A man--one of a group of three or four who appeared to be trying to +push their way through the crowd--was being hustled and flung to and +fro amid jeers and taunts. He was striving to gain the hustings, but +was still some way from it; and his chance of reaching it with his +clothes on his back seemed small. Vaughan saw so much; then the man +lost his temper, and struck a blow. It was returned--and then, not +till then, Vaughan saw that the man was Isaac White. He cried +"Shame!"--and had passed one leg over the barriers to go to the +rescue, when he saw that another was before him. Sir Robert's tall, +spare figure was down among the crowd--which opened instinctively +before his sharp command. His eyes, his masterful air still had power; +the press opened instinctively before his sharp command. He had +reached White, had extricated him, and turned to make good his +retreat, when it seemed to strike the more brutal element in the +crowd--mostly strangers to him--that here was the prime enemy of the +cause, on foot amongst them, at their mercy! A rush was made at his +back. He turned undaunted, White and two more at his side; the rabble +recoiled. But when he wheeled again, a second rush was made, and they +were upon him, and hustled him before he could turn. A man with a long +stick struck off his hat, another--a lout with a cockade of amber and +blue, the Whig colours--tried to trip him up. He stumbled, at the same +moment a third man knocked White down. + +"Yah! Down with him!" roared the crowd, "Down with the +Borough-monger!" + +But Vaughan, who had anticipated rather than seen the stumble, was +over the rail, and cleaving the crowd, was at his side. He reached him +a little in front of Bob Flixton, who had descended to the rescue from +the other end of the booth. Vaughan hurled back the man who had +tripped Sir Robert and who was still trying to throw him down; and the +sight of the amber and blue which the new champion wore checked the +assailants, and gave White time to rise. + +Vaughan was furious. "Back, you cowards!" he cried fiercely. "Would +you murder an old man? Shame on you! Shame!" + +"Ay, you bullies!" cried Flixton, hitting one on the jaw very +neatly--and completely disposing of that one for the day. "Back with +you!" + +As Vaughan spoke, half-a-dozen of his Tory supporters surrounded the +baronet and bore him back out of danger. Though Sir Robert was +undaunted, he was shaken; and breathing quickly, he let his hand rest +for support on the nearest shoulder. It was Vaughan's, and the next +instant he saw that it was; and he withdrew the hand as if he had let +it rest on a hot iron. + +"Mr. Flixton," he said--and the words reached a dozen ears at least, +"your arm, if you please? I would rather be without this gentleman's +assistance." + +Vaughan's face flamed. But neither the words nor the action took him +unawares. He stepped back with dignity, slightly touched his hat, and +so returned to his side of the hustings. + +But he was wounded and very angry. Alone of his party he had +intervened--and this was his reward. When Pybus pushed his way to his +side and stooped to his ear, talking quickly and earnestly, he did not +repel him. + +Episode as it was, the affray startled Sir Robert's friends: and White +in particular took it very seriously. If violence of this sort was to +rule, if even Sir Robert's person was not respected, he saw that he +would not be able to bring his voters to the poll. They would run some +risk of losing their lives, and one or two for certain would not dare +to vote. The thing must be stopped, and at once. With this in view he +made his way to the passage at the back of the hustings, which was +common to all three booths, and heated and angry--his lip was cut by +the blow he had received--he called for Pybus. But the press at the +back of the hustings was great, and one of White-Hat Williams's +foremen, who blocked the gangway, laughed in his face. + +"I want to speak to Pybus," said White, glaring at the man, who on +ordinary days would have touched his hat to him. + +"Then want'll be your master," the other retorted, with a wink. And +when White tried to push by him, the man gave him the shoulder. + +"Let me pass," White foamed. No thought of Cobbett now, had the agent! +These miserable upstarts, their insolence, their certainty of triumph +fired his blood. "Let me pass!" he repeated. + +"See you d----d first!" the other answered bluntly. "Your game's up, +old cock! Your master has held the pit long enough, but his time's +come." + +"If you don't----" + +"If you put your nose in here, we'll pitch you over the rail!" the +other declared. + +White almost had a fit. Fortunately White-Hat Williams himself +appeared at this moment: and White appealed to him. + +"Mr. Williams," he said, "is this your safe conduct?" + +"I gave none," with a grin. + +"Pybus did." + +"Ay, for your party! But if you choose to straggle in one by one, we +can't be answerable for every single voter," with a wink. "Nor for any +of you getting back again! No, no, White. + + + "_Beneath the ways of Ministers, and it's the truth I tell, + You've bought us very cheap, good White, and you've sold + us very well!_ + + +But that's over! That's at an end to-day! But--what's this?" + +This, was Sir Robert stepping forward to propose his candidates: or +rather, it was the roar, mocking and defiant, which greeted his +attempt to do so. It was a roar that made speech impossible. No doubt, +among the crowd which filled the space through which he had driven so +often with his four horses, the great man, the patron, the master of +all, there were some who still respected, and more who feared him; and +many who would not have insulted him. For if he had used his power +stiffly, he had not used it ill. But there were also in the crowd men +whose hearts were hot against the exclusiveness which had long effaced +them; who believed that freedom or slavery hung on the issue of this +day; who saw the prize of a long and bitter effort at stake, and were +set on using every intimidation, ay, and every violence, if victory +could not be had without them. And, were the others many or few, these +swept them away, infected them with recklessness, gave that stern and +mocking ring to the roar which continued and thwarted Sir Robert's +every effort to make himself heard. + +He stood long facing them, waiting, and never blenching. But after a +while his lip curled and his eyes looked disdain on the mob below him: +such disdain as the old Duke in after days hurled at the London +rabble, when for answer to their fulsome cheers he pointed to the iron +shutters of Apsley House. Sir Robert Vermuyden had done something, and +thought that he had done more, for the men who yelped and snarled and +snapped at him. According to his lights, acting on his maxim, all for +the people and nothing by the people, he had treated them generously, +granted all he thought good for them, planned for them, wrought for +them. He had been master, but no task-master. He had indeed +illustrated the better side of that government of the many by the few, +of the unfit by the fit, with which he honestly believed the safety +and the greatness of his country to be bound up. + +And this was their return! No wonder that, seeing things as he saw +them, he felt a bitter contempt for them. Freedom? Such freedom as was +good for them, such freedom as was permanently possible--they had. And +slavery? Was it slavery to be ruled, wisely and firmly, by a class +into which they might themselves rise, a class which education and +habit had qualified to rule. In his mind's eye, as he looked down on +this fretting, seething mass, he saw that which they craved granted, +and he saw, too, the outcome; that most cruel of all tyrannies, the +tyranny of the many over the few, of the many who have neither a heart +to feel nor a body to harm! + +Once, twice, thrice one of his supporters thrust himself forward, and +leaning on the rail, appealed with frantic gestures for silence, for a +hearing, for respect. But each in turn retired baffled. Not a word in +that tempest of sound was audible. And no one on the other side +intervened. For they were pitiless. They in the old days had suffered +the same thing: and it was their turn now. Even Vaughan stood with +folded arms and a stern face: feeling the last contempt for the +howling rabble before him, but firmly determined to expose himself to +no second slight. At length Sir Robert saw that it was hopeless, +shrugged his shoulders with quiet scorn, and shouting the names of his +candidates in a clerk's ear, put on his hat, and stood back. + +The old Squire seconded him in dumb show. + +Then the Sergeant stood forward to state his views. He grasped the +rail with both hands and waited, smiling blandly. But he might have +waited an hour, he might have waited until night. The leaders for the +Bill were determined to make their power felt. They were resolved that +not a word on the Tory side should be heard. The Sergeant waited, and +after a time, still smiling blandly, bowed and stood back. + +It was Mr. Cooke's turn. He advanced. "Shout, and be hanged to you!" +he cried, apoplectic in the face. An egg flew within a yard of him, +and openly shaking his fist at the crowd he retired amid laughter. + +Then White-Hat Williams, who had looked forward to this as to the +golden moment of his life and had conned his oration until he knew its +thunderous periods by heart, stepped forward to nominate the Whig +candidates. He took off his hat; and as if that had been the signal +for silence, such a stillness fell on all that his voice rang above +the multitude like a trumpet. + +"Gentlemen," he said, and smiling looked first to the one side and +then to the other. "Gentlemen----" + +Alas, he smiled too soon. The Tories grasped the situation, and, +furious at the reception which had fallen to the lot of their leaders, +determined that if they were not heard, no one should be heard. Before +he could utter another word they broke into rabid bellowings, and what +their shouts lacked in volume they made up in ill-will. In a twinkling +they drowned White-Hat Williams's voice; and now who so indignant as +the Whigs? In thirty seconds half-a-dozen single combats were +proceeding in front of the Tory booth, blood flowed from as many +noses, and amid a terrific turmoil respectable men and justices of the +peace leant across the barriers and shook their fists and flung +frenzied challenges broadcast. + +All to no purpose. The Tories, though so much the weaker party, though +but one to eight, could not be silenced. After making three or four +attempts to gain a hearing White-Hat Williams saw that he must reserve +his oration: and with a scowl he shouted his names into the ear of the +clerk. + +"Who? Who did he say?" growled the Squire, panting with rage and +hoarse with shouting. His face was crimson, his cravat awry, he had +lost his hat. "Who? Who?" + +"Wrench and--one moment, sir!" + +"Eh? Who do you say?" + +"I couldn't hear! One moment, sir! Oh, yes! Wrench and Vaughan!" + +"Vaughan?" old Rowley cried with a profane oath. "Impossible!" + +But it was not impossible! Though so great was the surprise, so +striking the effect upon Sir Robert's supporters that for a few +seconds something like silence supervened. The serpent! The serpent! +Here was a blow indeed--in the back! + +Then as Blackford, the Methodist, rose to second the nomination, the +storm broke out anew and more furiously than before. "What?" foamed +the Squire, "be ruled by a rabble of grinning, yelling monkeys? By +gad, I'll leave the country first! I--I hope someone will shoot that +young man! I wish I'd never shaken his hand! By G--d, I'm glad my +father is in his grave! He'd never ha' believed this! Never! Never!" + +And from that time until the poll was declared open--in dumb show--not +a word was audible. + +Then at last the shouting of the rival bands sank to a confused babel +of jeers, abuse, and laughter. Exhausted men mopped their faces, +voiceless men loosened their neck-cloths, the farthest from the +hustings went off to drink, and there was a lull until the sound of a +drum and fife announced a new event, and forth from the Heart and Hand +advanced a procession of five led by the accursed Dyas. + +They were the Whig voters and they marched proudly to the front of the +polling-booth, the mob falling back on either side to give them place. + +Dyas flung his hat into the booth. "Wrench and Vaughan!" he cried in a +voice which could be heard in the White Lion. "And I care not who +knows it!" + +They put to him the bribery oath. "I can take it," he answered. +"Swallow it yourselves, if you can!" + +"You should know the taste, Jack," cried a sly friend: and for a +moment the laugh was against him. + +One by one--the process was slow in those days--they voted. "Five for +Wrench and Vaughan." Wrench rose and bowed to each as he retired. +Arthur Vaughan took no notice. + +Sir Robert's voters looked at one another uneasily. They had the day +before them, but--and then he saw the look, and, putting White and his +remonstrances on one side, he joined them, bade them follow him, and +descended before them. He would ask no man to do what he would not do +himself. + +But the moment his action was understood, the moment the men were seen +behind him, there was a yell so fierce and a movement so threatening, +that on the lowest step of the hustings he stood bareheaded, raised +his hand for silence and for a wonder was obeyed. In a clear, loud +voice: + +"Do you expect to terrify me," he cried, "either by threats or +violence? Let any man look in my face and see if it change colour? Let +him come and lay his hand on my heart and feel if it beats the +quicker. Keep my voters from the poll and you stultify your own, for +there will be no election. Make way then, and let them pass to their +duty!" + +And the crowd made way; and Arthur Vaughan felt a reluctant pang of +admiration. The five were polled; the result so far, five for each of +the candidates. + +There remained to poll only Arthur Vaughan and Pillinger of the Blue +Duck, if he could be brought up by the Tories. If neither of these +voted the Returning Officer would certainly give the casting vote for +Sir Robert's candidates--if he dared. + +Isaac White believed that he would not dare, and for some time past +the agent had been in covert talk with Pybus at the back of the +hustings, two or three of the friends of each masking the conference. +Now he drew aside his employer who had returned in safety to his +place; and he conferred with him. But for a time it was clear that Sir +Robert would not listen to what he had to say. He looked pale and +angry, and returned but curt answers. But White persisted, holding him +by the sleeve. + +"Mr. Vaughan--bah, what a noise they make--does not wish to vote," he +explained. "But in the end he will, sir, it is my opinion, and that +will give it to them unless we can bring up Pillinger--which I doubt, +sir. Even if we do, it is a tie----" + +"Well? Well?" Sir Robert struck in, eyeing him sternly. "What more do +we want? The Returning Officer----" + +"He will not dare," White whispered, "and if he does, sir, it is my +belief he will be murdered. More, if we win they will rush the booth +and destroy the books. They have as good as told me they will stick at +nothing. Believe me, sir," he continued earnestly, "better than one +and one we can't look for now. And better one than none!" + +But it was long before Sir Robert would be persuaded. No, defeat or +victory, he would fight to the last! He would be beholden to the other +side for nothing! White, however, was an honest man and less afraid of +his master than usual: and he held to it. And at length the reflection +that the bargain would at least shut out his kinsman prevailed with +Sir Robert, and he consented. + +He was too chivalrous to return on his own side the man whose success +would fill his pockets. He elected for Wathen and never doubted that +the Bowood interest would return their first love, Wrench. But when +the landlord of the Blue Duck was brought up by agreement to vote for +a candidate on either side, Pillinger voted by order for Wathen and +Vaughan. + +"There's some d----d mistake!" shrieked the Squire, as the words +reached his ears. + +But there was no mistake, and to the silent disgust of the Tories and +amid the frantic cheering of the Whigs, the return was made in favour +of Sergeant John Wathen, and Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, esquire. Loud +and long was the cheering: the air was black with caps. But when the +crowd sought for the two to chair them according to immemorial custom, +only the Sergeant could be found, and he with great prudence declined +the honour. + + + + + XIX + + THE FRUITS OF VICTORY + + +Arthur Vaughan could write himself Member of Parliament. The plaudits +of the Academic and the mimic contests of the Debating Club were no +longer for him. Fortune had placed within his grasp the prize of which +he had often dreamt; and henceforth all lay open to him. But, as a +contemporary in a letter written on a like occasion says, he had gone +through innumerable horrors to reach the goal. And the moment the +result was known and certain he slipped away from his place, and from +the oppressive good-wishes of his new and uncongenial friends--the +Williamses and the Blackfords; and shutting himself up in his rooms at +the White Lion, where his entrance was regarded askance, he set +himself to look the future in the face. + +He could not blame himself for the past, for he had done nothing of +which he was ashamed. He had been put by circumstances in a false +position, but he had freed himself frankly and boldly; and every +candid man must acknowledge that he could not have done otherwise than +he had. Yet he was aware that his conduct was open to misconstruction. +Some, even on his own side, would say that he had gone to Chippinge +prepared to support his kinsman; and that then, tempted by the +opportunity of gaining the seat for himself, he had faced about. Few +would believe the truth--that twenty-four hours before the election he +had declined to stand. Still fewer would believe that in withdrawing +his "No," he had been wholly moved by the offer which Sir Robert had +made to him and the unworthy manner in which he had treated him. + +Yet that was the truth; and so entirely the truth, that but for that +offer he would have resigned the seat even now. For he had no mind to +enter the House under a cloud. He knew that to do so was to endanger +the boat in which his fortunes were embarked. But in face of that +offer he could not withdraw. Sir Robert, Wetherell, White, all would +believe that he had resigned, not on the point of honour, but for a +bribe, and because the bribe, refused at first, grew larger the longer +he eyed it. + +So, for good or evil, his mind was made up. And for a few minutes, +while the roar of the mob applauding him rose to his windows, he was +happy. He was a member of the Commons' House. He stood on that +threshold on which Harley and St. John, Walpole the wise, and the +inspired Cornet, Pitt and Fox, spoiled children of fortune, +Castlereagh the illogical, and Canning + + + _Born with an ancient name of little worth, + And disinherited before hit birth_, + + +and many another had stood; knowing no more than he knew what fortune +had in womb for them, what of hushed silence would one day mark their +rising, what homage of loyal hearts and thundering feet would hang +upon their words. As their fortunes his might be; to sway to tears or +laughter, to a nation's weal or woe, the men who ruled; to know his +words were fateful, and yet to speak with no uncertain voice; to give +the thing he did not deign to wear, and make the man whom he must +follow after, ay, + + + _To fall as Walpole and to fail at Pitt!_ + + +this, all this might be his, if he were worthy! If the dust of that +arena knew no better man! + +His heart rose on the wave of thought and he felt himself fit for all, +equipped for all. He owned no task too hard, no enterprise too high. +Nor did he fall from the clouds until he remembered the change in his +fortunes, and bethought him that henceforth he must depend upon +himself. The story would be sifted, of course, and its truth or +falsehood be made clear. But whatever use Sir Robert might have +deigned to make of it, Vaughan did not believe that he would have +stooped to invent it. And if it were true, then all the importance +which had attached to himself as the heir to a great property, all the +privileges, all the sanctity of coming wealth, were gone. + +But with them the responsibilities of that position were gone also. +The change might well depress his head and cloud his heart. He had +lost much which he could hardly hope to win for himself. Yet--yet +there were compensations. + +He had passed through much in the last twenty-four hours; and, perhaps +for that reason, he was peculiarly open to emotion. In the thought +that henceforth he might seek a companion where he pleased, in the +remembrance that he had no longer any tastes to consult but his own, +any prejudices to respect save those which he chose to adopt, he found +a comfort at which he clutched eagerly and thankfully. The world which +shook him off--he would no longer be guided by its dictates! The race, +strenuous and to the swift, ay, to the draining of heart and brain, he +would not run it alone, uncheered, unsolaced--merely because while +things were different he had walked by a certain standard of conduct! +If he was now a poor man he was at least free! Free to take the one he +loved into the boat in which his fortunes floated, nor ask too closely +who were her forbears. Free to pursue his ambition hand in hand with +one who would sweeten failure and share success, and who in that life +of scant enjoyment and high emprise to which he must give himself, +would be a guardian angel, saving him from the spells of folly and +pleasure! + +He might please himself now, and he would. Flixton might laugh, the +men of the 14th might laugh. And in Bury Street he might have winced. +But in Mecklenburgh Square, where he and she would set up their modest +tent, he would not care. + +He could not go to Bristol until the morrow, for he had to see Pybus, +but he would write and tell her of his fortunes and ask her to share +them. The step was no sooner conceived than attempted. He sat down and +took pen and paper, and with a glow at his heart, in a state of +generous agitation, he prepared to write. + +But he had never written to her, he had never called her by her name. +And the difficulty of addressing her overwhelmed him. In the end, +after sitting appalled by the bold and shameless look of "Dear Mary," +"Dearest Mary," and of addresses warmer than these, he solved the +difficulty, after a tame and proper fashion by writing to Miss Sibson. +And this is what he wrote: + + +"Dear Madame, + +"At the interview which I had with you on Saturday last, you were good +enough to intimate that if I were prepared to give an affirmative +answer to a question which you did not put into words, you would +permit me to see Miss Smith. I am now in a position to give the +assurance as to my intentions which you desired, and trust that I may +see Miss Smith on my arrival in Bristol to-morrow. + +"Believe me to remain, Madame, + + "Truly yours, + + "Arthur V. Vaughan." + + +And all his life, he told himself, he would remember the use to which +he had put his first frank! + +That night the toasting and singing, drunkenness and revelry of which +the borough was the scene, kept him long waking. But eleven o'clock on +the following morning saw him alighting from a chaise at Bristol, and +before noon he was in Queen's Square. + +For the time at least he had put the world behind him. And it was in +pure exultation and the joyous anticipation of what was to come that +he approached the house. He came, a victor from the fight; nor, he +reflected, was it every suitor who had it in his power to lay such +offerings at the feet of his mistress. In the eye of the world, +indeed, he was no longer what he had been; for the matchmaking mother +he had lost his value. But he had still so much to give which Mary had +not, he could still so alter the tenor of her life, he could still so +lift her in the social scale, those hopes which she was to share still +flew on pinions so ambitious--ay, to the very scattering of garters +and red-ribbons--that his heart was full of the joy of giving. He must +not be blamed if he felt as King Cophetua when he stooped to the +beggar-maiden, or as the Lord of Burleigh when he woo'd the farmer's +daughter. After all, he did but rejoice that she had so little and he +had so much; that he could give and she could grace. + +When he came to the house he paused a moment in wonder that when all +things were altered, his prospects, views, plans, its face rose +unchanged. Then he knocked boldly; the time for hesitation was past. +He asked for Miss Smith--thinking it likely that he would have to wait +until the school rose at noon. The maid, however, received him as if +she expected him, and ushered him at once into a room on the left of +the entrance. He stood, holding his hat, waiting, listening; but not +for long. The door had scarcely closed on the girl before it opened +again, and Mary Smith came in. She met his eyes, and started, blushed +a divine rosy-red and stood wide-eyed and uncertain, with her hand on +the door. + +"Did you not expect me?" he said, taken aback on his side. For this +was not the Mary Smith with whom he travelled on the coach; nor the +Mary Smith with whom he had talked in the Square. This was a Mary +Smith, no less beautiful, but gay and fresh as the morning, in dainty +white with a broad blue sash, with something new, something of a +franker bearing in her air. "Did you not expect me?" he repeated +gently, advancing a step towards her. + +"No," she murmured, and she stood blushing before him, blushing more +deeply with every second. For his eyes were beginning to talk, and to +tell the old tale. + +"Did not Miss Sibson get my letter?" he asked gently. + +"I think not," she murmured. + +"Then I have all--to do," he said nervously. It was--it was certainly +a harder thing to do than he had expected. "Will you not sit down, +please," he pleaded. "I want you to listen to me." + +For a moment she looked as if she would flee instead. Then she let him +lead her to a seat. + +He sat down within reach of her. "And you did not know that it was I?" +he said, feeling the difficulty increase with every second. + +"No." + +"I hope," he said, hesitating, "that you are glad that it is?" + +"I am glad to see you again--to thank you," she murmured. But while +her blushes and her downcast eyes seemed propitious to his suit, there +was something--was it, could it be a covert smile hiding at the +corners of her little mouth?--some change in her which oppressed him, +and which he did not understand. One thing he did understand, however: +that she was more beautiful, more desirable, more intoxicating than he +had pictured her. And his apprehensions grew upon him, as he paused +tongue-tied, worshipping her with his eyes. If, after all, she would +not? What if she said, "No"? For what, now he came to measure them +beside her, were those things he brought her, those things he came to +offer, that career which he was going to ask her to share? What were +they beside her adorable beauty and her modesty, the candour of her +maiden eyes, the perfection of her form? He saw their worthlessness; +and the bold phrase with which he had meant to open his suit, the +confident, "Mary, I am come for you," which he had repeated so often +to the rhythm of the chaise-wheels, that he was sure he would never +forget it, died on his lips. + +At last, "You speak of thanks--it is to gain your thanks I am come," +he said nervously. "But I don't ask for words. I want you to think +as--as highly as you can of what I did for you--if you please! I want +you to believe that I saved your life on the coach. I want you to +think that I did it at great risk to myself. I want you," he continued +hurriedly, "to exaggerate a hundredfold--everything I did for you. And +then I want you to think that you owe all to a miser, who will be +content with nothing short of--of immense interest, of an extortionate +return." + +"I don't think that I understand," she answered in a low tone, her +cheeks glowing. But beyond that, he could not tell aught of her +feelings; she kept her eyes lowered so that he could not read them, +and there were, even in the midst of her shyness, an ease and an +aloofness in her bearing, which were new to him and which frightened +him. He remembered how quickly she had on other occasions put him in +his place; how coldly she had asserted herself. Perhaps, she had no +feeling for him. Perhaps, apart from the incident in the coach, she +even disliked him! + +"You do not understand," he said unsteadily, "what is the return I +want?" + +"No-o," she faltered. + +He stood up abruptly, and took a pace or two from her. "And I hardly +dare tell you," he said. "I hardly dare tell you. I came to you, I +came here as brave as a lion. And now, I don't know why, I am +frightened." + +She--astonishing thing!--leapt the gulf for him. Possibly the greater +distance at which he stood gave her courage. "Are you afraid," she +murmured, moving her fingers restlessly, and watching them, "that you +may change your mind again?" + +"Change my mind?" he ejaculated, not for the moment understanding her. +So much had happened since his collision with Flixton in the Square. + +"As that gentleman--said you were in the habit of doing." + +"Ah!" + +"It was not true?" + +"True?" he exclaimed hotly. "True that I--that I----" + +"Changed your mind?" she said with her face averted. "And not--not +only that, sir?" + +"What else?" he asked bitterly. + +"Talked of me--among your friends?" + +"A lie! A miserable lie!" he cried on impulse, finding his tongue +again. "But I will tell you all. He saw you--that first morning, you +remember, and never having seen anyone so lovely, he intended to make +you the object of--of attentions that were unworthy of you. And to +protect you I told him that I was going--to make you my wife." + +"Is that what you mean to-day?" she asked faintly. + +"Yes." + +"But you did not mean it then?" she answered--though very gently. "It +was to shield me you said it?" + +He looked at her, astonished at her insight and her boldness. How +different, how very different was this from that to which he had +looked forward! At last, "I think I meant it," he said gloomily. "God +knows I mean it now! But that evening," he continued, seeing that she +still waited with averted face for the rest of his explanation, "he +challenged me at dinner before them all, and I," he added jerkily, "I +was not quite sure what I meant--I had no mind that you should be made +the talk of the--of my friends----" + +"And so--you denied it?" she said gently. + +He hung his head. "Yes," he said. + +"I think I--I understand," she answered unsteadily. "What I do not +understand is why you are here to-day. Why you have changed your mind +again. Why you are now willing that I should be--the talk of your +friends, sir." + +He stood, the picture of abasement. Must he acknowledge his doubts and +his hesitation, allow that he had been ashamed of her, admit that he +had deemed the marriage he now sought, a mesalliance? Must he open to +her eyes those hours of cowardly vacillation during which he had +walked the Clifton Woods weighing _I would_ against _I dare not?_ And +do it in face of that new dignity, that new aloofness which he +recognised in her and which made him doubt if he had an ally in her +heart. + +More, if he told her, would she understand? How should she, bred so +differently, understand how heavily the old name with its burden of +responsibilities, how heavily the past with its obligations to duty +and sacrifice, had weighed upon him! And if he told her and she did +not understand, what mercy had he to expect from her? + +Still, for a moment he was on the point of telling her: and of telling +her also why he was now free to please himself, why, rid of the burden +with the inheritance, he could follow his heart. But the tale was long +and roundabout, she knew nothing of the Vermuydens, of their +importance, or his expectations, or what he had lost or what he had +gained. And it seemed simpler to throw himself on her mercy. "Because +I love you!" he said humbly. "I have nothing else to say." + +"And you are sure that you will not change your mind again?" + +There was that in her voice, though he could not see her face, which +brought him across two squares of the carpet as if she had jerked him +with a string. In a second he was on his knees beside her, and had +laid a feverish hand on hers. "Mary," he cried, "Mary!" seeking to +look up into her face, "you will! You will! You will let me take you? +You will let me take you from here! I cannot offer you what I once +thought I could, but I have enough, and, you will?" There was a +desperate supplication in his voice; for close to her, so close that +his breath was on her cheek, she seemed, with her half-averted face +and her slender figure, so dainty a thing, so delicate and rare, that +he could hardly believe that she could ever be his, that he could be +so lucky as to possess her, that he could ever take her in his arms. +"You will? You will?" he repeated, empty of all other words. + +She did not speak, she could not speak. But she bowed her head. + +"You will?" + +She turned her eyes on him then; eyes so tender and passionate that +they seemed to draw his heart, his being, his strength out of him. +"Yes," she whispered shyly. "If I am allowed." + +"Allowed? Allowed?" he cried. How in a moment was all changed for +him! "I would like to see----" And then breaking off--perhaps it was +her fault for leaning a little towards him--he did that which he had +thought a moment before that he would never dare to do. He put his arm +round her and drew her gently and reverently to him until--for she did +not resist--her head lay on his shoulder. "Mine!" he murmured, "Mine! +Mine! Mary, I can hardly believe it. I can hardly think I am so +blest." + +"And you will not change?" she whispered. + +"Never! Never!" + +They were silent. Was she thinking of the dark night, when she had +walked lonely and despondent to her new and unknown home? Or of many +another hour of solitary depression, spent in dull and dreary +schoolrooms, while others made holiday? Was he thinking of his doubts +and fears, his cowardly hesitation? Or only of his present monstrous +happiness? No matter. At any rate, they had forgotten the existence of +anything outside the room, they had forgotten the world and Miss +Sibson, they were in a Paradise of their own, such as is given to no +man and to no woman more than once, they were a million miles from +Bristol City, when the sound made by the opening door surprised them +in that posture. Vaughan turned fiercely to see who it was, to see who +dared to trespass on their Eden. He looked, only looked, and he sprang +to his feet, amazed. He thought for a moment that he was dreaming, or +that he was mad. + +For on the threshold, gazing at them with a face of indescribable +astonishment, rage and incredulity, was Sir Robert Vermuyden. Sir +Robert Vermuyden, the one last man in the world whom Arthur Vaughan +would have expected to see there! + + + + + XX + + A PLOT UNMASKED + + +For a few moments the old man and the young man gazed at one another, +alike in this only that neither found words equal to his feelings. +While Mary, covered with confusion, blushing for the situation in +which she had been found, could not hold up her head. It was Sir +Robert who at last broke the silence in a voice which trembled with +passion. + +"You viper!" he said. "You viper! You would sting me--here also." + +Vaughan stared at him, aghast. The intrusion was outrageous, but +astonishment rather than anger was the young man's first feeling. +"Here also?" he repeated, as if he thought that he must have heard +amiss. "_I_ sting you? What do you mean? Why have you followed me?" +And then more warmly, "How dare you, sir, spy on me?" And he threw +back his head in wrath. + +The old man, every nerve and vein in his lean, high forehead swollen +and leaping, raised his cane and shook it at him. "Dare? Dare?" he +cried, and then for very rage his voice failed him. + +Vaughan closed his eyes and opened them again. "I am dreaming," he +said. "I must be dreaming. Are you Sir Robert Vermuyden? Is this house +Miss Sibson's school? Are we in Bristol? Or is it all--but first, +sir," recalling abruptly and with indignation the situation in which +he had been surprised, and raising his tone, "how come you here? I +have a right to know that!" + +"How come I here?" + +"Yes! How come you here, sir?" + +"You ask me! You ask me!" Sir Robert repeated, as if he could not +believe his ears. "How I come here! You scoundrel! You scoundrel!" + +Vaughan started under the lash of the word. The insult was gratuitous, +intolerable! No relationship, no family tie could excuse it. No wonder +that the astonishment and irritation which had been his first +feelings, gave way to pure anger. Sir Robert might be this or that. He +might have, or rather, he might have had certain rights. But now all +that was over, the relationship was a thing of the past. And to +suppose that he was still to suffer the old gentleman's interference, +to put up with his insults, to permit him in the presence of a young +girl, his promised wife, to use such language as he was using, was out +of the question. Vaughan's face grew dark. + +"Sir Robert," he said, "you are too old to be called to account. You +may say, therefore, what you please. But not--not if you are a +gentleman--until this young lady has left the room." + +"This--young--lady!" Sir Robert gasped in an indescribable tone: and +with the cane quivering in his grasp he looked from Vaughan to the +girl. + +"Yes," Vaughan answered sternly. "That young lady! And do not let me +hear you call her anything else, sir, for she has promised to be my +wife." + +"You lie!" the baronet cried, the words leaping from his lips. + +"Sir Robert!" + +"My daughter--promised to be your wife! My--my----" + +"Your daughter!" + +"Hypocrite!" Sir Robert retorted, flinging the word at him. "You knew +it! You knew it!" + +"Your daughter?" + +"Ay, that she was my daughter!" + +"Your daughter!" + +This time the words fell from Arthur Vaughan in a whisper. And he +stood, turned to stone. His daughter? Sir Robert's daughter? The +girl--he tried desperately to clear his mind--of whom Wetherell had +told the story, the girl whom her mother had hidden away, while in +Italy, the girl whose reappearance in life had ousted him or was to +oust him from his inheritance? Mary Smith--was that girl! His +daughter! + +But no! The blood leapt back to his heart. It was impossible, it was +incredible! The coincidence was too great, too amazing. His reason +revolted against it. And "Impossible!" he cried in a louder, a bolder +tone--though fear underlay its confidence. "You are playing with me! +You must be jesting!" he repeated angrily. + +But the elder man, though his hand still trembled on his cane and his +face was sallow with rage, had regained some control of himself. +Instead of retorting on Vaughan--except by a single glance of +withering contempt--he turned to Mary. "You had better go to your +room," he said, coldly but not ungently. For how could he blame her, +bred amid such surroundings, for conduct that in other circumstances +had irritated him indeed? For conduct that had been unseemly, +unmaidenly, improper. "You had better go to your room," he repeated. +"This is no fit place for you and no fit discussion for your ears. I +am not--the fault is not with you, but it will be better if you leave +us." + +She was rising, too completely overwhelmed to dream of refusing, when +Vaughan interposed. "No," he said with a gleam of defiance in his +eyes. "By your leave, sir, no! This young lady is my affianced wife. +If it be her own wish to retire, be it so. But if not, there is no one +who has the right to bid her go or stay. You"--checking Sir Robert's +wrathful rejoinder by a gesture--"you may be her father, but before +you can exercise a father's rights you must make good your case." + +"Make good my case!" Sir Robert ejaculated. + +"And when you have made it good, it will still be for her to choose +between us," Vaughan continued with determination. "You, who have +never played a father's part, who have never guided or guarded, +fostered or cherished her--do not think, sir, that you can in a moment +arrogate to yourself a father's authority." + +Sir Robert gasped. But the next moment he took up the glove so boldly +flung down. He pointed to the door, and with less courtesy than the +occasion demanded--but he was sore pressed by his anger, "Leave the +room, girl," he said. + +"Do as you please, Mary," Vaughan said. + +"Go!" cried the baronet, stung by the use of her name. "Stay!" said +Vaughan. + +Infinitely distressed, infinitely distracted by this appeal from the +one, from the other, from this side, from that, she turned her +swimming eyes on her lover. "Oh, what," she cried, "what am I to do?" + +He did not speak, but he looked at her, not doubting what she would +do, nor conceiving it possible that she could prefer to him, her +lover, whose sweet professions were still honey in her ears, whose arm +was still warm from the pressure of her form--that she could prefer to +him, a father who was no more than the shadow of a name. + +But he did not know Mary yet, either in her strength or her weakness. +Nor did he consider that her father was already more than a name to +her. She hung a moment undecided and wretched, drooping as the white +rose that hangs its head in the first shower. Then she turned to the +elder man, and throwing her arms about his neck hung in tears on his +breast. "You will be good to him, sir," she whispered passionately. +"Oh, forgive him! Forgive him, sir!" + +"My dear----" + +"Oh, forgive him, sir!" + +Sir Robert smoothed her hair with a caressing hand, and with pinched +lips and bright eyes looked at his adversary over her head. "I would +forgive him," he said, "I could forgive him--all but this! All but +this, my dear! I could forgive him had he not tricked you and deceived +you, cozened you and flattered you--into this! Into the belief that he +loves you, while he loves only your inheritance! Or that part," he +added bitterly, "of which he has not already robbed you!" + +"Sir Robert," Vaughan said, "you have stooped very low. But it will +not avail you." + +"It has availed me so far," the baronet retorted. With confidence he +was regaining also command of himself. + +Vaughan winced. In proportion as the other recovered his temper, he +lost his. + +"It will avail me still farther," Sir Robert continued exultantly, +"when my daughter understands, as she shall understand, sir, that when +you came here to-day, when you stole a march on me, as you thought, +and proposed marriage to her behind my back, you knew all that I knew! +Knew, sir, that she was my daughter, knew that she was my heiress, +knew that she ousted you, knew that by a marriage with her, and by +that only, you could regain all that you had lost!" + +"It is a lie!" Vaughan cried, stung beyond endurance. He was pale with +anger. + +"Then refute it!" Sir Robert said, clasping the girl, who had +involuntarily winced at the word, more closely to him. "Refute it, +sir! Refute it!" + +"It is absurd! It--it needs no refutation!" Vaughan cried. + +"Why?" Sir Robert retorted. "I state it. I am prepared to prove it! I +have three witnesses to the fact!" + +"To the fact that I----" + +"That you knew," Sir Robert replied. "Knew this lady to be my daughter +when you came here this morning--as well as I knew it myself." + +Vaughan returned his look in speechless indignation. Did the man +really believe in a charge, which at first had seemed to be mere +vulgar abuse. It was not possible! "Sir Robert," he said, speaking +slowly and with dignity, "I never did you harm by word or deed until a +day or two ago. And then, God knows, perforce and reluctantly. How +then can you lower yourself to--to such a charge as this?" + +"Do you deny then," the baronet replied with contemptuous force, "do +you dare to deny--to my face, that you knew?" + +Vaughan stared. "You will say presently," he replied, "that I knew her +to be your daughter when I made her acquaintance on the coach a week +ago. At a time when you knew nothing yourself." + +"As to that I cannot say one way or the other," Sir Robert rejoined. +"I do not know how nor where you made her acquaintance. But I do know +that an acquaintance so convenient, so coincident, could hardly be the +work of chance!" + +"Good G--d! Then you will say also that I knew who she was when I +called on her the day after, and again two days after that--while you +were still in ignorance?" + +"I have said," the baronet answered with cold decision, "that I do not +know how you made, nor why you followed up your acquaintance with her. +But I have, I cannot but have my suspicions." + +"Suspicions? Suspicions?" Vaughan cried bitterly. "And on suspicion, +the base issue of prejudice and dislike----" + +"No, sir, no!" Sir Robert struck in. "Though it may be that if I knew +who introduced you to her, who opened this house to you, and the rest, +I might find ground for more than suspicion! The schoolmistress might +tell me somewhat, and--you wince, sir! Ay," he continued in a tone of +triumph. "I see there is something to be learned! But it is not upon +suspicion that I charge you to-day! It is upon the best of grounds. +Did you not before my eyes and in the presence of two other witnesses, +read, no farther back than the day before yesterday, in the +drawing-room of my house, the whole story of my daughter's movements +up to her departure from London for Bristol! With the name of the +school to which she was consigned? Did you not, sir? Did you not?" + +"Never! Never!" + +"What?" The astonishment in Sir Robert's voice was so real, so +unfeigned, that it must have carried conviction to any listener. + +Vaughan passed his hand across his brow; and Mary, who had hitherto +kept her face hidden, shivering under the stroke of each harsh +word--for to a tender heart what could be more distressing than this +strife between the two beings she most cherished?--raised her head +imperceptibly. What would he answer? Only she knew how her heart beat; +how sick she was with fear; how she shrank from that which the next +minute might unfold! + +And yet she listened. + +"I--I remember now," Vaughan said--and the consternation he felt made +itself heard in his voice. "I remember that I looked at a paper----" + +"At a paper!" Sir Robert cried in a tone of withering contempt. "At a +detailed account, sir, of my daughter's movements down to her arrival +at Bristol! Do you deny that?" he continued grimly. "Do you deny that +you perused that account?" + +Vaughan stood for a moment with his hand pressed to his brow. He +hesitated. "I remember taking a paper in my hands," he said slowly, +his face flushing, as the probable inference from his words occurred +to him. "But I was thinking so much of the disclosure you had made to +me, and of the change it involved---to me, that----" + +"That you took no interest in the written details!" Sir Robert cried +in a tone of bitter irony. + +"I did not." + +"You did not read a word, I suppose?" + +"I did not." + +Before the baronet could utter the sneer which was on his lips, Mary +interposed. "I--I would like to go," she murmured. "I feel rather +faint!" + +She detached herself from her father's arm as she spoke, and with her +face averted from her lover, she moved uncertainly towards the door. +She had no wish to look on him. She shrank from meeting his shamed +eyes. But something, either the feeling that she would never see him +again, and that this was the end of her maiden love, or the desperate +hope that even at this last moment he might explain his admission--and +those facts, "confirmation strong as hell" which she knew, but which +Sir Robert did not know--one or other of these feelings made her +falter on the threshold, made her turn. Their eyes met. + +He stepped forward impulsively. He was white with pain, his face +rigid. For what pain is stronger than the pang of innocence accused? + +"One moment!" he said, in an unsteady voice. "If we part so, Mary, we +part indeed! We part forever! I said awhile ago that you must choose +between us. And you have chosen--it seems," he continued unsteadily. +"Yet think! Give yourself, give me a chance. Will you not believe my +word?" And he held out his arms to her. "Will you not believe that +when I came to you this morning I thought you penniless? I thought you +the unknown schoolmistress you thought yourself a week ago! Will you +not trust me when I say that I never connected you with the missing +daughter? Never dreamed of a connection? Why should I?" he added, in +growing agitation as the words of his appeal wrought on himself. "Why +should I? Or why do you in a moment think me guilty of the meanest, +the most despicable, the most mercenary of acts?" + +He was going to take her hand, but Sir Robert stepped between them, +grim as fate and as vindictive. "No!" he said. "No! No more! You have +given her pain enough, sir! Take your dismissal and go! She has +chosen--you have said it yourself!" + +He cast one look at Sir Robert, and then, "Mary," he asked, "am I to +go?" + +She was leaning, almost beside herself, against the door. And oh, how +much of joy and sorrow she had known since she crossed the threshold. +A man's embrace, and a man's treachery. The sweetness of love and the +bitterness of--reality! + +"Mary!" Vaughan repeated. + +But the baronet could not endure this. "By G--d, no!" he cried, +infuriated by the other's persistence, and perhaps a little by fear +that the girl would give way. "You shall not soil her name with your +lips, sir! You shall torture her no longer! You have your dismissal! +Take it and go!" + +"When she tells me with her own lips to go," Vaughan answered +doggedly, "I will go. Not before!" For never had she seemed more +desirable to him. Never, though contempt of her weakness wrestled with +his love, had he wanted her more. Except that seat in the House which +had cost him so dearly, she was all he had left. And it did not seem +possible that she whom he had held so lately in his arms, she who had +confessed her love for him, with whom he had vowed to share his life +and his success, his lot good or bad--it did not seem possible that +she could really believe this miserable, this incredible, this +impossible thing of him! She could not! Or, if she could, he was +indeed mistaken in her. "I shall go," he repeated coldly, "and I shall +not return." + +And Mary had not believed it of him, had she known him longer or +better; had she known him as girls commonly know their lovers. But his +wooing had been short, we know: and we know, too, the distrust of men +in which she had been trained. He had taken her by storm, stooping to +her from the height of his position, having on his side her poverty +and loneliness, her inexperience and youth. Now all these things, and +her ignorance of his world weighed against him. Was it to be supposed, +could it be credited that he, who had come to her bearing her mother's +commendation, knew nothing, though he was her kinsman? That he, who +after plain hesitation and avowed doubt, laid all at her feet as soon +as her father was prepared to acknowledge her--still sought her in +ignorance? That he, who had read her story in black and white, still +knew nothing? + +No, she could not believe it. But it was a bitter thing to know that +he did not love her, that he had not loved her! That he had come to +her for gain! She must speak if it were only to escape, only to save +herself from--from collapse. She yearned for nothing now so much as to +be alone in her room. + +"Good-bye," she muttered, with averted eyes and pallid lips. "I--I +forgive you. Good-bye." + +And she opened the door with groping fingers; and still, still looking +away from him lest she should break down, she went out. + +He drew a deep breath as she passed the threshold; and his eyes did +not leave her. But he did not speak. Nor did Sir Robert Vermuyden +until his daughter's step, light as thistledown that morning, and now +uncertain and lagging, passed out of hearing, and--and at last a door +closed on the floor above. + +Then the elder man looked at the other. "Are you not going?" he said +with stern meaning. "You have robbed me of my borough, sir--I give you +joy of your cleverness. But you shall not rob me of my daughter!" + +"I wonder which you love the better!" Vaughan snarled. And with the +vicious gibe he took his hat and went. + + + + + XXI + + A MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS + + +It was September. The House elected in those first days of May was +four months old, and already it had fulfilled the hopes of the +country. Without a division it had decreed the first reading, and by a +majority of one hundred and thirty-six, the second reading of the +People's Bill; that Bill by which the preceding House slaying, had +been slain. New members were beginning to lose the first gloss of +their enthusiasm; the youngest no longer ogled the M.P. on their +letters, nor franked for the mere joy of franking. But the ministry +still rode the flood tide of favour, Lord Grey was still his country's +pride, and Brougham a hero. It only remained to frighten the House of +Lords, and in particular those plaguy out-of-date fellows, the +Bishops, into passing the Bill; and the battle would be won, + + + _The streets be paved with mutton pies, + Potatoes eat like pine!_ + + +And, in fine, everyone would live happily ever afterwards. + +To old Tories of the stamp of Sir Robert Vermuyden, the outlook was +wholly dark. But it is not often that public care clouds private joy; +and had Eldon been prime minister, with Wetherell for his Chancellor, +the grounds of Stapylton could hardly have worn a more smiling aspect +than they presented on the fine day in early September, which Sir +Robert had chosen for his daughter's first party. The abrupt addition +of a well-grown girl to a family of one is a delicate process. It is +apt to open the door to scandal. And a little out of discretion, and +more that she, who was now the apple of his eye, might not wear her +wealth with a difference, nor lack anything of the mode, he had not +hastened the occasion. A word had been dropped here and there--with +care; the truth had been told to some, the prepossessions of others +had been consulted. But at length the day was come on which she must +stand by his side and receive the world of Wiltshire. + +And she had so stood for more than an hour of this autumn afternoon; +with such pride on his side as was fitting, and such blushes on hers +as were fitting also. Now, the prime duty of reception over, and his +company dispersed through the gardens, Sir Robert lingered with one or +two of his intimates on the lawn before the house. In the hollow of +the park hard by, stood the ample marquee in which his poorer +neighbours were presently to feed; gossip had it that Sir Robert was +already at work rebuilding his political influence. Near the tent, +Hunt the Slipper and Kiss in the Ring were in progress, and Moneymusk +was being danced to the strains of the Chippinge church band; the +shrill voices of the rustic youth proving that their first shyness was +wearing off. Within the gardens, a famous band from Bath played the +new-fashioned quadrilles turn about with Moore's Irish Melodies; and a +score of the fair, gorgeous as the dragon-flies which darted above the +water, meandered delicately up and down the sward; or escorted by +gentlemen in tightly strapped white trousers and blue coats--or in +Wellington frocks, the latest mode--appeared and again disappeared +among the elms beside the Garden Pool. In the background, the house, +adorned and refurnished, winked with all its windows at the sunshine, +gave forth from all its doors the sweet scent of flowers, throbbed to +the very recesses of the haunted wing with small talk and light +laughter, the tap of sandalled feet and the flirt of fans. + +Sir Robert thanked his God as he looked upon it all. And five years +younger in face and more like the Duke than ever, he listened, almost +purring, to the praises of his new-found darling. The odds had been +great that with such a breeding, she had been coarse or sly, common or +skittish. And she was none of these things, but fair as a flower, +slender as Psyche, sweet-eyed as a loving woman, dainty and virginal +as the buds of May! And withal gentle and kind and obedient--above +all, obedient. He could not thank God enough, as he read in the eyes +of young men and old women, what they thought of her. And he was +thanking Him, though in outward seeming he was attentive to an old +friend's prattle, when his eyes fell on a carriage and four which, +followed by two outriders, was sweeping past the marquee and breasting +the gentle ascent to the house. All who were likely to arrive in such +state, the Beauforts, Suffolks, Methuens, were come; the old Duke of +Beaufort, indeed, and his daughter-in-law were gone again. So Sir +Robert stared at the approaching carriage, wondering whom it might +contain. + +"They are the Bowood liveries," said his friend, who had longer sight. +"I thought they had gone to town for the Coronation." + +Sir Robert too had thought so. Indeed, though he had invited the +Lansdownes upon the principle, which even the heats attending the +Reform Bill did not wholly abrogate, that family friendships were +above party--he had been glad to think that he would not see the +spoliators. The trespass was too recent, the robbery too gross! Ay, +and the times too serious. + +Here they were, however; Lady Lansdowne, her daughter, and a small +gentleman with a merry eye and curling locks. And Sir Robert repressed +a sigh, and advanced four or five paces to meet them. But though he +sighed, no one knew better what became a host; and his greeting was +perfect. One of his bitterest flings at Bowood painted it as the +common haunt of fiddlers and poets, actors and the like. But he +received her ladyship's escort, who was no other than Mr. Moore of +Sloperton, and of the Irish Melodies, with the courtesy which he would +have extended to an equal; nor when Lady Lansdowne sent her girl to +take tea under the poet's care did he let any sign of his reprobation +appear. Those with whom he had been talking had withdrawn to leave him +at liberty, and he found himself alone with Lady Lansdowne. + +"We leave for Berkeley Square to-morrow, for the Coronation on the +8th," she said, playing with her fan in a way which would have +betrayed to her intimates that she was not at ease. "I had many things +to do this morning in view of our departure and I could not start +early. You must accept our apologies, Sir Robert." + +"It was gracious of your ladyship to come at all," he said. + +"It was brave," she replied, with a gleam of laughter in her eyes. "In +fact, though I bear my lord's warmest felicitations on this happy +event, and wreathe them with mine, Sir Robert----" + +"I thank your ladyship and Lord Lansdowne," he said formally. + +"I do not think that I should have ventured," she continued with +another glint of laughter, "did I not bear also an olive branch." + +He bowed, but waited in silence for her explanation. + +"One of a--a rather delicate nature," she said. "Am I permitted, Sir +Robert, to--to speak in confidence?" + +He did not understand and he sought refuge in compliments. +"Permitted?" he said, with the gallant bow of an old beau. "All things +are permitted to so much----" + +"Hush!" she said. "But there! I will take you at your word. You know +that the Bill--there is but one Bill now-a-days--is in Committee?" + +He frowned, disliking the subject. "I don't think," he said, "that any +good can come of discussing it, Lady Lansdowne." + +"I think it may," she replied, with a confidence which she did not +feel, "if you will hear me. It is whispered that there is a question +in Committee of one of the doomed boroughs. One, I am told, Sir +Robert, hangs between schedule A and schedule B; and that borough is +Chippinge. Those who know whisper Lord Lansdowne that ultimately it +will be plucked from the burning, and will be found in schedule B. +Consequently it will retain one member." + +Sir Robert's thin face turned a dull red. So the wicked Whigs, who had +drawn the line of disfranchisement at such a point as to spare their +pet preserves, their Calne and Bedford and the like, had not been able +with all their craft to net every fish. One had evaded the mesh, and +by Heavens, it was Chippinge! Chippinge, though shorn of its full +glory, would still return one member. He had not hoped, he had not +expected this. Now + + + _Non omnis moriar, multaque pars mei + Vitabit Libitinam!_ + + +he thought with jubilation. And then another thought darted through +his mind and changed his joy to chagrin. A seat had been left to +Chippinge. But why? That Arthur Vaughan, that his renegade cousin, +might continue to fill it, might continue to hold it, under his nose +and to his daily, hourly, his constant mortification. By Heaven, it +was too much! They had said well, who said that an enemy's gift was to +be dreaded. But he would fight the seat, at the next election and at +every election, rather than suffer that miserable person, miserable on +so many accounts, to fill it at his will. And after all the seat was +saved; and no one could tell the future. The lasting gain might +outlive the temporary vexation. + +So, after frowning a moment, he tried to smooth his brow. "And your +mission, Lady Lansdowne," he said politely, "is to tell me this?" + +"In part," she said, with hesitation, for the course, of his feelings +had been visible in his countenance. "But also----" + +"But also--and in the main," he answered with a smile, "to make a +proposition, perhaps?" + +"Yes." + +He thought of the most obvious proposition, and he spoke in pursuance +of his thought. "Then forgive me if I speak plainly," he said. +"Whether the borough lose one member or both, whether it figure in +schedule B, or in schedule A, cannot affect my opposition to the Bill! +If you have it in commission, therefore, to make any proposal, based +on a contrary notion, I cannot listen even to your ladyship." + +"I have not," she answered with a smile. "Sir Robert Vermuyden's +malignancy is too well known. Yet I am the bearer of a proposition. +Suppose the Bill to become law, and I am told that it will surely +become law, can we not avoid future conflict, and--I will not say +future ill-will, for God knows there is none on our side, Sir +Robert--but future friction, by an agreement? Of course it will not be +possible to nominate members in the future as in the past. But for +some time to come whoever is returned for Chippinge must be returned +by your influence, or by my lord's." + +He coughed drily. "Possibly," he said. + +"In view of that," she continued, flirting her fan, as she watched his +face--his manner was not encouraging, "and for the sake of peace +between families, and a little, perhaps, because I do not wish Kerry +to be beggared by contested elections, can we not now, while the +future is on the lap of the gods----" + +"In Committee," Sir Robert corrected with a grave bow. + +She laughed pleasantly. "Well," she allowed, "perhaps it is not quite +the same thing. But no matter! Whoever the Fates in charge, can we +not," with her head on one side and a charming smile, "make a treaty +of peace?" + +"And what," Sir Robert asked with urbane sarcasm, "becomes of the +rights of the people in that case, Lady Lansdowne? And of the purity +of elections? And of the new and independent electors whom my lord has +brought into being? Must we not think of these things?" + +She looked for an instant rather foolish. Then she rallied, and with a +slightly heightened colour, "In good time, we must," she replied. "But +for the present it is plain that they will not be able to walk without +assistance." + +"What?" it was on the tip of his tongue to answer. "The new and +independent electors? Not walk without assistance? Oh, what a change +is here!" But he forbore. He said instead--but with the faintest shade +of irony, "Without _our_ assistance, I think you mean, Lady +Lansdowne?" + +"Yes. And that being so, why should we not agree, my lord and you--to +save Kerry's pocket shall I say--to bring forward a candidate +alternately?" + +Sir Robert shook his head gravely. He would fight. + +"Allowing to you, Sir Robert, as the owner of the influence hitherto +dominant in the borough, the first return." + +"The first return--after the Bill passes?" + +"Yes." + +That was a different thing. That was another thing altogether. A gleam +of satisfaction shone for an instant under the baronet's bushy +eyebrows. The object he had most at heart was to oust his treacherous +cousin. And here was a method, sure and safe: more safe by far than +any contest under the new Bill? + +"Well I--I cannot say anything at this moment," he said, at last, +trying to hide his satisfaction. "These heats once over I do not +see--your ladyship will pardon me--why my influence should not still +predominate." + +It was Lady Lansdowne's turn. "And things be as before?" she answered. +"No, Sir Robert, no. You forget those rights of the people which you +were so kind as to support a moment ago. Things will not be as before. +But--but perhaps I shall hear from you? Of course it is not a matter +that can be settled, as in the old days, by our people." + +"You shall certainly hear," he said, with something more than +courtesy. "In the meantime----" + +"I am dying to see your daughter," she answered. "I am told that she +is very lovely. Where is she?" + +"A few minutes ago she was in the Elm Walk," Sir Robert answered, a +slight flush betraying his gratification. "I will send for her." + +But her ladyship would not hear of this; nor would she suffer him to +leave his post to escort her. "Here's la belle Suffolk coming to take +leave of you," she said. "And I know my way." + +"But you will not know her," Sir Robert answered. + +Lady Lansdowne let her parasol sink over her shoulder. "I think I +shall," she said with a glance of meaning, "if she is like her +mother." + +And without waiting to see the effect of her words, she moved away. It +was said of old time of Juno, that she walked a Goddess confessed. And +of Lady Lansdowne as she moved slowly across the sunny lawn before the +church, her dainty skirts trailing and her parasol inclined, it might +with equal justice have been said, that she walked a great lady, of +that day when great ladies still were, + + + _Nor mill nor mart had mocked the guinea's stamp_. + + +Whether she smiled on this person or bowed to that, or with a slighter +movement acknowledged the courtesy of those who, without claiming +recognition made respectful way for her, a gracious ease and a quiet +nonchalance were in all her actions. The deeper emotions seemed as far +from her as were Hodge and Joan playing Kiss in the Ring. But her last +words to Sir Robert had reacted on herself, and as she crossed the +rustic bridge, she paused a moment to gaze on the water. The band was +playing the air of "She is far from the Land," and tears rose to her +eyes as she recalled the past and pictured scene after scene, absurd +or pathetic in the career of the proud beauty who had once queened it +here, whose mad pranks and madder sayings had once filled these +shrubberies with mirth or chagrin, and whose child she was about to +see. + +She sighed, as she resumed her course, unable even now to blame Lady +Sybil as her conduct to her child deserved. But where was the child? +Not on the walk under the elms, which was deserted in favour of the +more lively attractions of the park. Lady Lansdowne looked this way +and that; at length availing herself of the solitude, she paced the +walk to its end. Thence a short path which she well remembered, led to +the kennels; and rather to indulge her sentiment and recall the days +when she was herself young, and had been intimate here, than because +she expected to meet Mary, she took this path. She had not followed it +a dozen steps, and was hesitating whether to go on or return, the +strains of Moore's melody were scarcely blurred by the intervening +laurels, when a tall dark-robed figure stepped with startling +abruptness from the shrubbery, and stood before her. + +"Louisa," said the stranger. And she raised her veil. "Don't you know +me?" + +"Sybil!" + +"Yes, Sybil!" the other answered curtly. And then as if something in +Lady Lansdowne's tone had wounded her, "Why not?" she continued, +raising her head proudly. "My name came easily enough to your +ladyship's lips once! And I am not aware that I have done anything to +deprive me of the right to call my friends by their names, be they +whom they may!" + +"No, no! But----" + +"But you meant it, Louisa!" the other retorted with energy. "Or is it +that you find me so changed, so old, so worn, so altered from her you +once knew, that it astonishes you to trace in this face the features +of Sybil Matching!" + +"You are changed," the other answered kindly. "I fear you have been +ill?" + +"I am ill. I am more, I am dying. Not here, nor to-day, nor +to-morrow----" + +Lady Lansdowne interrupted her. "In that sense," she said gently, "we +are all dying." But though she said it, the change in Lady Sybil's +appearance did indeed shock her; almost as much as her presence in +that place amazed her. + +"I have but three months to live," Lady Sybil answered feverishly; and +her sunken cheeks and bright eyes, which told of some hidden disease, +confirmed her words. "I am dying in that sense! Do you hear? But I +dare say," with a flash of her old levity, "it is my presence here +that shocks you? You are thinking what Vermuyden would say if he +turned the corner behind you, and found us together!" And, as Lady +Lansdowne, with a nervous start, looked over her shoulder, with the +old recklessness, "I'd like--I'd like to see his face, my dear, and +yours, too, if he found us. But," she continued, with an abrupt change +to impassioned earnestness, "it's not to see you that I came to-day! +Don't think it! It's not to see you that I've been waiting for two +hours past. I want to see my girl! I am going to see her, do you hear! +You must bring her to me!" + +"Sybil!" + +"Don't contradict me, Louisa," she cried peremptorily. "Haven't I told +you that I am dying? Don't you hear what I say! Am I to die and not +see my child? Cruel woman! Heartless creature! But you always were! +And cold as an icicle!" + +"No, indeed, I am not! And I think you should see her," Lady +Lansdowne answered, in no little distress. How could she not be +distressed by the contrast between this woman plainly and almost +shabbily dressed--for the purpose perhaps of evading notice--and with +illness stamped on her face, and the brilliant, harum-scarum Lady +Sybil, with whom her thoughts had been busy a few minutes before? "I +think you ought to see her," she repeated in a soothing tone. "But you +should take the proper steps to do so. You----" + +"You think--yes, you do!" Lady Vermuyden retorted with fierce +energy--"you think that I have treated her so ill that I have no right +to see her! That I cannot care to see her! But you do not know how I +was tried! How I was suspected, how I was watched! What wrongs I +suffered! And--and I never meant to hide her for good. When I died, +she would have come home. And I had a plan too--but never mind +that--to right her without Vermuyden's knowledge and in his teeth. I +saw her on a coach one day along with--what is it?" + +"There is someone coming," Lady Lansdowne said hurriedly. Her ladyship +indeed was in a state of great apprehension. She knew that at any +moment she might be found, perhaps by Sir Robert: and the thought of +the scene which would follow--aware as she was of the exasperation of +his feelings--appalled her. She tried to temporise. "Another time," +she said. "I think someone is coming now. See me another time and I +will do what I can." + +"No!" the other broke in, her face flushing with sudden anger. "See +you, Louisa? What do I care for seeing you? It is my girl I wish to +see, that I'm come to see, that I'm going to see! I'm her mother, +fetch her to me! I have a right to see her, and I will see her! I +demand her! If you do not go for her----" + +"Sybil! Sybil!" Lady Lansdowne cried, thoroughly alarmed by her +friend's violence. "For Heaven's sake be calm!" + +"Calm?" Lady Vermuyden answered. "Do you cease to dictate to me, and +do as I bid you! Go, and fetch her, or I will go myself and claim her +before all his friends. He has no heart. He never had a heart! It's +sawdust," with a hysterical laugh. "But he has pride and I'll trample +on it! I'll tread it in the mud--if you don't fetch her! Are you +going, Miss Gravity? We used to call you Miss Gravity, I remember. You +were always," with a faint sneer, "a bit of a prude, my dear!" + +Miss Gravity! What long-forgotten trifles, what thoughts of youth the +nickname brought back to Lady Lansdowne's recollection. What wars of +maidens' wits, and half-owned jealousies, and light resentments, and +sunny days of pique and pleasure! Her heart, never anything but soft, +under the mask of her great-lady's manner, waxed sore and pitiful. Yet +how was she to do the other's bidding? How could she betray Sir +Robert's confidence? How---- + +Someone was coming--really coming this time. She looked round. + +"I'll give you five minutes!" Lady Sybil whispered. "Five minutes, +Louisa! Remember!" + +And when Lady Lansdowne turned again to her, she had vanished among +the laurels. + + + + + XXII + + WOMEN'S HEARTS + + +Lady Lansdowne walked slowly away in a state of perplexity, from which +the monotonous lilt of the band which was now playing quadrille music +did nothing to free her. Whether Sybil Vermuyden were dying or not, it +was certain that she was ill. Disease had laid its hand beyond +mistaking on that once beautiful face; the levity and wit which had +formerly dazzled beholders now gleamed but fitfully and with such a +ghastly light as the corpse candle gives forth. The change was great +since Lady Lansdowne had seen her in the coach at Chippenham; and it +might well be that if words of forgiveness were to be spoken, no time +was to be lost. Old associations, a mother's feelings for a mother, +pity, all urged Lady Lansdowne to compliance with her request; nor did +the knowledge that the woman, who had once queened it so brilliantly +in this place, was now lurking on the fringe of the gay crowd, athirst +for a sight of her child, fail to move a heart which all the +jealousies of a Whig coterie had not hardened or embittered. + +Unluckily the owner of that heart felt that she was the last person +who ought to interfere. It behoved her, more than it behoved anyone, +to avoid fresh ground of quarrel with Sir Robert. Courteously as he +had borne himself on her arrival, civilly as he had veiled the +surprise which her presence caused him, she knew that he was sore hurt +by his defeat in the borough. And if those who had thwarted him +publicly were to intervene in his private concerns, if those who had +suborned his kinsman were now to tamper with his daughter, ay, or were +to incur a suspicion of tampering, she knew that his anger would know +no bounds. She felt, indeed, that it would be justified. + +She had to think, too, of her husband, who had sent her with the +olive-branch. He was a politic, long-sighted man; who, content with +the solid advantage he had gained, had no mind to push to extremity a +struggle which must needs take place at his own door. He would be +displeased, seriously displeased, if her mission, in place of closing, +widened the breach. + +And yet--and yet her heart ached for the woman, who had never wholly +lost a place in her affections. And there was this. If Lady Sybil were +thwarted no one was more capable of carrying out her threat and of +taking some violent step, which would make matters a hundred times +worse, alike for Sir Robert and his daughter. + +While she weighed the matter, Lady Lansdowne found herself back at the +rustic bridge. She was in the act of stepping upon it--still deep in +thought--when her eyes encountered those of a young couple who were +waiting at the farther end to give her passage. She looked a second +time; and she stood. Then, smiling, she beckoned to the girl to come +to her. Meanwhile, a side-thought, born of the conjunction of the two +young people, took form in her mind. "I hope that may come to +nothing," she reflected. + +Possibly it was for this reason, that when the man would have come +also, she made it clear that the smile was not for him. "No, Mr. +Flixton," she said, the faintest possible distance in her tone. "I do +not want you. I will relieve you of your charge." + +And when Mary, timid and blushing, had advanced to her, "My dear," she +said, holding out both her hands, and looking charmingly at her, "I +should have known you anywhere." And she drew her to her and kissed +her. "I am Lady Lansdowne. I knew your mother, and I hope that you and +my daughter will be friends." + +The mention of her mother increased Mary's shyness. "Your ladyship is +very kind," she murmured. She did not know that her embarrassment was +so far from hurting her, that the appeal in her eyes went straight to +the elder woman's heart. + +"I mean to be kind at any rate," Lady Lansdowne answered, smiling on +the lovely face before her. And then, "My dear," she said, "have they +told you that you are very beautiful? More beautiful, I think, than +your mother was: I hope"--and she did not try to hide the depth of her +feelings--"that you may be more happy." + +The girl's colour faded at this second reference to her mother; made, +she could not doubt, with intention. Her father, even while he had +overwhelmed her with benefits, even while he had opened this new life +to her with a hand full of gifts, had taught her--tacitly or by a word +at most--that that name was the key to a Bluebeard's chamber; that it +must not be used. She knew that her mother lived; she guessed that she +had sinned against her husband; she understood that she had wronged +her child. But she knew no more: and with this, since this at the +least she must know, Sir Robert would have had her content. + +And yet, to speak correctly, she did know more. She knew that the +veiled lady who had intervened at long intervals in her life must have +been her mother. But she felt no impulse of affection towards that +woman--whom she had not seen. Her heart went out instead to a shadowy +mother who walked the silent house at sunset, whose skirts trailed in +the lonely passages, of whose career of wild and reckless gaiety she +had vague hints here and there. It was to this mother, radiant and +young, with the sheen of pearls in her hair, and the haunting smile, +that she yearned. She had learned in some subtle way that the vacant +place over the mantel in the hall which her own portrait by Maclise +was to fill, had been occupied by her mother's picture. And dreaming +of the past, as what young girl alone in that stately house would not, +she had seen her come and go in the half lights, a beautiful, spoilt +child of fashion. She had traced her up and down the wide polished +stairway, heard the tap of her slender sandal on the shining floors, +perceived in long-closed chambers the fading odours of her favourite +scent. And in a timid, frightened way she had longed to know her and +to love her, to feel her touch on her hair and give her pity in +return. + +It is possible that she might have dwelt more intimately on Lady +Sybil's fate, possible that she might have ventured on some line of +her own in regard to her, if her new life had been free from +preoccupation; if there had not been with her an abiding regret, which +clouded the sunniest prospects. But love, man's love, woman's love, is +the most cruel of monopolists: it tramples on the claims of the +present, much more of the absent. And if the novelty of Mary's new +life, the many marvels to which she must accustom herself, the new +pleasures, the new duties, the strange new feeling of wealth--if, in +fine, the necessity of orientating herself afresh in relation to every +person and everything--was not able to put thoughts of her lover from +her mind, the claims of an unknown mother had an infinitely smaller +chance of asserting themselves. + +But now at that word, twice pronounced by Lady Lansdowne, the girl +stood ashamed and conscience-stricken. "You knew my mother?" she +faltered. + +"Yes, my dear," the elder woman answered gravely. "I knew her very +well." + +The gravity of the speaker's tone presented a new idea to Mary's mind. +"She is not happy?" she said slowly. + +"No." + +With that word Lady Lansdowne looked over her shoulder; conscience +makes cowards, and her nervousness communicated itself to Mary. A +possibility, at which the girl had never glanced, presented itself, +and so abruptly that all the colour left her face. "She is not here?" +she said. + +"Yes, she is here. And--don't be frightened, my dear!" Lady Lansdowne +continued earnestly. "But listen to me! A moment ago I thought of +throwing you in her way without your knowledge. But, since I have seen +you, I have your welfare at heart, as well as hers. And I must, I +ought to tell you, that I do not think your father would wish you to +see her. I think that you should know this; and that you should decide +for yourself--whether you will see her. Indeed, you must decide for +yourself," she repeated, her eyes fixed anxiously on the girl's face. +"I cannot take the responsibility." + +"She is unhappy?" Mary asked, looking most unhappy herself. + +"She is unhappy, and she is ill." + +"I ought to go to her? You think so? Please--your ladyship, will you +advise me?" + +Lady Lansdowne hesitated. "I cannot," she said. + +"But--there is no reason," Mary asked faintly, "why I should not go to +her?" + +"There is no reason. I honestly believe," Lady Lansdowne repeated +solemnly, "that there is no reason--except your father's wish. It is +for you to say how far that, which should weigh with you in all other +things, shall weigh with you in this." + +Suddenly a burning colour dyed Mary's face. "I will go to her," she +cried impulsively. She had been weak once, she had been weak! And how +she had suffered for that weakness! But she would be strong now. +"Where is she, if you please?" she continued bravely. "Can I see her +at once?" + +"She is in the path leading to the kennels. You know it? No, you need +not take leave of me, child! Go, and," Lady Lansdowne added with +feeling, "God forgive me if I have done wrong in sending you!" + +"You have not done wrong!" Mary cried, an unwonted spirit in her tone. +And, without taking other leave, she turned and went--though her limbs +trembled under her. She was going to her mother! To her mother! Oh, +strange, oh, impossible thought! + +Yet, engrossing as was that thought, it could not quite oust fear of +her father and of his anger. And the blush soon died; so that the +whiteness of her cheeks when she reached the Kennel Path was a poor +set off for the ribbons that decked her muslin robe. What she +expected, what she wished or feared or hoped she could never remember. +What she saw, that which awaited her, was a woman, ill, and plainly +clad, with only the remains of beauty in her wasted features; but +withal cynical and hard-eyed, and very, very far from the mother of +her day-dreams. + +Such as she was the unknown scanned Mary with a kind of scornful +amusement. "Oh," she said, "so this is what they have made of Miss +Vermuyden? Let me look at you, girl?" And laying her hands on Mary's +shoulders she looked long into the tearful, agitated face. "Why, you +are like a sheet of paper!" she continued, raising the girl's chin +with her finger. "I wonder you dared to come with Sir Robert saying +no! And, you little fool," she continued in a swift spirit of +irritation, "as soon not come at all, as look at me like that! You've +got my chin and my nose, and more of me than I thought. But God knows +where you got your hare's eyes! Are you always frightened?" + +"No, Ma'am, no!" she stammered. + +"No, Ma'am? No, goose!" Lady Sybil retorted, mimicking her. "Why, ten +kings on ten thrones had never made me shake as you are shaking! Nor +twenty Sir Roberts in twenty passions! What is it you are afraid of? +Being found with me?" + +"No! "Mary cried. And, to do her justice, the emotion with which Lady +Sybil found fault was as much a natural agitation, on seeing her +mother, as fear on her own account. + +"Then you are afraid of me?" Lady Sybil rejoined. And again she +twitched the girl's face to the light. + +Mary was amazed rather than afraid: but she could not say that. And +she kept silence. + +"Or is it dislike of me?" the mother continued--a slight grimace, as +of pain, distorting her face. "You hate me, I suppose? You hate me?" + +"Oh, no, no!" the girl cried in distress. + +"You do, Miss!" And with no little violence she pushed Mary from her. +"You set down all to me, I suppose! I've kept you from your own, +that's it! I am the wicked mother, worse than a step-mother, who +robbed you of your rights! And made a beggar of you and would have +kept you a beggar! I am she who wronged you and robbed you--the +unnatural mother! And you never ask," she went on with fierce, +impulsive energy, "what I suffered? How I was wronged! What I bore! +No, nor what I meant to do--with you!" + +"Indeed, indeed----" + +"What I meant to do, I say!" Lady Sybil repeated violently. "At my +death--and I am dying, but what is that to you?--all would have been +told, girl! And you would have got your own. Do you believe me?" she +added passionately, advancing a step in a manner almost menacing. "Do +you believe me, girl?" + +"I do, I do!" Mary cried, inexpressibly pained by the other's +vehemence. + +"I'll swear it, if you like! But I hoped that he--your father--would +die first and never know! He deserved no better! He deserved nothing +of me! And then you'd have stepped into all! Or better still--do you +remember the day you travelled to Bristol? It's not so long ago that +you need forget it, Miss Vermuyden! I was in the coach, and I saw you, +and I saw the young man who was with you. I knew him, and I told +myself that there was a God after all, though I'd often doubted it, or +you two would not have been brought together! I saw another way then, +but you'd have parted and known nothing, if," she continued, laughing +recklessly, "I had not helped Providence, and sent him with a present +to your school! But--why, you're red enough now, girl! What is it?" + +"He knew?" Mary murmured, with an effort. "You told him who I was, +Ma'am?" + +"He knew no more than a doll!" Lady Sybil answered. "I told him +nothing, or he'd have told again! I know his kind. No, I thought to +get all for you and thwart Vermuyden, too! I thought to marry his heir +to the little schoolmistress--it was an opera touch, my dear, and +beyond all the Tremaynes and Vivian Greys in the world! But there, +when all promised well, that slut of a maid went to my husband, and +trumped my trick!" + +"And Mr.--Mr. Vaughan," Mary stammered, "had no knowledge--who I was?" + +"Mr.--Mr. Vaughan!" Lady Sybil repeated, mocking her, "had no +knowledge? No! Not a jot, not a tittle! But what?" she went on, in a +tone of derision, "Sits the wind there, Miss Meek? You're not all milk +and water, bread and butter and backboard, then, but have a spice of +your mother, after all? Mr.--Mr. Vaughan!" again she mimicked her. +"Why, if you were fond of the man, didn't you say so?" + +Mary, under the fire of those sharp, hard eyes, could not restrain her +tears. But, overcome as she was, she managed in broken words to +explain that her father had forbidden it. + +"Oh, your father, was it?" Lady Sybil rejoined. "He said 'No,' and no +it was! And the lord of my heart and the Man of Feeling is dismissed +in disgrace! And now we weep in secret and the worm feeds on our +damask cheek!" she ran on in a tone of raillery, assumed perhaps to +hide a deeper feeling. "I suppose," she added shrewdly, "Sir Robert +would have you think that Vaughan knew who you were, and was +practising on you?" + +"Yes." + +"And you dismissed him at papa's command, eh? That was it, was it?" + +Mary could only confess the fact with tears, her distress in as +strange contrast with the gaiety of her dress as with the strains of +the neighbouring band, which told of festivity and pleasure. Perhaps +some thought of this nature forced itself upon Lady Sybil's light and +evasive mind: for as she looked, the cynical expression of her eyes +gave place to one of feeling and emotion, better fitted to those +wasted features as well as to the relation in which the two stood to +one another. She looked down the path, as if for the first time she +feared an intrusive eye. Then her glance reverted to her daughter's +slender form and drooping head: and again it changed, it grew soft, it +grew pitiful. The laurels shut all in, the path was empty. The +maternal feeling, long repressed, long denied, long buried under a +mountain of pique and resentment, of fancied wrongs and real neglect, +broke forth irresistibly. In a step she was at the girl's side, and +snatching her to her bosom in a fierce embrace, was covering her face, +her neck, her hair with hungry kisses. + +The action was so sudden, so unexpected, that crushed and even hurt by +the other's grasp, and frightened by her vehemence, Mary would have +resisted, would have tried to free herself. Then she understood. And a +rush of pent-up affection, of love and pity, carried away the barriers +of constraint and timidity. She clung to Lady Sybil with tears of joy, +murmuring low broken words, calling her "Mother, Mother," burying her +face on her shoulder, pressing herself against her. In a moment her +being was stirred to its depths. In all her life no one had caressed +her after this fashion, no one had embraced her with passion, no one +had kissed her with more than the placid affection which gentleness +and goodness earn, and which kind offices kindly performed warrant. +Even Sir Robert, even her father, proud as he was of her, much as he +loved her, had awakened in her respect and gratitude--mingled with +fear--rather than love. + +After a time, warned by approaching voices, Lady Sybil put her from +her; but with a low and exultant laugh. "You are mine, now!" she said, +"Mine! Mine! You will come to me when I want you. And I shall want you +soon! Very soon!" + +Mary laid hold of her again. "Let me come now!" she cried with +passion, forgetting all but the mother she had gained, the clinging +arms which had cherished her, the kisses that had rained on her. "Let +me come to you! You are ill!" + +"No, not now! Not now! I will send for you when I want you," Lady +Sybil answered. "I will promise to send for you. And you will come," +she added with the same ring of triumph in her voice. "You will come!" +For it was joy to her, even amid the satisfaction of her mother-love, +to know that she had tricked her husband; it was joy to her to know +that though she had taken all from the child and he had given all, the +child was hers--hers, and could never be taken from her! "You will +come! For you will not have me long. But," she whispered, as the +voices came nearer, "go now! Go now! And not a word! Not a word, +child, as you love me. I will send for you when--when my time comes." + +And with a last look, strangely made up of love and pain and triumph, +Lady Sybil moved out of sight among the laurels. And Mary, drying her +tears and composing her countenance as well as she could, turned to +meet the intruders' eyes. + +Fortunately--for she was far from being herself--the two persons who +had wandered that way, did but pause at the end of the Kennel Path, +and, murmuring small talk, turn again to retrace their steps. She +gained a minute or two, in which to collect her thoughts and smooth +her hair; but more than a minute or two she dared not linger lest her +continued absence should arouse curiosity. As sedately as she could, +she emerged from the shrubbery and made her way--though her breast +heaved with a hundred emotions--towards the rustic bridge on which she +saw that Lady Lansdowne was standing, keeping Sir Robert in talk. + +In talk, indeed, of her. For as she approached he placed the +coping-stone on the edifice of her praises which her ladyship had +craftily led him to build. "The most docile," he said, "I assure you, +the most docile child you can imagine! A beautiful disposition. She is +docility itself!" + +"I hope she may always remain so," Lady Lansdowne answered slily. + +"I've no doubt she will," Sir Robert replied with fond assurance, his +eye on the Honourable Bob, who was approaching the bridge from the +lawns. + +Lady Lansdowne followed the look with her eyes and smiled. But she +said nothing. She turned to Mary, who was now near at hand, and +reading in the girl's looks plain traces of trouble, and agitation, +she contented herself with sending for Lady Louisa, and asking that +her carriage might be called. In this way she cloaked under a little +bustle the girl's embarrassment as she came up to them and joined +them. Five minutes later Lady Lansdowne was gone. + + + * * * * * + + +After that, Mary would have had only too much food for thought, had +her mother alone filled her mind; had those kisses which had so +stirred her being, those clinging arms, and that face which bore the +deep imprint of illness, alone burdened her memory. Years afterwards +the beat of the music which played in the gardens that evening, while +the party within sat at dinner, haunted her; bringing back, as such +things will, the scene and her aching heart, the outward glitter and +the inward care, the Honourable Bob's gallantries and her father's +stately figure as he rose and drank wine with her; ay, and the hip, +hip, hurrah which shook the glasses when an old Squire, a privileged +person, rose, before she could leave, and toasted her. + +Burdened only with the sacred memories of the afternoon, and the +anxiety, the pity, the love which they engendered, she had been far +from happy, far from free. But in truth, with all her feeling for her +mother, Mary bore about with her a keener and more bitter regret. The +dull pain which had troubled her of late when thoughts of Arthur +Vaughan would beset her was grown to a pang of shame, almost +intolerable. She had told herself a hundred times before this that it +was her weakness, her fear of her father, her mean compliance that had +led her to give him up--rather than any real belief in his baseness. +For she had never, she was sure now, believed in that baseness. But +now, now when her mother, whose word it never struck her to doubt, +had affirmed his innocence, now that she knew, now since a phrase +of that mother's had brought to her mind every incident of the +never-to-be-forgotten coach-drive, the May morning, the sunshine and +the budding trees, the birth of love--pain gnawed at her heart. She +was sick with misery. + +For, oh, how vile, how thankless, how poor and small a thing he must +think her! He would have given her all, and she had robbed him of all. +And then when she had robbed him and he could give her little she had +turned her back on him, abandoned him, believed evil of him, heard him +insulted, and joined in the outrage! Over that thought, over that +memory, she shed many and many a bitter tear. Romance had come to her +in her lowliness, and a noble lover, stooping to her; and she had +killed the one and denied the other. And now, now there was nothing +she could do, nothing she would dare to do. + +For that she had for a moment believed in his baseness--if she had +indeed believed--was not the worst. In that she had been the sport of +circumstances; appearances had deceived her, and the phase had been +brief. But that she had been weak, that she had been swayed, that she +had given him up at a word, that she had shown herself wholly unworthy +of him--there was the rub. Now, how happy had she been could she have +gone back to Miss Sibson's, and the dull schoolroom and the old stuff +dress and the children's prattle--and heard his step as he came across +the forecourt to the door! + + + + + XXIII + + IN THE HOUSE + + +In truth Mary's notion of the opinion which Arthur Vaughan had of her +was above, rather than below, the reality. In her most despondent +moments she scarcely exaggerated the things he thought of her, the +contempt in which he held her, or the resentment which set his blood +boiling when he remembered how she had treated him. He had gone to her +and laid all that was left to him at her feet; and she, who had +already dealt his fortunes so terrible a blow, had paid him for his +unselfish offer, for his sacrifice of much that was dear to him, with +suspicion, with contumely, with mistrust! Instead of clinging to him, +to whom she had that moment plighted her troth, she had deserted him +at a word. In place of trusting the man who had woo'd her in her +poverty, she had believed the first whisper against him. She had shown +herself heartless, faithless, inconstant as the wind--a very woman! +And + + + _Away, away--your smile's a curse + Oh, blot me from the race of men, + Kind pitying Heaven! by death or worse + Before I love such things again!_ + + +he might have murmured with a bitterness of which the author of the +lines had been incapable. But then, Mr. Moore, though his poetry and +his singing brought tears to the eyes of hardened women of fashion, +had never lost at a blow a great estate, a high position, and his +love. + +Certainly Vaughan had, if man ever had, grounds for a quarrel with +fate. He had left London heart-whole and happy, the heir to a large +fortune. He returned a fortnight later, a member of the Commons House +indeed, but heart-sick and soured, beggared of his expectations and +tortured by the thought of what might have been--if his love had +proved true as she was fair, and constant as she was sweet. Fond +dreams of her beauty still tormented him. Visions of the modest home +in which he would have found consolation in failure, and smiles in +success, rose up before him and derided him. He hated Sir Robert. He +hated, or tried to hate, the weakest and the most despicable of women. +He saw all things and all men with a jaundiced eye, the sound of his +voice and the look of his face were altered. Men who knew him and who +passed him in the street, or who saw him eating his chop in solitary +churlishness, nudged one another and said that he took his reverses +ill; while others, wounded by his curtness or his ill-humour, added +that he did not go the right way to make the most of what was left. + +For a certainty he was become a man unpleasant to handle. But within, +under the thorns, was a very human soul, wounded, sore, and miserable, +seeking every way for an outlet from its pains, and finding hope of +escape at one point only. Men were right, when they said that he did +not go the way to make the most of his chances. For he laid himself +out to please no one at this time; it was not in him. But he worked +late and early, and with a furious energy to fit himself for a +political career; believing that success in that career was all that +was left to him, and that by the necessary labour he could best put +the past behind him. Love and pleasure, and those sweets of home life +of which he had dreamed, were gone from him. But the stern prizes of +ambition, the crown of those who live laborious days, might still be +his--if the Mirror of Parliament were never out of his hands, and if +Mr. Hume himself were not more constant to his favourite pillar under +the gallery than he to such chance seat as might fall to him on the +same side of the House. + +Alas, he had not taken the oaths an hour--with a sore heart, in a ruck +of undistinguished new Members--before he saw that success was not so +near or so clearly within reach, as hope, with her flattering tale, +had argued. The times were propitious, certainly. The debates were +close and fiery, and were scanned out of doors with an interest +unknown before. The strife between Croker and Macaulay in the Commons, +the duel between Brougham and Lyndhurst in the Lords, were followed in +the country with as much attention as a battle between Belcher and Tom +Cribb; and by the same classes. Everywhere men talked politics, talked +of Reform, and of little else. The clubs, the 'Change, the taverns, +nay, the drawing-rooms and the schools rang with the Bill, the whole +Bill, and nothing but the Bill; with Schedule A, cruel as Herod, and +Schedule B, which spared one of twins. Before the window in the +Haymarket which weekly displayed H.B.'s Political Caricatures, crowds +stood gazing all day long, whatever the weather. + +These things were in his favour. He remembered, too, the stress which +the Chancellor had laid on the advantage of entering the House in +advance of the crowd of new men whom the first Reformed Parliament +must contain. + +Unfortunately it seemed to him that he was one of just such a mob of +new men, as it was. Nearly a fourth of his colleagues were strange to +St. Stephen's; and the greater part of these, owing to the +circumstances of the election, were Whigs and sat on his side of the +House. To raise his head above the level of a hundred competitors, +numbering not a few men of wit and ability, and to do so within the +short life of the present Parliament---for he saw no certain prospect +of being returned again--was no mean task. Little wonder that he was +as regular in his attendance as Mr. Speaker, and grew pale of nights +over Woodfall's Important Debates. + +In the pride of his first return he had dreamed of a reputation to be +gained by his maiden speech; of burning periods that would astonish +all who heard them, of flights of fancy to live forever in the mouths +of men, of a marshalling of facts so masterly, and an exposition of +figures so clear, as to obscure the fame of Single-speech Hamilton, or +of that modern phenomenon, Mr. Sadler. But whatever the effect of +the present chamber on the minds of novices, there was that in the +old,--mean and dingy as was its wainscotted interior, and cumbered by +overhanging galleries--there was a something, were it but the memory +that those walls had echoed the diatribes of Chatham and given back +the voice of Burke, had heard the laugh of Walpole and the snore of +North, which cooled the spirit of a new member; which shook his knees +as effectually as if the panelling of the room had vanished at a +touch, and revealed the glories of the Gothic Chapel which lay behind +it. For behind that panelling and those galleries, the ancient Chapel, +with its sumptuous tracery and statues, its frescoed walls and stained +glass, still existed; no unfit image of the stately principles which +lie behind the dull everyday working of our Constitution. + +To Arthur Vaughan, a student of the history of the House, this effect +of the Chamber upon a new member was a commonplace. But he was a +practised speaker in the mimic arena; and he thought that he might +rise above this feeling in his own case. He fancied that he understood +the _Genius Loci_; its hatred of affectation, and almost of eloquence, +its dislike to be bored, its preference for the easy, the +conversational, and the personal. And when he had waited three +weeks--so much he gave to prudence--his time came. + +He rose in a moderately thin house in the middle of the dinner-hour; +and rose as he thought fully prepared. Indeed he started well. He +brought out two or three sentences with ease and aplomb; and he +fancied the difficulty over, the threshold passed. But then--he knew +not why, nor could he overcome the feeling--the silence, kindly meant, +in which as a new Member, he was received, had a terrifying effect +upon him. A mist rose before his eyes, his voice sounded strange to +him--and distant. He dropped the thread of what he was saying, +repeated himself, lost his nerve. For some seconds, standing there +with all faces turned to him--they seemed numberless seconds to him, +though in truth they were few--he could see nothing but the Speaker's +wig, grown to an immense white cauliflower, which swelled and swelled +and swelled until it filled the whole House. He stammered, repeated +himself again--and was silent. And then, seeing that he was +embarrassed, they cheered him--and the mist cleared; and he went +on--hurriedly and nervously. But he was aware that he had dropped a +link in his argument--which he had not now the coolness to supply. And +when he had murmured a few sentences, more or less inept and +incoherent, he sat down. + +In fact, though he had made no mark, he had also incurred no +discredit. But he felt that the eyes of all were on him, that they +were gloating over his failure, and comparing what he had done with +what he had hoped to do, his achievement with those secret hopes, +those cherished aspirations, he felt all the shame of open and +disgraceful defeat. His face burned; he sat looking before him, not +daring for a while to divert his gaze, or to learn in others' eyes how +great had been his mishap. + +Unfortunately, when he ventured to change his posture, and to put on +his hat, which he discovered he had been holding in his hand, he +encountered Sergeant Wathen's eyes; and he read in them a look of +amusement, which wounded his pride more than the open ridicule of a +crowd. That was the finishing stroke. He walked out soon afterwards, +bearing himself as indifferently as he could. But no man ever carried +out of the House a lower heart or a sense of more utter failure. He +had mistaken his talents, he had no aptitude for debate. Success as a +speaker was not within his reach. + +He thought something better of it next day, but not much. Nor could he +put off a sneaking, hang-dog air as he entered the lobby. A number of +members were gathered inside the double doors, where the stairs from +the cloisters came up by a third door; and one or two whom he knew +spoke to him--but not of his attempt. He fancied that he read in their +looks a knowledge that he had failed, that he was no longer a man to +be reckoned with. He imagined that they used a different tone to him. +And at last one of them spoke of it. + +"Well, Vaughan," he said pleasantly, "you got through yesterday. But +if you'll take my advice you'll wait a bit. It's only one here and +there can make much of it to begin." + +"I certainly cannot," Vaughan said, smiling frankly, the better to +hide his mortification. + +"Ah, well, you're not alone," the other answered, shrugging his +shoulders. "You'll pick it up by and by, I dare say." And he turned to +speak to another member. + +Vaughan turned on his side to the paper for the day winch hung against +each of the four pillars of the lobby; and he pretended to be absorbed +in it. The employment helped him to keep his countenance. But he was +sore wounded. He had held his head so high in imagination, he had +given so loose a rein to his ambition; he had dreamt of making such an +impression on the House as Mr. Macaulay, though new to it, had made in +his speech on the second reading of the former Bill, and had deepened +by his speech at the like stage of the present Bill. Now he was told +that he was no worse than the common run of country members, who twice +in three sessions rose and blundered through half a dozen sentences! +He was consoled with the reflection that only "one here and there" +succeeded! Only one here and there! When to him it was everything to +succeed, and to succeed quickly. When it was all he had left. + +The stream of members, entering the House, was large; for the motion +to commit the Bill was down for that afternoon, and if carried, would +virtually put an end to opposition in the Commons. Out of the corner +of his eye Vaughan scanned them, as they passed, and envied them. +Peel, cold, proud and unapproachable, went by on the arm of Goulburn. +Croker, pale and saturnine, casting frowning glances here and there, +went in alone. The handsome, portly form of Sir James Graham passed, +in talk with the Rupert of Debate. After these a rush of members; and +at the tail of all slouched in the unwieldy, slovenly form of Sir +Charles Wetherell, followed by a couple of his satellites. + +Vaughan, glancing on one side of the paper which he appeared to be +studying, caught Sir Charles's eye, and reddened. Seated on opposite +sides of the House--and no man on either side was more bitter, +virulent, and pugnacious than the late Attorney-General--the two had +not encountered one another since that evening at Stapylton, when the +existence of Sir Robert's daughter had been disclosed to Vaughan. They +had not spoken, much less had there been any friendly passage between +them. But now Sir Charles paused, and held out his hand. + +"How do you do, Mr. Vaughan?" he said, in his deep bass voice. "Your +maiden essay yesterday, eh?" + +Vaughan winced. "Yes," he said stiffly, fancying that he read +amusement in the other's moist eye. + +To his surprise, "You'll do," Sir Charles rejoined, looking at the +floor and speaking in a despondent tone. "The House would rather you +began in that way, than like some d----d peacock on a lady's terrace. +Take the opportunity of saying three or four sentences some fine day, +and repeat it a week later. And I'll wager you'll do." + +"But little, I am afraid," Vaughan said. None the less was his heart +full of gratitude to the fat, ungainly man. + +"All, may be," Wetherell answered. "I shouldn't wonder. I've been +told, by one who heard him, that Canning hesitated in his first +speech, very much as you did. It was on the Sardinian Subsidy. The men +who don't feel the House never know the House. They dazzle it, Mr. +Vaughan, but they don't guide it. And that's what we've got to do." + +He passed on then, with a melancholy nod and averted eyes, but Vaughan +could have blest him for that "we." "There's one man at least believes +in me," he told himself. And when a few hours later, in the midst of a +scene as turbulent as any which the House of Commons had ever +witnessed--nine times without a pause it divided on the motion that +"this House do now adjourn"--he watched the man who had commended him, +riding the storm and directing the whirlwind, now lashing the Whigs to +fury by his sarcasm, and now, carrying the whole House away in a +hurricane of laughter, if he did not approve--and with his views he +could not approve--he learnt, and learnt much. He saw that the fat, +slovenly man, with the heavy face and that hiatus between his breeches +and his waistcoat which had made him famous, was allowed to do things, +and to say things, and to look things, for which a less honest man had +been hurried long ago to the Clock Tower. And this, because the House +believed in him; because it knew that he was fighting for a principle +really dear to him; because it knew that he honestly put faith in +those predictions of woe, which he scattered so freely, and in that +ruin of the Constitution, with which he twitted his opponents. + +A week later Vaughan acted upon his advice. He seized an opportunity +and, catching the Chairman's eye--the Bill was in Committee--delivered +himself of a dozen sentences, with so much spirit and propriety, that +Sir Robert Peel, speaking an hour later, referred to the "plausible +defence raised by the Honourable Member for Chippinge." The reference +drew all eyes to Vaughan: and though nothing was said to him and he +took care to bear himself as if he had done no better than before, he +left the House with a lighter step and a comfortable warmth about the +heart. He was more at ease that evening, if not more happy, than he +had been for weeks past. Love, pleasure, and the rest were gone; and +faith in woman. But if he could be sure of gaining a seat in the next +Parliament, the way might be longer than he had hoped, it might be +more toilsome and more dusty: but in the end he would arrive at the +Treasury Bench. + +He little thought, alas, that the effort on which he hugged himself +was to prove a source of misfortunes. But so it was. His maiden speech +had attracted neither notice nor envy. But those few sentences, short +and simple as they were, by drawing an answer from the leader of the +Opposition, had gained both for him. Within five minutes a score of +members had asked "Who is he?" and another score had detailed the +circumstances of his election for Chippinge. He had gone down to vote +for his cousin, in his cousin's borough, family vote and the rest; so +the story ran. Then, finding on the morning of the polling that if he +threw over his cousin, he might gain the seat for himself, he had +turned his coat in a--well, in a very dubious manner, snatched the +seat, and--here he was! + +In a word, it was the version of the facts which he had once dreaded, +and about which he had afterwards ceased to trouble himself. + +There were, perhaps, half a dozen persons in the House who knew the +facts, and knew that the young man had professed from the first the +opinions which he was now supporting. But there was just so much truth +in the version, garbled as it was, just so much _vraisemblance_ in the +tale that even those who knew the facts, could not wholly contradict +it. The story did not come to Wetherell's ears; or he, for certain, +would have gainsaid it. But it did come to Wathen's. Now the Sergeant +was capable of spite, and he had not forgotten the manner after which +Vaughan had flouted him at Chippinge; his defence--if a defence it +could be called--was accompanied by so many nods and shrugs, that +persons less prejudiced than Tories, embittered by defeat, and wounded +by personalities, might have been forgiven, if they went from the +Sergeant with a lower opinion of our friend than before. + +From that day Vaughan, though he knew nothing of it, and though no one +spoke to him of it, was a marked man in the eyes of the opposite +party. They regarded him as a renegade; while his own side were not +overanxious to make his cause their own. The May elections had been +contested with more spirit and less scruple than any elections within +living memory; and many things had been done and many said, of which +honourable men were not proud. Still it was acknowledged that such +things must be done--here and there--and even that the doers must not +be repudiated. But it was felt that the party was not required to +grapple the latter to its breast with hooks of steel. Rumour had it +that Lord Lansdowne felt himself to blame; and that the offender had +been disinherited by his cousin was asserted. The man would be of no +great importance, therefore, in the future; and if he did not make a +second appearance in Parliament, the loss in the end would be small. +Not a few summed up the matter in that way. + +If Vaughan had been intimate with anyone in the House he would have +learned what was afoot; and he might have taken steps to set himself +right. But he had lived little of his life in London, he had but made +his bow to Society; of late, also, he had been too sore to make new +friends. Of course he had acquaintances, every man has acquaintances. +But no one in political circles knew him well enough to think it worth +while to put him on his guard. + +Unluckily, the next occasion which brought him to his feet, was of a +kind to give point to the feeling against him. On a certain Thursday, +Sergeant Wathen moved that the Borough of Chippinge be removed from +Schedule A, to Schedule B--his object being that it might retain one +member; and Vaughan, thinking the opening favourable, rose, intending +to make a few remarks in a strain to which the House, proverbially +fond of a personal explanation, is prone to listen with indulgence. +For the motion itself, he had not much hope that it would be carried: +in a dozen other cases, a similar motion had failed. + +"It can only be," he began--and this time the sound of his voice did +not perturb him--"from a strict sense of duty, Mr. Bernal, it cannot +be without pain that any Member--and I say this not on my account +only, but on behalf of many Honourable Members of this House----" + +"No! No! Leave us out." + +The words were uttered so loudly and so rudely that they silenced him; +and he looked in the direction whence they came. At once cries of "No, +no! Divide! No! No!" poured on him from all parts of the House, +accompanied by a dropping fire of catcalls and cockcrows. He lost the +thread of his remarks, and for a moment stood abashed and confounded. +The Chairman did not interfere and for an instant it looked as if the +young speaker would be compelled to sit down. + +But he recovered himself, gaining courage from the very vigour with +which he was attacked; and which seemed out of proportion to his +importance. The moment a lull in the fire of interruption occurred, he +spoke in a louder voice. + +"I say, sir," he proceeded, looking about him courageously, "that it +is only with pain, only under the _force majeure_ of a love of their +country, that any Member can support the deletion from the Borough +Roll of this House, of that Constituency which has honoured him with +its confidence." + +"Divide! Divide!" roared many on both sides of the House. +For the Tories were uncertain on which side he was speaking. +"Cock-a-doodle-doo-doo-doo!" + +But this fresh burst of disapproval found him better prepared. Firmly, +though the beads of perspiration stood on his brow, he persisted. "And +if," he continued, "in the case which appeals so nearly to himself an +Honourable Member sees that the standard which justifies the survival +of a representative can be reached, with what gratification, sir, +whether he sits on this side of the House or on that----" + +"No! No! Leave us out!" in a roar of sound. And "Divide! Divide!" + +"Or on that," he repeated. + +"Divide! Divide!" + +"Must he not press its claims and support its interests?" he persisted +gallantly. "Ay, sir, welcome in the event of success a decision at +once just, and of so much advantage, I will not say to himself----" + +"It never will be to you!" shrieked a voice from the darker corner +under the opposite gallery. + +The shaft went home. He faltered. A roar of laughter drowned his last +words, and he sat down with a burning face; in some confusion, but in +greater perplexity. Had he transgressed, he wondered ruefully, some +unwritten law of the House! Had he offended in ignorance, and +persisted in his offence? Should he not, though Wathen had spoken, +have spoken in his own case? In a matter so nearly touching himself? + +He spoke to the Member who chanced to sit next him. "What was it?" he +asked humbly. "Did I do something wrong?" + +The man glanced at him coldly. "Oh, no," he said. And he shrugged his +shoulders. + +"But----" + +"On the contrary, I fancy you've to congratulate yourself," with a +sneer so faint that Vaughan did not perceive it. "I understand that +we're to do as we like on this--and they know it on the other side. +Eh? Yes, there's the division. I think," he added with the same faint +sneer, "you'll save your seat." + +"By Jove!" Vaughan exclaimed. "You don't say so!" + +He could hardly believe it. But so it turned out. And so great +was the boon--the greater as no other borough was transferred in +Committee--that it swept away for the time the memory of what had +happened. His eyes sparkled. The seat saved, it was odd if with the +wider electorate created by the Bill, he was not sure of return! Still +more odd, if he was not sure of beating Wathen--he, who had opened the +borough and been returned by the Whig interest even while it was +closed! No longer need he feel so anxious and despondent when the +Dissolution, which must follow the passage of the Bill, rose to his +mind. No longer need he be in so great a hurry to make his mark, so +envious of Mr. Macaulay, so jealous of Mr. Sadler. + +Certainly as far as his political career was in question the horizon +was clearing. If only other things had been as favourable! If only +there had been someone, were it in a cottage at Hammersmith or in a +dull street off Bloomsbury Square, to whom he might take home this +piece of news; certain that other eyes would sparkle more brightly +than his, and another heart beat quick with joy! + +That could not be. There was an end of that. And his face settled back +into its gloom. Still he was less unhappy. The certainty of a seat in +the next Parliament was a great point gained! A great point to the +good! + + + + + XXIV + + A RIGHT AND LEFT + + +If anything was certain in a political world so changed, it was +certain that if the Reform Bill passed the Lords--in the teeth of +those plaguy Bishops of whose opposition so much was heard--a +Dissolution would immediately follow. To not a few of the members this +contingency was a spectre, ever present, seated at bed and board, and +able to defy the rules even of Almack's and Crockford's. For how could +a gentleman, who had just given five thousand pounds for his seat, +contemplate with equanimity a notice to quit, so rude and so +premature? And worse, a notice to quit which meant extrusion into a +world in which seats at five thousand for a Parliament would be few +and far between; and fair agreements to pay a thousand a year while +the privilege lasted, would be unknown! + +Many a member asked loudly and querulously, "What will happen to the +country if the Bill pass?" But more asked themselves in their hearts, +and more often and more querulously, "What will happen to me if the +Bill pass? How shall I fare at the hands of these new constituencies, +which, unwelcome as a gipsy's brats, I am forced to bring into the +world?" + +Hitherto few on his own side of the House, and not many on the Tory +side, had regarded a Dissolution with more misgiving than Arthur +Vaughan. The borough for which he sat lay under doom; and he saw no +opening elsewhere. He had no longer the germs of influence nor great +prospects: nor yet such a fortune as justified him in an appeal to one +of the new and populous boroughs. It was a pleasant thing to go in and +out by the door of the privileged, to take his chop at Bellamy's, to +lounge in the dignified seclusion of the library, or to air his new +honours in Westminster Hall; pleasant also to have that sensation of +living at the hub of things, to receive whips, to give franks, to feel +that the ladder of ambition was open to him. But he knew that an +experience of the House counted by months did no man good; and the +prospect of losing his plumes and going forth again a common biped, +was the more painful to him because his all was embarked in the +venture. He might, indeed, fall back on the bar; but with half a heart +and the reputation of a man who had tried to fly before he could walk. + +His relief, therefore, when Chippinge, alone of all the Boroughs in +Schedule A, was removed in Committee to Schedule B, may be imagined. +The road before him was once more open, while the exceptional nature +of his luck almost persuaded him that he was reserved for greatness. +True, Sergeant Wathen might pride himself on the same fact; but at the +thought Vaughan smiled. The Sergeant and Sir Robert would find it a +trifle harder, he thought, to deal with the hundred-and-odd voters +whom the Act enfranchised, than with the old Cripples! And very, very +ungrateful would those hundred-and-odd be, if they did not vote for +the man who had made their cause his own! + +A load, indeed, was lifted from his mind, and for some days his relief +could be read in the lightness of his step, and the returning gaiety +of his eyes. He knew nothing of the things which were being whispered +about him. And though he had cause to fancy that he was not _persona +grata_ on his own benches, he thought sufficiently well of himself to +set this down to jealousy. There is a stage in the life of a rising +man when many hands are against him; and those most cruelly which will +presently applaud him most loudly. He flattered himself that he had +set a foot on the ladder: and while he waited for an opportunity to +raise himself another step, he came as near to a kind of feverish +happiness as thoughts of Mary, ever recurring when he was alone, would +permit. For the time the loss of his prospects ceased to trouble him +seriously. He lived less in his rooms, more among men. He was less +crabbed, less moody. And so the weeks wore away in Committee, and a +day or two after the Coronation, the Bill came on for the third +reading. + +The House was utterly weary. The leaders on both sides were reserving +their strength for the final debate, and Vaughan had some hope that he +might find an opening to speak with effect. With this in his mind he +was on his way across the Park about three in the afternoon, conning +his peroration, when a hand was clapped on his shoulder, and he turned +to find himself face to face with Flixton. + +So much had happened since they stood together on the hustings at +Chippinge, Vaughan's fortunes had changed so greatly since they had +parted in anger in Queen's Square, that he, at any rate, had no +thought of bearing malice. To Flixton's "Well, my hearty, you're a +neat artist, ain't you? Going to the House, I take it?" he gave a +cordial answer. + +"Yes," he said. "That's it." + +"Bringing ruination on the country, eh?" Flixton continued. And he +passed his arm through Vaughan's, and walked on with him. "That's the +ticket?" + +"Some say so, but I hope not." + +"Hope's a cock that won't fight, my boy!" the Honourable Bob rejoined. +"Fact is, you're doing your best, only the House of Lords is in the +way, and won't let you! They'll pull you up sweetly by and by, see if +they don't!" + +"And what will the country say to that?" Vaughan rejoined +good-humouredly. + +"Country be d----d! That's what all your chaps are saying. And +I tell you what! That book-in-breeches man--what do you call +him--Macaulay?--ought to be pulled up! He ought indeed! I read one of +his farragoes the other day and it was full of nothing but 'Think +long, I beg, before you thwart the public will!' and 'The might of an +angered people!' and 'Let us beware of rousing!' and all that rubbish! +Meaning, my boy, only he didn't dare to say it straight out, that if +the Lords did not give way to you chaps, there'd be a revolution; and +the deuce to pay! And I say he ought to be in the dock. He's as bad as +old Brereton down in Bristol, predicting fire and flames and all the +rest of it." + +"But you cannot deny, Flixton," Vaughan answered soberly, "that the +country is excited as we have never known it excited before? And that +a rising is not impossible!" + +"A rising! I wish we could see one! That's just what we want," the +Honourable Bob answered, stopping and bringing his companion to a +sudden stand also. "Eh? Who was that old Roman--Poppaea, or some name +like that, who said he wished the people had all one head that he +might cut it off?" suiting the action to the word with his cane. "A +rising, begad? The sooner the better! The old Fourteenth would know +how to deal with it!" + +"I don't know," Vaughan answered, "that you would be so confident if +you were once face to face with it!" + +"Oh, come! Don't talk nonsense!" + +"Well, but----" + +"Oh, I know all that! But I say, old chap," he continued, changing his +tone, and descending abruptly from the political to the personal +situation, "You've played your cards badly, haven't you? Eh?" + +Vaughan fancied that he referred to Mary; or at best to his quarrel +with Sir Robert. And he froze visibly, "I won't discuss that," he said +in a different tone. And he moved on again. + +"But I was there the evening you had the row!" + +"At Stapylton?" + +"Yes." + +"Well?" stiffly. + +"And, lord, man, why didn't you sing a bit small? And the old +gentleman would have come round in no time!" + +Vaughan halted, with anger in his face. "I won't discuss it!" he said +with something of violence in his tone. + +"Very well, very well!" Flixton answered with the superabundant +patience of the man whose withers are not wrung. "But when you did get +your seat--why didn't you come to terms with someone?" with a wink. +"As it is, what's the good of being in the House three months, or six +months--and out again?" + +Vaughan wished most heartily that he had not met the Honourable Bob; +who, he remembered, had always possessed, hearty and jovial as he +seemed, a most remarkable knack of rubbing him the wrong way. "How do +you know?" he asked with a touch of contempt--was he, a rising Member +of Parliament to be scolded after this fashion?--"How do you know that +I shall be out?" + +"You'll be out, if it's Chippinge you are looking to!" + +"Why, if you please, my friend? Why so sure?" + +Flixton winked with deeper meaning than before. "Ah, that's telling," +he said. "Still--why not? If you don't hear it from me, old chap, +you'll soon hear it from someone. Why, you ask? Well, because a little +bird whispered to me that Chippinge was--arranged! That Sir Robert and +the Whigs understood one another, and whichever way it went it would +not come your way!" + +Vaughan reddened deeply. "I don't believe it," he said bluntly. + +"Did you know that Chippinge was going to be spared?" + +"No." + +"They didn't tell you?" + +"No." + +"Ah!" shrugging his shoulders, with a world of meaning, and preparing +to turn away. "Well, other people did, and there it is. I may be +wrong, I hope I am, old chap. Hope I am! But anyway--I must be going. +I turn here. See you soon, I hope!" + +And with a wave of the hand the Honourable Bob marched off through +Whitehall, his face breaking into a mischievous grin as soon as he was +out of Vaughan's sight. "Return hit for your snub, Miss Mary!" he +muttered. "If you prick me, at least I can prick him! And do him good, +too! He was always a most confounded prig." + +Meanwhile, Vaughan, freed from his companion, was striding on past +Downing Street; the old street, long swept away, in which Walpole +lived, and to which the dying Chatham was carried. And unconsciously, +under the spur of his angry thoughts, he quickened his pace. It was +incredible, it was inconceivable that so monstrous an injustice had +been planned, or could be perpetrated. He, who had stepped into the +breach, well-nigh in his own despite, he, who had refused, so +scrupulous had he been, to stand on a first invitation, he, who had +been elected almost against his will, was, for all thanks, to be set +aside, and by his friends! By those whose unsolicited act it had been +to return him and to put him into this position! It was impossible, he +told himself. It was unthinkable! Were this true, were this a fact, +the meanness of political life had reached its apogee! The +faithlessness of the Whigs, their incredible treachery to their +dependants, could need no other exemplar! + +"I'll not bear it! By Heaven, I'll not bear it!" he muttered. And as +he spoke, striding along in the hurry of his spirits as if he carried +a broom and swept the whole Whig party before him, he overtook no less +a person than Sergeant Wathen, who had been lunching at the Athenaeum. + +The Sergeant heard his voice and turning, saw who it was. He fancied +that Vaughan had addressed him. "I beg your pardon," he said politely. +"I did not catch what you said, Mr. Vaughan." + +For a moment Vaughan glowered at him, as if he would sweep him from +his path, along with the Whigs. Then out of the fullness of the heart +the mouth spoke. "Mr. Sergeant," he said, in a not very friendly tone, +"do you know anything of an agreement disposing of the future +representation of Chippinge?" + +The Sergeant who knew all under the rose, looked shrewdly at his +companion to see, if possible, what he knew. And, to gain time, "I beg +your pardon," he said. "I don't think I--quite understand you." + +"I am told," Vaughan said haughtily, "that an agreement has been made +to avoid a contest at Chippinge." + +"Do you mean," the Sergeant asked blandly, "at the next election, Mr. +Vaughan?" + +"At future elections!" + +The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders. "As a member," he said primly, "I +take care to know nothing of such agreements. And I would recommend +you, Mr. Vaughan, to adopt that rule. For the rest," he added, with a +candid smile, "I give you fair warning that I shall contest the seat. +May I ask who was your informant?" + +"Mr. Flixton." + +"Flixton? Flixton? Ah! The gentleman who is to marry Miss Vermuyden! +Well, I can only repeat that I, at any rate, am no party to such an +agreement." + +His sly look which seemed to deride his companion's inexperience, said +as plainly as a look could say, "You find the game of politics less +simple than you thought?" And at another time it would have increased +Vaughan's ire. But as one pellet drives out another, the Sergeant's +reference to Miss Vermuyden had in a second driven the prime subject +from his mind. He did not speak for a moment. Then with his face +averted, "Is Mr. Flixton--going to marry Miss Vermuyden?" he asked, in +a muffled tone. "I had not heard of it." + +"I only heard it yesterday," the Sergeant answered, not unwilling to +shelve the other topic. "But it is rumoured, and I believe it is true. +Quite a romance, wasn't it?" he continued airily. "Quite a nine days' +wonder! But"--he pulled himself up--"I beg your pardon! I was +forgetting how nearly it concerned you. Dear me, dear me! It is a fair +wind indeed that blows no one any harm!" + +Vaughan made no reply. He could not speak for the hard beating of his +heart. Wathen saw that there was something wrong and looked at him +inquisitively. But the Sergeant had not the clue, and could only +suspect that the marriage touched the other, because issue of it would +entirely bar his succession. And no more was said. As they crossed New +Palace Yard, a member drew the Sergeant aside, and Vaughan went up +alone to the lobby. + +But all thought of speaking was flown from his mind; nor did the +thinness of the House when he entered tempt him. There were hardly +more than a hundred present; and these were lolling here and there +with their hats on, half asleep it seemed, in the dull light of a +September afternoon. A dozen others looked sleepily from the +galleries, their arms flattened on the rail, their chins on their +arms. There were a couple of ministers on the Treasury Bench, and Lord +John Russell was moving the third reading. No one seemed to take much +interest in the matter; a stranger entering at the moment would have +learned with amazement that this was the mother of parliaments, the +renowned House of Commons; and with still greater amazement would he +have learned that the small, boyish-looking gentleman in the +high-collared coat, and with lips moulded on Cupid's bow, who appeared +to be making some perfunctory remarks upon the weather, or the state +of the crops, was really advancing by an important stage the famous +Bill, which had convulsed three kingdoms and was destined to change +the political face of the land. + +Lord John sat down presently, thrusting his head at once into a packet +of papers, which the gloom hardly permitted him to read. A clerk at +the table mumbled something; and a gentleman on the other side of the +House rose and began to speak. He had not uttered many sentences, +however, before the members on the Reform benches awoke, not only to +life, but to fury. Stentorian shouts of "Divide! Divide!" rendered the +speaker inaudible; and after looking towards the door of the House +more than once he sat down, and the House went to a division. In a few +minutes it was known that the Bill had been read a third time, by 113 +to 58. + +But the foreign gentleman would have made a great mistake had he gone +away, supposing that Lord John's few placid words--and not those +spiteful shouts--represented the feelings of the House. In truth +the fiercest passions were at work under the surface. Among the +fifty-eight who shrugged their shoulders and accepted the verdict in +gloomy silence were some primed with the fiercest invective; and +others, tongue-tied men, who nevertheless honestly believed that Lord +John Russell was a republican, and Althorp a fool; who were certain +that the Whigs wittingly or unwittingly were working the destruction +of the country, were dragging her from the pride of place to which a +nicely-balanced Constitution had raised her, and laying her choicest +traditions at the feet of the rabble. Men who believed such things, +and saw the deed done before their eyes, might accept their doom in +silence--even as the King of old went silently to the Banquet Hall +hard by--but not with joy or easy hearts! + +Vaughan, therefore, was not the only one who walked into the lobby +that evening, brooding darkly on his revenge. Yet, even he behaved +himself as men, so bred, so trained do behave themselves. He held his +peace. And no one dreamed, not even Orator Hunt, who sat not far from +him under the shadow of his White Hat, that this well-conducted young +gentleman was revolving thoughts of the Social Order, and of the Party +System, and of most things which the Church Catechism commends, beside +which that terrible Radical's own opinions were mere Tory prejudices. +The fickleness of women! The treachery of men! Oh, Aetna bury them! +Oh, Ocean overwhelm them! Let all cease together and be no more! But +give me sweet, oh, sweet, oh, sweet Revenge! + + + + + XXV + + AT STAPYLTON + + +It was about a week before his encounter with Vaughan in the park--and +on a fine autumn day--that the Honourable Bob, walking with Sir Robert +by the Garden Pool, allowed his eyes to travel over the prospect. The +smooth-shaven lawns, the stately, lichened house, the far-stretching +park, with its beech-knolls and slopes of verdure, he found all fair; +and when to these, when to the picture on which his bodily eyes +rested, that portrait of Mary--Mary, in white muslin and blue ribbons, +bowing her graceful head while Sir Robert read prayers--which he +carried in his memory, he told himself that he was an uncommonly happy +fellow. + +Beauty he might have had, wealth he might have had, family too. But to +alight on all in such perfection, to lose his heart where his head +approved the step, was a gift of fortune so rare, that as he strutted +and talked by the side of his host, his face beamed with ineffable +good-humour. + +Nevertheless for a few moments silence had fallen between the two; and +gradually Sir Robert's face had assumed a grave and melancholy look. +He sighed more than once, and when he spoke, it was to repeat in +different words what he had already said. + +"Certainly, you may speak," he said, in a tone of some formality. "And +I have little doubt, Mr. Flixton, that your overtures will be received +as they deserve." + +"Yes? Yes? You think so?" Flixton answered with manifest delight. "You +really think so, Sir Robert, do you?" + +"I think so," his host replied. "Not only because your suit is in +every way eligible, and one which does us honour." He bowed +courteously as he uttered the compliment. "But because, Mr. Flixton, +for docility--and I think a husband may congratulate himself on the +fact----" + +"To be sure! To be sure!" Flixton cried, not permitting him to finish. +"Yes, Sir Robert, capital! You mean that if I am not a happy man----" + +"It will not be the fault of your wife," Sir Robert said; remembering +with a faint twinge of conscience that the Honourable Bob's past had +not been without its histories. + +"No! By gad, Sir Robert, no! You're quite right! She's got an ank----" +He stopped abruptly, his mouth open; bethinking himself, when it +was almost too late, that her father was not the person to whom to +detail her personal charms. + +But Sir Robert had not divined the end of the sentence. He was a +trifle deaf. "Yes?" he said. + +"She's an--an--animated manner, I was going to say," Flixton answered +with more readiness than fervour. And he blessed himself for his +presence of mind. + +"Animated? Yes, but gentle also," Sir Robert replied, well-nigh +purring as he did so. "I should say that gentleness, and--and indeed, +my dear fellow, goodness, were the--but perhaps I am saying more than +I should." + +"Not at all!" Flixton answered with heartiness. "Gad, I could listen +to you all day, Sir Robert." + +He had listened, indeed, during a large part of the last week; and +with so much effect, that those histories to which reference has been +made, had almost faded from the elder man's mind. Flixton seemed to +him a hearty, manly young fellow, a little boastful and self-assertive +perhaps--but remarkably sound. A soldier, who asked nothing better +than to put down the rabble rout which was troubling the country; a +Tory, of precisely his, Sir Robert's opinions; the younger son of a +peer, and a West Country peer to boot. In fine, a staunch, open-air +patrician, with good old-fashioned instincts, and none of that +intellectual conceit, none of those cranks, and fads, and follies, +which had ruined a man who also might have been Sir Robert's +son-in-law. + +Well that man, Sir Robert, perhaps because his conscience pricked him +at times by suggesting impossible doubts, was still bitterly angry. So +angry that, had the Baronet been candid, he must have acknowledged +that the Honourable Bob's main virtue was his unlikeness to Arthur +Vaughan; it was in proportion as he differed from the young fellow who +had so meanly intrigued to gain his daughter's affections, that +Flixton appeared desirable to the father. Even those histories proved +that at any rate he had blood in him; while his loud good-nature, his +positiveness, as long as it marched with Sir Robert's positiveness, +his short views, all gained by contrast. "I am glad he is a younger +son," the Baronet thought. "He shall take the old Vermuyden name!" And +he lifted his handsome old chin a little higher as he pictured the +honours, that even in a changed and worsened England, might cluster +about his house. At the worst, and if the Bill passed, he had a seat +alternately with the Lansdownes; and in a future, which would know +nothing of Lord Lonsdale's cat-o'-nine-tails, when pocket boroughs +would be rare, and great peers and landowners would be left with +scarce a representative, much might be done with half a seat. + +Suddenly, "Damme, Sir Robert," Flixton cried, "there is the little +beauty--hem!--there she is, I think. With your permission I think I'll +join her." + +"By all means, by all means," Sir Robert answered indulgently. "You +need not stand on ceremony." + +Flixton waited for no more. Perhaps he had no mind to be bored, now +that he had gained what he wanted. He hurried after the slim figure +with the white floating skirts and the Leghorn hat, which had +descended the steps of the house, moved lightly across the lawns--and +vanished. He guessed, however, whither she was bound. He knew that she +had a liking for walking in the wilderness behind the house; a beech +wood which was already beginning to put on its autumn glory. And sure +enough, hastening to a point among the smooth grey trunks where three +paths met, he discerned her a hundred paces away, walking slowly from +him with her eyes raised. + +"Squirrels!" Flixton thought. And he made up his mind to bring the +terriers and have a hunt on the following Sunday afternoon. In the +meantime he had another quarry in view, and he made after the +white-gowned figure. + +She heard his tread on the carpet of dry beech leaves, and she turned +and saw him. She had come out on purpose that she might be alone, at +liberty to think at her ease and orientate herself, in relation to her +new environment, and the fresh and astonishing views which were +continually opening before her. Or, perhaps, that was but her pretext: +an easy explanation of silence and solitude, which might suffice for +her father and possibly for Miss Sibson. For, for certain, amid sombre +thoughts of her mother, she thought more often and more sombrely in +these days of another; of happiness which had been forfeited by her +own act; of weakness, and cowardice, and ingratitude; of a man's head +that stooped to her adorably, and then again of a man's eyes that +burned her with contempt. + +It is probable, therefore, that she was not overjoyed when she saw Mr. +Flixton. But Sir Robert was so far right in his estimate of her nature +that she hated to give pain. It was there, perhaps, that she was weak. +And so, seeing the Honourable Bob, she smiled pleasantly on him. + +"You have discovered a favourite haunt of mine," she said. She did not +add that she spent a few minutes of every day there: that the smooth +beech-trunks knew the touch of her burning cheeks, and the rustle of +the falling leaves the whisper of her penitence. Daily she returned by +way of the Kennel Path and there breathed a prayer for her mother, +where a mother's arms had first enfolded her, and a mother's kisses +won her love. What she did add was, "I often come here." + +"I know you do," the Honourable Bob answered, with a look of +admiration. "I assure you, Miss Mary, I could astonish you with the +things I know about you!" + +"Really!" + +"Oh, yes. Really." + +There was a significant chuckle in his voice which brought the blood +to her check. But she was determined to ignore its meaning. "You are +observant?" she said. + +"Of those--yes, by Jove, I am--of those, I--admire," he rejoined. He +had it on his tongue to say "those I love," but she turned her eyes on +him at the critical moment, and though he was doing a thing he had +often done, and he had impudence enough, his tongue failed him. There +are women so naturally modest that until the one man who awakens the +heart appears, it seems an outrage to speak to them of love. Mary +Vermuyden, perhaps by reason of her bringing up, was one of these; and +though Flixton had had little to do with women of her kind, he +recognised the fact and bowed to it. He came, having her father's +leave to speak to her; yet he found himself less at his ease, than on +many a less legitimate occasion. "Yes, by Jove," he repeated. "I +observe them, I can tell you." + +Mary laughed. "Some are more quick to notice than others," she said. + +"And to notice some than others!" he rejoined, gallantly. "That is +what I mean. Now that old girl who is with you----" + +"Miss Sibson?" Mary said, setting him right with some stiffness. + +"Yes! Well, she isn't young! Anyway, you don't suppose I could say +what she wore yesterday! But what you wore, Miss Mary"--trying to +catch her eye and ogle her--"ah, couldn't I! But then you don't wear +powder on your nose, nor need it!" + +"I don't wear it," she said, laughing in spite of herself. "But you +don't know what I may do some day! And for Miss Sibson, it does not +matter, Mr. Flixton, what she wears. She has one of the kindest +hearts, and was one of the kindest friends I had--or could have +had--when things were different with me." + +"Oh, yes, good old girl," he rejoined, "but snubby! Bitten my nose off +two or three times, I know. And, come now, not quite an angel, you +know, Miss Mary!" + +"Well," she replied, smiling, "she is not, perhaps, an angel to look +at. But----" + +"She can't be! For she is not like you!" he cried. "And you are one, +Miss Mary! You are the angel for me!" looking at her with impassioned +eyes. "I'll never want another nor ask to see one!" + +His look frightened her; she began to think he meant--something. And +she took a new way with him. "How singular it is," she said, +thoughtfully, "that people say those things in society! Because they +sound so very silly to one who has not lived in your world!" + +"Silly!" Flixton replied, in a tone of mortification; and for a +moment he felt the check. He was really in love, to a moderate extent; +and on the way to be more deeply in love were he thwarted. Therefore +he was, to a moderate extent, afraid of her. And, "Silly?" he +repeated. "Oh, but I mean it, so help me! I do, indeed! It's not silly +to call you an angel, for I swear you are as beautiful as one! That's +true, anyway!" + +"How many have you seen?" she asked, ridiculing him. "And what +coloured wings had they?" But her cheek was hot. "Don't say, if you +please," she continued, before he could speak, "that you've seen me. +Because that is only saying over again what you've said, Mr. Flixton. +And that is worse than silly. It is dull." + +"Miss Mary," he cried, pathetically, "you don't understand me! I want +to assure you--I want to make you understand----" + +"Hush!" she said, cutting him short, in an earnest whisper. And, +halting, she extended a hand behind her to stay him. "Please don't +speak!" she continued. "Do you see them, the beauties? Flying round +and round the tree after one another faster than your eyes can follow +them. One, two, three--three squirrels! I never saw one, do you know, +until I came here," she went on, in a tone of hushed rapture. "And +until now I never saw them at play. Oh, who could harm them?" + +He stood behind her, biting his lip with vexation; and wholly +untouched by the scene, which, whether her raptures were feigned or +not, was warrant for them. Hitherto he had had to do with women who +met him halfway; who bridled at a compliment, were alive to an +_equivoque_, and knew how to simulate, if they did not feel, a soft +confusion under his gaze. For this reason Mary's backwardness, her +apparent unconsciousness that they were not friends of the same sex, +puzzled him, nay, angered him. As she stood before him, a hand still +extended to check his advance, the sunshine which filtered through the +beech leaves cast a soft radiance on her figure. She seemed more +dainty, more graceful, more virginal than aught that he had ever +conceived. It was in vain that he told himself, with irritation, that +she was but a girl after all. That, under her aloofness, she was a +woman like the others, as vain, passionate, flighty, as jealous as +other women. He knew that he stood in awe of her. He knew that the +words which he had uttered so lightly many a time--ay, and to those to +whom he had no right to address them--stuck in his throat now. He +wanted to say "I love you!" and he had the right to say it, he was +commissioned to say it. Yet he was dumb. All the boldness which he had +exhibited in her presence in Queen's Square--where another had stood +tongue-tied--was gone. + +He took at last a desperate step. The girl was within arm's reach of +him; her delicate waist, the creamy white of her slender neck, invited +him. Be she never so innocent, never so maidenly, a kiss, he told +himself, would awaken her. It was his experience, it was a scrap drawn +from his store of worldly wisdom, that a woman kissed was a woman won. + +True, as he thought of it, his heart began to riot, as it had not +rioted from that cause since he had kissed the tobacconist's daughter +at Exeter, his first essay in gallantry. But only the bold deserve the +fair! And how often had he boasted that, where women were concerned, +lips were made for other things than talking! + +And--in a moment it was done. + +Twice! Then she slipped from his grasp, and stood at bay, with flaming +checks and eyes that--that had certainly not ceased to be virginal. +"You! You!" she cried, barely able to articulate. "Don't touch me!" + +She had been taken utterly, wholly by surprise; and the shock was +immensely increased by the facts of her bringing up and the restraints +and conditions of school-life. In his grasp, with his breath on her +cheek, all those notions about ravening wolves and the danger which +attached to beauty in low places--notions no longer applicable, had +she taken time to reason--returned upon her in force. The man had +kissed her! + +"How---how dare you?" she continued, trembling with rage and +indignation. + +"But your father----" + +"How dare you----" + +"Your father sent me," he pleaded, quite crestfallen. "He gave me +leave----" + +She stared at him, as at a madman. "To insult me?" she cried. + +"No, but--but you won't understand!" he answered, almost querulously. +He was quite chapfallen. "You don't listen to me. I want to marry you. +I want you to be my wife. Your father said I might come to you, +and--and ask you. And--and you'll say 'Yes,' won't you? That's a good +girl!" + +"Never!" she answered. + +He stared at her, turning red. "Oh, nonsense!" he stammered. And he +made as if he would go nearer. "You don't mean it. My dear girl! +Listen to me! I do love you! I do indeed! And I--I tell you what it +is, I never loved any woman----" + +But she looked at him in such a way that he could not go on. "Do not +say those things!" she said. And her austerity was terrible to him. +"And go, if you please. My father, if he sent you to me----" + +"He did!" + +"Then he did not," she replied with dignity, "understand my feelings." + +"But--but you must marry someone," he complained. "You know--you're +making a great fuss about nothing!" + +"Nothing!" she cried, her eyes sparkling. "You insult me, Mr. Flixton, +and----" + +"If a man may not kiss the girl he wants to marry----" + +"If she does not want to marry him?" + +"But it's not as bad as that," he pleaded. "No, by Jove, it's not. +You'll not be so cruel. Come, Miss Mary, listen to me a minute. You +must marry someone, you know. You are young, and I'm sure you have the +right to choose----" + +"I've heard enough," she struck in, interrupting him with something of +Sir Robert's hauteur. "I understand now what you meant, and I forgive +you. But I can never be anything to you, Mr. Flixton----" + +"You can be everything to me," he declared. It couldn't, it really +couldn't be that she meant to refuse him! Finally and altogether! + +"But you can be nothing to me!" she answered, cruelly--very cruelly +for her, but her cheek was tingling. "Nothing! Nothing! And that being +so, I beg that you will leave me now." + +He looked at her with a mixture of supplication, resentment, chagrin. + +But she showed no sign of relenting. "You really--you really do mean +it?" he muttered, with a sickly smile. "Come, Miss Mary!" + +"Don't! Don't!" she cried, as if his words pained her. And that was +all. "Please go! Or I shall go." + +The Honourable Bob's conceit had been so far taken out of him that he +felt that he could make no farther fight. He could see no sign of +relenting, and feeling that, with all his experience, he had played +his cards ill, he turned away sullenly. "Oh, I will go," he said. And +he longed to add something witty and careless. But he could not add +anything. He, Bob Flixton, the hero of so many _bonnes fortunes_, to +be refused! He had laid his all, and _pour le ban motif_ at the feet +of a girl who but yesterday was a little schoolmistress. And she had +refused him! It was incredible! But, alas, it was also fact. + +Mary, the moment his back was turned, hurried with downcast face +towards the Kennels; to hide her hot cheeks and calm her feelings in +the depths of the shrubbery. Oddly enough, her first thoughts were +less of that which had just happened to her than of that suit which +had been paid to her months before. This man might love her or not; +she could not tell. But Arthur Vaughan had loved her: the fashion of +this love taught her to prize the fashion of that. + +He had loved her. And if he had treated her as Mr. Flixton had treated +her? Would she have held to him, she wondered. She believed that she +would. But the mere thought set her knees trembling, made her cheeks +flame afresh, filled her with rapture. So that, shamefaced, +frightened, glancing this way and that, as one hunted, she longed to +be safe in her room, there to cry at her ease. + +Doubtless it was natural that the incident should turn her thoughts to +that other love-making; and presently to her father's furious dislike +of that other lover. She could not understand that dislike; for the +Bill and the Borough, Franchise or No Franchise, were nothing to her. +And the grievance, when Sir Robert had essayed to explain it, had been +nothing. To her mind, Trafalgar and Waterloo and the greatness of +England were the work of Nelson and Wellington--at the remotest, +perhaps, of Mr. Pitt and Lord Castlereagh. She could not enter into +the reasoning which attributed these and all other blessings of her +country to a System! To a System which it seemed her lover was pledged +to overthrow. + +She walked until the tumult of her thoughts had somewhat abated; and +then, still yearning for the security of her own chamber, she made for +the house. She saw nothing of Flixton, no one was stirring. Already +she thought herself safe; and it was the very spirit of mischief which +brought her, at the corner of the church, face to face with her +father. Sir Robert's brow was clouded, and the "My dear, one moment," +with which he stayed her, was pitched in a more decisive tone than he +commonly used to her. + +"I wish to speak to you, Mary," he continued. "Will you come with me +to the library?" + +She would fain have postponed the discussion of Mr. Flixton's +proposal, which she foresaw. But her father, affectionate and gentle +as he was, was still unfamiliar; and she had not the courage to make +her petition. So she accompanied him, with a sinking heart, to the +library. And, when he pointed to a seat, she was glad to sit down. + +He took up his own position on the hearth rug; whence he looked at her +gravely before he spoke. At length: + +"My dear," he said, "I'm sorry for this! Though I do not blame you. I +think that you do not understand, owing to those drawbacks of your +early life, which have otherwise, thank God, left so slight a mark +upon you, that there are things which at your time of life you must +leave to--to the decision of your elders." + +She looked at him. And there was not that complete docility in her +look which he expected to find. "I don't think I understand, sir," she +murmured. + +"But you can easily understand this, Mary," he replied. "That young +girls of your age, without experience of life or of--of the darker +side of things, cannot be allowed to judge for themselves on all +occasions. There are sometimes circumstances to be weighed which it is +not possible to detail to them." + +She closed her eyes for an instant, to collect her thoughts. + +"But--but, sir," she said, "you cannot wish me to have no will--no +choice--in a matter which affects me so nearly." + +"No," he said, speaking seriously and with something approaching +sternness. "But that will and that choice must be guided. They should +be guided. Your feelings are natural--God forbid that I should think +them otherwise! But you must leave the decision to me." + +She looked at him, aghast. She had heard, but had never believed, that +in the upper classes matches were arranged after this fashion. But to +have no will and no choice in such a thing as marriage! She must be +dreaming. + +"You cannot," he continued, looking at her firmly but not unkindly, +"have either the knowledge of the past," with a slight grimace, as of +pain, "or the experience needful to enable you to measure the result +of the step you take. You must, therefore, let your seniors decide for +you." + +"But I could never--never," she answered, with a deep blush, "marry a +man without--liking him, sir." + +"Marry?" Sir Robert repeated. He stared at her. + +She returned the look. "I thought, sir," she faltered, with a still +deeper blush, "that you were talking of that." + +"My dear," he said, gravely, "I am referring to the subject on which I +understood that you requested Miss Sibson to speak to me." + +"My mother?" she whispered, the colour fading quickly from her face. + +He paused a moment. Then, "You would oblige me," he said, slowly and +formally, "by calling her Lady Sybil Vermuyden. And not--that." + +"But she is--my mother," she persisted. + +He looked at her, his head slightly bowed, his lower lip thrust out. +"Listen," he said, with decision. "What you propose--to go to her, I +mean--is impossible. Impossible, you understand. There must be an end +of any thought of it!" His tone was cold, but not unkind. "The thing +must not be mentioned again, if you please," he added. + +She was silent a while. Then, "Why, sir?" she asked. She spoke +tremulously, and with an effort. But he had not expected her to speak +at all. + +Yet he merely continued, as he stood on the hearth rug, to look at her +askance. "That is for me," he said, "to decide." + +"But----" + +"But I will tell you," he said, stiffly. "Because she has already +ruined part of your life!" + +"I forgive her, from my heart!" Mary cried. + +"And ruined, also," he continued, putting the interruption aside, "a +great part of mine. At your age I do not think fit to tell you--all. +It is enough, that she has robbed me of you, and deceived me. Deceived +me," he repeated, more bitterly, "through long years when you, my +daughter, might have been my comfort and--" he ended, almost +inaudibly, "my joy." + +He turned his back on her with the word and began to walk the room, +his chin sunk on his breast, his hands clasped. It was clear to Mary, +watching him with loving, pitying eyes, that his thoughts were with +the unhappy past, with the short fever, the ignoble contentions of his +married life, or with the lonely, soured years which had followed. She +felt that he was laying to his wife's charge the wreck of his life, +and the slow dry-rot which had sapped hope, and strength, and +development. + +Mary waited until his step trod the carpet less hurriedly. Then, as he +paused to turn, she stepped forward. + +"Yet, sir--forgive her!" she cried. And there were warm tears in her +voice. + +He turned and looked at her. Possibly he was astonished at her +persistence. + +"Never!" he said in a tone of finality. "Never! Let that be the end." + +But Mary had been dreaming of this moment for days. And she had +resolved that, come what might, though he frown, though his tone grow +hard and his eye angry, though he bring to bear on her the stern +command of his eagle visage, she would not be found lacking a second +time. She would not again give way to her besetting weakness, and +spend sleepless nights in futile remorse. Diffidence in the lonely +schoolmistress had been pardonable, had been natural. But now, if she +were indeed sprung from those who had a right to hold their heads +above the crowd, if the doffed hats which greeted her when she went +abroad, in the streets of Chippinge as well as in the lanes and +roads,--if these meant anything--shame on her if she proved craven. + +"It cannot be the end, sir," she said, in a low voice. "For she +is--still my mother. And she is alone and ill--and she needs me." + +He had begun to pace the room anew, this time with an impatient, angry +step. But at that he stood and faced her, and she needed all her +courage to support the gloom of his look. "How do you know?" he said. +For Miss Sibson, discharging an ungrateful task, had not entered into +details. "Have you seen her?" + +She felt that she must judge for herself; and though her mother had +said something to the contrary, and hitherto she had obeyed her, she +thought it best to tell all. "Yes, sir," she said. + +"When?" + +"A fortnight ago?" She trembled under the growing darkness of his +look. + +"Here?" + +"In the grounds, sir." + +"And you never told me!" he cried. "You never told me!" he repeated, +with a strange glance, a glance which strove with terror to discern +the mother's features in the daughter's face. "You, too--you, too, +have begun to deceive me!" + +And he threw up his hands in despair. + +"Oh, no! no!" Mary cried, infinitely distressed. + +"But you have!" he rejoined. "You have kept this from me." + +"Only, believe me, sir," she cried, eagerly, "until I could find a +fitting time." + +"And now you want to go to her!" he answered, unheeding. "She has +suborned you! She, who has done the greatest wrong to you, has now +done the last wrong to me!" + +He began again to pace up and down the room. + +"Oh, no! no!" she sobbed. + +"It is so!" he answered, darting an angry glance at her. "It is so! +But I shall not let you go! Do you hear, girl? I shall not let you go! +I have suffered enough," he continued, with a gesture which called +those walls to witness to the humiliations, the sorrows, the +loneliness, from which he had sought refuge within them. "I will +not--suffer again! You shall not go!" + +She was full of love for him, and of pity. She understood even that +gesture, and the past wretchedness to which it bore witness. And she +yearned to comfort him, and to convince him that nothing that had gone +before, nothing that could happen in the future, would set her against +him. Had he been seated, she would have knelt and kissed his hand, or +cast herself on his breast and his love, and won him to her. But as he +walked she could not approach him, she did not know how to soften him. +Yet her duty was clear. It lay beside her dying mother. Nevertheless, +if he forbade her to go, if he withstood her, how was she to perform +it? + +At length, "But if she be dying, sir," she murmured. "Will you not +then let me see her?" + +He looked at her from under his heavy eyebrows. "I tell you, I will +not let you go!" he said stubbornly. "She has forfeited her right to +you. When she made you die to me--you died to her! That is my +decision. You hear me? And now--now," he continued, returning in a +measure to composure, "let there be an end!" + +She stood silenced, but not conquered; knowing him more intimately +than she had known him before; and loving him not less, but more, +since pity and sympathy entered into her love and drove out fear; but +assured that he was wrong. It could not be her duty to forsake: it +must be his duty to forgive. But for the present she saw that in spite +of all his efforts he was cruelly agitated, that she had stirred pangs +long lulled to rest, that he had borne as much as he could bear. And +she would not press him farther for the time. + +Meanwhile he, as he stood fingering his trembling lips, was trying to +bring the cunning of age to bear. He was silently forming his plan. +She had been too much alone, he reflected; that was it. He had +forgotten that she was young, and that change and movement and life +and gaiety were needful for her. This about--that woman--was an +obsession, an unwholesome fancy, which a few days in a new place, and +amid lively scenes, would weaken and perhaps remove. And by and by, +when he thought that he could trust his voice, he spoke. + +"I said, let there be an end! But--you are all I have," he continued, +with emotion, "and I will say instead, let this be for a time. I must +have time to think. You want--there are many things you want that you +ought to have--frocks, laces, and gew-gaws," he added, with a sickly +smile, "and I know not what, that you cannot get here, nor I choose +for you. Lady Worcester has offered to take you with her to town--she +goes the day after to-morrow. I was uncertain this morning whether to +send you or not, whether I could spare you or not. Now, I say, go. Go, +and when you return, Mary, we will talk again." + +"And then," she said, pleading softly, "you will let me go!" + +"Never!" he cried, lifting his head in a sudden, uncontrollable +recurrence of rage. "But there, there! There! there! I shall have +thought it over--more at leisure. Perhaps! I don't know! I will tell +you then. I will think it over." + +She saw with clear eyes that this was an evasion, that he was +deceiving her. But she felt no resentment, only pity. She had no +reason to think that her mother needed her on the instant. And much +was gained by the mere discussion of the subject. At least he promised +to consider it: and though he meant nothing now, perhaps when he was +alone he would think of it, and more pitifully. Yes, she was sure he +would. + +"I will go, if you wish it," she said, submissively. She would show +herself obedient in all things lawful. + +"I do wish it," he answered. "My daughter must know her way about. Go, +and Lady Worcester will take care of you. And when--when you come back +we will talk. You will have things to prepare, my dear," he continued, +avoiding her eyes, "a good deal to prepare, I dare say, since this is +sudden, and you had better go now. I think that is all." + + + + + XXVI + + THE SCENE IN THE HALL + + +Arthur Vaughan had been quick to see that he could not step at once +into place and fame; that success in political life could not in these +days be attained at a bound. But had he been less quick, the great +debate which preceded the passage of the Bill through the Commons must +have availed to persuade him. That their last words of warning to the +country, their solemn remonstrances, might have more effect, the +managers of the Opposition had permitted the third reading to be +carried in the manner which has been described. But, that done, they +unmasked all their forces, bent on proving that if in the time to come +the peers threw out the Bill they would do so with a respectable +weight, not only of argument, but of public feeling behind them; and +that, not only in the country, but in the popular House. All that the +bitter invective of Croker, the mingled gibes and predictions of +Wetherell, the close and weighty reasoning of Peel, the precedents of +Sugden could do to warn the timid and arouse the prudent was done. +That ancient Chamber, which was never again to echo the accents of a +debate so great, which stood indeed already doomed, as if it could not +long survive the order of things of which it had been for centuries +the centre, had heard, it may be, speeches more lofty, men more +eloquent--for whom had it not heard?--but never men more in earnest, +or words more keenly barbed by the prejudices of the passing, or the +aspirations of the coming, age. Of the one party were those who could +see naught but glory in the bygone, naught but peril in change, of the +other, those whose strenuous aim it was to make the future redress the +wrongs of the past. The former were like children, viewing the Armada +hangings which tapestried the neighbouring Chamber, and seeing only +the fair front: the latter like the same children, picking with soiled +fingers at the backing, coarse, dusty and cobwebbed, which for two +hundred years had clung to the roughened masonry. + +Vaughan sat through the three nights, brooding darkly on the feats +performed before him. If they who fought in the arena were not giants, +if the House no longer held a match for Canning and Brougham, the +combatants seemed giants to him; for a man's opinion of himself is +never far from the opinion which others hold of him. And he soon +perceived that a common soldier might as easily step from the ranks +and set the battle in order as he, Arthur Vaughan, rise up, without +farther training, and lead the attack or cover the defence. He sat +soured and gloomy, a mere spectator; dwelling, even while he listened +to the flowery periods of Macaulay, or the trenchant arguments of +Peel, on the wrong done to himself by the disposal of his seat. + +It was so like the Whigs, he told himself. Here on the floor of the +House who so loud as they in defence of the purity of elections, of +the people's right to be represented, of the unbiassed vote of the +electors? But behind the scenes they were as keenly bent on jobbing a +seat here, or neutralising a seat there, and as careless of the +people's rights as they had ever been! It was atrocious, it was +shameful! If this were political life, if this were political honesty, +he had had enough of it! + +But alas, though he said it in his anger, there was the rub! He had +not had, and now he was not likely to have, enough of it. The +hostility to himself, of which he had come slowly to be conscious, as +a man grows slowly to perceive a frostiness in the air, had insensibly +sapped his self-confidence and lowered his claims. He no longer dreamt +of rising and outshining the chiefs of his party. But he still +believed that he had it in him to succeed--were time given him. And +all through the long hours of the three nights' debates his thoughts +were as often on his wrongs as on the momentous struggle which was +passing before his eyes, and for the issue of which the clubs of +London were keeping vigil. + +But enthusiasm is infectious. And when the tellers for the last time +walked up to the table, at five o'clock on the morning of the 22nd of +September, with the grey light of daybreak stealing in to shame the +candles and betray the jaded faces--when he and all men knew that for +them the end of the great struggle was come--Vaughan waited breathless +with the rest and strained his ears to catch the result. And when, a +moment later, peal upon peal of fierce cheering shook the old panels +in their frames, and being taken up by waiting crowds without, carried +the news through the dawn to the very skirts of London--the news that +Reform had passed the People's House, and that only the peers now +stood between the country and its desire--he shared the triumph and +shouted with the rest, shook hands with exultant neighbours, and waved +his hat, perspiring. + +But in his case the feeling of exultation was short-lived; perhaps in +the case of many another, who roared himself hoarse and showed a +gleeful face to the daylight. Certainly it was something to have taken +part in such a scene, the memory of which must survive for +generations. It was something to have voted in such a division. He +might talk of it in days to come to his grandchildren. But for him +personally it meant that all was over; that here, if the Lords passed +the Bill, was the end. A Dissolution must follow, and when the House +met again, his place would know him no more. He would be gone, and no +man would feel the blank. + +Nor were less selfish doubts wanting. As he stood, caught in the press +and awaiting his turn to leave the crowded House, his eyes rested on +the pale, scowling faces which dotted the opposite benches; the faces +of men who, honestly believing that here and now the old Constitution +of England had got its deathblow, could not hide their bitter chagrin, +or their scorn of the foe. Nor could he, at any rate, view those men +without sympathy; without the possibility that they were right +weighing on his spirits; without a faint apprehension that this might +indeed be the beginning of decay, the starting point of that decadence +which every generation since Queen Anne's had foreseen. For if many on +that side represented no one but themselves, they still represented +vast interests, huge incomes, immense taxation. They were those who, +if England sank, had most to lose. He, in the past, had given up +almost his all that he might stand aloof from them; and that, because +he thought them prejudiced, wrong-headed, unreasonable. But he +respected them. And--what if they were right? + +Meanwhile the persistent cheering of his friends began to jar on his +tired nerves. He seemed to see in this a beginning of disorder, of +license, of revolution, of all those evils which the other party +foretold. And then he had little liking for the statistics of Hume: +and Hume with his arm about his favourite pillar, was high among the +triumphant. Hard by him again was the tall, thin form of Orator Hunt, +for whom the Bill was too moderate; and the taller, thinner form of +Burdett. They, crimson with shouting, were his partners in this; the +bedfellows among whom his opinions had cast him. + +Thinking such thoughts, he was among the last to leave the House, +which he did by way of Westminster Hall. The scene as he descended to +the Hall was so striking that he stood an instant on the steps to view +it. The hither half of the great space was comparatively bare, but the +farther half was occupied by a throng of people held back by a line of +the New Police, who were doing all they could to keep a passage +for the departing Members. As groups of the latter, after chatting +awhile at the upper end, passed, conscious of the greatness of the +occasion, down the lane thus formed, bursts of loud cheering greeted +the better-known Reformers. Some of the more forward of those who +waited shook hands with them, or patted them on the back; while others +cried "God bless you, sir! Long life to you, sir!" On the other hand, +an angry moan, or a spirit of hissing, marked the passage of a known +Tory; or a voice was raised calling to these to bid the Lords beware. +A few lamps, which had burned through the night, contended pallidly +with the growing daylight, and gave to the scene that touch of +obscurity, that mingling of light and shadow--under the dusky, +far-receding roof--which is necessary to the picturesque. + +Vaughan did not suspect that, as he paused, looking down on the Hall, +he was himself watched, and by some sore enough that moment to be glad +to wreak their feelings in any direction. As he set his foot on the +stone pavement a group near at hand raised a cry of "Turncoat! +Turncoat!" and that so loudly that he could not but hear it. An +unmistakable hiss followed; and then, "Who stole a seat?" cried one of +the men. + +"And isn't going to keep it?" cried another. + +Vaughan turned short at the last words--he had not felt sure that the +first were addressed to him. With a hot face, and every fibre in his +body tingling with defiance, he stepped up to the group. "Did you +speak to me?" he said. + +A man with a bullying air put himself before the others. He was a +ruined Irish Member, who had sat for years for a close borough, and +for whom the Bill meant duns, bailiffs, a sponging-house, in a word, +the loss of all those thing's which made life tolerable. He was full +of spite and spoiling for a fight with someone, no matter with whom. + +"Who are you?" he replied, confronting our friend with a sneer. "I +have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir!" + +Vaughan was about to answer him in kind, when he espied in the middle +of the group the pale, keen face and greyish whiskers of Sergeant +Wathen. And, "Perhaps you have not," he retorted, "but that gentleman +has." He pointed to Wathen. "And, if what was said a moment ago," he +continued, "was meant for me, I have the honour to ask for an +explanation." + +"Explanation?" a Member in the background cried, in a jeering tone. +"Is there need of one?" + +Vaughan was no longer red, he was white with anger. "Who spoke?" he +asked, his voice ringing. + +The Irishman looked over his shoulder and laughed. "Right you are, +Jerry!" he said: "I'll not give you up!" And then to Vaughan, "I did +not," he said rudely. "For the rest, sir, the Hall is large enough. +And we have no need of your heroics here!" + +"Your pleasure, however," Vaughan replied, haughtily, "is not my law. +Some one of you used words a moment ago which seemed to imply----" + +"What, sir?" + +"That I obtained my seat by unfair means! And the truth being +perfectly well known to that gentleman"--again he pointed to the +Sergeant in a way which left Wathen anything but comfortable. "I am +sure that he will tell you that the statement----" + +"Statement?" + +"Statement or imputation, or whatever you please to call it," Vaughan +answered, sticking to his point in spite of interruptions, "is +absolutely unfounded--and false. And false! And, therefore, must be +retracted." + +"Must, sir?" + +"Yes, must!" Vaughan replied--he was no coward. "Must, if you call +yourselves gentlemen. But first, Mr. Sergeant," he continued, fixing +Wathen with his eye, "I will ask you to tell these friends of yours +that I did not turn my coat at Chippinge. And that there was nothing +in my election which in any degree touched my honour." + +The Sergeant looked flurried. He was of those who love to wound, but +do not love to fight. And at this moment he wished from the crown of +his head to the soles of his feet, that he had held his tongue. But +unluckily, whether the cloud upon Vaughan's reputation had been his +work or not, he had certainly said more than he liked to remember; +and, worse still, had said some part of it within the last five +minutes, in the hearing of those about him. To retract, therefore, was +to dub himself a liar; and he sought refuge, the perspiration standing +on his brow, in that half-truth which is at once worse than a lie--and +safer. + +"I must say, Mr. Vaughan," he said, "that the--the circumstances in +which you used the vote given to you by your cousin, and--and the way +in which you turned against him after attending a dinner of his +supporters----" + +"Openly, fairly, and after warning, I turned against him," Vaughan +cried, enraged at the show of justice which the accusation wore. "And +that, sir, in pursuance of opinions which I had publicly professed. +More, I allowed myself to be elected only after I had once refused +Lord Lansdowne's offer of the seat! And after, only after, Sir Robert +Vermuyden had so treated me that all ties were broken. Sergeant +Wathen, I appeal to you again! Was that not so?" + +"I know nothing of that," Wathen answered, sullenly. + +"Nothing? You know nothing of that?" Vaughan cried. + +"No," the Sergeant answered, still more sullenly. "I know nothing of +what passed between you and your cousin. I know only that you were +present, as I have said, at a dinner of his supporters on the eve of +the election, and that on a sudden, at that dinner, you declared +yourself against him--with the result that you were elected by the +other side!" + +For a moment Vaughan stood glowering at him, struck dumb by his denial +and by the unexpected plausibility, nay, the unexpected strength of +the case against him. He was sure that Wathen knew more, he was sure +that if he would he could say more! He was sure that the man was +dishonest. But he did not see how he could prove it, and---- + +The Irish Member laughed. "Well, sir," he said, derisively, "is the +explanation, now you've got it, to your mind?" + +The taunt stung Vaughan. He took a step forward. The next moment would +have seen him commit himself to a foolish action, that could only have +led him to Wimbledon Common or Primrose Hill. But in the nick of time +a voice stayed him. + +"What's this, eh?" it asked, its tone more lugubrious than usual. And +Sir Charles Wetherell, who had just descended the stairs from the +lobby, turned a dull eye from one disputant to the other. "Can't you +do enough damage with your tongues?" he rumbled. "Brawl upstairs as +much as you like! That's the way to the Woolsack! But you mustn't +brawl here!" And the heavy-visaged man, whose humour had again and +again conciliated a House which his coarse invective had offended, +once more turned from one to the other. "What is it?" he repeated. +"Eh?" + +Vaughan hastened to appeal to him. "Sir Charles," he said, "I will +abide by your decision! Though I do not know, indeed, that I ought to +take any man's decision on a point which touches my honour!" + +"Oh!" Wetherell said in an inimitable tone. "Court of Honour, is it?" +And he cast a queer look round the circle. "That's it, is it? Well, I +dare say I'm eligible. I dare swear I know as much about honour as +Brougham about equity! Or the Sergeant there"--Wathen reddened +angrily--"about law! Or Captain McShane here about his beloved +country! Yes," he continued, amid the unconcealed grins of those of +the party whose weak points had escaped, "you may proceed, I think." + +"You are a friend, Sir Charles," Vaughan said, in a voice which +quivered with anxiety, "you are a friend of Sir Robert Vermuyden's?" + +"Well, I won't deny him until I know more!" Wetherell answered +quaintly. "What of it?" + +"You know what occurred at Chippinge before the election?" + +"None better. I was there." + +"And what passed between Sir Robert Vermuyden and me?" Vaughan +continued, eagerly. + +"I think I do," Wetherell answered. "In the main I do." + +"Thank you, Sir Charles. Then I appeal to you. You are opposed to me +in politics, but you will do me justice. These gentlemen have thought +fit to brand me here and now as a turncoat; and, worse, as one who +was--who was elected"--he could scarcely speak for passion--"in +opposition to Sir Robert's, to my relative's candidates, under +circumstances dishonourable to me!" + +"Indeed? Indeed? That is serious." + +"And I ask you, sir, is there a word of truth in that charge?" + +Wetherell had his eyes fixed gloomily on the pavement. He appeared to +weigh the matter a moment or two. Then he shook his head. + +"Not a word," he said, ponderously. + +"You--you bear me out, sir." + +"Quite, quite," the other answered slowly, as he took out his +snuffbox. "To tell the truth, gentlemen," he continued, in the same +melancholy tone, "Mr. Vaughan was fool enough to quarrel with his +bread and butter for the sake of the most worthless, damnable and +mistaken convictions any man ever held! That's the truth. He showed +himself a very perfect fool, but an honourable and an honest fool--and +that's a rare thing. I see none here." + +No one laughed at the gibe, and he turned to Vaughan, who stood, +relieved indeed, but stiff and uncomfortable, uncertain what to do +next. "I'll take your arm," he said. "I've saved you," coolly, "from +the ragged regiment on my side. Do you take me safe," he continued, +with a look towards the lower end of the Hall, "through your ragged +regiment outside, my lad!" + +Vaughan understood only too well the generous motive which underlay +the invitation. But for a moment he hung back. + +"I am your debtor, Sir Charles," he said, deeply moved, "as long as I +live. But I would like to know before I go," and he raised his head, +with a look worthy of Sir Robert, "whether these gentlemen are +satisfied. If not----" + +"Oh, perfectly," the Sergeant cried, hurriedly. "Perfectly!" And he +muttered something about being glad--hear explanation--satisfactory. + +But the Irish Member stepped up and held out his hand. "Faith," he +said, "there's no man whose word I'd take before Sir Charles's! +There's no hiatus in his honour, whatever may be said of his breeches! +That's one for you," he added, addressing Wetherell. "I owed you one, +my good sir!" And then he turned to Vaughan. "There's my hand, sir! I +apologise," he said. "You're a man of honour, and it's mistaken we +were!" + +"I am obliged to you for your candour," Vaughan said, gratefully. + +Half a dozen others raised their hats to him, or shook hands with him +frankly. The Sergeant did the same less frankly. But Vaughan saw that +he was cowed. Wetherell was Sir Robert Vermuyden's friend, and the +Sergeant was Sir Robert's nominee. So he pushed his triumph no +farther. With a feeling of gratitude too deep for words, he offered +his arm to Sir Charles, and went down the Hall in his company. + +By this time the crowd at the lower end had carried their joy and +their horseplay elsewhere; and no attempt was made--Vaughan only +wished an attempt had been made--to molest Wetherell. They walked +across the yard to Parliament Street, as the first sunshine of the day +fell on the bridge and the river. Flocks of gulls were swinging to and +fro in the clear air above the water, and dumb barges were floating up +with the tide. The hub-bub in that part was past and over; at that +moment a score of coaches were speeding through the suburbs, bearing +to market-town and busy city, ay, and to village greens, where the +news was awaited eagerly, the tidings that the Bill had passed the +Lower House. + +Sir Charles walked a short distance in silence. Then, "I thought some +notion of the kind was abroad," he said. "It's as well this happened. +What are you going to do about your seat if the Bill pass, young man?" + +"I am told that it is pre-empted," Vaughan answered, in a tone between +jest and earnest. + +"It is. But----" + +"Yes, Sir Charles?" + +"You should see your own side about it," Wetherell answered gruffly. +"I can't say more than that." + +"I am obliged to you for that." + +"You should be!" Wetherell retorted in a peculiar tone. And with an +oath and a strange gesture he disengaged his arm. Halting and wheeling +about, he pointed with a shaking hand to the towers of the Abbey, +which rose against the blue, beatified by the morning sunshine. "If I +said 'batter down those walls, undig the dead, away with every hoary +thing of time, the present and the future are enough, and we, the +generation that burns the mummies, which three thousand years have +spared--we are wiser than all our forbears--' what would you say? You +would call me mad. Yet what are you doing? Ay, you, you among the +rest! The building that our fathers built, patiently through many +hundred years, adding a little here and strengthening there, the +building that Hampden and Shrewsbury and Walpole, Chatham and his son, +and Canning, and many others tended reverently, repairing here and +there, as time required, you, you, who think you know more than all +who have gone before you, hurry in ruin to the ground! That you may +build your own building, built in a day, to suit the day, and to +perish with the day! Oh, mad, mad, mad! Ay, + + + "_Hostis habet muros; ruit alta a culmine Troja. + Sat patriae Priamoque datum; si Pergama linqua. + Defendi possent, etiam, hoc defensa fuissent!_" + + +His voice quavered on the last accent, his chin sank on his breast. He +turned wearily and resumed his course. When Vaughan, who did not +venture to address him again, parted from him in silence at the door +of his house, the fat man's pendulous lip quivered, and a single tear +ran down his cheek. + + + + + XXVII + + WICKED SHIFTS + + +It was with a lighter heart that Vaughan walked on to Bury Street. +There were still, it seemed, faith and honour in the world, and some +men who could be trusted. But if he expected much to come of this, if +he expected to be received with an ovation on his next appearance at +Westminster, he was doomed to disappointment. Wetherell's defence +convinced those who heard it; and in time, no doubt, passing from +mouth to mouth, would improve the young Member's relations, not only +on the floor of the House, but in the lobbies and at Bellamy's. But +the English are not dramatic. They have no love for scenes. And no one +of those whose silence or whose catcalls had wronged him thought fit +to take his hand in cold blood and ask his pardon; nor did any Don +Quixote cast down his glove in Westminster Hall and offer to do battle +with his traducers. The manner of one man became a shade more cordial; +another spoke where he would have nodded. And if Vaughan had risen at +this time to speak on any question which he understood he would have +been heard upon his merits. + +But the change, slow though genial, like the breaking up of an English +frost, came too late to do him much service. With the transfer of the +Bill to the House of Lords public interest deserted the Commons. They +sat, indeed, through the month of September, to the horror of many a +country gentleman, who saw in this the herald of evil days; and they +debated after a fashion. But the attendance was sparse, and the +thoughts and hopes of all men were in another place. Vaughan saw that +for all the reputation he could now make the Dissolution might be come +already. And with this, and the emptiness of his heart, from which he +could no more put the craving for Mary Vermuyden than he could dismiss +her image from the retina of his mind, he was very miserable. The void +left by love, indeed, was rendered worse by the void left unsatisfied +by ambition. Mary's haunting face was with him at his rising, went +with him to his pillow, her little hand was often on his sleeve, her +eyes often pleaded to his. In his lonely rooms he would pace the floor +feverishly, savagely, pestering himself with what might have been; +kicking the furniture from his path and--and hating her! For the idea +of marriage, once closely presented to man or woman, leaves neither +unchanged, leaves neither as it found them, however quickly it be put +aside. + +Still it was not possible for one who sprang from the governing +classes, and was gifted with political instincts, to witness the +excitement which moved the whole country during those weeks of +September and the early days of October, without feeling his own blood +stirred; without sharing to some extent the exhilaration with which +the adventurous view the approach of adventures. What would the peers +do? All England was asking that question. At Crockford's, in the +little supper-room, or at the French Hazard table itself, men turned +to put it and to hear the answer. At White's and Boodle's, in the hall +of the Athenaeum, as they walked before Apsley House, or under the +gas-lamps of Pall Mall, men asked that question again and again. It +shared with Pasta and the slow-coming cholera--which none the less was +coming--the chit-chat of drawing-rooms; and with the next prize fight +or with ridicule of the New Police, the wrangling debates of every +tavern and posthouse. Would the peers throw out the Bill? Would +they--would those doting old Bishops in particular--dare to thwart the +People's will? Would they dare to withhold the franchise from +Birmingham and Manchester, Leeds and Sheffield? On this husbands took +one side, wives the other, families quarrelled. What Croker thought, +what Lord Grey threatened, what the Duke had let drop, what Brougham +had boasted, how Lady Lyndhurst had sneered, or her husband retorted, +what the Queen wished--scraps such as these were tossed from mouth to +mouth, greedily received, carried far into the country, and +eventually, changed beyond recognition, were repeated in awestruck +ears, in county ballrooms and at Sessions. + +One member of the Privy Council, who had left his party on the Bill, +and whose vote, it was thought, had turned a division, shot himself. +And many another, it was whispered, never recovered wholly from the +strain of those days. + +For far more hung upon the Lords' decision than the mere fate of the +Bill. If they threw it out, what would the Ministry do? And--more +momentous still, and looming larger in the minds of men--what would +the country do? What would Birmingham and Sheffield, Manchester and +Leeds do? What would they do? + +Lord Grey, strong in the King's support, would persevere, said some. +He would bring in the Bill again, and create peers in number +sufficient to carry it. And Macaulay's squib was flung from club to +club, from meeting to meeting, until it reached the streets: + + + _What, though new opposed I be, + Twenty peers shall carry me! + If twenty won't, thirty will, + For I am his Majesty's bouncing Bill_. + + +Ay, his Majesty's Bill, God bless him! His Majesty's own Bill! Hurrah +for Lord Grey! Hurrah for Brougham! Hurrah for Lord John, and down +with the Bishops! So the word flew from mouth to mouth, so errand boys +yelled it under the windows of London House, in St. James's Square, +and wherever aproned legs might be supposed to meet under the +mahogany. + +But others maintained that Lord Grey would simply resign, and let the +consequences fall on the heads of those who opposed the People's will. +Those consequences, it was whispered everywhere--and not by the timid +and the rich only--spelled Revolution! Revolution, red and anarchical, +was coming, said many. Was not Scotland ready to rise? Was not the +Political Union of Birmingham threatening to pay no taxes? Were not +the Political Unions everywhere growling and lashing their sides? The +winter was coming, and there would be fires by night and drillings by +day, as there had been during the previous autumn. Through the long +dark nights there would be fear and trembling, and barring of doors, +and waiting for the judgment to come. And then some morning the +crackling sound of musketry would awaken Pall Mall and Mayfair, the +mob would seize the Tower and Newgate, the streets would run blood and +the guillotine would rise in Leicester Square or Finsbury Fields. + +So widely were these fears spread--fostered as they were by both +parties, by the Tories for the purpose of proving whither Reform was +leading the country, by the Whigs to show to what the obstinacy of the +borough-mongers was driving it--that few were proof against them. So +few, that when the Bill was rejected in the early morning of Saturday, +the 8th of October, the Tory peers, from Lord Eldon downwards, though +they had not shrunk from doing their duty, could hardly be made to +believe that they were at liberty to go to their homes unscathed. + +They did so, however. But the first mutterings of the storm soon made +themselves heard. Within twenty-four hours the hearts of many failed +them for fear. The Funds fell at once. The journals appeared in +mourning borders. In many towns the bells were tolled and the shops +were shut. The mob of Nottingham rose and burned the Castle and fired +the house of an unpopular squire. The mob of Derby besieged the gaol +and released the prisoners. At Darlington, Lord Tankerville narrowly +escaped with his life; Lord Londonderry was left for dead; no Bishop +dared to wear his apron in public. Everywhere rose the cry of "No +Taxes!" Finally, the rabble rose in immense numbers, paraded the West +End of London, broke the windows of many peers, assaulted others, and +were only driven from Apsley House by the timely arrival of the Life +Guards. The country, amazed and shaken from end to end, seemed to be +already in the grip of rebellion; so that within the week the very +Tories hastened to beg Lord Grey to retain office. Even the King, it +was supposed, was shaken; and his famous distich--his one contribution +to the poetry of the country, + + + _I consider Dissolution + Tantamount to Revolution_, + + +found admirers for its truth, if not for its beauty. + +Such a ferment could not but occupy Vaughan's mind and divert his +thoughts from his own troubles, even from thoughts of Mary. Every day +there was news: every day, in the opinion of many, the sky grew +darker. But though the rejection of the Bill promised him a second +short session, and many who sat for close boroughs chuckled privately +over the respite, he was ill-content with a hand-to-mouth life. He saw +that the Bill must pass eventually. He did not believe that there +would be a revolution. It was clear that his only chance lay in +following Wetherell's advice, and laying his case before one of his +chiefs. + +Some days after the division he happened on an opportunity. He was +walking down Parliament Street when he came on a scene, much of a +piece of the unrest of the time. A crowd was pouring out of Downing +Street, and in the van of the rabble he espied the tall, ungainly +figure of no less a man than Lord Brougham. Abreast of the Chancellor, +but keeping himself to the wall as if he desired to dissociate himself +from the demonstration, walked another tall figure, also in black, +with shepherd's plaid trousers. A second glance informed Vaughan that +this was no other than Mr. Cornelius, who had been present at his +interview with Brougham; and accepting the omen, he made up to the +Chancellor just as the latter halted to rid himself of the ragged +tail, which had, perhaps, been more pleasing to his vanity in the +smaller streets. + +"My friends," Brougham cried, checking with his hand the ragamuffins' +shrill attempt at a cheer, "I am obliged to you for your approval; but +I beg to bid you good-day! Assemblages such as these are----" + +"Disgusting!" Cornelius muttered audibly, wrinkling his nose as he +eyed them over his high collar. + +"Are apt to cause disorder!" the Chancellor continued, smiling. "Rest +assured that your friends, of whom, if I am the highest in office I am +not the least in good-will, will not desert you." + +"Hurrah! God bless you, my lord! Hurrah!" cried the tatterdemalions in +various tones more or less drunken. And some held out their caps. +"Hurrah! If your lordship would have the kindness to----" + +"Disgusting!" Cornelius repeated, wheeling about. + +Vaughan seized the opportunity to intervene. "May I," he said, raising +his hat and addressing the Chancellor as he turned, "consult you, my +lord, for two minutes as you walk?" + +Brougham started on finding a gentleman of his appearance at his +elbow; and looked as if he were somewhat ashamed of the guise in which +he had been detected. "Ah!" he said. "Mr.--Mr. Vaughan? To be sure! +Oh, yes, you can speak to me, what can I do for you? It is," he added, +with affected humility, "my business to serve." + +Vaughan looked doubtfully at Mr. Cornelius, who raised his hat. "I +have no secrets from Mr. Cornelius," said the Chancellor pleasantly. +And then with a backward nod and a tinge of colour in his cheek, +"Gratifying, but troublesome," he continued. "Eh? Very troublesome, +these demonstrations! I often long for the old days when I could walk +out of Westminster Hall, with my bag and my umbrella, and no one the +wiser!" + +"Those days are far back, my lord," Vaughan said politely. + +"Ah, well! Ah, well! Perhaps so." They were walking on by this time. +"I can't say that since the Queen's trial I've known much privacy. +However, it is something that those whom one serves are grateful. +They----" + +"Cry 'Hosanna' to-day," Cornelius said gruffly, with his eyes fixed +steadily before him, "and 'Crucify him' tomorrow!" + +"Cynic!" said the Chancellor, with unabated good-humour. "But even you +cannot deny that they are better employed in cheering their friends +than in breaches of the peace? Not that"--cocking his eye at Vaughan +with a whimsical expression of confidence--"a little disorder here and +there, eh, Mr. Vaughan--though to be deplored, and by no one more than +by one in my position--has not its uses? Were there no apprehension of +mob-rule, how many borough-mongers, think you, would vote with us? How +many waverers, like Harrowby and Wharncliffe, would waver? And how, if +we have no little ebullitions here and there, are we to know that the +people are in earnest? That they are not grown lukewarm? That +Wetherell is not right in his statement--of which he'll hear more than +he will like at Bristol, or I am mistaken--that there is a Tory +re-action, an ebb in the tide which so far has carried us bravely? But +of course," he added, with a faint smile, "God forbid that we should +encourage violence!" + +"Amen!" said Mr. Cornelius. And sniffed in a very peculiar manner. + +"But to discern that camomile," the Chancellor continued gaily, +"though bitter to-day makes us better tomorrow, is a different thing +from----" + +"Administering a dose!" Vaughan laughed, falling into the great man's +humour. + +"To be sure. But enough of that. Now I think of it, Mr. Vaughan," he +continued, looking at his companion, "I have not had the pleasure of +seeing you since--but I need not remind you of the occasion. You've +had good cause to remember it! Yes, yes," he went on with voluble +complacency--he was walking as well as talking very fast--"I seldom +speak without meaning, or interfere without result. I knew well what +would come of it. It was not for nothing, Mr. Vaughan, that I got down +our Borough List and asked you if you had no thought of entering the +House. The spark--and tinder! For there you are in the House!" + +"Yes," Vaughan replied, astonished at the coolness with which the +other unveiled, and even took credit for, the petty intrigue of six +months back. "But----" + +"But," Brougham said, taking him up with a quick, laughing glance, +"you are not yet on the Treasury Bench? That's it?" + +"No, not yet," Vaughan answered, good-humouredly. + +"Ah, well, time and patience and Bellamy's chops, Mr. Vaughan, will +carry you far, I am sure." + +"It is on that subject--the subject of time--I venture to trouble your +lordship." + +The Chancellor's lumpish but singularly mobile features underwent a +change. Caught in a complacent, vain humour, he had forgotten a thing +which, with Vaughan's last words, recurred to him. "Yes?" he said, +"yes, Mr. Vaughan?" But the timbre of that marvellously flexible voice +with which he boasted that he could whisper so as to be heard to the +very door of the House of Commons, was changed. "Yes, what is it, +pray?" + +"It is time I require," Vaughan answered. "And, in fine, I have done +some service, yeoman service, my lord, and I think that I ought not to +be cast aside by the party in whose interest I was returned, and with +whose objects I am in sympathy." + +"Cast aside? Tut, tut! What do you mean?" + +"I am told that though the borough for which I sit will continue to +return one member, I shall not have the support of the party in +retaining my seat." + +"Indeed! Indeed!" Brougham answered, "Is it so? I am sorry to hear +that." + +"But----" + +"Very sorry, Mr. Vaughan." + +"But, with submission, my lord, it is something more than sorrow I +seek," Vaughan answered, too sore to hide his feelings. "You have +owned very candidly that I derived from you the impulse which has +carried me so far. Is it unreasonable if I venture to turn to you, +when advised to see one of the chiefs of my party?" + +"Who," Brougham asked with a quick look, "gave you that advice, Mr. +Vaughan?" + +"Sir Charles Wetherell." + +"Um!" the Chancellor replied through pinched lips. And he stood, "they +had crossed Piccadilly and Berkeley Square, and had reached the corner +of Hill Street, where at No. 5, Brougham lived. + +"I repeat, my lord," Vaughan continued, "is it unreasonable if I apply +to you in these circumstances, rather----" + +"Rather than to one of the whips?" Brougham said drily. + +"Yes." + +"But I know nothing of the matter, Mr. Vaughan." + +But Vaughan was in no mood to put up with subterfuges. If the other +did not know, he should know. He had been all-powerful, it seemed, to +bring him in: was he powerless to keep him in? "There is a compact, I +am told," he said, "under which the seat is to be surrendered--for +this turn, at any rate--to my cousin's nominee." + +Brougham shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Mr. Cornelius. "Dear +me, dear me," he said. "That's not a thing of which I can approve. Far +from it! Far from it! But you must see, Mr. Vaughan, that I cannot +meddle in my position with arrangements of that kind. Impossible, my +dear sir, it is clearly impossible!" + +Vaughan stared; and with some spirit and more temper, "But the spark, +my lord! I'm sure you won't forget the spark?" he said. + +For an instant a gleam of fun shone in the other's eyes. Then he was +funereal again. "Before the Bill, and after the Bill, are two things," +he said drily. "Before the Bill all is, all was impure. And in an +impure medium--you understand me, I am sure? You are scientific, I +remember. But after the Bill--to ask me, who in my humble measure, Mr. +Vaughan, may call myself its prime cause--to ask me to infringe its +first principles by interposing between the Electors and their rights, +to ask me to use an influence which cannot be held legitimate--no, Mr. +Vaughan, no!" He shook his head solemnly and finally. And then to Mr. +Cornelius, "Yes, I am coming, Mr. Cornelius," he said. "I know I am +late." + +"I can wait," said Mr. Cornelius. + +"But I cannot. Good-day, Mr. Vaughan. Good-day," he repeated, refusing +to see the young man's ill-humour. "I am sorry that I cannot help you. +Or, stay!" he continued, halting in the act of turning away. "One +minute. I gather that you are a friend of Sir Charles Wetherell's?" + +"He has been a friend to me," Vaughan answered sullenly. + +"Ah, well, he is going to Bristol to hold his sessions--on the 29th, I +think. Go with him. Our fat friend hates me like poison, but I would +not have a hair of his head injured. We have been warned that there +will be trouble, and we are taking steps to protect him. But an +able-bodied young soldier by his side will be no bad thing. And +upon my honour," he continued, eyeing Vaughan with impudent +frankness--impudent in view of all that had gone before--"upon my +honour, I am beginning to think that we spoiled a good soldier when +we--eh!" + +"The spark!" Mr. Cornelius muttered grimly. + +"Good-day, my lord," said Vaughan with scant ceremony; his blood was +boiling. And he turned and strode away, scarcely smothering an +execration. The two, who did not appear to be in a hurry after all, +remained looking after him. And presently Mr. Cornelius smiled. + +"What amuses you?" Brougham asked, with a certain petulence. For at +bottom, and in cases where no rivalry existed, he was good-natured; +and in his heart he was sorry for the young man. But then, if one +began to think of the pawn's feelings, the game he was playing would +be spoiled. "What is it?" + +"I was thinking," Mr. Cornelius answered slowly, "of purity." He +sniffed. "And the Whigs!" + +Meanwhile Arthur Vaughan was striding down Bruton Street with every +angry passion up in arms. He was too clever to be tricked twice, and +he saw precisely what had happened. Brougham--well, well was he called +Wicked Shifts!--reviewing the Borough List before the General +Election, had let his eyes fall on Sir Robert's seats at Chippinge; +and looking about, with his customary audacity, for a means of +snatching them, had alighted on him--and used him for a tool! Now, he +was of no farther use. And, as the loss of his expectations rendered +it needless to temporise with him, he was contemptuously tossed aside. + +And this was the game of politics which he had yearned to play! This +was the party whose zeal for the purity of elections and the +improvement of all classes he had shared, and out of loyalty to which +he had sacrificed a fortune! He strode along the crowded pavement of +Parliament Street--it was the fashionable hour of the afternoon and +the political excitement kept London full--his head high, his face +flushed. And unconsciously as he shouldered the people to right and +left, he swore aloud. + +As he uttered the word, regardless in his anger of the scene about +him, his fixed gaze pierced for an instant the medley of gay bonnets +and smiling faces, moving chariots and waiting footmen, which even in +those days filled Parliament Street--and met another pair of eyes. + +The encounter lasted for a second only. Then half a dozen heads and a +parasol intervened. And then--in another second--he was abreast of the +carriage in which Mary Vermuyden sat, her face the prettiest and her +bonnet the daintiest--Lady Worcester had seen to that--of all the +faces and all the bonnets in Parliament Street that day. The landau in +which she sat was stationary at the edge of the pavement; and on the +farther side of her reposed a lady of kind face and ample figure. + +For an instant their eyes met again; and Mary's colour, which had +fled, returned in a flood of crimson, covering brow and cheeks. She +leaned from the carriage and held out her white-gloved hand. "Mr. +Vaughan!" she said. And he might have read in her face, had he chosen, +the sweetest and frankest appeal. "Mr. Vaughan!" + +But the moment was unlucky. The devil had possession of him. He raised +his hat and passed on, passed on wilfully. He fancied--afterwards, +that is, he fancied--that she had risen to her feet after he had gone +by and called him a third time in a voice at which the convenances of +Parliament Street could only wink. But he went on. He heard, but he +went on. He told himself that all was of a piece. Men and women, all +were alike. He was a fool who trusted any, believed in any, loved any. + + + + + XXVIII + + ONCE MORE, TANTIVY! + + +Vaughan had been sore at heart before the meeting in Parliament +Street. After that meeting he was in a mood to take any step which +promised to salve his self-esteem. The Chancellor, Lord Lansdowne, Sir +Robert, and--and Mary, all, he told himself, were against him. But +they should not crush him. He would prove to them that he was no +negligible quantity. Parliament was prorogued; the Long Vacation was +far advanced; the world, detained beyond its time, was hurrying out of +town. He, too, would go out of town; and he would go to Chippinge. +There, in defiance alike of his cousin and the Bowood interest, he +would throw himself upon the people. He would address himself to those +whom the Bill enfranchised, he would appeal to the future electors of +Chippinge, he would ask them whether the will of their great +neighbours was to prevail, and the claims of service and of gratitude +were to go for nothing. Surely at this time of day the answer could +not be adverse! + +True, the course he proposed matched ill with the party notions which +still prevailed. It was a complete breach with the family traditions +in which he had been reared. But in his present mood Vaughan liked his +plan the better for this. Henceforth he would be iron, he would be +adamant! And only by a little thing did he betray that under the iron +and under the adamant he carried an aching heart. When he came to book +his place, deliberately, wilfully, he chose to travel by the Bath road +and the White Lion coach, though he could have gone at least as +conveniently by another coach and another route. Thus have men ever, +since they first felt the pangs of love, rejoiced to press the dart +more deeply in the wound. + +A dark October morning was brooding over the West End when he crossed +Piccadilly to take his place outside the White Horse Cellar. Now, as +on that distant day in April, when the car of rosy-fingered love had +awaited him ignorant, the coaches stood one behind the other in a long +line before the low-blind windows of the office. But how different was +all else! To-day the lamps were lighted and flickered on wet +pavements, the streets were windy and desolate, the day had barely +broken above the wet roofs, and on all a steady rain was falling. The +watermen went to and fro with sacks about their shoulders, and the +guards, bustling from the office with their waybills and the late +parcels, were short of temper and curt of tongue. The shivering +passengers, cloaked to the eyes in boxcoats and wrap-rascals, climbed +silently and sullenly to the roof, and there sat shrugging their +shoulders to their ears. Vaughan, who had secured a place beside the +driver, cast an eye on all, on the long dark vista of the street, on +the few shivering passers; and he found the change fitting. Let it +rain, let it blow, let the sun rise niggardly behind a mask of clouds! +Let the world wear its true face! He cared not how discordantly the +guard's horn sounded, nor how the coachman swore at his cattle, nor +how the mud splashed up, as two minutes after time they jostled and +rattled and bumped down the slope and through the dingy narrows of +Knightsbridge. + +Perhaps to please him, the rain fell more heavily as the light +broadened and the coach passed through Kensington turnpike. The +passengers, crouching inside their wraps, looked miserably from under +dripping umbrellas on a wet Hammersmith, and a wetter Brentford. Now +the coach ploughed through deep mud, now it rolled silently over a bed +of chestnut or sycamore leaves which the first frost of autumn had +brought down. Swish, swash, it splashed through a rivulet. It was full +daylight now; it had been daylight an hour. And, at last, joyous +sight, pleasant even to the misanthrope on the box-seat, not far in +front, through a curtain of mist and rain, loomed Maidenhead--and +breakfast. + +The up night-coach, retarded twenty minutes by the weather, rattled up +to the door at the same moment. Vaughan foresaw that there would be a +contest for seats at the table, and, without waiting for the ladder, +he swung himself to the ground, and entered the house. Hastily doffing +his streaming overcoats, he made for the coffee-room, where roaring +fires and a plentiful table awaited the travellers. In two minutes he +was served, and isolated by his gloomy thoughts and almost unconscious +of the crowded room and the clatter of plates, he was eating his +breakfast when his next-door neighbour accosted him. + +"Beg your pardon, sir," he said in a meek voice. "Are you going to +Bristol, sir?" + +Vaughan looked at the speaker, a decent, clean-shaven person in a +black high-collared coat, and a limp white neck-cloth. The man's face +seemed familiar to him, and instead of answering the question, Vaughan +asked if he knew him. + +"You've seen me in the Lobby, sir," the other answered, fidgeting in +his humility. "I'm Sir Charles Wetherell's clerk, sir." + +"Ah! To be sure!" Vaughan replied. "I thought I knew your face. Sir +Charles opens the Assizes to-morrow, I understand?" + +"Yes, sir, if they will let him. Do you think that there is much +danger, sir?" + +"Danger?" Vaughan answered with a smile. "No serious danger." + +"The Government did not wish him to go, sir," the other rejoined with +an air of mystery. + +"Oh, I don't believe that," Vaughan said. + +"Well, the Corporation didn't, for certain, sir," the man persisted in +a low voice. "They wanted him to postpone the Assizes. But he doesn't +know what fear is, sir. And now the Government's ordered troops to +Bristol, and I'm afraid that'll make 'em worse. They're so set against +him for saying that Bristol was no longer for the Bill. And they're a +desperate rough lot, sir, down by the Docks!" + +"So I've heard," Vaughan said. "But you may be sure that the +authorities will see that Sir Charles is well guarded!" + +The clerk said nothing to that, although it was clear that he was far +from convinced, or easy. And Vaughan returned to his thoughts. But by +and by it chanced that as he raised his eyes he met those of a girl +who was passing his table on her way from the room; and he remembered +with a sharp pang how Mary had passed his table and looked at him, and +blushed; and how his heart had jumped at the sight. Why, there was the +very waiting-maid who had gone out with her! And there, where the +April sun had shone on her through the window, she had sat! And there, +three places only from his present seat, he had sat himself. Three +seats only--and yet how changed was all! The unmanly tears rose very +near to his eyes as he thought of it. + +He sat so long brooding over this, in that mood in which a man recks +little of time, or of what befalls him, that the guard had to summon +him. And even then, as he donned his coats, with the "boots" fussing +about him, and the coachman grumbling at the delay, his memory was +busy with that morning. There, in the porch, he had stood and heard +the young waterman praise her looks! And there Cooke had stood and +denounced the Reform placard! And there---- + +"Let go!" growled the coachman, losing patience a last. "The +gentleman's not coming!" + +"I'm coming," he answered curtly. And crossing the pavement in two +strides, he swung himself up hand over hand, as the stableman released +the horses. The coach started as his foot left the box of the wheel. +And something else started--furiously. + +His heart. For in the place behind the coachman, in the very seat +which Mary Smith had occupied on that far-off April morning, sat Mary +Vermuyden! For an infinitely small fraction of a second, as he turned +himself to drop into his seat, his eyes swept her face. The rain had +ceased to fall, the umbrellas were furled; for that infinitely short +space his eyes rested on her features. Then his back was turned to +her. + +Her eyes had been fixed elsewhere, her face had been cold--she had not +seen him. So much, in the confused pounding rush of his thoughts, as +he sat tingling in every inch of his frame, he could remember; but +nothing else except that in lieu of the plain Quaker-like dress which +Mary Smith had worn--oh, dress to be ever remembered!--she was +wearing rich furs, with a great muff and a small hat of sable, and was +Mary Smith no longer. + +Probably she had been there from the start, seated behind him under +cover of the rain and the umbrellas. If so--and he remembered that +that seat had been occupied when he got to his place--she had +perceived his coming, had seen him mount, had been aware of him from +the first. She could see him now, watch every movement, read his +self-consciousness in the stiff pose of his head, perceive the rush of +colour which dyed his ears and neck. + +And he was planted there, he could not escape. And he suffered. Asked +beforehand, he would have said that his uppermost feeling in such +circumstances would be resentment. But, in fact, he could think of +nothing except that meeting in Parliament Street, and the rudeness +with which he had treated her. If he had not refused to speak to her, +if he had not passed her by, rejecting her hand with disdain, he might +have been his own master now; he would have been free to speak, or +free to be silent, as he pleased. And she who had treated him so ill +would have been the one to suffer. But, as it was, he was hot all +over. The intolerable _gene_ of the situation rested on him and +weighed him down. + +Until the coachman called his attention to a passing waggon, and +pointed out a something unusual in its make; which broke the spell and +freed his thoughts. After that he began to feel a little of the wonder +which the coincidence demanded. How came she in the same seat, on the +same coach on which she had travelled before. He could not bring +himself to look round and meet her eyes. But he remembered that a +man-servant, doubtless in attendance on her, shared the hind seat with +the clerk who had spoken to him; and the middle-aged woman who sat +with her was doubtless her maid. Still, he knew Sir Robert well enough +to be sure that he would not countenance her journeying, even with +this attendance, on a public vehicle; and therefore, he argued, she +must be doing it without Sir Robert's knowledge, and probably in +pursuance of some whim of her own. Could it be that she, too, wished +to revive the bitter-sweet of recollection, the memory of that April +day? And, to do so, had gone out of her way to travel on this cold wet +morning on the same coach, which six months before had brought them +together? + +If so, she must love him in spite of all. And in that case, what must +her feelings have been when she saw him take his place? What, when she +knew that she would not taste the bitter-sweet alone, but in his +company? What, when she foresaw that, through the day she would not +pass a single thing of all those well-remembered things, that +milestone which he had pointed out to her, that baiting-house of +which she had asked the name, that stone bridge with the hundred +balustrades which they had crossed in the gloaming--her eyes would not +alight on one of these, without another heart answering to every throb +of hers, and another breast aching as hers ached. + +At that thought a subtle attraction, almost irresistible, drew him to +her, and he could have cried to her, under the pain of separation. For +it was all true. Before his eyes those things were passing. There was +the milestone which he had pointed out to her. And there the ruined +inn. And here were the streets of Reading opening before them, and the +Market Place, and the Bear Inn, where he had saved her from injury, +perhaps from death. + + + * * * * * + + +They were out of the town, they were clear of the houses, and he had +not looked, he had not been able to look at her. Her weakness, her +inconstancy deserved their punishment: but for all her fortune, to +recover all that he had lost and she had gained, he would not have +looked at her there. Yet, while the coach changed horses in the Square +before the Bear, he had had a glimpse of her--reflected in the window +of a shop; and he had marked with greedy eyes each line of her figure +and seen that she had wound a veil round her face and hat, so that, +whatever her emotions, she might defy curious eyes. And yet, as far as +he was concerned, she had done it in vain. The veil could not hide the +agitation, could not hide the strained rigidity of her pose, or the +convulsive force with which one hand gripped the other in her lap. + +Well, that was over, thank God! For he had as soon seen a woman +beaten. The town was behind them; Newbury was not far in front. And +now with shame he began to savour a weak pleasure in her presence, in +her nearness to him, in the thought that her eyes were on him and her +thoughts full of him, and that if he stretched out his hand he could +touch her; that there was that between them, that there must always be +that between them, which time could not destroy. The coach was loaded, +but for him it carried her only: and for Mary he was sure that he +filled the landscape were it as wide as that which, west of Newbury, +reveals to the admiring traveller the whole wide vale of the Kennet. +He thrilled at the thought; and the coachman asked him if he were +cold. But he was far from cold; he knew that she too trembled, she, +too, thrilled. And a foolish exultation possessed him. He had hungry +thoughts of her nearness, and her beauty; and insane plans of +snatching her to his breast when she left the coach, and covering her +with kisses though a hundred looked on. He might suffer for it, he +would deserve to suffer for it, it would be an intolerable outrage. +But he would have kissed her, he would have held her to his heart. +Nothing could undo that. + +Yet it was only in fancy that he was reckless, for still he did not +dare to look at her. And when they came at last to Marlborough, and +drew up at the door of the Castle Inn, where west-bound travellers +dined, he descended hurriedly and went into the coffee-room to secure +a place in a corner, whence he might see her enter without meeting her +eyes. + +But she did not enter the house, soon or late. And a vain man might +have thought that she was not only bent on doing everything which she +had done on the former journey, but that it was not without intention +that she remained alone on the coach, exposed to his daring--if he +chose to dare. Not a few indeed, of his fellow-passengers, wandered +out before the time, and on the pretence of examining the facade of +the handsome old house, shot sidelong glances at the young lady, who, +wrapped in her furs and veiled to the throat, sat motionless in the +keen October air. But Vaughan was not of these; nor was he vain. When +he found that she did not come in, he decided that she would not meet +him, that she remained on the coach rather than sit in his company; +and forgetting the overture in Parliament Street, he remembered only +her fickleness and weakness. He fell to the depths. She had never +loved him, never, never! + +On that he almost made up his mind to stay there; and to go on by the +next coach. His presence must be hateful to her, a misery, a torment, +he told himself. It was bad enough to force her to remain exposed to +the weather while others dined; it would be monstrous to go on and +continue to make her wretched. + +But, before the time for leaving came, he changed his mind, and he +went out, feeling cowed and looking hard. He could not mount without +seeing her out of the corner of his eye; but the veil masked all, and +left him no wiser. The sun had burst through the clouds, and the sky +above the curving line of the downs was blue. But the October air was +still chilly, and he heard the maid fussing about her, and wrapping +her up more warmly. Well, it mattered little. At Chippenham, the +carriage with its pomp of postillions and outriders--Sir Robert was +particular about such things--would meet her; and he would see her no +more. + +His pride weakened at that thought. She could never be anything to him +now; he had no longer the least notion of kissing her. But at +Chippenham, before she passed out of his life, he would speak to her. +Yes, he would speak. He did not know what he would say, but he would +not part from her in anger. He would tell her that, and bid her +good-bye. Later, he would be glad to remember that they had parted in +that way, and that he had forgiven! + +While he thought of it they fell swiftly from the lip of the downs, +and rattling over the narrow bridge and through the stone-built +streets of Calne, were out again on the Bath road. After that, though +they took Black Dog hill at a slow pace, they seemed to be at +Chippenham in a twinkling. Before he could calm his thoughts the coach +was rattling between houses, and the wide straggling street was +opening before them, and the group assembled in front of the Angel to +see the coach arrive was scattering to right and left. + +A glance told him that there was no carriage-and-four in waiting. And +because his heart was jumping so foolishly he was glad to put off the +moment of speaking to her. She would go into the house to wait for the +carriage, and when the coach, with its bustle and its many eyes, had +gone its way, he would be able to speak to her. + +Accordingly, the moment the coach stopped he descended and hastened +into the house. He sent out the "boots" for his valise and betook +himself to the bar-parlour, where he called for something and jested +cheerily with the smiling landlady, who came herself to attend upon +him. He kept his back to the door which Mary must pass to ascend the +stairs, for well he knew the parlour of honour to which she would be +ushered. But though he listened keenly for the rustle of her skirts, a +couple of minutes passed and he heard nothing. + +"You are not going on, sir?" the landlady asked. She knew too much of +the family politics to ask point-blank if he were going to Chippinge. + +"No," he replied; "no, I"--his attention wandered--"I am not." + +"I hope we may have the honour of keeping you tonight, sir?" she said. + +"Yes, I"--was that the coach starting?--"I think I shall stay the +night." And then, "Sir Robert's carriage is not here?" he asked, +setting down his glass. + +"No, sir. But two gentlemen have just driven in from Sir Robert's in a +chaise. They are posting to Bath. One's Colonel Brereton, sir. The +other's a young gentleman, short and stout. Quite the gentleman, sir, +but that positive, the postboy told me, and talkative, you'd think he +was the Emperor of China! That's their chaise coming out of the yard +now, sir." + +A thought, keen as a knife-stab, darted through Vaughan's mind. In +three strides he was out of the bar-parlour, in three more he was at +the door of the Angel. + +The coach was in the act of starting, the ostlers were falling back, +the guard was swinging himself up; and Mary Vermuyden was where he had +left her, in the place behind the coachman. And in the box-seat, the +very seat which he had vacated, was Bob Flixton, settling himself in +his wraps and turning to talk to her. + +Vaughan let fall a word which we will not chronicle. It was true, +then! They were engaged! Doubtless Flixton had come to meet her, and +all was over. Fan-fa-ra! Fan-fa-ra! The coach was growing small in the +distance. It veered a little, a block of houses hid it, Vaughan saw it +again. Then in the dusk of the October evening the descent to the +bridge swallowed it, and he turned away miserable. + +He walked a little distance from the door that his face might not be +seen. He did not tell himself that, because the view grew misty before +his eyes, he was taking the blow contemptibly; he told himself only +that he was very wretched, and that she was gone. It seemed as if so +much had gone with her; so much of the hope and youth and fortune, and +the homage of men, which had been his when he and she first saw the +streets of Chippenham together and he alighted to talk to Isaac White, +and mounted again to ride on by her side. + +He was standing with his back to the inn thinking of this--and not +bitterly, but in a broken fashion--when he heard his name called, and +he turned and saw Colonel Brereton striding after him. + +"I thought it was you," Brereton said. But though he had not met +Vaughan for some months, and the two had liked one another, he spoke +with little cordiality, and there was a vague look in his face. "I was +not sure," he added. + +"You came with Flixton?" Vaughan said, speaking, on his side also, +rather dully. + +"Yes, and meant to go on with him. But there's no counting on men in +love," Brereton continued with more irritation than the occasion +seemed to warrant. "He saw his charmer on the coach, and a vacant +seat--and I may find my way to Bath as I can." + +"They are to be married, I hear?" Vaughan said in the same dull tone +and with his face averted. + +"I don't know," Brereton answered sourly. "What I do know is that I'm +not best pleased that he has left me. I heard Sir Charles Wetherell +was sleeping at your cousin's last evening, and I posted there to see +him about the arrangements for his entry. But I missed him. He's gone +to Bath for this evening. Well, I took Flixton with me because I +didn't know Sir Robert and he did, and he's supposed to be playing +aide-de-camp to me. But a fine aide-de-camp he's like to prove, if +this is the way he treats me. You know Wetherell opens the Assizes at +Bristol tomorrow?" + +"Yes, I saw his clerk on my way here." + +"There'll be trouble, Vaughan!" + +"Really?" + +"Ay, really! And bad trouble! I wish it was over." He passed his hand +across his brow. + +"I heard something of it in London," Vaughan answered. + +"Not much, I'll wager," Brereton rejoined, with a brusqueness which +betrayed his irritation. "They don't know much, or they wouldn't be +sending me eighty sabres to keep order in a city of a hundred thousand +people! Enough, you see, to anger, and not enough to intimidate! It's +just plain madness. It's madness. But I've made up my mind! I've made +up my mind!" he repeated, speaking in a tone which betrayed the +tenseness of his nerves. "Not a man will I show if I can help it! Not +a man! And not a shot will I fire, whatever comes of it! I'll be no +butcherer of innocent folk." + +"I hope nothing will come of it," Vaughan answered, interested in +spite of himself. "You're in command, sir, of course?" + +"Yes, and I wish to heaven I were not! But there, there!" he +continued, pulling himself up as if he kept a watch on himself and +feared that he had said too much. "Enough of my business. What are you +doing here?" + +"Well, I was going to Chippinge." + +"Come to Bath with me! I shall see Wetherell, and you know him. You +may be of use to me. There's half the chaise at your service, and I +will tell you about it, as we go." + +Vaughan at that moment cared little where he went, and after the +briefest hesitation, he consented. A few minutes later they started +together. It happened that as they drove in the last of the twilight +over the long stone bridge, an open car drawn by four horses and +containing a dozen rough-looking men overtook them and raced them for +a hundred yards. + +"There's another!" Brereton said, rising with an oath and looking +after it. "I was told that two had gone through!" + +"What is it? Who are they?" Vaughan asked, leaning out on his side to +see. + +"Midland Union men, come to stir up the Bristol lambs!" Brereton +answered. "They may spare themselves the trouble," he continued +bitterly. "The fire will need no poking, I'll be sworn!" + +And brought back to the subject, he never ceased from that moment to +talk of it. It was plain to anyone who knew him that a nervous +excitability had taken the place of his usual thoughtfulness. Long +before they reached Bath, Vaughan was sure that, whatever his own +troubles, there was one man in the world more unhappy than himself, +more troubled, less at ease; and that that man sat beside him in the +chaise. + +He believed that Brereton exaggerated the peril. But if his fears were +well-based, then he agreed that the soldiers sent were too few. + +"Still a bold front will do much!" he argued. + +"A bold front!" Brereton replied feverishly. "No, but management may! +Management may. They give me eighty swords to control eighty thousand +people! Why, it's my belief"--and he dropped his voice and laid his +hand on his companion's arm,--"that the Government wants a riot! Ay, +by G--d, it is! To give the lie to Wetherell and prove that the +country, and Bristol in particular, is firm for the Bill!" + +"Oh, but that's absurd!" Vaughan answered; though he recalled what +Brougham had said. + +"Absurd or not, nine-tenths of Bristol believe it," Brereton retorted. +"And I believe it! But I'll be no butcher. Besides, do you see how I +am placed? If in putting down this riot which is in the Government +interest, and is believed to be fostered by them, I exceed my duty by +a jot, I am a lost man! A lost man! Now do you see?" + +"I can't think it's as bad as that," Vaughan said. + + + + + XXIX + + AUTUMN LEAVES + + +Miss Sibson paused to listen, but heard nothing. And disappointed, and +with a sigh, she spread a clean handkerchief over the lap of her gown +and helped herself to part of a round of buttered toast. + +"She'll not come," she muttered. "I was a fool to think it! An old +fool to think it!" And she bit viciously into the toast. + +It was long past her usual tea-time, yet she paused a second time to +listen, before she raised her first cup of tea to her lips. A covered +dish which stood on a brass trivet before the bright coal fire gave +forth a savoury smell, and the lamplight which twinkled on sparkling +silver and old Nantgarw, discovered more than the tea-equipage. The +red moreen curtains were drawn before the windows, a tabby cat purred +sleepily on the hearth; in all Bristol was no more cosy or more +cheerful scene. Yet Miss Sibson left the savoury dish untouched, and +ate the toast with less than her customary appetite. + +"I shall set," she murmured, "'The Deceitfulness of Riches' for the +first copy when the children return. And for the second 'Fine Feathers +Make Fine Birds!' And"--she continued with determination, though there +was no one to be intimidated--"for the third, 'There's No Fool Like an +Old Fool!'" + +She had barely uttered the words when she set down her cup. The roll +of distant wheels had fallen on her ears. She listened for a few +seconds, then she rose in haste and rang the bell. "Martha," she said +when the maid appeared, "are the two warming-pans in the bed?" + +"To be sure, Ma'am." + +"And well filled?" Miss Sibson spoke suspiciously. + +"The sheets are as nigh singeing as you'd like, Ma'am," the maid +answered. "You can smell 'em here! I only hope," she continued, with a +quaver in her voice, "as we mayn't smell fire before long!" + +"Smell fiddlesticks!" Miss Sibson retorted. Then "That will do," she +continued. "I will open the door myself." + +When she did so the lights of the hackney-coach which had stopped +before the house disclosed first Mary Vermuyden in her furs, standing +on the step; secondly, Mr. Flixton, who had placed himself as near her +as he dared; and thirdly and fourthly, flanking them at a distance of +a pace or two, a tall footman and a maid. + +"Good gracious!" Miss Sibson exclaimed, dismay in her tone. + +"Yes," Mary answered, almost crying. "They would come! I said I wished +to come alone. Good-night, Mr. Flixton!" + +"Oh, but I--I couldn't think of leaving you like this!" the Honourable +Bob answered. He had derived a minimum of satisfaction from his ride +on the coach, for Mary had shown herself of the coldest. And if he was +to part from her here he might as well have travelled with Brereton. +Besides, what the deuce was afoot? What was she doing here? + +"And Baxter is as bad," Mary said plaintively. "As for Thomas----" + +"Beg pardon, Ma'am," the man said, touching his hat, "but it is as +much as my place is worth." + +The maid, a woman of mature years, said nothing, but held her ground, +the image of stolid disapproval. She knew Miss Sibson. But Bristol was +strange to her; and the dark windy square, with its flickering lights, +its glimpses of gleaming water and skeleton masts, and its unseen but +creaking windlasses, seemed to her, fresh from Lady Worcester's, a +most unfitting place for her young lady. + +Miss Sibson cut the knot after her own fashion. "Well, I can't take +you in," she said bluffly. "This gentleman," pointing to Mr. Flixton, +"will find quarters for you at the White Lion or the Bush. And your +mistress will see you to-morrow. Thomas, bring in your young lady's +trunk. Good-night, sir," she added, addressing the Honourable Bob. +"Miss Vermuyden will be quite safe with me." + +"Oh, but I say, Miss Sibson!" he remonstrated. "You can't mean to take +the moon out of the sky like this, and leave us in the dark? Miss +Vermuyden----" + +"Good-night," Mary said, not a whit placated by the compliment. And +she slipped past Miss Sibson into the passage. + +"Oh, but it's not safe, you know!" he cried. "You're not a hundred +yards from the Mansion House here. And if those beggars make trouble +to-morrow--positively there's no knowing what will happen!" + +"We can take care of ourselves, sir," Miss Sibson replied curtly. +"Good-night, sir!" And she shut the door in his face. + +The Honourable Bob glared at it for a time, but it remained closed and +dark. There was nothing to be done save to go. "D----n the woman!" he +cried. And he turned about. + +It was something of a shock to him to find the two servants still at +his elbow, patiently regarding him. "Where are we to go, sir?" the +maid asked, as stolid as before. + +"Go?" cried he, staring. "Go? Eh? What? What do you mean?" + +"Where are we to go, sir, for the night? If you'll please to show us, +sir. I'm a stranger here." + +"Oh! This is too much!" the Honourable Bob cried, finding himself +on a sudden a family man. "Go? I don't care if you go to----" But +there he paused. He put the temptation to tell them to go to blazes +from him. After all, they were Mary's servants. "Oh, very well! Very +well!" he resumed, fuming. "There, get in! Get in!" indicating the +hackney-coach. "And do you," he continued, turning to Thomas, "tell +him to drive to the White Lion. Was there ever? That old woman's a +neat artist, if ever I saw one!" + +And a moment later Flixton trundled off, boxed in with the mature +maid, and vowing to himself that in all his life he had never been so +diddled before. + +Meanwhile, within doors--for farce and tragedy are never far +apart--Mary, with her furs loosened, but not removed, was resisting +all Miss Sibson's efforts to restrain her. "I must go to her!" she +said with painful persistence. "I must go to her at once, if you +please, Miss Sibson. Where is she?" + +"She is not here," Miss Sibson said, plump and plain. + +"Not here!" Mary cried, springing from the chair into which Miss +Sibson had compelled her. "Not here!" + +"No. Not in this house." + +"Then why--why did she tell me to come here?" Mary cried dumbfounded. + +"Her ladyship is next door. No, my dear!" And Miss Sibson interposed +her ample form between Mary and the door. "You cannot go to her until +you have eaten and drunk. She does not expect you, and there is no +need of such haste. She may live a fortnight, three weeks, a month +even! And she must not, my dear, see you with that sad face." + +Mary gave way at that. She sat down and burst into tears. + +The schoolmistress knew nothing of the encounter in Parliament Street, +nothing of the meeting on the coach. But she was a sagacious woman, +and she discerned something more than the fatigue of the journey, +something more than grief for her mother, in the girl's depression. +She said nothing, however, contenting herself with patting her guest +on the shoulder and gently removing her wraps and shoes. Then she set +a footstool for her in front of the fire and poured out her tea, and +placed hot sweetbread before her, and toast, and Sally Lunn. And when +Mary, touched by her kindness, flung her arms round her neck and +kissed her, she said only, "That's better, my dear, drink your tea, +and then I will tell you all I know." + +"I cannot eat anything." + +"Oh, yes, you can! After that you are going to see your mother, and +then you will come back and take a good night's rest. To-morrow you +will do as you like. Her ladyship is with an old servant next door, +through whom she first heard of me." + +"Why did she not remain in Bath?" Mary asked. + +"I cannot tell you," Miss Sibson answered. "She has whims. If you ask +me, I should say that she thought Sir Robert would not find her here, +and so could not take you from her." + +"But the servants?" Mary said in dismay. "They will tell my father. +And indeed----" + +"Indeed what, my dear?" + +"I do not wish to hide from him." + +"Quite right!" Miss Sibson said. "Quite right, my dear. But I fancy +that that was her ladyship's reason. Perhaps she thought also that +when she--that afterwards I should be at hand to take care of you. As +a fact," Miss Sibson continued, rubbing her cheek with the handle of a +teaspoon, a sure sign that she was troubled, "I wish that your mother +had chosen another place. You don't ask, my dear, where the children +are." + +Mary looked at her hostess. "Oh, Miss Sibson!" she exclaimed, +conscience-stricken. "You cannot have sent them away for my sake?" + +"No, my dear," Miss Sibson answered, noting with satisfaction that +Mary was making a meal. "No, their parents have removed them. The +Recorder is coming to-morrow, and he is so unpopular on account of +this nasty Bill--which is setting everyone on horseback whether they +can ride or not--and there is so much talk of trouble when he enters, +that all the foolish people have taken fright and removed their +children for the week. It's pure nonsense, my dear," Miss Sibson +continued comfortably. "I've seen the windows of the Mansion House +broken a score of times at elections, and not another house in the +Square a penny the worse! Just an old custom. And so it will be +to-morrow. But the noise may disturb her ladyship, and that's why I +wish her elsewhere." + +Mary did not answer, and the schoolmistress, noting her spiritless +attitude and the dark shadows under her eyes, was confirmed in her +notion that here was something beyond grief for the mother whom the +girl had scarcely known. And Miss Sibson felt a tug at her own +heartstrings. She was well-to-do and well considered in Bristol, and +she was not conscious that her life was monotonous. But the gay scrap +of romance which Mary's coming had wrought into the dull patchwork of +days, long toned to the note of Mrs. Chapone, was welcome to her. Her +little relaxations, her cosy whist-parties, her hot suppers to follow, +these she had: but here was something brighter and higher. It stirred +a long-forgotten youth, old memories, the ashes of romance. She loved +Mary for it. + +To rouse the girl, she rose from her chair. "Now, my dear," she said, +"you can go to your room, if you will. And in ten minutes we will step +next door." + +Mary looked at her with grateful eyes. "I am glad now," she said, "I +am glad that she came here." + +"Ah!" the schoolmistress answered, pursing up her lips. And she looked +at the girl uncertainly. "It's odd," she said, "I sometimes think that +you are just--Mary Smith." + +"I am!" the other answered warmly. "Always Mary Smith to you!" And the +old woman took the young one to her arms. + +A quarter of an hour later Mary came down, and she was Mary Smith in +truth. For she had put on the grey Quaker-like dress in which she had +followed her trunk from the coach-office six months before. "I +thought," she said, "that I could nurse her better in this than in my +new clothes!" But she blushed deeply as she spoke: for if she had this +thought she had others also in her mind. She might not often wear that +dress, but she would never part with it. Arthur Vaughan's eyes had +worshipped it; his hands had touched it. And in the days to come it +would lie, until she died, in some locked coffer, perfumed with +lavender, and sweet with the dried rose-leaves of her dead romance. +And on one day in the year she would visit it, and bury her face in +its soft faded folds, and dream the old dreams. + +It was but a step to the door of the neighbouring house. But the +distance, though short, steadied the girl's mind and enabled her to +taste that infinity of the night, that immensity of nature, which, +like a fathomless ocean, islands the littleness of our lighted homes. +The groaning of strained cordage, the creaking of timbers, the far-off +rattle of a boom came off the dark water that lipped the wharves +which still fringe three sides of the Square. Here and there a rare +gas-lamp, lately set up, disclosed the half-bare arms of trees, or +some vague opening leading to the Welsh Back. But for all the two +could see, as they glided from the one door to the other, the busy +city about them, seething with so many passions, pregnant with so much +danger, hiding in its entrails the love, the fear, the secrets of a +myriad lives, might have been in another planet. + +Mary owned the calming influence of the night and the stars, and +before the door opened to Miss Sibson's knock, the blush had faded +from her cheek. It was with solemn thoughts that she went up the wide +oaken staircase, still handsome, though dusty and fallen from its high +estate. The task before her, the scene on the threshold of which she +trod, brought the purest instincts of her nature into play. But her +guide knocked, someone within the room bade them enter, and Mary +advanced. She saw lights and a bed--a four-poster, heavily curtained. +And half blinded by her tears, she glided towards the bed--or was +gliding, when a querulous voice arrested her midway. + +"So you are come!" it said. And Lady Sybil, who, robed in a silken +dressing-gown, was lying on a small couch in a different part of the +room, tossed a book, not too gently, to the floor. "What stuff! What +stuff!" she ejaculated wearily. "A schoolgirl might write as good! +Well, you are come," she continued. "There," as Mary, flung back on +herself, bent timidly and kissed her, "that will do! That will do! I +can't bear anyone near me! Don't come too near me! Sit on that chair, +where I can see you!" + +Mary beat back her tears and obeyed with a quivering lip. "I hope you +are better," she said. + +"Better!" her mother retorted in the same peevish tone. "No, and shall +not be!" Then, with a shrill scream, "Heavens, child, what have you +got on?" she continued. "What have you done to yourself? You look like +a _s[oe]ur de Charite!_" + +"I thought that I could nurse you better in this," Mary faltered. + +"Nurse me!" + +"Yes, I----" + +"Rubbish!" Lady Sybil exclaimed with petulant impatience. "You nurse? +Don't be silly! Who wants you to nurse me? I want you to amuse me. And +you won't do that by dressing yourself like a dingy death's-head moth! +There, for Heaven's sake," with a catch in her voice which went to +Mary's heart, "don't cry! I'm not strong enough to bear it. Tell me +something! Tell me anything to make me laugh. How did you trick Sir +Robert, child? How did you escape? That will amuse me," with a +mirthless laugh. "I wish I could see his solemn face when he hears +that you are gone!" + +Mary explained that the summons had found her in London; that her +father was not there, but that still she had had to beat down Lady +Worcester's resistance before she could have her way and leave. + +"I don't know her," Lady Sybil said shortly. + +"She was very kind to me," Mary answered. + +"I dare say," in the same tone. + +"But she would not let me go until I gave her my address." + +Lady Sybil sat up sharply. "And you did that?" she shrieked. "You gave +it her?" + +"I was obliged to give it," Mary stammered, "or I could not have left +London." + +"Obliged? Obliged?" Lady Sybil retorted, in the same passionate tone. +"Why, you fool, you might have given her fifty addresses! Any address! +Any address but this! There!" Lady Sybil continued sullenly, as she +sank back and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. "You've done it +now. You've excited me. Give me those drops! There! Are you blind? +Those! Those! And--and sit farther from me! I can't breathe with you +close to me!" + +After which, when Mary, almost heartbroken, had given her the +medicine, and seated herself in the appointed place, she turned her +face to the wall and lay silent and morose, uttering no sound but an +occasional sigh of pain. + +Meantime, to eyes that could read, the room told her story, and told +it eloquently. The table beside the couch was strewn with rose-bound +Annuals and Keepsakes, and a dozen volumes bearing the labels of more +than one library; books opened only to be cast aside. Costly toys and +embroidered nothings, vinaigrettes and scent-bottles, lay scattered +everywhere; and on other tables, on the mantelpiece, on the floor, a +litter of similar trifles elbowed and jostled the gloomy tokens of +illness. Near the invalid's hand lay a miniature in a jewelled frame, +while a packet of letters tied with a fragment of gold lace, and a +buhl desk half-closed upon a broken fan told the same tale of ennui, +and of a vanity which survived the charms on which it had rested. The +lesson was not lost on the daughter's heart. It moved her to purest +pity; and presently, wrung by a sigh more painful than usual, she +crept to the couch, sank on her knees, and pressed her cool lips to +the wasted hand which hung from it. Even then for a time her mother +did not move or take notice. But slowly the weary sighs grew more +frequent, grew to sobs--how much less poignant!--and her weak arm drew +Mary's head to her bosom. + +And by-and-by the arm tightened its hold and gripped her convulsively, +the sobs grew deeper and shook the worn form at each respiration; and +presently, "Ah, God, what will become of me?" burst from the depths of +the poor quaking heart, too proud hitherto to make its fear known. +"What will become of me?" + +That cry pierced Mary like a knife, but its confession of weakness +made mother and daughter one. Her feeble arms could not avert the +approach of the dark shadow, whose coming terrified though it +could not change. But what human love could do, what patient +self-forgetfulness might teach, she vowed that she would do and teach; +and what clinging hands might compass to delay the end, her hands +should compass. When Miss Sibson's message, informing her that it was +time to return, was brought to her, she shook her head, smiling, and +locked the door. "I shall be your nurse, after all!" she said. "I +shall not leave you." And before midnight, with a brave contentment, +for which Lady Sybil's following eyes were warrant, she had taken +possession of the room and all its contents; she had tidied as much as +it was good to tidy, she had knelt to heat the milk or brush the +hearth, she had smoothed the pillow, and sworn a score of times that +nothing, no Sir Robert, no father, no force should tear her from this +her duty, this her joy--until the end. + +No memory of her dull childhood, or of the days of labour and +servitude which she owed to the dying woman, no thought of the joys of +wealth and youth which she had lost through her, rose to mar the +sincerity of her love. Much less did such reflections trouble her on +whose flighty mind they should have rested so heavily. So far indeed +was this from being the case, that when Mary stooped to some office +which the mother's fastidiousness deemed beneath her, "How can you do +that?" Lady Sybil cried peevishly. "I'll not have you do it! Do you +hear me, girl? Let some servant see to it! What else are they for!" + +"But I used to do it every day at Clapham," Mary answered cheerfully. +She had not spoken before, aware of the reproach which her words +conveyed, she could have bitten her tongue. + +But Lady Sybil did not wince. "Then why did you do it?" she retorted, +"Why did you do it? Why were you so foolish as to stoop to such +things? I'm sure you didn't get your poor spirit from me! And +Vermuyden was as stiff as a poker! But there! I remember the prince +saying once that ladies went out of fashion with hoops, and gentlemen +with snuffboxes. You make me think he was right. Oh, clumsy!" she +continued, raising her voice, "now you are turning the light on my +face! Do you wish to see me hideous?" + +Mary moved it. "Is that better, mother?" she asked. + +Lady Sybil cast a resentful glance at her. "There, there, let it be!" +she said. "You can't help it. You're like your father. He could never +do anything right! I suppose I am doomed to have none but helpless +people about me." + +And so on, and so on. Like many invalids, she was most lively at +night, and she continued to complain through long restless hours, with +the candles burning lower and lower, and the snuffers coming into more +frequent request. Until with the chill before the dawn she fell at +last into a fitful sleep; and Mary, creeping to the close-curtained +windows to cool her weary eyes, peeped out and saw the grey of the +morning. Outside, the Square was beginning to discover its half-bare +trees and long straight rows of houses. Through openings, here and +there, the water glimmered mistily; and on the height facing her, the +tall tower of St. Mary Redcliffe rose above the roofs and pointed +skywards. Little did Mary think what the day would bring forth in that +grey deserted place on which she looked; or in what changed +conditions, under what stress of mind and heart, she would, before the +sun set twice, view that Square. + + + + + XXX + + THE MAYOR'S RECEPTION IN QUEEN'S SQUARE + + +The day, of which Mary watched the cloudy opening from her mother's +window, was drawing to a close; and from a house in the same +Square--but on the north side, whereas Miss Sibson's was on the +west--another pair of eyes looked out, while a heart, which a few +hours before had been as sore as hers, rose a little at the prospect. +Arthur Vaughan, ignorant of her proximity--to love's shame be it +said--sat in a window on the first floor of the Mansion House, and, +undismayed by the occasional crash of glass, watched the movements of +the swaying, shouting, mocking crowd; a crowd, numbering some +thousands, which occupied the middle space of the Square, as well as +the roadways, clustered upon the Immortal Memory, overflowed into the +side streets, and now joined in one mighty roar of "Reform! Reform!" +now groaned thunderously at the name of Wetherell. Behind Vaughan in +the same room, the drawing-room of the official residence, some twenty +or thirty persons argued and gesticulated; at one time approaching a +window to settle a debated point, at another scattering with +exclamations of anger as a stone fell or some other missile alighted +among them. + +"Boo! Boo!" yelled the mob below. "Throw him out! Reform! Reform!" + +Vaughan looked down on the welter of moving faces. He saw that the +stone-throwers were few, and the daredevils, who at times adventured +to pull up the railings which guarded the forecourt, were fewer. But +he saw also that the mass sympathised with them, egged them on, and +applauded their exploits. And he wondered what would happen when night +fell, and wondered again why the peaceable citizens who wrangled +behind him made light of the position. The glass was flying, here and +there an iron bar had vanished from the railings, night was +approaching. For him it was very well. He had accompanied Brereton to +Bristol to see what would happen, and for his part, if the adventure +proved to be of the first class, so much the better. But the good +pursy citizens behind him, who, when they were not deafening the +little Mayor with their counsels, were making a jest of the turmoil, +had wives and daughters, goods and houses within reach. And in their +place he felt that he would have been far from easy. + +By and by it appeared that some of them shared his feelings. For +presently, in a momentary lull of the babel outside, a voice he knew +rose above those in the room. + +"Nothing? You call it nothing?" Mr. Cooke--for his was the +voice--cried. "Nothing, that his Majesty's Judge has been hooted and +pelted from Totterdown to the Guildhall? Nothing, that the Recorder of +Bristol has been hunted like a criminal from the Guildhall to this +place! You call it nothing, sir, that his Majesty's Commission has +been flouted for six hours past by all the riffraff of the Docks? And +with half of decent Bristol looking on and applauding!" + +"Oh, no, no!" the little Mayor remonstrated. "Not applauding, Mr. +Cooke!" + +"Yes, sir, applauding!" Cooke retorted with vigour. + +"And teach Wetherell a lesson!" someone in the background muttered. + +The man spoke low, but Cooke heard the words and wheeled about. +"There, sir, there!" he cried, stuttering in his indignation. "What do +you say to that? Here, in your presence, the King's Judge is insulted. +But I warn you," he continued, "I warn you all! You are playing with +fire! You are laughing in your sleeves, but you'll cry in your shirts! +You, Mr. Mayor, I call upon you to do your duty! I call upon you to +summon the military and give the order to clear the streets before +worse comes of it." + +"I don't--I really don't--think that it is necessary," the Mayor +answered pacifically. "I have seen as bad as this at half a dozen +elections, Mr. Cooke." + +The Town-clerk, a tall, thin man, who still wore his gown though he +had laid aside his wig, struck in. "Quite true, Mr. Mayor!" he said. +"The fact is, the crowd thinks itself hardly used on these occasions +if it is not allowed to break the windows and do a little mischief on +the lower floor." + +"By G--d, I'd teach it a lesson then!" Cooke retorted. "It seems to me +it is time someone did!" + +Two or three expressed the same opinion, though they did so with less +decision. But the main part smiled at Cooke's heat as at a foolish +display of temper. "I've seen as much half a dozen times," said one, +shrugging his shoulders. "And no harm done!" + +"I've seen worse!" another answered. "And after all," the speaker +added with a wink, "it is good for the glaziers." + +Fortunately, Cooke did not hear this last. But Vaughan heard it, and +he judged that the rioters had their backers within as well as +without; and that within, as without, the notion prevailed that the +Government would not be best pleased if the movement were too roughly +checked. An old proverb about the wisdom of dealing with the +beginnings of mischief occurred to him. But he supposed that the +authorities knew their business and Bristol, and, more correctly than +he, could gauge the mob and the danger, of both of which they made so +light. + +Still he wondered. And he wondered more three minutes later. Two +servants brought in lights. Unfortunately the effect of these was to +reveal the interior of the room to the mob, and the change was the +signal for a fusillade of stones so much more serious and violent than +anything which had gone before that a quick _sauve qui peut_ took +place. Vaughan was dislodged with the others--he could do no good by +remaining; and in two minutes the room was empty, and the mob were +celebrating their victory with peals of titanic laughter, accompanied +by fierce cries of "Throw him out! Throw out the d----d Recorder! +Reform!" + +Meanwhile the company, with one broken head and one or two pale faces, +had taken refuge on the landing behind the drawing-room, the stairs +ascending to which were guarded by a reserve of constables. Vaughan +saw that the Mayor and his satellites were beginning to look at one +another, and leaning, quietly observant, against the wall, he noticed +that more than one was shaken. Still the little Mayor retained his +good-humour. "Oh, dear, dear!" he said indulgently. "This is too bad! +Really too bad!" + +"We'd better go upstairs," Sergeant Ludlow, the Town-clerk, suggested. +"We can see what passes as well from that floor as from this, and with +less risk!" + +"No, but really this is growing serious," a third said timidly. "It's +too bad, this." + +He had scarcely spoken, and the Mayor was still standing undecided, as +if he did not quite like the idea of retreat, when two persons, one +with his head bandaged, came quickly up the stairs. "Where's the +Mayor?" cried the first. And then, "Mr. Mayor, they are pushing us too +hard," said the second, an officer of special constables. "We must +have help, or they will pull the house about our ears." + +"Oh, nonsense!" + +"But it's not nonsense, sir," the man answered angrily. + +"But----" + +"You must read the Riot Act, sir," the other, who was the +Under-Sheriff, chimed in. "And the sooner the better, Mr. Mayor," he +added with decision. "We've half a dozen men badly hurt. In my opinion +you should send for the military." + +The group on the landing looked aghast at one another. What, danger? +Really--danger? Half a dozen men badly hurt? Then one made an effort +to carry it off. "Send for the military?" he gasped. "Oh, but that is +absurd! That would only make matters worse!" + +The others did not speak, and the Mayor in particular looked upset. +Perhaps for the first time he appreciated the responsibility which lay +on his shoulders. Meanwhile Vaughan saw all; and Cooke also, and the +latter laughed maliciously. "Perhaps you will listen now," he said +with an ill-natured chuckle. "You would not listen to me!" + +"Dear, dear," the Mayor quavered. "Is it really as serious as that, +Mr. Hare?" He turned to the Town-clerk. "What do you advise?" he +asked. + +"I think with Mr. Hare that you had better read the Riot Act, sir." + +"Very well, I'll come down! I'll come down at once," the Mayor +assented with spirit. "Only," he continued, looking round him, "I beg +that some gentleman known to be on the side of Reform, will come with +me. Who has the Riot Act?" + +"Mr. Burges. Where is he?" + +"I am here, sir," replied the gentleman named. "I am quite ready, Mr. +Mayor. If you will say a few words to the crowd; I am sure they will +listen. Let us go down!" + + + * * * * * + + +Twenty minutes later the same group, but with disordered clothes and +sickly faces--and as to Mr. Burges, with a broken head--were gathered +again on the landing. In those twenty minutes, despite the magic of +the Riot Act, the violence of the mob had grown rather than +diminished. They were beginning to talk of burning the Mansion House, +they were calling for straw, they were demanding lights. Darkness had +fallen, too, and there could be no question now that the position was +serious. The Mayor, who, below stairs, had shown no lack of courage, +turned to the Town-clerk. "Ought I to call out the military?" he +asked. + +"I think that we should take Sir Charles Wetherell's opinion," the +tall, thin man answered, deftly shifting the burden from his own +shoulders. + +"The sooner Sir Charles is gone the better, I should say!" Cooke said +bluntly. "If we don't want to have his blood on our heads." + +"I am with Mr. Cooke there," the Under-Sheriff struck in. He was +responsible for the Judge's safety, and he spoke strongly. "Sir +Charles should be got away," he continued. "That's the first thing to +be done. He cannot hold the Assizes, and I say frankly that I will not +be responsible if he stays." + +"Jonah!" someone muttered with a sneering laugh. + +The Mayor turned about. "That's very improper!" he said. + +"It's very improper to send a Judge who is a politician!" the voice +answered. + +"And against the Bill!" a second jeered. + +"For shame! For shame!" the Mayor cried. + +"And I fancy, sir," the Under-Sheriff struck in with heat, "that the +gentlemen who have just spoken--I think I can guess their names--will +be sorry before morning! They will find that it is easier to kindle a +fire than to put it out! But--silence, gentlemen! Silence! Here is Sir +Charles!" + +Wetherell had that moment opened the door of his private room, of +which the window looked to the back. His face betrayed his surprise on +finding twenty or thirty persons huddled in disorder at the head of +the stairs. The two lights which had survived the flight from the +drawing-room flared in the draught of the shattered windows, and +the wavering illumination gave a sinister cast to the scene. +The dull rattle of stones on the floor of the rooms exposed to the +Square--varied at times by a roar of voices or a rush of feet in the +hall below--suggested that the danger was near at hand, and that the +assailants might at any moment break into the building. + +Nevertheless Sir Charles showed no signs of fear. After letting +his eyes travel over the group, "How long is this going on, Mr. +Under-Sheriff?" he asked, plunging his hands deep in his breeches +pockets. + +"Well, Sir Charles----" + +"They seem," with a touch of sternness, "to be carrying the jest +rather too far." + +"Mr. Cooke," the Mayor said, "wishes me to call out the military." + +Wetherell shook his head. "No, no," he said. "The occasion is not so +serious as to justify that. You cannot say that life is in danger?" + +The Under-Sheriff put himself forward. "I can say, sir," he answered +firmly, "that yours is in danger. And in serious danger!" + +Wetherell planted his feet further apart, and thrust his hands lower +into his pockets. "Oh, no, no," he said. + +"It is yes, yes, sir," the Under-Sheriff replied bluntly. "Unless you +leave the house I cannot be responsible! I cannot, indeed, Sir +Charles." + +"But----" + +"Listen, sir! If you don't wish a very terrible catastrophe to happen, +you must go! By G--d you must!" the Under-Sheriff repeated, forgetting +his manners. + +The noise below had swollen suddenly. Cries, blows, and shrieks rose +up the staircase, and announced that at any moment the party above +might have to defend their lives. At the prospect suddenly presented, +respect for dignities took flight; panic seized the majority. +Constables, thrusting aldermen and magistrates aside, raced up the +stairs, and bundled down again laden with beds with which to block the +windows: while the picked men who had hitherto guarded the foot of the +staircase left their posts in charge of two or three of the wounded, +who groaned dismally. Apparently the mob had broken into part of the +ground floor, and were with difficulty held at bay. + +One of the party struck his hand on the balusters--it was Mr. Cooke. +"By Heavens!" he said, "this is what comes of your d----d Reform! Your +d----d Reform! We shall all be murdered, every man of us! Murdered!" + +"For God's sake, Mr. Mayor," cried a quavering voice, "send for the +military." + +"Ay, ay! the soldiers. Send for the soldiers, sir!" echoed two or +three. + +"Certainly I will," said the Mayor, who was cooler than most. "Who +will go?" + +A man volunteered. On which Vaughan, who had so far remained silent, +stepped forward. "Sir Charles," he said, "you must retire. Your duties +are at an end, and your presence hampers the defence. Permit me to +escort you. I am unknown here, and can pass through the streets." + +Wetherell, as brave, stout and as solid a man as any in England, +hesitated. But he saw that it would soon be everyone for himself; and +in that event he was doomed. The din was waxing louder and more +menacing; the group on the stairs was melting away. In terror on their +own account, the officials were beginning to forget his presence. +Several had already disappeared, seeking to save themselves, this way +and that. Others were going. Every moment the confusion increased, and +the panic. He gave way. "You think I ought to go, Vaughan?" he asked +in a low voice. + +"I do, sir," Vaughan answered. And, entering the Recorder's room, he +brought out Sir Charles's hat and cloak and hastily thrust them on +him, scarcely anyone else attending to them. As he did this his eye +alighted on a constable's staff which lay on the floor where its owner +had dropped it. Thinking that, as he was without arms, he might as +well possess himself of it, Vaughan left Wetherell's side and went to +pick it up. At that moment a roar of sound, as sudden as the explosion +of a gun, burst up the staircase. Two or three cried in a frenzied way +that the mob were coming; some fled this way, some that, a few to +windows at the back, more to the upper story, while a handful obeyed +Vaughan's call to stand and hold the head of the stairs. For a brief +space all was disorder and--save in his neighbourhood--panic. Then a +voice below shouted that the soldiers were come, and a general "Thank +God! Not a moment too soon!" was heard on all sides. Vaughan made sure +that it was true, and then he turned to rejoin Sir Charles. + +But Wetherell had vanished, and no one could say in which direction. +Vaughan hurried upstairs and along the passages in anxious search; but +in vain. One told him that Sir Charles had left by a window at the +back; another, that he had been seen going upstairs with the +Under-Sheriff. He could learn nothing certain; and he was asking +himself what he should do next, when the sound of cheering reached his +ear. + +"What is that?" he asked a man who met him as he descended the stairs +from the second floor. + +"They are cheering the soldiers," the man replied. + +"I am glad to hear it!" Vaughan exclaimed. + +"I'd say so too," the other rejoined glumly, "if I was certain on +which side the soldiers were! But you're wanted, sir, in the +drawing-room. The Mayor asked me to find you." + +"Very good," Vaughan said, and without delay he followed the messenger +to the room he had named. Here, with the relics of the fray about +them, he found the Mayor and four or five officials who looked +woefully shaken and flustered. With them were Brereton and the +Honourable Bob, both in uniform. The stone-throwing had ceased, for +the front of the house was now guarded by a double line of troopers in +red cloaks. Lights, too, had been brought, and in the main the danger +seemed to be over. But about this council there was none of that +lightheartedness, none of that easy contempt which had characterised +the one held in the same room an hour or two before. The lesson had +been learnt in a measure. + +The Mayor looked at Vaughan as he entered. "Is this the gentleman?" he +asked. + +"Yes, that is the gentleman who got us together at the head of the +stairs," a person, a stranger to Vaughan, answered. "If he," the man +continued, "were put in charge of the constables, who are at present +at sixes and sevens, we might manage something." + +A voice in the background mentioned that it was Mr. Vaughan, the +Member for Chippinge. "I shall be glad to do anything I can," Vaughan +said. + +"In support of the military," the tall, thin Town-clerk interposed, in +a decided tone. "That must be understood. Eh, Mr. Burges?" + +"Certainly," the City Solicitor answered. And they both looked at +Colonel Brereton, who, somewhat to Vaughan's surprise, had not +acknowledged his presence. + +"Of course, of course," said the Mayor pacifically. "That is +understood. I am quite sure that Colonel Brereton will use his utmost +force to clear the streets and quiet the city." + +"I shall do what I think right," Brereton replied, standing up +straight, with his hand on his sword-hilt, and looking, among the +disordered citizens, like a Spanish hidalgo among a troop of peasants. +"I shall do what is right," he repeated stubbornly; and Vaughan, +knowing the man well, perceived that, quiet as he seemed, he was +labouring under strong excitement. "I shall walk my horses about. The +crowd are perfectly good-humoured, and only need to be kept moving." + +The Town-clerk exchanged a glance with a neighbour. "But do you think, +sir," he said, "that that will be sufficient? You are aware, I +suppose, that great damage has been done already, and that had your +troop not arrived when it did many lives might have been sacrificed?" + +"That is all I shall do," Brereton answered. "Unless," with a faint +ring of contempt in his tone, "the Mayor gives me an express and +written order to attack the people." + +The Mayor's face was a picture. "I?" he gasped. + +"Yes, sir." + +"But I--I could not take that responsibility on myself," the Mayor +cried. "I couldn't, I really couldn't!" he repeated, taken aback by +the burden it was proposed to put on him. "I can't judge, Colonel +Brereton--I am not a military man--whether it is necessary or not." + +"I should consider it unwise," Brereton replied formally. + +"Very good! Then--then you must use your discretion." + +"Just so. That's what I supposed," Brereton replied, not masking his +contempt for the vacillation of those about him. "In that case I shall +pursue the line of action I have indicated. I shall walk my horses up +and down. The crowd are perfectly good-humoured. What is it, pray?" + +He turned, frowning. A man had entered the room and was whispering in +the Town-clerk's ear. The latter straightened himself with a heated +face. "You call them good-humoured, sir?" he said. "I hear that two of +your men, Colonel Brereton, have just been brought in severely +wounded. I do not know whether you call that good-humour?" + +Brereton looked a little discomposed. "They must have brought it on +themselves," he said, "by some rashness. Your constables have no +discretion." + +"I think you should at least clear the Square and the neighbouring +streets," the Town-clerk persisted. + +"I have indicated what I shall do," Brereton replied, with a gloomy +look. "And I am prepared to be responsible for the safety of the city. +If you wish me to act beyond my judgment, the civil power must give me +an express and written order." + +Still the Mayor and those about him looked uneasy, though they did not +dare to do what Brereton suggested. The howls of the rabble still rang +in their ears, and before their eyes they had the black, gaping +casements, through which an ominous murmur entered. They had waited +long before calling in the Military, they had hesitated long; for +Peterloo had erased Waterloo from the memory of an ungrateful +generation, and men, secure abroad and straining after Reform at home, +held a red-coat in small favour, if not in suspicion. But having +called the red-coats in, they looked for something more than this, for +some vindication of the law and the civil power, some stroke which +would cast terror into the hearts of misdoers. The Town-clerk, in +particular, had his doubts, and when no one else spoke he put them +into words. + +"May I ask," he said formally, "if you have any orders, Colonel +Brereton, from the Secretary of State or the Horse Guards, which +prevent you from obeying the directions of the magistrates?" + +Brereton looked at him sternly. + +"No," he said, "I am prepared to obey your orders, stated in the +manner I have laid down. Then the responsibility will not lie with +me." + +But the Mayor stepped back. "I couldn't take it on myself, sir. I--God +knows what the consequences might be!" He looked round piteously. "We +don't want another Manchester massacre." + +"I fancy," Brereton answered grimly, "that if we have another +Manchester business, it will go ill with those who sign the order! +Times are changed since '19, gentlemen--and governments! And I think +we understand that. You leave it to me, then, gentlemen?" + +No one spoke. + +"Very good," he continued. "If your constables will do their duty with +discretion--and you could not have a better man to command them than +Mr. Vaughan, but he ought to be going about it now--I will answer for +the peace of the city." + +"But--but we shall see you again, Colonel Brereton," the Mayor cried +in some agitation. + +"See me, sir?" Brereton answered contemptuously. + +"Oh, yes, you can see me, if you wish to! But----" He shrugged his +shoulders, and turned away without finishing the sentence. + +Vaughan, when he heard that, knew that, cool as Brereton seemed, he +was not himself. A moody stubbornness had taken the place of last +night's excitement; but that was all. And as the party trooped +downstairs--he had requested the Mayor to say a few words, placing the +constables under his control--he swallowed his private feelings and +approached Flixton. + +"Flixton," he whispered, throwing what friendliness he could into his +voice. "Do you think Brereton's right?" + +Flixton turned an ill-humoured face towards him, and dragged at his +sword-belt. "Oh, I don't know," he said irritably. "It's his business, +and I suppose he can judge. There's a deuce of a crowd, I know, and if +we go charging into it we shall be swallowed up in a twinkling!" + +"But it has been whispered to me," Vaughan replied, "that he told the +people on his way here that he's for Reform. Isn't it unwise to let +them think that the soldiers may side with them?" + +"Fine talking," Flixton answered with a sneer. "And God knows if we +had five hundred men, or three hundred, I'd agree. But what can sixty +or eighty men do galloping over slippery pavements in the dark? And if +we fire and kill a dozen, the Government will hang us to clear +themselves! And these d----d nigger-drivers and sugar-boilers behind +us would be the first to swear against us!" + +Vaughan had his own opinion. But they had to part then. Flixton, in +his blue uniform--there were two troops present, one of the 3rd +Dragoon Guards in red, and one of the 14th Dragoons in blue--went out +by Brereton's side with his spurs ringing on the stone pavement and +his sword clanking. He was not acting with his troop, but as the +Colonel's aide-de-camp. Meanwhile Vaughan, who could not see the old +blue uniform without a pang, went with the Mayor to marshal the +constables. + +Of these no more than eighty remained, and with little stomach for the +task before them. This task, indeed, notwithstanding the check which +the arrival of the troopers had given the mob, was far from easy. The +ground-floor of the Mansion House looked like a place taken by storm +and sacked. The railings which guarded the forecourt were gone, and +even the wall on which they stood had been demolished to furnish +missiles. The doorways and windows, where they were not clumsily +barricaded, were apertures inviting entrance. In one room lay a pile +of straw ready for lighting. In another lay half a dozen wounded men. +Everywhere the cold wind, blowing off the water of the Welsh Back, +entered a dozen openings and extinguished the flares as quickly as +they could be lighted, casting now one room and now another into black +shadow. + +But if the men had little heart for further exertions, Vaughan's +manhood rose the higher to meet the call. Bringing his soldier's +training into play, in a few minutes he had his force divided into +four companies, each under a leader. Two he held in reserve, bidding +them get what rest they could; with the other two he manned the +forecourt, and guarded the flank which lay open to the Welsh Back. And +as long as the troopers rode up and down within a stone's-throw all +was well. But when the soldiers passed to the other side of the Square +a rush was made on the house--mainly by a gang of the low Irish of the +neighbourhood--and many a stout blow was struck before the rabble, who +thirsted for the strong ale and wine in the cellars, could be +dislodged from the forecourt and driven to a distance. The danger to +life was not great, though the tale of wounded grew steadily; nor +could the post of Chief Constable be held to confer much honour on one +who so short a time before had dreamt of Cabinets and portfolios, and +of a Senate hanging on his words. But the joy of conflict was +something to a stout heart, and the sense of success. Something, too, +it was to feel that where he stood his men stood also; and that where +he was not, the Irish, with their brickbats and iron bars, made a way. +There was a big lout, believed by some to be a Brummagem man and a +tool of the Political Union, who more than once led on the assailants; +and when Vaughan found that this man shunned him and chose the side +where he was not, that too was a joy. + +"After all, this is what I am good for," he told himself as he stood +to take breath after a _melee_ which was at once the most serious and +the last. "I was a fool to leave the regiment," he continued, +staunching a trickle of blood which ran from a cut on his cheek bone. +"For, after all, better a good blow than a bad speech! Better, +perhaps, a good blow than all the speeches, good and bad!" And in the +heat of the moment he swung his staff. Then--then he thought of Mary +and of Flixton, and his heart sank, and his joy was at an end. + +"Don't think they'll try us again, sir," said an old pensioner, who +had constituted himself his orderly, and who had known the neigh of +the war-horse in the Peninsula. "If we had had you at the beginning +we'd have had no need of the old Blues, nor the Third either!" + +"Oh, that's rubbish!" Vaughan replied. But he owned the flattery, and +his heart warmed to the pensioner, whose prediction proved to be +correct. The crowd melted slowly but certainly after that. By eleven +o'clock there were but a couple of hundred in the Square. By twelve, +even these were gone. A half-dozen troopers, and as many +tatterdemalions, slinking about the dark corners, were all that +remained of the combatants; and the Mayor, with many words, presented +Vaughan with the thanks of the city for his services. + +"It is gratifying, Mr. Vaughan," he added, "to find that Colonel +Brereton was right." + +"Yes," Vaughan agreed. And he took his leave, carrying off his staff +for a memento. + +He was very weary, and it was not the shortest way to the White Lion, +yet his feet carried him across the dark Square and past the Immortal +Memory to the front of Miss Sibson's house. It showed no lights +to the Square, but in a first-floor window of the next house he +marked a faint radiance as of a shaded taper, and the outline of a +head--doubtless the head of someone looking out to make sure that the +disorder was at an end. He saw, but love was at fault. No inner voice +told him that the head was Mary's! No thrill revealed to him that at +that very moment, with her brow pressed to the cold pane, she was +thinking of him! None! With a sigh, and a farther fall from the +lightheartedness of an hour before, he went his way. + +Broad Street was quiet, but half a dozen persons were gathered outside +the White Lion. They were listening: and one of them told him, as he +passed in, that the Blues, in beating back a party from the Council +House, a short time before, had shot one of the rioters. In the hall +he found several groups debating some point with heat, but they fell +silent when they saw him, one nudging another; and he fancied that +they paid especial attention to him. As he moved towards the office, a +man detached himself from them and approached him with a formal air. + +"Mr. Vaughan, I think?" he said. + +"Yes." + +"Mr. Arthur Vaughan?" the man, who was a complete stranger to Vaughan, +repeated. "Member of Parliament for Chippinge, I believe?" + +"Yes." + +"Reform Member?" + +Vaughan eyed him narrowly. "If you are one of my constituents," he +said drily, "I will answer that question." + +"I am not one," the man rejoined, with a little less confidence. "But +it's my business, nevertheless, to warn you, Mr. Vaughan, in your own +interests, that the part you have been taking here will not commend +you to them! You have been handling the people very roughly, I am +told. Very roughly! Now, I am Mr. Here----" + +"You may be Mr. Here or Mr. There," Vaughan said, cutting him +short--but very quietly. "But if you say another word to me, I will +throw you through that door for your impudence! That is all. Now--have +you any more to say?" + +The man tried to carry it off. For there was sniggering behind him. +But Vaughan's blood was up, the agitator read it in the young man's +eye, and being a man of words, not deeds, he fell back. Vaughan went +up to bed. + + + + + XXXI + + SUNDAY IN BRISTOL + + +It was far from Vaughan's humour to play the bully, and before he had +even reached his bedroom, which looked to the back, he repented of his +vehemence. Between that and the natural turmoil of his feelings he lay +long waking; and twice, in a stillness which proclaimed that all was +well, he heard the Bristol clocks tell the hour. After all, then, +Brereton had been right! For himself, had the command been his, he +would have adopted more strenuous measures. He would have tried to put +fear into the mob before the riot reached its height. And had he done +so, how dire might have been the consequences! How many homes might at +this moment be mourning his action, how many innocent persons be +suffering pain and misery! + +Whereas Brereton, the strong, quiet man, resisting importunity, +shunning haste, keeping his head where others wavered, had carried the +city through its trouble, with scarce the loss of a single life. Truly +he was one whom + + + _Non civium ardor prava jubentium, + Non vultus instantis tyranni + Mente quatit solida!_ + + +Vaughan thought of him with a new respect, and of himself with a new +humility. He was forced to acknowledge that even in that field of +action which he had quitted, and to which he was now inclined to +return, he was not likely to pick up a marshal's baton. + +He slept at length, and long and heavily, awaking towards ten o'clock +with aching limbs and a cheek so sore that it brought all that had +passed to instant recollection. He found his hot water at his door, +and he dressed slowly and despondently, feeling the reaction and +thinking of Mary, and of that sunny morning, six months back, when he +had looked into Broad Street from a window of this very house, and +dreamed of a modest bonnet and a sweet blushing face. An hour +after that, he remembered, he had happened on the Honourable--oh, +d---- Flixton! All his troubles had started from that unlucky meeting +with him. + +He found his breakfast laid in the next room, the coffee and bacon in +a Japan cat by the fire. He ate and drank in an atmosphere of gloomy +retrospect. If he had never met Flixton! If he had not gone to that +unlucky dinner at Chippinge! If he had spoken to her in Parliament +Street! If--if--if! The bells of half a dozen churches were ringing, +drumming his regrets into him; and he stood awhile irresolute, looking +through the window. The inn-yard, which was all the prospect the +window commanded, was empty; an old liver-and-white pointer, +scratching itself in a corner, was the only living thing in it. But +while he looked, wondering if the dog had been a good dog in its time, +two men came running into the yard with every sign of haste and +pressure. One, in a yellow jacket, flung himself against a stable door +and vanished within, leaving the door open. The other pounced on a +chaise, one of half a dozen ranged under a shed, and by main force +dragged it into the open. + +The men's actions impressed Vaughan with a vague uneasiness. He +listened. Was it fancy, or did he catch the sound of a distant shot? +And--there seemed to be an odd murmur in the air. He seized his hat, +put on his caped coat--for a cold drizzle was falling--and went +downstairs. + +The hall was empty, but through the open doorway he could see a knot +of people, standing outside, looking up the street. He made for the +threshold, and asked the rearmost of the starers what it was. + +"Eh, what is it?" the man answered volubly. "Oh, they're gone! It's +true enough! And such a crowd as was never seen, I'm told--stoning +them, and shouting 'Bloody Blues!' after them. They're gone right away +to Keynsham, and glad to be there with whole bones!" + +"But what is it?" Vaughan asked impatiently. "What has happened, my +man? Who're gone?" + +The man turned for the first time, and saw who it was. "You have not +heard, sir?" he exclaimed. + +"Not a word." + +"Not that the people have risen? And most part pulled down the Mansion +House? Ay, first thing this morning, sir! They say old Pinney, the +Mayor, got out at the back just in time or he'd have been murdered! +He's had to send the military away--anyways, the Blues who killed the +lad last night on the Pithay." + +"Impossible!" Vaughan exclaimed, turning red with anger. "You cannot +have heard aright." + +"It's as true as true!" the man replied, rubbing his hands in +excitement. "As for me," he continued, "I was always for Reform! And +this will teach the Lords a lesson! They'll know our mind now, and +that Wetherell's a liar, begging your pardon, sir. And the old +Corporation's not much better. A set of Tories mostly! If the Welsh +Back drinks their cellars dry it won't hurt me, nor Bristol." + +Vaughan was too sharply surprised to rebuke the man. Could the story +be true! And if it were, what was Brereton doing? He could not have +been so foolish as to halve his force in obedience to the people he +was sent to check! But the murmur in the air was a fact, and past the +end of the street men were running in anything but a Sunday fashion. + +He went back to his room and pocketed his staff. Then he descended +again and was on his way out, when a person belonging to the house +stopped him. + +"Mr. Vaughan," she said earnestly, "don't go, sir. You are known after +last night and will come to harm. You will indeed, sir. And you can do +no good. My father says that nothing can be done until to-morrow." + +"I will take care of myself," he replied, lightly. But his eyes +thanked her. He pushed his way through the gazers at the door, and set +off towards Queen's Square. + +At every door men and women were standing looking out. In the distance +he could hear cheering, which waxed louder and more insistent as, +prudently avoiding the narrower lanes, he passed down Clare Street to +Broad Quay, from which there was an entrance to the northwest corner +of the Square. Alongside the quay, which was fringed with warehouses +and sheds, and from which the huge city crane towered up, lay a line +of brigs and schooners; the masts of the more distant of these +tapering to vanishing points in the mist which lay upon the water. At +the moment, however, Vaughan had no eye for them. He saw them, but his +thoughts were with the rioters, and in a twinkling he was within the +Square, and seeing what was to be seen. + +He judged that there were not more than fifteen hundred persons +present. Of the whole about one-half belonged to the lowest class. +These were gathered about the Mansion House, some drinking before it, +others bearing up liquor from the cellars, while others again were +tearing out the woodwork of the casements, or wantonly flinging the +last remnants of furniture from the windows. The second moiety of the +crowd, less reckless or of higher position, looked on as at a show; or +now and again, at the bidding of some active rioter, raised a cheer +for Reform, "The King and Reform! Reform!" + +There was nothing dreadful, nothing awe-inspiring in the sight. Yet it +was such a sight, for an English city on a Sunday morning, that +Vaughan's gorge rose at it. A hundred resolute men might have put the +mob to flight. And meantime, on every point of vantage, on Redcliffe +Parade, eastward of the Square, on College Green, and Brandon Hill, to +the westward of it, thousands stood looking in silence on the scene, +and by their supineness encouraging the work of destruction. + +He thought for a moment of pushing to the front and trying what a few +reasonable words would effect. But as he advanced, his eye caught a +gleam of colour, and in the corner of the Square, most remote from the +disorder, he discovered a handful of dragoons, seated motionless in +their saddles, watching the proceedings. + +The folly of this struck him dumb. And he hurried, at a white heat, +across the Square to remonstrate. He was about to speak to the +sergeant in charge, when Flixton, with a civilian cloak masking his +uniform, rode up to the men at a foot-pace. Vaughan turned to him +instead. + +"Good Heavens, man!" he cried, too hot to mince his words or remember +at the moment what there was between him and Flixton, "What's Brereton +doing? What has happened! It is not true that he has sent the +Fourteenth away?" + +Flixton looked down at him sulkily. "He's sent 'em to Keynsham," he +said, shortly. "If he hadn't, the crowd would have been out of hand!" + +"But what do you call them now?" Vaughan retorted, with angry sarcasm. +"They are destroying a public building in broad daylight! Aren't they +sufficiently out of hand?" + +Flixton shrugged his shoulders, but did not answer. He was flushed and +has manner was surly. + +"And your squad here, looking on and doing nothing? They're worse than +useless!" Vaughan continued. "They encourage the beggars! They'd be +better in their quarters than here! Better at Keynsham," he added +bitterly. + +"So I've told him," Flixton answered, taking the last words literally. +"He sent me to see how things are looking. And a d----d pleasant way +this is of spending a wet Sunday!" On which, without more, having +seen, apparently, what he came to see, he turned his horse to go out +of the Square by the Broad Quay. + +Vaughan walked a few paces beside the horse. "But, Flixton, press +him," he said urgently; "press him, man, to act! To do something!" + +"That's all very fine," the Honourable Bob answered churlishly, "but +Brereton's in command. And you don't catch me interfering. I am not +going to take the responsibility off his shoulders." + +"But think what may happen to-night!" Vaughan urged. Already he saw +that the throng was growing denser and its movements less random. +Somewhere in the heart of it a man was speaking. "Think what may +happen after dark, if they are as bad as this in daylight?" + +Flixton looked askance at him. "Ten to one, only what happened last +night," he answered. "You all croaked then; but Brereton was right." + +Vaughan saw that he argued to no purpose. For Flixton, forward and +positive in small things and on the surface, was discovered by the +emergency; all that now remained of his usual self-assertion was a +sense of injury. Vaughan inquired, instead, where he would find +Brereton, and as by this time the crowd had clearly outgrown the +control of a single man, he contented himself with walking round the +Square, and learning, by mingling with the fringe, what manner of +spirit moved it. + +That spirit, though he heard some ugly threats against Wetherell and +the Bishops and the Lords, was rather a reckless and mischievous than +a bloodthirsty one. To obtain drink, to destroy this or that gaol, and +by and by to destroy all gaols seemed to the crowd the first +principles of Reform. + +Presently a cry of "To the Bridewell! Come on! To the Bridewell!" +was raised, and led by a dozen hobbledehoys, armed with iron bars +plucked from the railings, a body of some hundreds trooped off, +helter-skelter, in the direction of the prison of that name. + +Vaughan saw that someone must be induced to act; and to him the +following hours of that wet, dismal Sunday were a waking nightmare. He +hurried hither and thither, from Guildhall to Council House, from +Brereton's lodgings to the dragoons' quarters, striving to effect +something and always failing; seeking some cohesion, some decision, +some action, and finding none. Always there had just been a meeting, +or was going to be a meeting, or would be a meeting by and by. The +civil power would not act without the military; and the military did +not think itself strong enough to act, but would act if the civil +power would do something which the civil power had made up its mind +not to do. And meantime the supineness of the mass of the citizens was +marvellous. He seemed to be moving endlessly between lines of men who +lounged at their doors, and joked, or waited for the crowd to pass +that way. Nothing, it seemed to him, would rouse these men to a sense +of the position. It would be a lesson to Wetherell, they said. It +would be a lesson to the Peers. It would be a lesson to the Tories. +The Bridewell was sacked and fired, the great gaol across the New Cut +was firing, the Gloucester gaol in the north of the city was +threatened. And still it did not occur to these householders, as they +looked down the wet, misty streets, that presently it would be a +lesson to them. + +But at half-past three, with the dusk on that rainy day scarce an hour +off, there was a meeting at the Guildhall. Still no cohesion, no +action. On the other hand, much recrimination, many opinions. One was +for casting all firearms into the float. Another for arming all, fit +or unfit. One was for fetching the Fourteenth back, another for +sending the Third to join them at Keynsham. One was for appeasing the +people by parading a dummy figure of their own Recorder through the +city and burning it on College Green. Another for relying on the +Political Union. In vain Vaughan warned them that the mob would +presently attack private property; in vain he offered, in a few +spirited words, to lead the Special Constables to the rescue of the +gaol. The meeting, small to begin and always divided, dwindled fast. +The handful who were ready to follow him made the support of the +military a condition. Everybody said, "To-morrow!" To-morrow the +_posse comitatus_ might be called out; to-morrow the yeomanry, +summoned by the man in the yellow jacket, would be here! To-morrow the +soldiers might act. And in fine--To-morrow! + +There was over the door of the Council House of those days a statue of +Justice, lacking the sword and the bandage. Vaughan, passing out in +disgust from the meeting, pointed to it. "There is Bristol, +gentlemen," he said bitterly. "Your authorities have dropped the +sword, and until they regain it we are helpless. I have done my best." +And, shrugging his shoulders, he started for Brereton's lodgings to +try a last appeal. + +He might well think it necessary. For a night which Bristol was long +to remember was closing down upon the city. Though it was Sunday, the +churches were empty; in few was a second service held. The streets, on +the contrary, were full, in spite of the cold; full of noise and +turmoil and disorder; of bands of men hastening up and down with +reckless cries and flaring lights, at the bidding of leaders as +unwitting. In Queen's Square the rioters were drinking themselves +drunk as at a fair, while amid the falling rain, through which the +last stormy gleams of daylight strove to pass, amid the thickening +dusk, those who all day long had jested at their doors began to turn +doubtful looks on one another. From three points the smoke of fired +prisons rose to the clouds and floated in a dense pall over the city; +and men whispered that a hundred, two hundred, five hundred criminals +had been set free. On Clifton Downs, on Brandon Hill, on College +Green, on Redcliffe the thousand gazers of the morning were doubled +and redoubled. But they no longer wore the cynical faces of the +morning. On the contrary there were some who, following with their +eyes the network of waterways laden with inflammable shipping, which +pierced the city in every direction--who, tracing these and the +cutthroat alleys and lanes about them, predicted that the morning +would find Bristol a heap of ruins. And not a few, taking fright at +the last moment, precipitately removed their families to Clifton, and +locked up their houses. + +Vaughan, as he walked through the dusk, had those waterways, those +lanes, those alleys, the congested heart of the old city, in his mind. +He doubted, even he, if the hour for action was not past. Nor was he +surprised when Brereton met his appeal with a flat _non possumus_. He +was more struck with the change which twenty-four hours had wrought in +the man. He looked worn and haggard. The shadows under his eyes were +deeper, the eyes shone with a more feverish light. His dress, too, was +careless and disordered, and while he was not still for a moment, he +repeated what he said over and over again as if to persuade himself of +its truth. + +Naturally Vaughan laid stress on the damage already done. "But, I tell +you," Brereton replied angrily, "we are well clear for that! It's not +a tithe of the harm which would have befallen if I had given way! I +tell you, we're well clear for that. No, I've done, thank God, I've +done the only thing it was possible to do. A little too much, and if +I'd succeeded I'd have been hung--for they're all against me, they're +all against me, above and below! And if I'd failed, a thousand lives +would have paid the bill! And do you ever consider, man," he +continued, striking the table, "what a massacre in this crowded place +would be! Think of the shipyards, the dockyards, the quays! The water +pits and the sunk alleys! How could I clear them with ninety swords? +How could I clear them? Eh, with ninety swords? I tell you they never +meant me to clear them." + +"But why not clear the wider streets, sir?" Vaughan persisted, "and +keep a grip on those?" + +"No! I say, no!" + +"Yet even now, if you were to move your full force to Queen's Square, +sir, you might clear it. And driven from their headquarters, and +taught that they are not going to have it all their own way, the more +prudent would fall off and go home." + +"I know," Brereton answered. "I know the argument. I know it. But +who's to thank for the whole trouble? Your Blues, who went beyond +their orders last night. The Fourteenth, sir! The Fourteenth! But I'll +have no more of it. Flixton is of my opinion, too." + +"Flixton is an ass!" Vaughan cried incautiously. + +"And you think me one too!" Brereton retorted, with so strange a look +that for the first time Vaughan was sure that his mind was tottering. +"Well, think what you like! Think what you like! But I'll trouble you +not to take that tone here." + + + + + XXXII + + THE AFFRAY AT THE PALACE + + +A little before the hour at which Vaughan interviewed Brereton, Sir +Robert Vermuyden, the arrival of whose travelling carriage at the +White Lion about the middle of the afternoon had caused some +excitement, walked back to the inn. He was followed by Thomas, the +servant who had attended Mary to Bristol, and by another servant. As +he passed through the streets the signs of the times were not lost +upon him; far from it. But the pride of caste was strong upon him, and +he hid his anxiety. + +On the threshold of the inn he turned to the servants. "Are you sure," +he asked for the fourth time, "that that was the house at which you +left her?" + +"Certain sure, Sir Robert," Thomas answered earnestly. + +"And sure--but, ah!" the baronet broke off abruptly, his tone one of +relief. "Here's Mr. Cooke! Go now, but be within call. Mr. Cooke,"--he +stepped, as he spoke, in front of that gentleman, who was about to +enter the house--"well met!" + +Cooke was hot with haste and ire, but at the unexpected sight of Sir +Robert he stood still. "God bless my soul!" he cried. "You here, sir?" + +"Yes. And you know Bristol well. You can help me." + +"I wish I could help myself!" Cooke cried, forgetting himself in his +excitement. + +"My daughter is in Bristol." + +"Indeed?" the angry merchant replied. "Then she could not be in a +worse place. That is all I can say." + +"I am inclined to agree with you." + +"This is your Reform!" + +Sir Robert stared. "Not my Reform, Mr. Cooke," he said in a tone of +displeasure. + +"I beg your pardon, Sir Robert," Cooke rejoined, speaking more coolly. +"I beg your pardon. But what I have suffered to-day is beyond telling. +By G--d, it's my opinion that there's only one man worthy of the name +in Bristol! And that's your cousin, Vaughan!" + +Sir Robert struck his stick on the pavement. "Mr. Vaughan?" he +exclaimed. "He is here, then? I feared so!" + +"Here? You feared? I tell you he's the only man to be called a man, +who is here! If it had not been for him and the way he handled the +constables last night we should have been burnt out then instead of +to-night! I don't know that the gain's much, but for what it's worth +we have him to thank!" + +Sir Robert frowned. "I am surprised. He behaved well? Indeed!" he +said. + +"D----d well! D----d well! If there had been half a dozen like him, +we'd be out of the wood!" + +"Where is he staying?" Sir Robert asked after a moment's hesitation. +"I've lost my daughter in the confusion, and I think it possible that +he may know where she is." + +"He is staying here at the Lion," Cooke answered. "But he's been up +and down all day trying to put heart into poltroons." And he ran over +the chief events of the last few hours. + +He punctuated the story with oaths and bitter complaints, and perhaps +it was for this reason that Sir Robert, after he had heard the main +facts, broke away. He went through the hall to the bar where the +landlord, who knew him well, came forward and greeted him +respectfully. But to Sir Robert's inquiry as to Mr. Vaughan's +whereabouts he shook his head. + +"I wish he was in the house, Sir Robert," he said in a low voice. "For +he's a marked man in Bristol since last night. I was in the Square +myself, and it was wonderful what spirit he put into his men. But the +scum and the riffraff who are uppermost to-day say he handled them +cruelly, and my daughter tried to persuade him from going out to-day. +But he would go, sir." + +Sir Robert reflected with a gloomy face. "Where are Mr. Flixton's +quarters?" he asked at last. He might possibly learn something from +him. + +The man told him, and Sir Robert summoned his servants and went out. +It was dark by this time, but a faint glare shone overhead and there +was a murmur in the air, as if, in the gloom beneath, the heart of the +city was palpitating, in dread of it knew not what. Sir Robert had not +far to go. He had barely passed into College Green when he met Flixton +under a lamp. And so it happened that two minutes later, Vaughan, on +his way from Brereton's lodgings in Unity Street, came plump upon the +two. He might have gone by in ignorance, but as he passed the taller +man looked up, and Vaughan with a shock of surprise recognised Sir +Robert Vermuyden. + +Flixton caught sight of Vaughan at the same moment, and "Here's your +man, Sir Robert," he cried with a little malice in his tone. "Here, +Vaughan," he continued, "Here's Sir Robert Vermuyden! He's looking for +you. He wants to know----" + +Sir Robert stopped him. "I will speak for myself, Mr. Flixton, if you +please," he said with the dignity which seldom deserted him. "Mr. +Vaughan," he continued, with a piercing glance, "where is my +daughter?" + +Vaughan returned his look, frowning. Since the parting in Miss +Sibson's parlour, the remembrance of which still set his blood in a +flame, Sir Robert and he had not met. Now, in the wet gloom of College +Green, under a rare gaslamp, with turmoil about them, and the murmur +of fresh trouble drawing near through the streets, Sir Robert asked +him for his daughter! He could have laughed. As it was, "I know +nothing, sir, of your daughter," he replied, in a tone between +contempt and anger. + +"But," Sir Robert retorted, "you travelled with her, from London!" + +"How do you know that I did?" + +"The servants, sir, have told me that you did." + +"Then they must also have told you," Vaughan rejoined keenly, "that I +did not take the liberty of speaking to Miss Vermuyden. And that I +left the coach at Chippenham. That being so, I can only refer you," he +continued with a sneer, raising his hat and preparing to move on, "to +Mr. Flixton, who went with her the rest of the way to Bristol." + +He turned away. But he had not taken two paces before Sir Robert +touched his shoulder, and with that habit of command which few +questioned. "Wait, sir," he said, "Wait, if you please. You do not +escape me so easily. You will attend to me one moment, if you please. +Mr. Flixton accompanied Miss Vermuyden, as did her man and maid, to +Miss Sibson's house. She gave that address to Lady Worcester, in whose +care she was; and I sought her there this afternoon. But she is not +there." Sir Robert continued, striving to read Vaughan's face. "The +house is empty. So is the house on either side. I can make no one +hear." + +"And you come to me for news of her?" Vaughan asked in the tone he had +used throughout. He was very sore. + +"I do." + +"You do not think that I am the last person of whom you should ask +tidings of your daughter?" + +"She came here," Sir Robert answered sternly, "to see Lady Sybil." + +Vaughan stared. The answer seemed to be irrelevant. Then he +understood. "Oh," he said, "I see. You are still under the impression +that your wife and I are in a conspiracy to delude you? Your daughter +also? You think that she is in the plot? And that she gave the +schoolmistress's address to deceive you?" + +"No!" Sir Robert cried. But, after all, that was what he did think. +Had he not told himself, more than once, that she was her mother's +daughter? Had he not told himself that it could not have been by +chance that Vaughan and she met a second time on the coach? He knew +that she had left London and gone to her mother in defiance of him. He +knew that. And though she had entwined herself about his heart, though +she had seemed to him all gentleness, goodness, truth--she was still +her mother's daughter! Nevertheless, he said "No!"--and said it +angrily. + +"Then I do not know what you mean!" Vaughan retorted. + +"I believe that you can tell me something, if you will." + +Vaughan looked at him. "I have nothing to tell you," he said. + +"You mean, sir, that you will tell me nothing!" + +"That, if you like." + +For nearly half a century the old man had found few to oppose him; and +now by good luck he had not time to reply. A man running out of the +darkness in the direction of Unity Street--the open space was full of +moving groups, of alarms and confusion--caught sight of Vaughan's +face, checked himself and addressed him. + +"Mr. Vaughan!" he said. "They are coming! They are making for the +Palace! The Bishop must be got away, if he's not gone! I am fetching +the Colonel! The Mayor is following with all he can get together. If +you will give warning at the Palace, there will be time for his +lordship to escape." + +"Right!" Vaughan cried, glad to leave his company. And he started +without the loss of a moment. Even so, he had not gone twenty paces +down the Green before the head of the mob entered it from St. +Augustine's, and passed, with hoarse shouts, along the south side, +towards the ancient Archway which led to the Lower Green. It was a +question whether he or they reached the Archway first; but he won the +race by a score of yards. + +The view from the Lower Green, which embraced the burning gaol, as +well as all Queen's Square and the Floating Basin that islanded it, +had drawn together a number of gazers. These impeded Vaughan's +progress, but he got through them at last, and as the mob burst into +the Lower Green he entered the paved passage leading to the Precincts, +hurried along it, turned the dark elbow near the inner end, and halted +before the high gates which shut off the Cloisters. The Palace door +was in the innermost or southeast corner of the Cloisters. + +It was very dark at the end of the passage; and fortunately! For the +gates were fast closed, and before he could, groping, find the +knocker, the rabble had entered the passage behind him and cut off his +retreat. The high wall which rose on either side made escape +impossible. Nor was this all. As he awoke to the trap in which he had +placed himself, a voice at his elbow muttered, "My God, we shall be +murdered!" And he learned that Sir Robert had followed him. + +He had no time to remonstrate, nor thought of remonstrance. "Stand +flat against the wall!" he muttered, his fingers closing upon the +staff in his pocket. "It is our only chance!" + +He had basely spoken before the leaders of the mob swept round the +elbow. They had one light, a flare borne above them, which shone on +their tarpaulins and white smocks, and on the huge ship-hammers they +carried. There was a single moment of great peril, and instinctively +Vaughan stepped before the older man. He could not have made a happier +movement, for it seemed--to the crowd who caught a glimpse of the two +and took them for some of their own party--as if he advanced against +the gates along with their leaders. + +The peril indeed, or the worst of it, was over the moment they fell +into the ranks. "Hammers to the front!" was the cry. And Sir Robert +and Vaughan were thrust back into the second line, that those who +wielded the hammers might have room. Vaughan tipped his hat over his +face, and the villains who pressed upon the two and jostled them, and +whose cries of "Burn him out! Burn the old devil out!" were dictated +by greed rather than by hate, were too full of the work in hand to +regard their neighbours closely. In three or four minutes--long +minutes they seemed to the two inclosed in that unsavoury company--the +bars gave way, the gates were thrown open, and Vaughan and Sir Robert, +hardly keeping their feet in the rush, were borne into the Cloisters. + +The rabble, with cries of triumph, raced across the dark court to the +Palace door and began to use their hammers on that. Vaughan hoped that +the Bishop had had warning--as a fact he had escaped some hours +earlier. At any rate he and his companion could do no more, and under +cover of the darkness they retreated to the porch of a smaller house +which opened on the Cloisters. Here they were safe for the time; and, +his heart opened and his tongue loosed by the danger through which +they had passed, he turned to his companion and remonstrated with him. + +"Sir Robert," he said, "this is no place for a man of your years." + +"England will soon be no place for any man of my years," the Baronet +answered bitterly. "I would your leaders, sir, were here to see their +work! I would Lord Grey were here to see how well his friends carry +out his hints!" + +"I doubt if he would be more pleased than you or I!" Vaughan answered. +"In the meantime----" + +"The soldiers! Have a care!" The alarm came from the gate by which +they had entered, and Vaughan broke off, with an exclamation of joy. +"We have them now!" he said. "And red-handed! Brereton has only to +close the passage, and he must take them all!" + +But the rioters took that view also, and the alarm. And they streamed +out panic-stricken. When the soldiers rode in, Brereton at their head, +not more than twenty or thirty remained in the Precincts. And on that +followed the most remarkable of all the scenes that disgraced Bristol +that night; the scene which beyond others convinced many of the +complicity of the troops, if not of the Government, in the outrage. + +Not a man could leave the Palace except with the troops' good-will. +Yet they let the rascals pass. In vain a handful of constables--who +had arrived on the heels of the military--exerted themselves to seize +the worst offenders, and such as passed with plunder in their hands. +The soldiers discouraged the attempt, and even beat back the +constables. "Let them go! Let them go!" was the cry. And the +nimbleness of the scamps in effecting their escape was greeted with +laughter and applause. + +Vaughan and the companion whom fate had so strangely joined saw it +with indignation. But Vaughan had made up his mind that he would not +approach Brereton again; and he controlled himself, until a blackguard +bolting from the Palace with his arms full of spoil was seized, close +to him, by an elderly man, who seemed to be one of the Bishop's +servants. The two wrestled fiercely, the servant calling for help, the +soldiers looking on and laughing. A moment and the two fell to the +ground, the servant undermost. He uttered a cry of pain. + +That was too much for Vaughan. He sprang forward, dragged the ruffian +from his prey, and with his other hand he drew his staff. He was +about to strike his prisoner--for the man continued to struggle +desperately--when a voice above them shouted "Put that up! Put that +up!" And a trooper urged his horse almost on the top of them, at the +same time threatening him with his naked sword. + +Vaughan lost his temper at that. "You blackguard!" he cried. "Stand +back. The man is my prisoner!" + +For answer the soldier struck at him. Fortunately the blade was turned +by his hat and only the flat alighted on his head. But the man, drunk +or reckless, repeated the blow, and this time would certainly have cut +him down if Sir Robert, with a quickness beyond his years, had not +turned aside the stroke with his walking-cane. At the same time "Are +you mad?" he shouted peremptorily. "Where is your Colonel?" + +The tone, rather than the words, sobered the trooper. He swore +sulkily, reined in his horse, and moved back to his fellows. Sir +Robert turned to Vaughan, who, dazed by the blow, was leaning against +the porch of the house. "I hope you are not wounded?" he said. + +"It's thanks to you, sir, he's not killed!" the man whom Vaughan had +rescued, replied; and he hung about him solicitously. "He'd have cut +him to the chin! Ay, to the chin he would!" with quavering gusto. + +Vaughan was regaining his coolness. He tried to smile. "I hardly +saw--what happened," he said. "I am only sure I am not hurt. Just--a +rap on the head!" + +"I am glad that it is no worse," Sir Robert said gravely. "Very glad!" +Now it was over he had to bite his lower lip to repress its trembling. + +"You feel better, sir, now?" the servant asked, addressing Vaughan. + +"Yes, yes," Vaughan said. But after that he was silent, thinking. And +Sir Robert was silent, too. The soldiers were withdrawing; the +constables, outraged and indignant, were following them, declaring +aloud that they were betrayed. And for certain the walls of the +Cathedral had looked down on few stranger scenes, even in those +troubled days when the crosslets of the Berkeleys first shone from +their casements. + +Vaughan thought of the thing which had happened; and what was he to +say? The position was turned upside down. The obligation was on the +wrong person; the boot was on the wrong foot. If he, the young, the +strong, and the injured, had saved Sir Robert, that had been well +enough. But this? It required some magnanimity to take it gracefully, +to bear it with dignity. + +"I owe you sincere thanks," he said at last, but awkwardly and with +constraint. + +"The blackguard!" Sir Robert cried. + +"You saved me, sir, from a very serious injury." + +"It was as much threat as blow!" Sir Robert rejoined. + +"I don't think so," Vaughan answered. And then he was silent, finding +it hard to say more. But after a pause, "I can only make you one +return," he said with an effort. "Perhaps you will believe me when I +say, that upon my honour I do not know where your daughter is. I have +neither spoken to her nor communicated with her since I saw her in +Queen's Square in May. And I know nothing of Lady Sybil." + +"I am obliged to you," Sir Robert said. + +"If you believe me," Vaughan said. "Not otherwise!" + +"I do believe you, Mr. Vaughan." And Sir Robert said it as if he meant +it. + +"Then that is something gained," Vaughan answered, "besides the +soundness of my head." Try as he might he felt the position irksome, +and was glad to seek refuge in flippancy. + +Sir Robert removed his hat, and stood in perplexity. "But where can +she be then?" he asked. "If you know nothing of her." + +Vaughan paused before he answered. Then "I think I should look for her +in Queen's Square," he suggested. "In that neighbourhood neither life +nor property will be safe until Bristol comes to its senses. She +should be removed, therefore, if she be there." + +"I will take your advice and try the house again," Sir Robert +answered. "I think you are right, and I am much obliged to you." + +He put his hat on his head, but removed it to salute his cousin. +"Thank you," he repeated, "I am much obliged to you." And he departed +slowly across the court. + +Halfway to the entrance, he paused, and fingered his chin. He went on +again--again he paused. He took a step or two, turned, hesitated. At +last he came slowly back. + +"Perhaps you will go with me?" he asked. + +"You are very good," Vaughan answered, his voice shaking a little. Was +it possible that Sir Robert meant more than he said? It did seem +possible. + +But after all they did not go out that way. For, as they approached +the broken gates, shouts of "Reform!" and "Down with the Lords!" +warned them that the rioters were returning. And the Bishop's servant, +approaching them anew, insisted on taking them through the Palace, and +by way of the garden and a low wall conducted them into Trinity +Street. Here they were close to the Drawbridge which crossed the water +to the foot of Clare Street; and they passed over it, one of them +walking with a lighter heart, notwithstanding Mary's possible danger, +than he had borne for weeks. Soon they were in Queen's Square, and, +avoiding as far as possible the notice of the mob, were knocking +doggedly at Miss Sibson's door. But by that time the Palace, high +above them on College Green, had burst into flames, and, a mark for +all the countryside, had flung the red banner of Reform to the night. + + + + + XXXIII + + FIRE + + +Sir Robert and his companion might have knocked longer and more +loudly, and still to no purpose. For the schoolmistress, prepared to +witness a certain amount of disorder on the Saturday, had been taken +aback by the sight which met her eyes when she rose on Sunday morning. +And long before noon she had sent her servants to their friends, +locked up her house, and gone next door, to dispel by her cheerful +face and her comfortable common sense the fears which she knew would +prevail there. The sick lady was not in a state to withstand alarm; +Mary was a young girl and timid; and neither the landlady nor Lady +Sybil's maid were persons of strong mind. Miss Sibson felt that here +was an excellent occasion for the display of that sturdy indifference +with which firm nerves and a long experience of Bristol elections had +endowed her. + +"La, my dear," was her first remark, "it's all noise and nonsense! +They look fierce, but there's not a man of them all, that if I took +him soundly by the ear and said, 'John Thomas Gaisford, I know you +well and your wife! You live in the Pithay, and if you don't go +straight home this minute I'll tell her of your goings on!'--there's +not one of them, my dear," with a jolly laugh, "wouldn't sneak off +with his tail between his legs! Hurt us, my lady? I'd like to see them +doing it. Still, it will be no harm if we lock the door downstairs, +and answer no knocks. We shall be cosy upstairs, and see all that's to +be seen besides!" + +These were Miss Sibson's opinions, a little after noon on the Sunday. +Nor, when the day began to draw in, without abating the turmoil, did +she recant them aloud. But when the servant of the house, who found +amusement in listening at the locked door to the talk of those who +passed, came open-eyed to announce that the people had fired the +Bridewell, and were attacking the gaol, Miss Sibson did rub her nose +reflectively. And privately she began to wonder whether the prophecies +of evil, which both parties had sown broadcast, were to be fulfilled. + +"It's that nasty Brougham!" she said. "Alderman Daniel told me that he +was stirring up the devil; and we're going to get the dust. But la, +bless your ladyship," she continued comfortably, "I know the Bristol +lads, and they'll not hurt us. Just a gaol or two, for the sake of the +frolic. My dear, your mother'll have her tea, and will feel the better +for it. And we'll draw the curtains and light the lamps and take no +heed. Maybe there'll be bones broken, but they'll not be ours!" + +Lady Sybil, with her face turned away, muttered something about Paris. + +"Well, your ladyship knows Paris and I don't," the schoolmistress +replied respectfully. "I can fancy anything there. But you may depend +upon it, my lady, England is different. I know old Alderman Daniel +calls Lord John Russell 'Lord John Robespierre,' and says he's worse +than a Jacobin. But I'll never believe he'd cut the King's head off! +Never! And don't you believe it, either, my lady. No, English are +English! There's none like them, and never will be. All the same," she +concluded, "I shall set 'Honour the King!' for a copy when the young +ladies come back." + +Her views might not have convinced by themselves. But taken with tea +and buttered toast, a good fire and a singing kettle, they availed. +Lady Sybil was a shade easier that afternoon; and, naturally of a high +courage, found a certain alleviation in the exciting doings under her +windows. She was gracious to Miss Sibson, whose outpourings she +received with languid amusement; and when Mary was not looking, she +followed her daughter's movements with mournful eyes. Uncertain as the +wind, she was this evening in her best mood; as patient as she could +be fractious, and as gentle as she was sometimes violent. She scouted +the notion of danger with all Miss Sibson's decision; and after tea +she insisted that the lights should be shaded, and her couch be +wheeled to the window, in order that, propped high with pillows, she +might amuse herself with the hurly-burly in the Square below. + +"To be sure," Miss Sibson commented, "it will do no good to anyone, +this; and many a poor chap will suffer for it by and by. That's the +worst of these Broughams and Besoms, my lady. It's the low down that +swallow the dust. It's very fine to cry 'King and Reform!' and drink +the Corporation wine! But it will be 'Between our sovereign lord the +King and the prisoner at the bar!' one of these days! And their +throats will be dry enough then!" + +"Poor misguided people!" Mary murmured. + +"They've all learned the Church Catechism," the schoolmistress replied +shrewdly. "Or they should have; it's lucky for them--ay, you may +shout, my lads--that there's many a slip between the neck and the +rope--Lord ha' mercy!" + +The last words fitted the context well enough; but they fell so +abruptly from her lips that Mary, who was bending over her mother, +looked up in alarm. "What is it?" she asked. + +"Only," Miss Sibson answered with composure, "what I ought to have +said long ago--that nothing can be worse for her ladyship than the +cold air that comes in at the cracks of this window!" + +"It's not that," Lady Sybil replied, smiling. "They have set fire to +the Mansion House, Mary. You can see the flames in the room on the +farther side of the door." + +Mary uttered an exclamation of horror, and they all looked out. The +Mansion House was the most distant house on the north, or left-hand, +side of the Square, viewed from the window at which they stood; the +house next Miss Sibson's being about the middle of the west side. +Nearer them, on the same side as the Mansion House, stood another +public building--the Custom House. And nearer again, being the most +northerly house on their own side of the Square, stood a third--the +Excise Office. + +They had thus a fair, though a side view, of the front of the Mansion +House, and were able to watch, with what calmness they might, the +flames shoot from one window after another; until, presently, meeting +in a waving veil of fire, they hid--save when the wind blew them +aside--all the upper part of the house from their eyes. + +A great fire in the night, the savage, uncontrollable revolt of man's +tamed servant--is at all times a terrible sight. Nor on this occasion +was it only the horror of the flames, roaring and crackling and +pouring forth a million of sparks, which chained their eyes. For as +these rose, they shed an intense light, not only on the heights of +Redcliffe, visible above the east side of the Square, and on the +stately tower which rose from them, but on the multitude below; on the +hurrying forms that, monkey-like, played before the flames and seemed +to feed them, and on a still stranger sight, the expanse of up-turned +faces that, in the rear of the active rioters, extended to the +farthest limit of the Square. + +For it was the quiescence, it was the inertness of the gazing crowd +which most appalled the spectators at the window. To see that great +house burn and to see no man stretch forth a hand to quench it, this +terrified. "Oh, but it is frightful! It is horrible!" Mary exclaimed. + +"I should like to knock their heads together!" Miss Sibson cried +sternly. "What are the soldiers doing? What is anyone doing?" + +"They have hounded on the dogs," Lady Sybil said slowly--she alone +seemed to view the sight with a dispassionate eye, "and they are +biting instead of barking! That is all." + +"Dogs?" Miss Sibson echoed. + +"Ay, the dogs of Reform!" Lady Sybil replied cynically. "Brougham's +dogs! Grey's dogs! Russell's dogs! I could wish Sir Robert were here, +it would so please him to see his words fulfilled!" And then, as in +surprise at the thing she had uttered, "I wonder when I wished to +please him before?" she muttered. + +"Oh, but it is frightful!" Mary repeated, unable to remove her eyes +from the flames. + +It was frightful; even while they were all sane people in the room, +and, whatever their fears, restrained them. What then was it a moment +later, when the woman of the house burst in upon them, with a maid in +wild hysterics clinging to her, and another on the threshold screaming +"Fire! Fire!" + +"It's all on fire at the back!" the woman panted. "It's on fire, it's +all on fire, my lady, at the back!" + +"It's all--what?" Miss Sibson rejoined, in a tone which had been known +to quell the pertest of seventeen-year-old rebels. "It is what, woman? +On fire at the back? And if it is, is that a ground for forgetting +your manners? Where is your deportment? Fire, indeed! Are you aware +whose room this is? For shame! And you, silly," she continued, +addressing herself to the maid, "be silent, and go outside, as becomes +you." + +But the maid, though she retreated to the door, continued to scream, +and the woman of the house to wring her hands. "You had better go and +see what it is," Lady Sybil said, turning to the schoolmistress. For, +strange to say, she who a few hours before had groaned if a coal fell +on the hearth, and complained if her book slid from the couch, was now +quite calm. + +"They are afraid of their own shadows," Miss Sibson cried +contemptuously. "It is the reflection they have seen." + +But she went. And as it was but a step to a window overlooking the +rear, Mary went with her. + +They looked. And for a moment something like panic seized them. The +back of the house was not immediately upon the quay, but through an +opening in the warehouses which fringed the latter it commanded a view +of the water and the masts, and of the sloping ground which rose to +College Green. And high above, dyeing the Floating Basin crimson, the +Palace showed in a glow of fire; fire which seemed to be on the point +of attacking the Cathedral, of which every pinnacle and buttress, with +every chimney of the old houses clustered about it, stood out in the +hot glare. It was clear that the building had been burning some time, +for the roar of the flames could be heard, and almost the hiss of the +water as innumerable sparks floated down to it. + +Horror-struck, Mary grasped her companion's arm. And "Good Heavens!" +Miss Sibson muttered. "The whole city will be burned!" + +"And we are between the two fires," Mary faltered. An involuntary +shudder might be pardoned her. + +"Ay, but far enough from them," the schoolmistress answered, +recovering herself. "On this side, the water makes us safe." + +"And on the other?" + +"La, my dear," Miss Sibson replied confidently. "The folks are not +going to burn their own houses. They are angry with the Corporation. +They hold them all one with Wetherell. And for the Bishop, they've so +abused him the last six months that he's hardly dared to show his wig +on the streets, and it's no wonder the poor ignorants think him fair +game. But we're just ordinary folk, and they'll no more harm us than +fly. But we must go back to your mother." + +They went back, and wisely Miss Sibson made no mystery of the truth; +repeating, however, those arguments against giving way to alarm which +she had used to Mary. + +"The poor dear gentleman has lost his house," she concluded piously. +"But we should be thankful he has another." + +Lady Sybil took the news with calmness; her eyes indeed seemed +brighter, as if she enjoyed the excitement. But the frightened woman +at the door refused to be comforted, and underlying the courage of the +two who stood by Lady Sybil's couch was a secret uneasiness, which +every cheer of the crowd below the windows, every "huzza" which rose +from the revellers, every wild rush from one part of the Square to +another tended to strengthen. In her heart Miss Sibson owned that in +all her experience she had known nothing like this; no disorder so +flagrant, so unbridled, so daring. She could carry her mind back to +the days when the cheek of England had paled at the Massacres of +September in Paris. The deeds of '98 in Ireland, she had read morning +by morning in the journals. The Three Days of July, with their street +fighting, were fresh in all men's minds--it was impossible to ignore +their bearing on the present conflagration. And if here was not the +dawn of Revolution, if here were not signs of the crash of things, +appearances deceived her. But even so, she was not to be dismayed. She +believed that even in revolutions a comfortable courage, sound sense, +and a good appetite went far. And "I'd like to hear John Thomas +Gaisford talk to me of guillotines!" she thought. "I'd make his ears +burn!" + +Meanwhile, Mary was thinking that, whatever the emergency, her mother +was too ill to be moved. Miss Sibson might be right, the danger might +be remote. But it was barely midnight; and long hours of suspense must +be lived through before morning came. Meanwhile there were only women +in the house, and, bravely as the girl controlled herself, a cry more +reckless than usual, an outburst of cheering more savage, a rush below +the windows, drove the blood to her heart. And presently, while she +gazed with shrinking eyes on the crowd, now blood-red in the glow of +the burning timbers, now lost for a moment in darkness, a groan broke +from it, and she saw pale flames appear at the windows of the house +next the Mansion House. They shot up rapidly, licking the front of the +buildings. + +Miss Sibson saw them at the same moment, and "The villains!" she +exclaimed. "God grant it be an accident!" + +Mary's lips moved, but no sound came from them. + +Lady Sybil laughed her shrill laugh. "The curs are biting bravely!" +she said. "What will Bristol say to this?" + +"Show them that they have gone too far!" Miss Sibson answered stoutly. +"The soldiers will act now, and put them in their places, as they did +in Wiltshire in the winter! And high time too!" + +But though they watched in tense anxiety for the first sign of action +on the part of the troops, for the first movement of the authorities, +they gazed in vain. The miscreants, who fed the flames and spread +them, were few; and in the Square were thousands who had property to +lose, and friends and interests in jeopardy. If a tithe only of those +who looked on, quiescent and despairing, had raised their hands, they +could have beaten the rabble from the place. But no man moved. The +fear of coming trouble, which had been long in the air, paralysed even +the courageous, while the ignorant and the timid believed that they +saw a revolution in progress, and that henceforth the mob would +rule--and woe betide the man who set himself against it! As it had +been in Paris, so it would be here. And so the flames spread, before +the eyes of the terrified women at the window, before the eyes of the +inert multitude, from the house first attacked to its neighbour, and +from that to the next and the next. Until the noise of the +conflagration, the crash of sinking walls, the crackling of beams were +as the roar of falling waters, and the Square in that hideous red +light, which every moment deepened, resembled an inferno, in which the +devils of hell played awful pranks, and wherein, most terrible sight +of all, thousands who in ordinary times held the salvation of property +to be the first of duties, stood with scared eyes, passive and cowed. + +It was such a scene--and they were only women, and alone in the +house--as the mind cannot imagine and the eye views but once in a +generation, nor ever forgets. In quiet Clifton, and on St. Michael's +Hill, children were snatched from their midnight slumbers and borne +into the open, that they might see the city stretched below them in a +pit of flame, with the overarching fog at once confining and +reflecting the glare. Dundry Tower, five miles from the scene, shone a +red portent visible for leagues; and in Chepstow and South Monmouth, +beyond the wide estuary of the Severn, the light was such that men +could see to read. From all the distant Mendips, and from the Forest +of Dean, miners and charcoal-burners gazed southward with scared +faces, and told one another that the revolution was begun; while +Lansdowne Chase sent riders galloping up the London Road with the news +that all the West was up. Long before dawn on the Monday horsemen and +yellow chaises were carrying the news through the night to Gloucester, +to Southampton, to Salisbury, to Exeter, to every place where scanty +companies of foot lay, or yeomanry had their headquarters. And where +these passed, alarming the sleeping inns and posthouses, panic sprang +up upon their heels, and the travellers on the down nightcoaches +marvelled at the tales which met them with the daylight. + +If the sight viewed from a distance was so terrible as to appal a +whole countryside, if, on those who gazed at it from vantage spots of +safety, and did not guess at the dreadful details, it left an +impression of terror never to be effaced, what was it to the three +women who, in the Square itself, watched the onward march of the +flames towards them, were blinded by the glare, choked by the smoke, +deafened by the roar? Whom distance saved from no feature of the scene +played under their windows: who could shun neither the savage cries of +the drunken rabble, dancing before the doomed houses, nor the sight, +scarce less amazing, of the insensibility which watched the march of +the flames and stretched forth not a finger to stay them! Who, chained +by Lady Sybil's weakness to the place where they stood, saw house +after house go up in flames, until all the side of the Square +adjoining their own was a wall of fire; and who then were left to +guess the progress, swift or slow, which the element was making +towards them! For whom the copper-hued fog above them must have +seemed, indeed, the roof of a furnace, from which escape grew moment +by moment less likely? + + + + + XXXIV + + HOURS OF DARKNESS + + +Long before this the women of the house had fled, taking Lady Sybil's +maid with them. And dreadful as was the situation of those who +remained, appalling as were the fears of two of them, they were able +to control themselves; the better because they knew that they had no +aid but their own to look to, and that their companion was helpless. +Fortunately Lady Sybil, who had watched the earlier phases of the riot +with the detachment which is one of the marks of extreme weakness, had +at a certain point turned faint, and demanded to be removed from the +window. She was ignorant, therefore, of the approach of the flames and +of the imminence of the peril. She had even, in spite of the uproar, +dozed off, after a few minutes of trying irritation, into an uneasy +sleep. + +Mary and Miss Sibson were thus left free. But for what? Compelled to +watch in suspense the progress of the flames, driven at times to fancy +that they could feel the heat of the fire, assailed more than once by +gusts of fear, as one or the other imagined that they were already cut +off, they could not have held their ground but for their +unselfishness; but for their possession of those qualities of love and +heroism which raise women to the height of occasion, and nerve them to +a pitch of endurance of which men are rarely capable. In the +schoolmistress, with her powdered nose and her portly figure, and her +dull past of samplers and backboards and Mrs. Chapone, there dwelt as +sturdy a spirit as in any of the rough Bristol shipmasters from whom +she sprang. She might be fond of a sweetbread, and a glass of port +might not come amiss to her. But the heart in her was stout and large, +and she had as soon dreamed of forsaking her forlorn companions as +those bluff sailormen would have dreamed of striking their flag to a +codfish Don, or to a shipload of mutinous slaves. + +And Mary? Perchance the gentlest and the mildest are also the bravest, +when the stress is real. Or perhaps those who have never known a +mother's love cling to the veriest shred and tatter of it, if it fall +in their way. Or perhaps--but why explain that which all history has +proved a hundred times over---that love casts out fear. Mary quailed, +deafened by the thunder of the fire, with the walls of the room +turning blood-red round her, and the smoke beginning to drift before +the window. But she stood; and only once, assailed by every form of +fear, did her courage fail her, or sink below the stronger nerve of +the elder woman. + +That was when Miss Sibson, after watching that latest and most +pregnant sign, the eddying of smoke past the window, spoke out. "I'm +going next door," she cried in Mary's ear. "There are papers I must +save; they are all I have for my old age. The rest may go, but I can't +see them burn when five minutes may save them." + +But Mary clung to her desperately. "Oh!" she cried, "don't leave me!" + +Miss Sibson patted her shoulder. "I shall come back," she said. "I +shall come back, my dear, never fear. And then we must move your +mother--into the Square if no better can be. Do you come down and let +me in when I knock three times." + +Lady Sybil was still dozing, with a woollen wrap about her head to +deaden the noise; and giving way to the cooler brain Mary went down +with the schoolmistress. In the hall the roar of the fire was less, +for the only window was shuttered. But the raucous voices of the mob, +moving to and fro outside, were more clearly heard. + +Miss Sibson, however, remained undaunted. "Put up the chain the moment +I am outside," she said. + +"But are you not afraid?" Mary cried, holding her back. + +"Of those scamps?" Miss Sibson replied truculently. "They had better +not touch me!" And she turned the key and slipped out. Nor did she +leave the step until Mary had put up the chain and re-locked the door. + +Mary waited--oh, many, many minutes it seemed--in the gloom of the +hall, pierced here and there by a lurid ray; with half her mind on her +mother upstairs, and the other half on the ribald laughter, the +drunken oaths and threats and curses which penetrated from the Square. +It was plain that Miss Sibson had not gone too soon, for twice or +thrice the door was struck with some heavy instrument, and harsh +voices called on the inmates to open if they did not wish to be +burned. Uncertain how the fire advanced, Mary heard them with a sick +heart. But she held her ground, until, oh, joy! she heard voices +raised in altercation, and among them the schoolmistress's. A hand +knocked thrice, she turned the key and let down the chain. The door +opened upon her, and on the steps, with her hand on a man's shoulder, +appeared Miss Sibson. Behind her and her captive, between them and +that background of flame and confusion, stood a group of four or five +men--dock labourers, in tarpaulins and frocks, who laughed tipsily. + +"This lad will help to carry your mother out," Miss Sibson said with +the utmost coolness. "Come, my lad, and no nonsense! You don't want to +burn a sick lady in her bed!" + +"No, I don't, Missis," the man grumbled sheepishly. "But I'm none here +for that! I'm none here for that, and----" + +"You'll do it, all the same," the schoolmistress replied. "And I want +one more. Here, you," she continued, addressing a grinning hobbledehoy +in a sealskin cap. "I know your face, and you'll want someone to speak +for you at the Assizes. Come in, you two, and the rest must wait until +the lady's carried out!" + +And thereon, with that strange mixture of humanity and unreasoning +fury of which the night left many examples, the men complied. The two +whom she had chosen entered, the others suffered her to shut the door +in their faces. Only, "You'll be quick!" one bawled after her. "She's +afire next door!" + +That was the warning that went with them upstairs, and it nerved them +for the task before them. Over that task it were well to draw a veil. +The poor sick woman, roused anew and abruptly to a sense of her +surroundings, to the flickering lights, the smell of smoke, the +strange faces, to all the horrors of that scene rarely equalled in our +modern England, shrieked aloud. The courage, which had before upheld +her, deserted her. She refused to be moved, refused to believe that +they were there to save her; she failed even to recognise her +daughter, she resisted their efforts, and whatever Mary could say or +do, she added to the peril of the moment all the misery which frantic +terror and unavailing shrieks could add. They did not know, while they +reasoned with her, and tried to lift her, and strove to cloak her +against the outer air, the minute at which the house might be entered; +nor even that it was not already entered, already in some part on +fire. The girl, though her hands were steady, though she never +wavered, though she persisted, was white as paper. And even Miss +Sibson was almost unnerved, when at last nature came to their aid, and +with a frantic protest, a last attempt to thrust them from her, the +poor woman swooned; and the men who had looked on, as unhappy as those +engaged, lifted the couch and bore her down the stairs. Odd are the +windings of chance and fate. These men, in whom every good instinct +was awakened by the sight before them, might, had the schoolmistress's +eye alighted on others, have plundered on with their fellows; and with +the more luckless of those fellows have stood on the scaffold a month +later! + +Still, time had been lost. And perforce the men descended slowly, so +that as they reached the hall the door gave way, and admitted a dozen +rascals, who tumbled over one another in their greed. The moment was +critical, the inrush of horrid sounds and sights appalling. But Mary +rose to the occasion. With a courage which from this time remained +with her to the end, she put herself forward. + +"Will you let us pass out?" she said. "My mother is ill. You do not +wish to harm her?" + +Now Lady Sybil had made Mary put off the Quaker-like costume in which +she had wished to nurse her, and she had had no time to cover the +light muslin dress she wore. The men saw before them a beautiful +creature, white-robed, bareheaded, barenecked--even the schoolmistress +had not snatched up so much as a cloak--a Una with sweet shining eyes, +before whom they fell aside abashed. + +"Lord love you, Miss!" one cried heartily. "Take her out! And God +bless you!" while the others grinned fatuously. + +So down the steps and into the turmoil of the seething Square, walled +on two sides by fire, and full of a drunken, frenzied rabble--for all +decent onlookers had fled, awake at last to the result of their +quiescence--the strange procession moved, the girl going first. Tipsy +groups, singing and dancing delirious jigs to the music of falling +walls, pillagers hurrying in ruthless haste from house to house, or +quarrelling over their spoils, householders striving to save a remnant +of their goods from dwellings past saving--all made way for it. Men +who swayed on their feet, brandishing their arms and shouting obscene +songs, being touched on the shoulder by others, stared, and gave place +with mouths agape. Even boys, whom the madness of that night made +worse than men, and unsexed women, shrank at sight of it, and were +silent--nay, followed with a strange homage the slender white figure, +the shining eyes, the pure sweet face. + +In the worst horrors of the French Revolution it is said that the +devotion of a daughter stayed the hands which were raised to slay her +father. Even so, on this night in Bristol, amid surroundings less +bloody, but almost as appalling, the wildest and the most furious made +way for the daughter and the mother. + +Led by instinct rather than by calculation, Mary did not pause, or +look aside, but moved onward, until she reached the middle of the +Square; until some sixty or seventy yards divided her charge from the +nearest of the burning houses. The heat was less scorching here, the +crowd less compact. A fixed seat afforded shelter on one side, and by +it she signed to the bearers to set the couch down. The statue stood +not far away on the other side, and secured them against the ugly +rushes which were caused from time to time by the fall of a roof or a +rain of sparks. + +Mary gazed round her in stupor. And no wonder. The whole of the north +side of the great Square, and a half of the west side--thirty lofty +houses in all--were in flames, or were sinking in red-hot ruin. The +long wall of fire, the canopy of glowing smoke, the ceaseless roar of +the element, the random movements of the forms which, pigmy-like, +played between her and the conflagration, the doom which threatened +the whole city, held her awestruck, spellbound, fascinated. + +But even the feelings which she experienced, confronted by that sight, +were exceeded by the emotions of one who had seen her advance, and, at +first with horror, then as he recognised her, with incredulity, had +watched the white figure which threaded its way through this rout of +satyrs, this orgy of recklessness. She had not succeeded in wresting +her eyes from the spectacle before a trembling hand fell on her arm, +and the last voice she expected to hear called her by name. + +"Mary!" Sir Robert cried. "Mary! My God! What are you doing here?" +For, taken up with staring at her, he had seen neither who accompanied +her nor what they bore. + +A sob of relief and joy broke from her, as she recognised him and +flung herself into his arms and clung to him. + +"Oh!" she cried. "Oh!" She could say no more at that moment. But the +joy of it! To have at last a man to turn to, a man to lean upon, a man +to look to! + +And still he could not grasp the position. "My God!" he repeated in +wonder. "What, child, what are you doing here?" + +But before she could answer him, his eyes sank to the level of the +couch, which the figures about it shaded from the scorching light. And +he started--and stepped back. In a lower voice and a quavering tone he +called upon his Maker. He was beginning to understand. + +"We had to bring her out," she sobbed. "We had to bring her out. The +house is on fire. See!" She pointed to the house beside Miss Sibson's, +from the upper windows of which smoke was beginning to curl and eddy. +Men were pouring from the door below, carrying their booty and +jostling others who sought to enter. + +"You have been here all day?" he asked, passing his hand over his +brow. + +"Yes." + +"All day? All day?" he repeated. + +"Yes." + +He covered his eyes with his hand, while Mary, recalled by a touch +from Miss Sibson, knelt beside her mother, to feel her pulse, to rub +her hands, to make sure that life still lingered in the inanimate +frame. He had not asked, he did not ask who it was over whom his +daughter hung with so tender a solicitude. He did not even look at the +cloaked figure. But the sidelong glance which at once sought and +shunned, the quivering of his mouth, which his shaking fingers did not +avail to hide, the agitation which unnerved a frame, erect but feeble, +all betrayed his knowledge. And what must have been his thoughts, how +poignant his reflections as he considered that there, there, enveloped +in those shapeless wraps, there lay the bride whom he had wedded with +hopes so high a score of years before! The mother of his child, the +wife whom he had last seen in the pride of her beauty, the woman from +whom he had been parted for sixteen years, and who through all those +sixteen years had never been absent from his thoughts for an hour, +nor ever been aught in them but an abiding, clinging, embittering +memory--she lay there! + +What wonder, if the scene about them rolled away and he saw her again +in the stately gardens at Stapylton, walking, smiling, talking, +flirting, the gayest of the gay, the lightest of the butterflies, the +admired of all? Or if his heart bled at the remembrance--at that +remembrance and many another? Or again, what wonder if his mind went +back to long hours of brooding in his sombre library, hours given up +to the rehearsal of grave remonstrances, vain reproofs, bitter +complaints, all destined to meet with defiance? And if his head sank +lower, his hands trembled more senilely, his breast heaved at this +picture of the irrevocable past? + +Of all the strange things wrought in Bristol that night, of all the +strangely begotten brood of riot and fire, and Reform, none were +stranger than this meeting, if meeting that could be called where one +was ignorant of the other's presence, and he would not look upon her +face. For he would not, perhaps he dared not. He stood with bent head, +pondering and absorbed, until an uprush of sparks, more fiery than +usual, and the movement of the crowd to avoid them, awoke him from his +thoughts. Then his eyes fell on Mary's uncovered head and neck, and he +took the cloak from his own shoulders and put it on her, with a touch +as if he blessed her. She was kneeling beside the couch at the moment, +her head bent to her mother's, her hair mingling with her mother's, +but he contrived to close his eyes and would not see his wife's face. + +After that he moved to the farther side of the couch, where some +sneaking hobbledehoys showed a disposition to break in upon them. And +old as he was, and shaken and weary, he stood sentry there, a gaunt +stooping figure, for long hours, until the prayed-for day began to +break above Redcliffe and to discover the grim relics of the night's +work. + + + + + XXXV + + THE MORNING OF MONDAY + + +It has been said that midnight of that Sunday saw the alarm speeding +along every road by which the forces of order could hope to be +recruited; nevertheless in Bristol itself nothing was done to stay the +work of havoc. A change had indeed come over the feeling in the city; +for to acquiescence had succeeded the most lively alarm, and to +approval, rage and boundless indignation. But the handful of officials +who all day long had striven, honestly if not very capably, to restore +order, were exhausted; and the public without cohesion or leaders were +in no state to make head against the rioters. So great, indeed, was +the confusion that a troop of Gloucestershire Yeomanry which rode in +soon after dark received neither orders nor billets; and being poorly +led, withdrew within the hour. This, with the tumult at Bath, where +the quarters of the Yeomanry were beset by a mob of Reformers, who +would not let them go to the rescue, completed the isolation of the +city. + +One man only, indeed, in the midst of that welter, had it in his power +to intervene with effect. And he could not be found. From Queen's +Square to Leigh's Bazaar, where the Third Dragoons stood inactive by +their horses; from Leigh's to the Recruiting Office on College Green, +where a couple of non-commissioned officers stood inactive; from the +Recruiting Office to his lodgings in Unity Street, men, panting and +protesting, in terror for their property, hurried in vain nightmare +pursuit of that man. For to such men it seemed impossible that in face +of the damage already done, of thirty houses in flames, of a mob which +had broken all bounds, of a city disturbed to its entrails, he could +still refuse to act. + +But to go to Unity Street was one thing, and to gain speech with +Brereton was another. He had gone to bed. He was asleep. He was not +well. He was worn out and was resting. The seekers, with the roar of +the fire in their ears and ruin staring them in the face, heard these +incredible things, and went away, swearing profanely. Nor did anyone, +it would seem, gain speech with him, until the small hours were well +advanced. Then Arthur Vaughan, unable to abide by the vow he had taken +not to importune him, arrived, he, too, furious, at the door, and +found a knot of gentlemen clamouring for admission. + +Vaughan had parted from Sir Robert Vermuyden some hours earlier, +believing that, bad as things were, he might make head against the +rioters, if he could rally his constables. But he had found no one +willing to act without the soldiery; and he was here in the last +resort, determined to compel Colonel Brereton to move, if it were by +main force. For Vaughan had the law-keeping instincts of an Englishman +and his blood boiled at the sights he had seen in the streets, at the +wanton destruction of property, at the jeopardy of life, at the women +made homeless, at the men made paupers. Nor was it quite out of his +thoughts that if anything could harm the cause of Reform it was these +deeds done in its name, these outrages fulfilling to the letter the +worst which its enemies had predicted of it! + +He spoke a few words to the persons who, angry and nonplussed, were +wrangling at the door, then he pushed his way in, deaf to the +remonstrances of the woman of the house. He did not believe, he could +not believe the excuse given--that Brereton was in bed. Nero, fiddling +while Rome burned, seemed nought beside that! And his surprise was +great when, opening the sitting-room door, he saw before him only the +Honourable Bob; who, standing on the hearth-rug, met his indignant +look with one of forced and sickly amusement. + +"Good Heavens!" Vaughan cried, staring at him. "What are you doing +here? Where's the Chief?" + +Flixton shrugged his shoulders. "There," he said irritably, "it's no +use blaming me! Man alive, if he won't, he won't! And it's his +business, not mine!" + +"Then I'd make it mine!" Vaughan retorted. "Where is he?" + +Flixton flicked his thumb in the direction of an inner door. "He's +there," he said. "He's there safe enough! For the rest, it is easy to +find fault! Very easy for you, my lad! You're no longer in the +service." + +"There are a good many will leave the service for this!" Vaughan +replied; and he saw on the instant that the shot told. Flixton's face +fell, he opened his mouth to reply. But disdaining to listen to +excuses, of which the speaker's manner betrayed the shallowness, +Vaughan opened the bedroom door and passed in. + +To his boundless astonishment Brereton was really in bed, with a light +beside him. Asleep he probably was not, for he rose at once to a +sitting posture and, with wild and dishevelled hair, confronted the +intruder with a mingling of wrath and discomfiture in his looks. His +sword and an undress cap, blue with a silver band, lay beside the +candle on the table, and Vaughan saw that though in his shirt-sleeves +he was not otherwise undressed. + +"Mr. Vaughan!" he cried. "What, if you please, does this mean?" + +"That is what I am here to ask you!" Vaughan answered, his face +flushed with indignation. He was too angry to pick his words. "Are +you, can you be aware, sir, what is done while you sleep?" + +"Sleep?" Brereton rejoined, with a sombre gleam in his eyes. "Sleep, +man? God knows it is the last thing I do!" He clapped his hand to his +brow and for a moment remained silent, holding it there. Then, "Sleep +has been a stranger to me these three nights!" he said. + +"Then what do you do here?" Vaughan answered, in astonishment. And +looked round the room as if he might find his answer there. + +"Ah!" Brereton rejoined, with a look half suspicious, half cunning. +"That is another matter. But never mind! Never mind! I know what I am +doing." + +"Know----" + +"Yes, well!" the soldier replied, bringing his feet to the floor, but +continuing to keep his seat on the bed. "Very well, sir, I assure +you." + +Vaughan looked aghast at him. "But, Colonel Brereton," he rejoined, +"do you consider that you are the only person in this city able to +act? That without you nothing can be done and nothing can be +ventured?" + +"That," Brereton returned, with the same shrewd look, "is just what I +do consider! Without me they cannot act! They cannot venture. And +I--go to bed!" + +He chuckled at it, as at a jest; and Vaughan, checked by the oddity of +his manner, and with a growing suspicion in his mind, knew not what to +think. For answer, at last, "I fear that you will not be able to go to +bed, Colonel Brereton," he said gravely, "when the moment comes to +face the consequences." + +"The consequences?" + +"You cannot think that a city such as this can be destroyed, and no +one be called to account?" + +"But the civil power----" + +"Is impotent!" Vaughan answered, with returning indignation, "in the +face of the disorder now prevailing! I warn you! A little more delay, +a little more license, let the people's passions be fanned by farther +impunity, and nothing, nothing, I warn you, Colonel Brereton," he +continued with emphasis, "can save the major part of the city from +destruction!" + +Brereton rose to his feet, a certain wildness in his aspect. "Good +God!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean it! Do you really mean it, +Vaughan? But--but what can I do?" He sank down on the bed again, and +stared at his companion. "Eh? What can I do? Nothing!" + +"Everything!" + +He sprang to his feet. "Everything! You say everything?" he cried, and +his tone rose shrill and excited. "But you don't know!" he continued, +lowering his voice as quickly as he had raised it and laying his hand +on Vaughan's sleeve--"you don't know! You don't know! But I know! Man, +I was set in command here on purpose. If I acted they counted on +putting the blame on me. And if I didn't act--they would still put the +blame on me." + +His cunning look shocked Vaughan. + +"But even so, sir," he answered, "you can do your duty." + +"My duty?" Brereton repeated, raising his voice again. "And do you +think it is my duty to precipitate a useless struggle? To begin a +civil war? To throw away the lives of my own men and cut down innocent +folk? To fill the streets with blood and slaughter? And the end the +same?" + +"Ay, sir, I do," Vaughan answered sternly. "If by so doing a worse +calamity may be averted! And, for your men's lives, are they not +soldiers? For your own life, are you not a soldier? And will you shun +a soldier's duty?" + +Brereton clapped his hand to his brow, and, holding it there, paced +the room in his shirt and breeches. + +"My God! My God!" he cried, as he went. "I do not know what to do! But +if--if it be as bad as you say----" + +"It is as bad, and worse!" + +"I might try once more," looking at Vaughan with a troubled, undecided +eye, "what showing my men might do? What do you think?" + +Vaughan thought that if he were once on the spot, if he saw with his +own eyes the lawlessness of the mob, he might act. And he assented. +"Shall I pass on the order, sir," he added, "while you dress?" + +"Yes, I think you may. Yes, certainly. Tell the officer commanding to +march his men to the Square and I'll meet him there." + +Vaughan waited for no more. He suspected that the burden of +responsibility had proved too heavy for Brereton's mind. He suspected +that the Colonel had brooded upon his position between a Whig +Government and a Whig mob until the notion that he was sent there to +be a scapegoat had become a fixed idea; and with it the determination +that he would not be forced into strong measures, had become also a +fixed idea. + +Such a man, if he was to be blamed, was to be pitied also. And +Vaughan, even in the heat of his indignation, did pity him. But he +entertained no such feeling for the Honourable Bob, and in delivering +the order to him he wasted no words. After Flixton had left the room, +however, he remembered that he had noted a shade of indecision in the +aide's manner. And warned by it, he followed him. "I will come with +you to Leigh's," he said. + +"Better come all the way," Flixton replied, with covert insolence. +"We've half a dozen spare horses." + +The next moment he was sorry he had spoken. For, "Done with you!" +Vaughan cried. "There's nothing I'd like better!" + +Flixton grunted. He had overreached himself, but he could not withdraw +the offer. + +Vaughan was by his side, and plainly meant to accompany him. + +Let no man think that the past is done with, though he sever it as he +will. The life from which he has cut himself off in disgust has none +the less cast the tendrils of custom about his heart, which shoot and +bud when he least expects it. Vaughan stood in the doorway of the +stable while the men bridled. He viewed the long line of tossing +heads, and the smoky lanthorns fixed to the stall-posts; he sniffed +the old familiar smell of "Stables." And he felt his heart leap to the +past. Ay, even as it leapt a few minutes later, when he rode down +College Green, now in darkness, now in glare, and heard beside him the +familiar clank of spur and scabbard, the rattle of the bridle-chains, +and the tramp of the shod hoofs. On the men's left, as they descended +the slope at a walk, the tall houses stood up in bright light; below +them on the right the Float gleamed darkly; above them, the mist +glowed red. Wild hurrahing and an indescribable babel of shouts, +mingled with the rushing roar of the flames, rose from the Square. +When the troop rode into it with the first dawn, they saw that two +whole sides--with the exception of a pair of houses--were burnt or +burning. In addition a monster warehouse was on fire in the rear, a +menace to every building to windward of it. + +The Colonel, with Flixton attending him, fell in on the flank, as the +troop entered the Square. But apparently--since he gave no orders--he +did not share the tingling indignation which Vaughan experienced as he +viewed the scene. A few persons were still engaged in removing their +goods from houses on the south side; but save for these, the decent +and respectable had long since fled the place, and left it a prey to +all that was most vile and dangerous in the population of a rough +seaport. The rabble, left to themselves, and constantly recruited as +the news flew abroad, had cast off the fear of reprisals, and believed +that at last the city was their own. Vaughan saw that if the dragoons +were to act with effect they must act at once. Nor was he alone in +this opinion. The troop had not ridden far into the open before he was +shocked, as well as astonished, by the appearance of Sir Robert +Vermuyden, who stumbled across the Square towards them. He was +bareheaded--for in an encounter with a prowler who had approached too +near he had lost his hat; he was without his cloak, though the morning +was cold. His face, too, unshorn and haggard, added to the tragedy of +his appearance; yet in a sense he was himself, and he tried to steady +his voice, as, unaware of Vaughan's presence, he accosted the nearest +trooper. + +"Who is in command, my man?" he said. + +Flixton, who had also recognised him, thrust his horse forward. "Good +Heavens, Sir Robert!" he cried. "What are you doing here? And in this +state?" + +"Never mind me," the Baronet replied. "Are you in command?" + +Colonel Brereton had halted his men. He came forward. "No, Sir +Robert," he said. "I am. And very sorry to see you in this plight." + +"Take no heed of me, sir," Sir Robert replied sternly. Through how +many hours, hours long as days, had he not watched for the soldiers' +coming! "Take no heed of me, sir," he repeated. "Unless you have +orders to abandon the loyal people of Bristol to their fate--act! Act, +sir! If you have eyes, you can see that the mob are beginning to fire +the south side on which the shipping abuts. Let that take fire and you +cannot save Bristol!" + +Brereton looked in the direction indicated, but he did not answer. +Flixton did. "We understand all that," he said, somewhat cavalierly. +"We see all that, Sir Robert, believe me. But the Colonel has to think +of many things; of more than the immediate moment. We are the only +force in Bristol, and----" + +"Apparently Bristol is no better for you!" Sir Robert replied with +tremulous passion. + +So far Vaughan, a horse's length behind Brereton and his aide, heard +what passed; but with half his mind. For his eyes, roving in the +direction whence Sir Robert had come, had discerned, amid a medley of +goods and persons huddled about the statue, in the middle of the +Square, a single figure, slender, erect, in black and white, which +appeared to be gazing towards him. At first he resisted as incredible +the notion which besieged him--at sight of that figure. But the longer +he looked the more sure he became that it was, it was Mary! Mary, +gazing towards him out of that welter of miserable and shivering +figures, as if she looked to him for help! + +Perhaps he should have asked Sir Robert's leave, to go to her. Perhaps +Colonel Brereton's to quit the troop, which he had volunteered to +accompany. But he gave no thought to either. He slipped from his +saddle, flung the reins to the nearest man, and, crossing the roadway +in three strides, he made towards her through the skulking groups who +warily watched the dragoons, or hailed them tipsily, and in the name +of Reform invited them to drink. + +And Mary, who had risen in alarm to her feet, and was gazing after her +father, her only hope, her one protection through the night, saw +Vaughan coming, tall and stern, through the prowling night-birds about +her, as if she had seen an angel! She said not a word, when he came +near and she was sure. Nor did he say more than "Mary!" But he threw +into that word so much of love, of joy, of relief, of forgiveness--and +of the appeal for forgiveness--that it brought her to his arms, it +left her clinging to his breast. All his coldness in Parliament +Street, his cruelty on the coach, her father's opposition, all were +forgotten by her, as if they had not been! + +And for him, she might have been the weakest of the weak, and fickle +and changeable as the weather, she might have been all that she was +not--though he had yet to learn that and how she had carried herself +that night--but he knew that in spite of all he loved her. She had the +old charm for him! She was still the one woman in the world for him! +And she was in peril. But for that there is no knowing how long he +might have held her. That thought, however, presently overcame all +others, made him insensible even to the sweetness of that embrace, ay, +even put words in his mouth. + +"How come you here?" he cried. "How come you here, Mary?" + +She freed herself and pointed to her mother. "I am with her," she +said. "We had to bring her here. It was all we could do." + +He lowered his eyes and saw what she was guarding; and he understood +something of the tragedy of that night. From the couch came a low +continuous moaning which made the hair rise on his head. He looked at +Mary. + +"She is insensible," she said quietly. "She does not know anything." + +"We must remove her!" he said. + +She looked at him, and from him to that part of the Square where the +rioters wrought still at their fiendish work. And she shuddered. +"Where can we take her?" she answered. "They are beginning to burn +that side also." + +"Then we must remove them!" he answered sternly. + +"That's sense!" a hearty voice cried at his elbow. "And the first I've +heard this night!" On which he became aware of Miss Sibson, or rather +of a stout body swathed in queer wrappings, who spoke in the +schoolmistress's tones, and though pale with fatigue continued to show +a brave face to the mischief about her. "That's talking!" she +continued. "Do that, and you'll do a man's work!" + +"Will you have courage if I leave you?" he asked. And when Mary, +bravely but with inward terror, answered "Yes," he told her in brief +sentences--with his eyes on the movements in the Square--what to do, +if the rabble made a rush in that direction, and what to do, if the +troops charged too near them, and how, by lying down, to avoid danger +if the crowd resorted to firearms, since untrained men fired high. +Then he touched Miss Sibson on the arm. "You'll not leave her?" he +said. + +"God bless the man, no!" the schoolmistress replied. "Though, for the +matter of that, she's as well able to take care of me as I of her!" + +Which was not quite true. Or why in after-days did Miss Sibson, at +many a cosy whist-party and over many a glass of hot negus, tell of a +particular box on the ear with which she routed a young rascal, more +forward than civil? Ay, and dilate with boasting on the way his teeth +had rattled, and the gibes with which his fellows had seen him driven +from the field? + +But, if not quite true, it satisfied Vaughan. He went from them in a +cold heat, and finding Sir Robert, still at words and almost at blows +with the officers, was going to strike in, when another did so. +Daylight was slowly overcoming the glare of the fire and dispelling +the shadows which had lain the deeper and more confusing for that +glare. It laid the grey of reality upon the scene, showing all things +in their true colours, the ruins more ghastly, the pale licking flames +more devilish. The fire, which had swept two sides of the Square, +leaving only charred skeletons of houses, with vacant sockets gaping +to the sky, was now attacking the third side, of which the two most +westerly houses were in flames. It was this, and the knowledge of its +meaning, that, before Vaughan could interpose, flung at Colonel +Brereton a man white with passion, and stuttering under the pressure +of feelings too violent for utterance. + +"Do you see? Do you see?" he cried brandishing his fist in Brereton's +face--it was Cooke. "You traitor! If the fire catches the fourth house +on that side, it'll get the shipping! The shipping, d'you hear, you +Radical? Then the Lord knows what'll escape? But, thank God, you'll +hang! You'll--if it gets to the fourth house, I tell you, it'll catch +the rigging by the Great Crane! Are you going to move?" + +Vaughan did not wait for Brereton's answer. "We must charge, Colonel +Brereton!" he cried, in a voice which burst the bonds of discipline, +and showed that he was determined that others should burst them also. +"Colonel Brereton," he repeated, setting his horse in motion, "we must +charge without a moment's delay!" + +"Wait!" Brereton answered hoarsely. "Wait! Let me----" + +"We must charge!" Vaughan replied, his face pale, his mind made up. +And turning in his saddle he waved his hand to the men. "Forward!" he +cried, raising his voice to its utmost. "Trot! Charge, men, and charge +home!" + +He spurred his horse to the front, and the whole troop, some thirty +strong, set in motion by the magic of his voice, followed him. Even +Brereton, after a moment's hesitation, fell in a length behind him. +The horses broke into a trot, then into a canter. As they bore down +along the south side upon the southwest corner, a roar of rage and +alarm rose from the rioters collected there; and scores and hundreds +fled, screaming, and sought safety to right and left. + +Vaughan had time to turn to Brereton, and cry, "I beg your pardon, +sir; I could not help it!" The next moment he and the leading troopers +were upon the fleeing, dodging, ducking crowd; were upon them and +among them. Half a dozen swords gleamed high and fell, the horses did +the rest. The rabble, taken by surprise, made no resistance. In a +trice the dragoons were through the mob, and the roadway showed clear +behind them. Save where here and there a man rose slowly and limped +away, leaving a track of blood at his heels. + +"Steady! Steady!" Vaughan cried. "Halt! Halt! Right about!" and then, +"Charge!" + +He led the men back over the same ground, chasing from it such as had +dared to return, or to gather upon the skirts of the troop. Then he +led his men along the east side, clearing that also and driving the +rioters in a panic into the side streets. Resistance worthy of the +name there was none, until, having led the troop back across the open +Square and cleared that of the skulkers, he came back again to the +southwest corner. There the rabble, rallying from their surprise, had +taken up a position in the forecourts of the houses, where they were +protected by the railings. They met the soldiers with a volley of +stones, and half a dozen pistol-shots. A horse fell, two or three of +the men were hit; for an instant there was confusion. Then Vaughan +spurred his horse into one of the forecourts, and, followed by half a +dozen troopers, cleared it, and the next and the next; on which, +volunteers who sprang up, as by magic, at the first act of authority, +entered the houses, killed one rioter, flung out the rest, and +extinguished the flames. Still the more determined of the rascals, +seeing the small number against them, clung to the place and the +forecourts; and, driven from one court, retreated to another, and +still protected by the railings, kept the troopers at bay with +missiles. + +Vaughan, panting with his exertions, took in the position, and looked +round for Brereton. + +"We must send for the Fourteenth, sir!" he said. "We are not enough to +do more than hold them in check." + +"There is nothing else for it now," Brereton replied, with a gloomy +face and in such a tone that the very men shrank from looking at him; +understanding, the very dullest of them, what his feelings must be, +and how great his shame, who, thus superseded, saw another successful +in that which it had been his duty to attempt. + +And what were Vaughan's feelings? He dared not allow himself the +luxury of a glance towards the middle of the Square. Much less--but +for a different reason--had he the heart to meet Brereton's eyes. "I'm +not in uniform, sir," he said. "I can pass through the crowd. If you +think fit, and will give me the order, I'll fetch them, sir?" + +Brereton nodded without a word, and Vaughan wheeled his horse to +start. As he pushed it clear of the troop he passed Flixton. + +"That was capital!" the Honourable Bob cried heartily. "Capital! We'll +handle 'em easily now, till you come back!" + +Vaughan did not answer, nor did he look at Flixton; his look would +have conveyed too much. Instead, he put his horse into a trot along +the east side of the Square, and, regardless of a dropping fire of +stones, made for the opening beside the ruins of the Mansion House. At +the last moment, he looked back, to see Mary if it were possible. But +he had waited too long, he could distinguish only confused forms about +the base of the statue; and he must look to himself. His road to +Keynsham lay through the lowest and most dangerous part of the city. + +But though the streets were full of rough men, navigators and seamen, +whose faces were set towards the Square, and who eyed him suspiciously +as he rode by them, none made any attempt to stop him. And when he had +crossed Bristol Bridge and had gained the more open outskirts towards +Totterdown, where he could urge his horse to a gallop, the pale faces +of men and women at door and window announced that it was not only the +upper or the middle class which had taken fright, and longed for help +and order. Through Brislington and up Durley Hill he pounded; and it +must be confessed that his heart was light. Whatever came of it, +though they court-martialled him, were that possible, though they +tried him, he had done something, he had done right, and he had +succeeded. Whatever the consequences, whatever the results to himself, +he had dared; and his daring, it might be, had saved a city! Of the +charge, indeed, he thought nothing, though she had seen it. It was +nothing, for the danger had been of the slightest, the defence +contemptible. But in setting discipline at defiance, in superseding +the officer commanding the troops, in taking the whole responsibility +on his own shoulders--a responsibility which few would have dreamed of +taking--there he had dared, there he had played the man, there he had +risen to the occasion! If he had been a failure in the House, here, by +good fortune, he had not been a failure. And she would know it. Oh, +happy thought! And happy man, riding out of Bristol with the murk and +smoke and fog at his back, and the sunshine on his face! + +For the sun was above the horizon as, with full heart, he rode down +the hill into Keynsham, and heard the bugle sound "Boots and saddles!" +and poured into sympathetic ears---and to an accompaniment of strong +words--the tale of the night's doings. + + + * * * * * + + +An hour later he rode in with the Fourteenth and heard the Blues +welcomed with thanksgiving, in the very streets which had stoned them +from the city twenty-four hours before. By that time the officer in +command of the main body of the Fourteenth at Gloucester had posted +over, followed by another troop, and, seeing the state of things, had +taken his own line and assumed, though junior to Colonel Brereton, the +command of the forces. + +After that the thing became a military evolution. One hour, two hours +at most, and twenty charges along the quays and through the streets +sufficed--at the cost of a dozen lives--to convince the most obstinate +of the rabble of several things. _Imprimis_, that the reign of terror +was not come. On the contrary, that law and order, and also Red +Judges, survived. That Reform did not spell fire and pillage, and that +at these things even a Reforming Government could not wink. In a word, +by noon of that day, Monday, and many and many an hour before the +ruins had ceased to smoke, the bubble which might have been easily +burst before was pricked. Order reigned in Bristol, patrols were +everywhere, two thousand zealous constables guarded the streets. And +though troops still continued to hasten by every road to the scene, +though all England trembled with alarm, and distant Woolwich sent its +guns, and Greenwich horsed them, and the Yeomanry of six counties +mustered on Clifton Down, or were quartered on the public buildings, +the thing was nought by that time. Arthur Vaughan had pricked it in +the early morning light when he cried "Charge!" in Queen's Square. + + + + + XXXVI + + FORGIVENESS + + +The first wave of thankfulness for crowning blessings or vital escapes +has a softening quality against which the hearts of few are wholly +proof. Old things, old hopes, old ties, old memories return on that +gentle flood tide to eyes and mind. The barriers raised by time, the +furrows of ancient wrong are levelled with the plain, and the generous +breast cries "_Non nobis!_ Not to us only be the benefit!" + +Lady Lansdowne, with something of this kind in her thoughts and pity +in her heart, sat eying Miss Sibson in a silence which disclosed +nothing, and which the schoolmistress found irksome. Miss Sibson could +beard Sir Robert at need; but of the great of her own sex--and she +knew Lady Lansdowne for a very great lady, indeed--her sturdy nature +went a little in awe. Had her ladyship encroached indeed, Miss Sibson +would have known how to put her in her place. But a Lady Lansdowne +perfectly polite and wholly silent imposed on her. She rubbed her nose +and was glad when the visitor spoke. + +"Sir Robert has not seen her, then?" + +Miss Sibson smoothed out the lap of her dress. "No, my lady, not since +she was brought into the house. Indeed, I can't say that he saw her +before, for he never looked at her." + +"Do you think that I could see her?" + +The schoolmistress hesitated. "Well, my lady," she said, "I am afraid +that she will hardly live through the day." + +"Then he must see her," Lady Lansdowne replied quickly. And Miss +Sibson observed with surprise that there were tears in the great +lady's eyes. "He must see her. Is she conscious?" + +"She's so-so," Miss Sibson answered more at her ease. After all, the +great lady was human, it seemed. "She wanders, and thinks that she is +in France, my lady; believes there's a revolution, and that they are +come to take her to prison. Her mind harps continually on things of +that kind. And not much wonder either! But, then again she's herself. +So that you don't know from one minute to another whether she's +sensible or not." + +"Poor thing!" Lady Lansdowne murmured. "Poor woman!" Her lips moved +without sound. Presently, "Her daughter is with her?" she asked. + +"She has scarcely left her for a minute since she was carried in," +Miss Sibson answered warmly. And to her eyes, too, there rose +something like a tear. "Only with difficulty have I made her take the +most necessary rest. But if your ladyship pleases, I will ask whether +she will see you." + +"Do so, if you please." + +Miss Sibson retired for this purpose, and Lady Lansdowne, left to +herself, rose and looked from the window. As soon as it had been +possible to move her, the dying woman had been carried into the +nearest house which had escaped the flames, and Lady Lansdowne, gazing +out, looked on the scene of conflict, saw lines of ruins, still asmoke +in parts, and discerned between the scorched limbs of trees, from +which the last foliage had fallen, the blackened skeletons of houses. +A gaping crowd was moving round the Square, under the eyes of special +constables, who, distinguished by white bands on their arms, guarded +the various entrances. Hundreds, doubtless, who would fain have robbed +were there to stare; but for the most part the guilty shunned the +scene, and the gazers consisted mainly of sightseers from the country, +or from Bath, or of knots of merchants and traders and the like who +argued, some that this was what came of Reform, others that not Reform +but the refusal of Reform was to blame for it. + +Presently she saw Sir Robert's stately figure threading its way +through the crowd. He walked erect, but with effort; yet though her +heart swelled with pity, it was not with pity for him. He would have +his daughter and in a few days, in a few weeks, in a few months at +most, the clouds would pass and leave him to enjoy the clear evening +of his days. + +But for her whom he had taken to his house twenty years before in the +bloom of her beauty, the envied, petted, spoiled child of fortune, who +had sinned so lightly and paid so dearly, and who now lay distraught +at the close of all, what evening remained? What gleam of light? What +comfort at the last? + +In her behalf, the heart which Whig pride, and family prejudice, and +the cares of riches had failed to harden, swelled to bursting. "He +must forgive her!" she ejaculated. "He shall forgive her!" And gliding +to the door she stayed Mary, who was in the act of entering. + +"I must see your father," she said. "He is mounting the stairs now. Go +to your mother, my dear, and when I ring, do you come!" + +What Mary read in her face, of feminine pity and generous purpose, +need not be told. Whatever it was, the girl seized the woman's hand, +kissed it with wet eyes, and fled. And when Sir Robert, ushered +upstairs by Miss Sibson, entered the room and looked round for his +daughter, he found in her stead the wife of his enemy. + +On the instant he remembered the errand on which she had sought him +six months before, and he was quick to construe her presence by its +light, and to feel resentment. The wrong of years, the daily, hourly +wrong, committed not against him only but against the innocent and the +helpless, this woman would have him forgive at a word; merely because +the doer, who had had no ruth, no pity, no scruples, hung on the verge +of that step which all, just and unjust, must take! And some, he knew, +standing where he stood, would forgive; would forgive with their lips, +using words which meant nought to the sayer, though they soothed the +hearers. But he was no hypocrite; he would not forgive. Forgive? Great +Heaven, that any should think that the wrongs of a lifetime could be +forgiven in an hour! At a word! Beside a bed! As soon might the +grinding wear of years be erased from the heart, the wrinkles of care +from the brow, the snows of age from the head! As easily might a word +give back to the old the spring and flame and vigour of their youth! + +Something of what he thought impressed itself on his face. Lady +Lansdowne marked the sullen drop of his eyebrows, and the firm set of +the lower face; but she did not flinch. "I came upon your name," she +said, "in the report of the dreadful doings here--in the 'Mercury,' +this morning. I hope, Sir Robert, I shall be pardoned for intruding." + +He murmured something, as much no as yes, and with a manner as frigid +as his breeding permitted. And standing--she had reseated herself--he +continued to look at her, his lips drawn down. + +"I grieve," she continued, "to find the truth more sad than the +report." + +"I do not know that you can help us," he said. + +"No?" + +"No." + +"Because," she rejoined, looking at him softly, "you will not let me +help you. Sir Robert----" + +"Lady Lansdowne!" He broke in abruptly, using her name with emphasis, +using it with intention. "Once before you came to me. Doubtless you +remember. Now, let me say at once, that if your errand to-day be the +same, and I think it likely that it is the same----" + +"It is not the same," she replied with emotion which she did not try +to hide. "It is not the same! For then there was time. And now there +is no time. Let a day, it may be an hour, pass, and at the cost of all +you possess you will not be able to buy that which you can still have +for nothing!" + +"And what is that?" he asked, frowning. + +"An easy heart." He had not looked for that answer, and he started. +"Sir Robert," she continued, rising from her seat, and speaking with +even deeper feeling, "forgive her! Forgive her, I implore you. The +wrong is past, is done, is over! Your daughter is restored----" + +"But not by her!" he cried, taking her up quickly. "Not by her act!" +he repeated sternly, "or with her will! And what has she done that I +should forgive? I, whose life she blighted, whose pride she stabbed, +whose hopes she crushed? Whom she left solitary, wifeless, childless +through the years of my strength, the years that she cannot, that no +one can give back to me? Through the long summer days that were a +weariness, and the dark winter days that were a torpor? Yet--yet I +could forgive her, Lady Lansdowne, I could forgive her, I do forgive +her that!" + +"Sir Robert!" + +"That, all that!" he continued, with a gesture and in a tone of +bitterness which harmonised but ill with the words he uttered. "All +that she ever did amiss to me I forgive her. But--but the child's +wrong, never! Had she relented indeed, at the last, had she of her own +motion, of her own free will given me back my daughter, had she +repented and undone the wrong, then--but no matter! she did not! She +did not one," he repeated with agitation, "she did not any of these +things. And I ask, what has she done that I should forgive her?" + +She did not answer him at once, and when she did it was in a tone so +low as to be barely audible. + +"I cannot answer that," she said. "But is it the only question? Is +there not another question, Sir Robert--not what she has done, or left +undone, but what you--forgive me and bear with me--have left undone, +or done amiss? Are you--you clear of all spot or trespass, innocent +of all blame or erring? When she came to you a young girl, a young +bride--and, oh, I remember her, the sunshine was not brighter, she was +a child of air rather than of earth, so fair and heedless, so +capricious, and yet so innocent!--did you in the first days never lose +patience? Never fail to make allowance? Never preach when wisdom would +have smiled, never look grave when she longed for lightness, never +scold when it had been better to laugh? Did you never forget that she +was a score of years younger than you, and a hundred years more +frivolous? Or"--Lady Lansdowne's tone was a mere whisper now--"if you +are clear of all offence against her, are you clear of all offence +against any, of all trespass? Have you no need to be forgiven, no +need, no----" + +Her voice died away into silence. She left the appeal unfinished. + +Sir Robert paced the room. And other scenes than those on which he had +taught himself to brood, other days than those later days of wasted +summers and solitary winters, of dulness and decay, rose to his +memory. Sombre moods by which it had pleased him--at what a cost!--to +make his displeasure known. Sarcastic words, warrant for the facile +retort that followed, curt judgments and ill-timed reproofs; and +always the sense of outraged dignity to freeze the manner and embitter +the tone. + +So much, so much which he had forgotten came back to him as he walked +the room with averted face! While Lady Lansdowne waited with her hand +on the bell. Minutes were passing, minutes; who knew how precious they +might be? And with them was passing his opportunity. + +He spoke at last. "I will see her," he said huskily. + +And on that Lady Lansdowne performed a last act of kindness. She said +nothing, bestowed no thanks. But when Mary entered--pale, yet with +that composure which love teaches the least experienced--she was gone. +Nor as she drove in all the pomp of her liveries and outriders through +Bath, through Corsham, through Chippenham, did those who ran out to +watch my lady's four greys go by, see her face as the face of an +angel. But Lady Louisa, flying down the steps to meet her--four at a +time and hoidenishly--was taken to her arms, unscolded; and knew by +instinct that this was the time to pet and be petted, to confess and +be forgiven, and to learn in the stillness of her mother's room those +thrilling lessons of life, which her governess had not imparted, nor +Mrs. Fairchild approved. + + + _But more than wisdom sees, love knows. + What eye has scanned the perfume of the rose? + Has any grasped the low grey mist which stands + Ghost-like at eve above the sheeted lands?_ + + +Meanwhile Sir Robert paused on the threshold of the room--_her_ room, +which he had first entered two-and-twenty years before. And as the +then and the now, the contrast between the past and the present, +forced themselves upon him, what could he do but pause and bow his +head? In the room a voice, her voice, yet unlike her voice, high, +weak, never ceasing, was talking as from a great distance, from +another world; talking, talking, never ceasing. It filled the room. +Yet it did not come from a world so distant as he at first fancied, +hearing it; a world that was quite aloof. For when, after he had +listened for a time in the shadow by the door, his daughter led him +forward, Lady Sybil's eyes took note of their approach, though she +recognised neither of them. Her mind was still busy amid the scenes of +the riot; twisting and weaving them, it seemed, into a piece with old +impressions of the French Terror, made on her mind in childhood by +talk heard at her nurse's knee. + +"They are coming! They are coming now," she muttered, her bright eyes +fixed on his. "But they shall not take her. They shall not take her," +she repeated. "Hide behind me, Mary. Hide, child! Don't tremble! They +shan't take you. One neck's enough and mine is growing thin. It used +not to be thin. But that's right. Hide, and they'll not see you, and +when I am gone you'll escape. Hush! Here they are!" And then in a +louder tone, "I am ready," she said, "I am quite ready." + +Mary leant over her. + +"Mother!" she cried, unable to bear the scene in silence. "Mother! +Don't you know me?" + +"Hush!" the dying woman answered, a look of terror crossing her face. +"Hush, child! Don't speak! I'm ready, gentlemen; I will go with you. I +am not afraid. My neck is small, and it will be but a squeeze." And +she tried to raise herself in the bed. + +Mary laid gentle hands on her, and restrained her. "Mother," she said. +"Mother! Don't you know me? I am Mary." + +But Lady Sybil, heedless of her, looked beyond her, with fear and +suspicion in her eyes. "Yes," she said. "I know you. I know you. I +know you. But who is--that? Who is that?" + +"My father. It is my father. Don't you know him?" + +But still, "Who is it? Who is it?" Lady Sybil continued to ask. "Who +is it?" + +Mary burst into tears. + +"What does he want? What does he want? What does he want?" the dying +woman asked in endless, unreasoning repetition. + +Sir Robert had entered the room in the full belief that with the best +of wills it would be hard, it would be well-nigh impossible to +forgive; to forgive his wife with more than the lips. But when he +heard her, weak and helpless as she was, thinking of another; when he +understood that she who had done so great a wrong to the child was +willing to give up her own life for the child; when he felt the sudden +drag at his heart-strings of many an old and sacred recollection, +shared only by her, and which that voice, that face, that form brought +back, he fell on his knees by the bed. + +She shrank from him, terrified. "What does he want?" she repeated. + +"Sybil," he said, in a husky voice, "I want your forgiveness, Sybil, +wife! Do you hear me? Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me, late as +it is?" + +Strange to say, his voice pierced the confusion which filled the sick +brain. She looked at him steadily and long; and she sighed, but she +did not answer. + +"Sybil," he repeated in a quavering voice. "Do you not know me? Don't +you remember me? I am your husband." + +"Yes, I know," she muttered. + +"This is your daughter." + +She smiled. + +"Our daughter," he repeated. "Our daughter!" + +"Mary?" she murmured. "Mary?" + +"Yes, Mary." + +She smiled faintly on him. Mary's head was touching his, but she did +not answer. She remained looking at them. They could not tell whether +she understood, or was slipping away again. He took her hand and +pressed it gently. "Do you hear me?" he said. "If I was harsh to you +in the old days, if I made mistakes, if I wronged you, I want +you--wife, say that you forgive me." + +"I--forgive you," she murmured. A faint gleam of mischief, of +laughter, of the old Lady Sybil, shone for an instant in her eyes, as +if she knew that she had the upper hand. "I forgive you--everything," +she murmured. Yes, for certain now, she was slipping away. + +Mary took her other hand. But she did not speak again. And before the +watch on the table beside her had ticked many times she had slipped +away for good, with that gleam of triumph in her eyes--forgiving. + + + + + XXXVII + + IN THE MOURNING COACH + + +It is a platitude that the flood is followed by the ebb. In the heat +of action, and while its warmth cheered his spirits, Arthur Vaughan +felt that he had done something. True, what he had done brought him no +nearer to making his political dream a reality. Not for him the +promise, + + + _It shall be thine in danger's hour + To guide the helm of Britain's power + And midst thy country's laurelled crown + To twine a garland all thy own_. + + +Yet he had done something. He had played the man when some others had +not played the man. + +But now that the crisis was over, and he had made his last round, now +that he had inspected for the last time the patrols over whom he was +set, seen order restored on the Welsh Back, and panic driven from +Queen's Square, he owned the reaction. There is a fatigue which one +night's rest fails to banish; and low in mind and tired in body, he +felt, when he rose late on Tuesday afternoon, that he had done nothing +worth doing; nothing that altered his position in essentials. + +For a time, indeed, he had fancied that things were changed. Sir +Robert had requested his assistance, and allowed him to share his +search; and though it was possible that the merest stranger, cast by +fortune into the same adventure, had been as welcome, it was also +possible that the Baronet viewed him with a more benevolent eye. And +Mary--Mary, too, had flown to his arms as to a haven; but in such a +position, amid surroundings so hideous, was that wonderful? Was it not +certain that she would have behaved in the same way to the merest +acquaintance if he brought her aid and protection? + +The answer might be yes or no! What was certain was that it could not +avail him. For between him and her there stood more than her father's +aversion, more than the doubt of her affection, more than the unlucky +borough, of which he had despoiled Sir Robert. There were her +possessions, there was the suspicion which Sir Robert had founded on +them--on Mary's gain and his loss--there was the independence, which +he must surrender, and which pride and principle alike forbade him to +relinquish. + +In the confusion of the night Vaughan had almost forgotten and quite +forgiven. Now he saw that the thing, though forgotten, though +forgiven, was there. He could not owe all to a man who had so +misconstrued him, and who might misconstrue him again. He could not be +dependent on one whose views, thoughts, prejudices, were opposed to +his own. No, the night and its doing must stand apart. He and she had +met, they had parted. He had one memory more, and nothing was changed. + +In this mood the fact that the White Lion regarded him as a hero +brought him no comfort. Neither the worshipping eyes of the young lady +who had tried to dissuade him from going forth on the Sunday, nor the +respectful homage which dogged his movements, uplifted him. He had +small appetite for his solitary dinner, and was languidly reading the +"Bristol Mercury," when a name was brought up to him, and a letter. + +"Gentleman will wait your pleasure, sir," the man said. + +He broke open the letter, and felt the blood rise to his face as his +eyes fell on the signature. The few lines were from his cousin, and +ran as follows: + + +"Dear Sir,--I feel it my duty to inform you, as a connection of the +family, that Lady Sybil Vermuyden died at five minutes past three +o'clock this afternoon. Her death, which I am led to believe could in +no event have been long delayed, was doubtless hastened by the +miserable occurrences of the last few days. + +"I have directed Isaac White to convey this intimation to your hands, +and to inform you from time to time of the arrangements made for her +ladyship's funeral, which will take place at Stapylton. I have the +honour to be, sir, + + "Your obedient servant, + + "Robert Vermuyden." + + +Vaughan laid the letter down with a groan. As he did so he became +aware that Isaac White was in the room. "Halloa, White," he said. "Is +that you?" + +White looked at him with unconcealed respect. "Yes, sir," he said. +"Sir Robert bade me wait on you in person without delay. If I may +venture," he continued, "to compliment you on my own account, sir--a +very great honour to the family, Mr. Vaughan--in all the west country, +I may say----" + +Vaughan stopped him, and said something of Lady Sybil's death; adding +that he had never seen her but once. + +"Twice, begging your pardon," White answered, smiling. "Do you +remember I met you at Chippenham before the election, Mr. Vaughan? +Well, sir, she came up to the coach, and as good as touched your +sleeve, poor lady, while I was talking to you. Of course, she knew +that her daughter was on the coach." + +"I learned afterwards that Lady Sybil travelled by it that day," +Vaughan replied. Then with a frown he took up the letter. "Of course," +he continued, "I have no intention of attending the funeral." + +"But I think his honour wishes much----" + +"There is no possible reason," Vaughan said doggedly. + +"Pardon me, sir," White answered anxiously. "You are not aware, I am +sure, how highly Sir Robert appreciates your gallant conduct +yesterday. No one in Bristol can view it in a stronger light. It is a +happy thing he witnessed it. He thinks, indeed, that but for you her +ladyship would have died in the crowd. Moreover----" + +"That's enough, White," Vaughan said coldly. "It is not so much what +Sir Robert thinks now, too, as what he thought formerly." + +"But indeed, sir, his honour's opinion of that matter, too----" + +"That's enough, White," the young gentleman repeated, rising from his +seat. He was telling himself that he was not a dog to be kicked away +and called to heel again. He would forgive, but he would not return. +"I don't wish to discuss the matter," he added with an air of +finality. + +And White did not venture to say more. + +He did wisely. For Vaughan, left to himself, had not reflected two +minutes before he felt that he had played the churl. To make amends, +he called at the house to inquire after the ladies at an hour next +morning when they could not be stirring. Having performed that duty, +and having learned that no inquiry into the riots would be opened for +some days--and also that a proposal to give him a piece of gold plate +was under debate at the Commercial Rooms, he fled, pride and love at +odds in his breast. + +It is possible that in Sir Robert's heart, also, there was a battle +going on. On the eve of the funeral he sat alone in the library at +Stapylton, that room in which he had passed so many unhappy hours, and +with which the later part of his life seemed bound up. Doubtless, as +he sat, he gave solemn thought to the past and the future. The room +was no longer dusty, the furniture was no longer shabby; there were +fresh flowers on his table; and by his great leather chair, a smaller +chair, filled within the last few minutes, had its place. Yet he could +not forget what he had suffered there; how he had brooded there. And +perhaps he thanked God, amid his more solemn thoughts, that he was not +glad that she who had plagued him would plague him no more. All that +her friend had urged in her behalf, all that was brightest and best in +his memories of her, this generous whim, that quixotic act rose, it +may be supposed, before him. And the picture of her fair young beauty, +of her laughing face in the bridal veil or under the Leghorn, of her +first words to him, of her first acts in her new home! And but that +the tears of age flow hardly, it is possible that he would have wept. + +Presently--perhaps he was not sorry for it--a knock came at the door +and Isaac White entered. He came to take the last instructions for the +morrow. A few words settled what remained to be settled, and then, +after a little hesitation, "I promised to name it to you, sir," White +said. "I don't know what you'll say to it. Dyas wishes to walk with +the others." + +Sir Robert winced. "Dyas?" he muttered. + +"He says he's anxious to show his respect for the family, in every way +consistent with his opinions." + +"Opinions?" Sir Robert echoed. "Opinions? Good Lord! A butcher's +opinions! Who knows but some day he'll have a butcher to represent +him? Or a baker or a candlestick-maker! If ever they have the ballot, +that'll come with it, White." + +White waited, but as the other said no more, "You won't forbid him, +sir?" he said, a note of appeal in his voice. + +"Oh, let him come," Sir Robert answered wearily. "I suppose," he +continued, striving to speak in the same tone, "you've heard nothing +from his--Member?" + +"From--oh, from Mr. Vaughan, sir? No, sir. But Mr. Flixton is coming." + +Sir Robert muttered something under his breath, and it was not +flattering to the Honourable Bob. Then he turned his chair and held +his hands over the blaze. "That will do, White," he said. "That will +do." And he did not look round until the agent had left the room. + +But White was certain that even on this day of sad memories, with the +ordeal of the morrow before him, Arthur Vaughan's attitude troubled +his patron. And when, twenty-four hours later, the agent's eyes +travelling round the vast assemblage which regard for the family had +gathered about the grave, fell upon Arthur Vaughan, and he knew that +he had repented and come, he was glad. + +The young Member held himself a little apart from the small group of +family mourners; a little apart also from the larger company whom +respect or social ties had brought thither. Among these last, who were +mostly Tories, many were surprised to see Lord Lansdowne and his son. +But more, aware of the breach between Mr. Vaughan and his cousin, and +of the former's peculiar position in the borough, were surprised to +see him. And these, while their thoughts should have been elsewhere, +stole furtive glances at the sombre figure; and when Vaughan left, +still alone and without speaking to any, followed his departure with +interest. In those days of mutes and crape-coloured staves, mourning +cloaks and trailing palls, it was not the custom for women to bury +their dead. And Vaughan, when he had made up his mind to come, knew +that he ran no risk of seeing Mary. + +That he might escape with greater case, he had left his post-chaise at +a side-gate of the park. The moment the ceremony was over, he made his +way to it, now traversing beds of fallen chestnut and sycamore leaves, +now striding across the sodden turf. The solemn words which he had +heard, emphasised as they were by the scene, the grey autumn day, the +lonely park, and the dark groups threading their way across it, could +not hold his thoughts from Mary. She would be glad that he had come. +Perhaps it was for that reason that he had come. + +He had passed through the gate of the park and his foot was on the +step of the chaise, when he heard White's voice, calling after him. He +turned and saw the agent hurrying desperately after him. White's +mourning suit was tight and new and ill made for haste; and he was hot +and breathless. For a moment, "Mr. Vaughan! Mr. Vaughan!" was all he +could say. + +Vaughan turned a reluctant, almost a stern face to him. Not that he +disliked the agent, but he thought that he had got clear. + +"What is it?" he asked, without removing his foot from the step. + +White looked behind him. "Sir Robert, sir," he said, "has something to +say to you. The carriage is following. If you'll be good enough," he +continued, mopping his face, "to wait a moment!" + +"Sir Robert cannot wish to see me at such a time," Vaughan answered, +between wonder and impatience. "He will write, doubtless." + +"The carriage should be in sight," was White's answer. As he spoke it +came into view; rounding the curve of a small coppice of beech trees, +it rolled rapidly down a declivity, and ascended towards them as +rapidly. + +A moment and it would be here. Vaughan looked uncertainly at his +post-boy. He wished to catch the York House coach at Chippenham, and +he had little time to spare. + +It was not the loss of time, however, that he really had in his mind. +But he could guess, he fancied, what Sir Robert wished to say; and he +did not deny that the old man was generous in saying it at such a +moment, if that were his intention. But his own mind was made up; he +could only repeat what he had said to White. It was not a question of +what Sir Robert had thought, or now thought, but of what _he_ thought. +And the upshot of all his thoughts was that he would not be dependent +upon any man. He had differed from Sir Robert once, and the elder had +treated the younger man with injustice, and contumely; that might +occur again. Indeed, taking into account the difference in their +political views in an age when politics counted for much, it was sure +to occur again. But his mind was made up that it should not occur to +him. Unhappy as the resolution made him, he would be free. He would be +his own man. He would remember nothing except that that night had +changed nothing. + +It was with a set face, therefore, that he watched the carriage draw +near. Apparently it was a carriage which had conveyed guests to the +funeral, for the blinds were drawn. + +"It will save time, if it takes you a mile on your way," White said, +with some nervousness. "I will tell your chaise to follow." And he +opened the door. + +Vaughan raised his hat, and stepped in. It was only when the door was +closing behind him and the carriage starting anew at a word from +White, that he saw that it contained, not Sir Robert Vermuyden, but a +lady. + +"Mary!" he cried. The name broke from him in his astonishment. + +She looked at him with self-possession, and a gentle, unsmiling +gravity. She indicated the front seat, and "Will you sit there?" she +said. "I can talk to you better, Mr. Vaughan, if you sit there." + +He obeyed her, marvelling. The blind on the side on which she sat was +raised a few inches, and in the subdued light her graceful head showed +like some fair flower rising from the depth of her mourning. For she +wore no covering on her head, and he might have guessed, had he had +any command of his thoughts, that she had sprung as she was into the +nearest carriage. Amazement, however, put him beyond thinking. + +Her eyes met his seriously. "Mr. Vaughan," she said, "my presence must +seem extraordinary to you. But I am come to ask you a question. Why +did you tell me six months ago that you loved me if you did not?" + +He was as deeply agitated as she was quiet on the surface. "I told you +nothing but the truth," he said. + +"No," she said. + +"But yes! A hundred times, yes!" he cried. + +"Then you are altered? That is it?" + +"Never!" he cried. "Never!" + +"And yet--things are changed? My father wrote to you, did he not, +three days ago? And said as much as you could look to him to say?" + +"He said----" + +"He withdrew what he had uttered in an unfortunate moment. He withdrew +that which, I think, he had never believed in his heart. He said as +much as you could expect him to say?" she repeated, her colour +mounting a little, her eyes challenging him with courageous firmness. + +"He said," Vaughan answered in a low voice, "what I think it became +him to say." + +"You understood that his feelings were changed towards you?" + +"To some extent." + +She drew a deep breath and sat back. "Then it is for you to speak," +she said. + +But before, agitated as he was, he could speak, she leant forward +again. "No," she said, "I had forgotten. I had forgotten." And the +slight quivering of her lips, a something piteous in her eyes, +reminded him once more, once again--and the likeness tugged at his +heart--of the Mary Smith who had paused on the threshold of the inn at +Maidenhead, alarmed and abashed by the bustle of the coffee-room. "I +had forgotten! It is not my father you cannot forgive--it is I, who am +unworthy of your forgiveness? You cannot make allowance," she +continued, stopping him by a gesture, as he opened his mouth to speak, +"for the weakness of one who had always been dependent, who had lived +all her life under the dominion of others, who had been taught by +experience that, if she would eat, she must first obey. You can make +no allowance, Mr. Vaughan, for such an one placed between a father, +whom it was her duty to honour, and a lover to whom she had indeed +given her heart, she knew not why--but whom she barely knew, with +whose life she had no real acquaintance, whose honesty she must take +on trust, because she loved him? You cannot forgive her because, +taught all her life to bend, she could not, she did not stand upright +under the first trial of her faith?" + +"No!" he cried violently. "No! No! It is not that!" + +"No?" she said. "You do forgive her then? You have forgiven her? The +more as to-day she is not weak. The earth is not level over my +mother's grave, some may say hard things of me--but I have come to you +to-day." + +"God bless you!" he cried. + +She drew a deep breath and sat back. "Then," she said, with a sigh as +of relief, "it is for you to speak." + +There was a gravity in her tone, and so complete an absence of all +self-consciousness, all littleness, that he owned that he had never +known her as she was, had never measured her true worth, had never +loved her as she deserved to be loved. Yet--perhaps because it was all +that was left to him--he clung desperately to the resolution he had +formed, to the position which pride and prudence alike had bidden him +to take up. + +"What am I to say?" he asked hoarsely. + +"Why, if you love me, if you forgive me," she answered softly, "do you +leave me?" + +"Can you not understand?" + +"In part, I can. But not altogether. Will you explain? I--I think," +she continued with a movement of her flower-like head, that for gentle +dignity he had never seen excelled, "I have a right to an +explanation." + +"You know of what Sir Robert accused me?" + +"Yes." + +"Am I to justify him? You know what was the difference which came +between us, which first divided us? And what I thought right then, I +still think right. Am I to abandon it? You know what I bore. Am I to +live on the bounty of one who once thought so ill of me, and may think +as ill again? Of one who, differing from me, punished me so cruelly? +Am I to sink into dependence, to sacrifice my judgment, to surrender +my political liberty into the hands of one who----" + +"Of my father!" she said gravely. + +He could not, so reminded, say what he had been going to say, but he +assented by a movement of the head. And after an interval of silence, +"I cannot," he cried passionately, "I cannot, even to secure my +happiness, run that risk!" + +She looked from the window of the carriage, and in a voice which shook +a little, "No," she said, "I suppose not." + +He was silent and he suffered. He dared not meet her eyes. Why had she +sought this interview? Why had she chosen to torment him? Ah, if she +knew, if she only knew what pain she was inflicting upon him! + +But apparently she did not know. For by and by she spoke again. "No," +she said. "I suppose not. Yet have you thought"--and now there was a +more decided tremor in her voice--"that that which you surrender is +not all there is at stake? Your independence is precious to you, and +you have a right, Mr. Vaughan, to purchase it even at the cost of your +happiness. But have you a right to purchase it at the cost of +another's? At the cost of mine? Have you thought of my happiness?" she +continued, "or only of yours--and of yourself? To save your +independence--shall I say, to save your pride?--you are willing to set +your love aside. But have you asked me whether I am willing to pay my +half of the price? My heavier half? Whether I am willing to set my +happiness aside? Have you thought of--me at all?" + +If he had not, then, when he saw how she looked at him, with what +eyes, with what love, as she laid her hand on his arm, he had been +more than man if he had resisted her long! But he still fought with +himself, and with her; staring with hard, flushed face straight before +him, telling himself that by all that was left to him he must hold. + +"I think, I think," she said gently, yet with dignity, "you have not +thought of me." + +"But your father--Sir Robert----" + +"He is an ogre, of course," she cried in a tone suddenly changed. "But +you should have thought of that before, sir," she continued, tears and +laughter in her voice. "Before you travelled with me on the coach! +Before you saved my life! Before you--looked at me! For you can never +take it back. You can never give me myself again. I think that you +must take me!" + +And then he did not resist her any longer. And the carriage was +stayed; and orders were given. And, empty and hugely overpaid, the +yellow post-chaise ambled on to Chippenham; and bearing two inside, +and a valise on the roof, the mourning coach drove slowly and solemnly +back to Stapylton. As it wound its way over the green undulations of +the park, the rabbits that ran, and then stopped, cocking their scuts, +to look at it, saw nothing strange in it. Nor the fallow-deer of the +true Savernake breed, who, before they fled through the dying bracken, +eyed it with poised heads. Nay, the heron which watched its approach +from the edge of the Garden Pool, and did not even deign to drop a +second leg, saw nothing strange in it. Yet it bore for all that the +strangest of all earthly passengers, and the strongest, and the +bravest, and the fairest--and withal, thank God, the most familiar. +For it carried Love. And love the same yet different, love gaunt and +grey-haired, yet kind and warm of heart, met it at the door and gave +it welcome. + + + + + XXXVIII + + THREADS AND PATCHES + + +Though England had not known for fifty years an outbreak so formidable +or so destructive as that of which the news was laid on men's +breakfast-tables on the Tuesday morning, it had less effect on the +political situation than might have been expected. It sent, indeed, a +thrill of horror through the nation. And had it occurred at an earlier +stage of the Reform struggle, before the middle class had fully +committed itself to a trial of strength with the aristocracy, it must +have detached many more of the timid and conservative of the +Reformers. But it came too late. The die was cast; men's minds were +made up on the one side and the other. Each saw events coloured to his +wish. And though Wetherell and Croker, and the devoted band who still +fought manfully round those chieftains, called heaven and earth to +witness the first-fruits of the tree of Reform, the majority of the +nation preferred to see in these troubles the alternative to the +Bill--the abyss into which the whole country would be hurled if that +heaven-sent measure were not passed. + +On one thing, however, all were agreed. The outrage was too great to +be overlooked. The law must be vindicated, the lawbreakers must be +punished. To this end the Government, anxious to clear themselves of +the suspicion of collusion, appointed a special Commission, and sent +it to Bristol to try the rioters; and four poor wretches were hanged, +a dozen were transported, and many received minor sentences. Having +thus, a little late in the day, taught the ignorant that Reform did +not spell Revolution after the French pattern, the Cabinet turned +their minds to the measure again. And in December they brought in the +Third Reform Bill, with the fortunes and passage of which this story +is not at pains to deal. + +But of necessity the misguided creatures who kindled the fires in +Queen's Square on that fatal Sunday, and swore that they would not +leave a gaol standing in England, were not the only men who suffered. +Sad as their plight was, there was one whose plight--if pain be +measured by the capacity to feel--was sadder. While they were being +tried in one part of Bristol, there was proceeding in another part an +inquiry charged with deeper tragedy. Not those only who had done the +deed, but those who had suffered them to do it, must answer for it. +And the fingers of all pointed to one man. The magistrates might +escape--the Mayor indeed had done his duty creditably, if to little +purpose; for war was not their trade, and the thing at its crisis had +become an affair of war. But Colonel Brereton could not shield himself +behind that plea: so many had behaved poorly that the need to bring +one to book was the greater. + +He was tried by court-martial, and among the witnesses was Arthur +Vaughan. By reason of his position, as well as of the creditable part +he had played, the Member for Chippinge was heard by the Court with +more than common attention; and he moved all who listened to him by +his painful anxiety to set the accused's conduct in the best light; to +show that what was possible by daylight on the Monday morning might +not have been possible on the Sunday night, and that the choice +from first to last was between two risks. No question of Colonel +Brereton's courage--for he had served abroad with credit, nay, with +honour--entered into the inquiry; and it was proved that a soldier's +duty in such a case was not well defined. But afterwards Vaughan much +regretted that he had not laid before the Court the opinion he had +formed at the time--that during the crisis of the riots Brereton, +obsessed by one idea, was not responsible for his actions. For, sad to +say, on the fifth day of the inquiry, sinking under a weight of mental +agony which a man of his reserved and melancholy temper was unable to +support, the unfortunate officer put an end to his life. Few have paid +so dearly for an error of judgment and the lack of that coarser fibre +which has enabled many an inferior man to do his duty. The page +darkens with his fate, too tragical for such a theme as this. And if +by chance these words reach the eye of any of his descendants, theirs +be the homage due to the memory of a signal misfortune and an +honourable but hapless man. + +Of another and greater personage whose life touched Arthur Vaughan's +once and twice, and of whom, with all his faults, it was never said by +his worst enemy that he feared responsibility or shunned the post of +danger, a brief word must suffice. If Lord Brougham did not live to +see that complete downfall of the great Whig houses which he had +predicted, he lived to see their power ruinously curtailed. He lived +to see their influence totter under the blow which the Repeal of the +Corn Laws dealt the landed interest, he lived to see the Reform Bill +of 1867, he lived almost to see the _coup de grace_ given to their +leadership by the Ballot Act. And in another point his prophecy came +true. As it had been with Burke and Sheridan and Tierney, it was with +him. His faults were great, as his merits were transcendent; and +presently in the time of his need his highborn associates remembered +only the former. They took advantage of them to push him from power; +and he spent nearly forty years, the remnant of his long life, in the +cold shade of Opposition. The most brilliant, the most versatile, and +the most remarkable figure of the early days of the century, whose +trumpet voice once roused England as it has never been roused from +that day to this, and whose services to education and progress are +acknowledged but slightly even now, paid for the phenomenal splendour +of his youth by long years spent in a changed and changing world, +jostled by a generation forgetful or heedless of his fame. To us he is +but the name of a carriage; remembered otherwise, if at all, for his +part in Queen Caroline's trial. While Wetherell, that stout fighter, +Tory of the Tories, witty, slovenly, honest man, whose fame was once +in all mouths, whose caricature was once in all portfolios, and whose +breeches made the fortune of many a charade, is but the shadow of a +name. + + + * * * * * + + +The year had waned and waxed, and it was June again. At Stapylton the +oaks were coming to their full green; the bracken was lifting its +million heads above the sod, and by the edge of the Garden Pool the +water voles sat on the leaves of the lilies and clean their fur. +Arthur Vaughan--strolling up and down with his father-in-law, not +without an occasional glance at Mary, recumbent on a seat on the +lawn--looked grave. + +"I fancy," he said presently, "that we shall learn the fate of the +Bill to-day." + +"Very like, very like," Sir Robert answered, in an offhand fashion, as +if the subject were not to his taste. And he turned about and by the +aid of his stick expounded his plan for enlarging the flower garden. + +But Vaughan returned to the subject. "If not to-day, to-morrow," he +said. "And that being so, I've wanted for some time, sir, to ask you +what you wish me to do." + +"To do?" + +"As to the seat at Chippinge." + +Sir Robert's face expressed his annoyance. "I told you--I told you +long ago," he replied, "that I should never interfere with your +political movements." + +"And you have kept your word, sir. But as Lord Lansdowne cedes the +seat to you for this time, I assume----" + +"I don't know why you assume anything!" Sir Robert retorted irritably. + +"I assume only that you will wish me to seek another seat." + +"I certainly don't wish you to lead an idle life," Sir Robert +answered. "When the younger men of our class do that, when they cease +to take an interest in political life, on the one side or the other, +our power will, indeed, be ended. Nothing is more certain than that. +But for Chippinge, I don't choose that a stranger should hold a seat +close to my own door. You might have known that! For the party, I have +taken steps to furnish Mr. Cooke, a man whose opinions I thoroughly +approve, with a seat elsewhere; and I have therefore done my duty in +that direction. For the rest, the mischief is done. I suppose," he +continued in his driest tones, "you won't want to bring in another +Reform Bill immediately?" + +"No, sir," Vaughan answered gratefully. "Nor do I think that we are so +far apart as you assume. The truth is, Sir Robert, that we all fear +one of two things, and according as we fear the one or the other we +are dubbed Whigs or Tories." + +"What are your two things?" + +"Despotism, or anarchy," Vaughan replied modestly. + +Sir Robert sniffed. "You don't refine enough," he said, pleased with +his triumph. "We all fear despotism; you, the despotism of the one: I, +a worse, a more cruel, a more hopeless despotism, the despotism of the +many! That's the real difference between us." + +Vaughan looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you are right," he said. +"But--what is that, sir?" He raised his hand. The deep note of a +distant gun rolled up the valley from the town. + +"The Lords have passed the Bill," Sir Robert replied. "They are +celebrating the news in Chippinge. Well, I am not sorry that my day is +done. I give you the command. See only, my boy," he continued, with a +loving glance at Mary, who had risen, and, joined by Miss Sibson, was +coming to the end of the bridge to meet them, "see only that you hand +it on to others--I do not say as I give it to you, but as little +impaired as may be." + +And again, as Mary called to them to know what it was, the sound of +the gun rolled up the valley--the knell of the system, good or bad, +under which England had been ruled so long. The battle of which +Brougham had fired the first shot in the Castle Yard at York was past +and won. + +_Boom!_ + + + + THE END + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chippinge Borough, by Stanley J. Weyman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIPPINGE BOROUGH *** + +***** This file should be named 38871.txt or 38871.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/7/38871/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by +Google Books (The Library of the University of Michigan) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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