THE YOUNG DUKE

By Benjamin Disraeli

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BOOK I. 

CHAPTER I. 

 _Fortune's Favourite_

GEORGE AUGUSTUS FREDERICK, DUKE OF ST. JAMES, completed his twenty-firstyear, an event which created almost as great a sensation among thearistocracy of England as the Norman Conquest. A minority of twentyyears had converted a family always amongst the wealthiest of GreatBritain into one of the richest in Europe. The Duke of St. Jamespossessed estates in the north and in the west of England, besides awhole province in Ireland. In London there were a very handsome squareand several streets, all made of bricks, which brought him in yearlymore cash than all the palaces of Vicenza are worth in fee-simple, withthose of the Grand Canal of Venice to boot. As if this were not enough, he was an hereditary patron of internal navigation; and although perhapsin his two palaces, three castles, four halls, and lodges _ad libitum_, there were more fires burnt than in any other establishment in theempire, this was of no consequence, because the coals were his own. Hisrent-roll exhibited a sum total, very neatly written, of two hundredthousand pounds; but this was independent of half a million in thefunds, which we had nearly forgotten, and which remained from theaccumulations occasioned by the unhappy death of his father. 

The late Duke of St. James had one sister, who was married to the Earlof Fitz-pompey. To the great surprise of the world, to the perfectastonishment of the brother-in-law, his Lordship was not appointedguardian to the infant minor. The Earl of Fitz-pompey had always been onthe best possible terms with his Grace: the Countess had, only the yearbefore his death, accepted from his fraternal hand a diamond bracelet;the Lord Viscount St. Maurice, future chief of the house of Fitz-pompey, had the honour not only of being his nephew, but his godson. Who couldaccount, then, for an action so perfectly unaccountable? It was quiteevident that his Grace had no intention of dying. 

The guardian, however, that he did appoint was a Mr. Dacre, a Catholicgentleman of ancient family and large fortune, who had been thecompanion of his travels, and was his neighbour in his county. Mr. Dacrehad not been honoured with the acquaintance of Lord Fitz-pompey previousto the decease of his noble friend; and after that event such anacquaintance would probably not have been productive of agreeablereminiscences; for from the moment of the opening of the fatal willthe name of Dacre was wormwood to the house of St. Maurice. LordFitz-pompey, who, though the brother-in-law of a Whig magnate, was aTory, voted against the Catholics with renewed fervour. 

Shortly after the death of his friend, Mr. Dacre married a beautiful andnoble lady of the house of Howard, who, after having presented him witha daughter, fell ill, and became that common character, a confirmedinvalid. In the present day, and especially among women, one wouldalmost suppose that health was a state of unnatural existence. Theillness of his wife and the non-possession of parliamentary dutiesrendered Mr. Dacre's visits to his town mansion rare, and the mansion intime was let. 

The young Duke, with the exception of an occasional visit to his uncle, Lord Fitz-pompey, passed the early years of his life at Castle Dacre. At seven years of age he was sent to a preparatory school at Richmond, which was entirely devoted to the early culture of the nobility, andwhere the principal, the Reverend Doctor Coronet, was so extremelyexclusive in his system that it was reported that he had once refusedthe son of an Irish peer. Miss Coronet fed her imagination with the hopeof meeting her father's noble pupils in after-life, and in the meantimeread fashionable novels. 

The moment that the young Duke was settled at Richmond, all theintrigues of the Fitz-pompey family were directed to that quarter; andas Mr. Dacre was by nature unsuspicious, and was even desirous thathis ward should cultivate the friendship of his only relatives, the St. Maurice family had the gratification, as they thought, of completelydeceiving him. Lady Fitz-pompey called twice a week at Crest House witha supply of pine-apples or bonbons, and the Rev. Dr. Coronet bowed inadoration. Lady Isabella St. Maurice gave a china cup to Mrs. Coronet, and Lady Augusta a paper-cutter to Miss. The family was secured. Alldiscipline was immediately set at defiance, and the young Duke passedthe greater part of the half-year with his affectionate relations. His Grace, charmed with the bonbons of his aunt and the kisses of hiscousins, which were even sweeter than the sugar-plums; delightedwith the pony of St. Maurice, which immediately became his own; andinebriated by the attentions of his uncle, --who, at eight years of age, treated him, as his Lordship styled it, 'like a man'--contrasted thislife of early excitement with what now appeared the gloom and therestraint of Castle Dacre, and he soon entered into the conspiracy, which had long been hatching, with genuine enthusiasm. He wrote to hisguardian, and obtained permission to spend his vacation with his uncle. Thus, through the united indulgence of Dr. Coronet and Mr. Dacre, theDuke of St. James became a member of the family of St. Maurice. 

No sooner had Lord Fitz-pompey secured the affections of the ward thanhe entirely changed his system towards the guardian. He wrote toMr. Dacre, and in a manner equally kind and dignified courted hisacquaintance. He dilated upon the extraordinary, though extremelynatural, affection which Lady Fitz-pompey entertained for the onlyoffspring of her beloved brother, upon the happiness which the youngDuke enjoyed with his cousins, upon the great and evident advantageswhich his Grace would derive from companions of his own age, of thesingular friendship which he had already formed with St. Maurice; andthen, after paying Mr. Dacre many compliments upon the admirable mannerin which he had already fulfilled the duties of his important office, and urging the lively satisfaction that a visit from their brother'sfriend would confer both upon Lady Fitz-pompey and himself, he requestedpermission for his nephew to renew the visit in which he had been 'sohappy!' The Duke seconded the Earl's diplomatic scrawl in the mostgraceful round-text. The masterly intrigues of Lord Fitz-pompey, assisted by Mrs. Dacre's illness, which daily increased, and whichrendered perfect quiet indispensable, were successful, and the youngDuke arrived at his twelfth year without revisiting Dacre. Every year, however, when Mr. Dacre made a short visit to London, his ward spenta few days in his company, at the house of an old-fashioned Catholicnobleman; a visit which only afforded a dull contrast to the gay societyand constant animation of his uncle's establishment. 

It would seem that fate had determined to counteract the intentionsof the late Duke of St. James, and to achieve those of the Earl ofFitz-pompey. At the moment that the noble minor was about to leave Dr. Coronet for Eton, Mrs. Dacre's state was declared hopeless, except fromthe assistance of an Italian sky, and Mr. Dacre, whose attachment to hislady was romantic, determined to leave England immediately. 

It was with deep regret that he parted from his ward, whom he tenderlyloved; but all considerations merged in the paramount one; and he wasconsoled by the reflection that he was, at least, left to the care ofhis nearest connections. Mr. Dacre was not unaware of the dangersto which his youthful pledge might be exposed by the indiscriminateindulgence of his uncle, but he trusted to the impartial and inviolablesystem of a public school to do much; and he anticipated returning toEngland before his ward was old enough to form those habits which aregenerally so injurious to young nobles. In this hope Mr. Dacre wasdisappointed. Mrs. Dacre lingered, and revived, and lingered, for nearlyeight years; now filling the mind of her husband and her daughter withunreasonable hope, now delivering them to that renewed anguish, thatheart-rending grief, which the attendant upon a declining relative canalone experience, additionally agonizing because it cannot be indulged. Mrs. Dacre died, and the widower and his daughter returned to England. In the meantime, the Duke of St. James had not been idle. 

CHAPTER II. 

 _Tender Relatives_

THE departure and, at length, the total absence of Mr. Dacre fromEngland yielded to Lord Fitz-pompey all the opportunity he had longdesired. Hitherto he had contented himself with quietly sapping theinfluence of the guardian: now that influence was openly assailed. Alloccasions were seized of depreciating the character of Mr. Dacre, and open lamentations were poured forth on the strange and unhappyindiscretion of the father who had confided the guardianship of his son, not to his natural and devoted friends, but to a harsh and repulsivestranger. Long before the young Duke had completed his sixteenth yearall memory of the early kindness of his guardian, if it had everbeen imprinted on his mind, was carefully obliterated from it. It wasconstantly impressed upon him that nothing but the exertions of his auntand uncle had saved him from a life of stern privation and irrationalrestraint: and the man who had been the chosen and cherished confidantof the father was looked upon by the son as a grim tyrant, from whoseclutches he had escaped, and in which he determined never again to findhimself. 'Old Dacre, ' as Lord Fitz-pompey described him, was a phantomenough at any time to frighten his youthful ward. The great objectof the uncle was to teaze and mortify the guardian into resigning histrust, and infinite were the contrivances to bring about this desirableresult; but Mr. Dacre was obstinate, and, although absent, contrived tocarry on and complete the system for the management of the Hautevilleproperty which he had so beneficially established and so long pursued. 

In quitting England, although he had appointed a fixed allowance forhis noble ward, Mr. Dacre had thought proper to delegate a discretionaryauthority to Lord Fitz-pompey to furnish him with what might be calledextraordinary necessaries. His Lordship availed himself with suchdexterity of this power that his nephew appeared to be indebted forevery indulgence to his uncle, who invariably accompanied every act ofthis description with an insinuation that he might thank Mrs. Dacre'sillness for the boon. 

'Well, George, ' he would say to the young Etonian, 'you shall havethe boat, though I hardly know how I shall pass the account athead-quarters; and make yourself easy about Flash's bill, though Ireally cannot approve of such proceedings. Thank your stars you have notgot to present that account to old Dacre. Well, I am one of those whoare always indulgent to young blood. Mr. Dacre and I differ. He is yourguardian, though. Everything is in his power; but you shall never wantwhile your uncle can help you; and so run off to Caroline, for I see youwant to be with her. '

The Lady Isabella and the Lady Augusta, who had so charmed Mrs. And MissCoronet, were no longer in existence. Each had knocked down her earl. Brought up by a mother exquisitely adroit in female education, theLadies St. Maurice had run but a brief, though a brilliant, career. Beautiful, and possessing every accomplishment which renders beautyvaluable, under the unrivalled chaperonage of the Countess they hadplayed their popular parts without a single blunder. Always in the bestset, never flirting with the wrong man, and never speaking to the wrongwoman, all agreed that the Ladies St. Maurice had fairly won theircoronets. Their sister Caroline was much younger; and although she didnot promise to develop so unblemished a character as themselves, shewas, in default of another sister, to be the Duchess of St. James. 

Lady Caroline St. Maurice was nearly of the same age as her cousin, theyoung Duke. They had been play-fellows since his emancipation fromthe dungeons of Castle Dacre, and every means had been adopted by herjudicious parents to foster and to confirm the kind feelings which hadbeen first engendered by being partners in the same toys and sharingthe same sports. At eight years old the little Duke was taught to callCaroline his 'wife;' and as his Grace grew in years, and could betterappreciate the qualities of his sweet and gentle cousin, he was notdisposed to retract the title. When George rejoined the courtly Coronet, Caroline invariably mingled her tears with those of her sorrowingspouse; and when the time at length arrived for his departure for Eton, Caroline knitted him a purse and presented him with a watch-ribbon. Atthe last moment she besought her brother, who was two years older, towatch over him, and soothed the moment of final agony by a promise tocorrespond. Had the innocent and soft-hearted girl been acquainted with, or been able to comprehend, the purposes of her crafty parents, shecould not have adopted means more calculated to accomplish them. Theyoung Duke kissed her a thousand times, and loved her better than allthe world. 

In spite of his private house and his private tutor, his Grace did notmake all the progress in his classical studies which means so calculatedto promote abstraction and to assist acquirement would seem to promise. The fact is, that as his mind began to unfold itself he found aperpetual and a more pleasing source of study in the contemplation ofhimself. His early initiation in the school of Fitz-pompey had not beenthrown away. He had heard much of nobility, and beauty, and riches, and fashion, and power; he had seen many individuals highly, thoughdifferently, considered for the relative quantities which they possessedof these qualities; it appeared to the Duke of St. James that among thehuman race he possessed the largest quantity of them all: he cut hisprivate tutor. His private tutor, who had been appointed by Mr. Dacre, remonstrated to Lord Fitz-pompey, and with such success that he thoughtproper shortly after to resign his situation. Dr. Coronet begged torecommend his son, the Rev. Augustus Granville Coronet. The Duke of St. James now got on rapidly, and also found sufficient time for his boat, his tandem, and his toilette. 

The Duke of St. James appeared at Christ Church. His conceit kept himalive for a few terms. It is delightful to receive the homage of twothousand young men of the best families in the country, to breakfastwith twenty of them, and to cut the rest. In spite, however, of theglories of the golden tuft and a delightful private establishment whichhe and his followers maintained in the chaste suburbs of Alma Mater, theDuke of St. James felt ennuied. Consequently, one clear night, they setfire to a pyramid of caps and gowns in Peckwater. It was a silly thingfor any one: it was a sad indiscretion for a Duke; but it was done. Somewere expelled; his Grace had timely notice, and having before cut theOxonians, now cut Oxford. 

Like all young men who get into scrapes, the Duke of St. Jamesdetermined to travel. The Dacres returned to England before he did. Hedexterously avoided coming into contact with them in Italy. Mr. Dacrehad written to him several times during the first years of his absence;and although the Duke's answers were short, seldom, and not verysatisfactory, Mr. Dacre persisted in occasionally addressing him. When, however, the Duke had arrived at an age when he was at least morallyresponsible for his own conduct, and entirely neglected answering hisguardian's letters, Mr. Dacre became altogether silent. 

The travelling career of the young Duke may be conceived by those whohave wasted their time, and are compensated for that silliness by beingcalled men of the world. He gamed a little at Paris; he ate a good dealat Vienna; and he studied the fine arts in Italy. In all places hishomage to the fair sex was renowned. The Parisian duchess, the Austrianprincess, and the Italian countess spoke in the most enthusiastic termsof the English nobility. At the end of three years the Duke of St. Jameswas of opinion that he had obtained a great knowledge of mankind. He wasmistaken; travel is not, as is imagined, the best school for that sortof science. Knowledge of mankind is a knowledge of their passions. Thetraveller is looked upon as a bird of passage, whose visit is short, andwhich the vanity of the visited wishes to make agreeable. All isshow, all false, and all made up. Coterie succeeds coterie, equallysmiling--the explosions take place in his absence. Even a grand passion, which teaches a man more, perhaps, than anything else, is not veryeasily excited by the traveller. The women know that, sooner or later, he must disappear; and though this is the case with all lovers, they donot like to miss the possibility of delusion. Thus the heroines keep inthe background, and the visitor, who is always in a hurry, falls intothe net of the first flirtation that offers. 

The Duke of St. James had, however, acquired a great knowledge; ifnot of mankind, at any rate of manners. He had visited all Courts, andsparkled in the most brilliant circles of the Continent. He returned tohis own country with a taste extremely refined, a manner most polished, and a person highly accomplished. 

CHAPTER III. 

 _The Duke Returns_

A SORT of scrambling correspondence had been kept up between the youngDuke and his cousin, Lord St. Maurice, who had for a few months been hisfellow-traveller. By virtue of these epistles, notice of the movementsof their interesting relative occasionally reached the circle atFitz-pompey House, although St. Maurice was scanty in the much-desiredcommunications; because, like most young Englishmen, he derivedsingular pleasure from depriving his fellow-creatures of all that smallinformation which every one is so desirous to obtain. The announcement, however, of the approaching arrival of the young Duke was duly made. Lord Fitz-pompey wrote and offered apartments at Fitz-pompey House. Theywere refused. Lord Fitz-pompey wrote again to require instructions forthe preparation of Hauteville House. His letter was unanswered. LordFitz-pompey was quite puzzled. 

'When does your cousin mean to come, Charles?' 'Where does your cousinmean to go, Charles?' 'What does your cousin mean to do, Charles?' Thesewere the hourly queries of the noble uncle. 

At length, in the middle of January, when no one expected him, the Dukeof St. James arrived at Mivart's. 

He was attended by a French cook, an Italian valet, a German jäger, anda Greek page. At this dreary season of the year this party was, perhaps, the most distinguished in the metropolis. 

Three years' absence and a little knowledge of life had somewhat changedthe Duke of St. James's feelings with regard to his noble relatives. He was quite disembarrassed of that Panglossian philosophy which hadhitherto induced him to believe that the Earl of Fitz-pompey was thebest of all possible uncles. On the contrary, his Grace rather doubtedwhether the course which his relations had pursued towards him wasquite the most proper and the most prudent; and he took great creditto himself for having, with such unbounded indulgence, on the wholedeported himself with so remarkable a temperance. His Grace, too, couldno longer innocently delude himself with the idea that all the attentionwhich had been lavished upon him was solely occasioned by the impulseof consanguinity. Finally, the young Duke's conscience often misgave himwhen he thought of Mr. Dacre. He determined, therefore, on returning toEngland, not to commit himself too decidedly with the Fitz-pompeys, andhe had cautiously guarded himself from being entrapped into becomingtheir guest. At the same time, the recollection of old intimacy, thegeneral regard which he really felt for them all, and the sincereaffection which he entertained for his cousin Caroline, would havedeterred him from giving any outward signs of his altered feelings, evenif other considerations had not intervened. 

And other considerations did intervene. A Duke, and a young Duke, isan important personage; but he must still be introduced. Even ourhero might make a bad tack on his first cruise. Almost as importantpersonages have committed the same blunder. Talk of Catholicemancipation! O! thou Imperial Parliament, emancipate the forlornwretches who have got into a bad set! Even thy omnipotence must failthere!

Now, the Countess of Fitz-pompey was a brilliant of the first water. Under no better auspices could the Duke of St. James bound upon thestage. No man in town could arrange his club affairs for him withgreater celerity and greater tact than the Earl; and the marrieddaughters were as much like their mother as a pair of diamond ear-ringsare like a diamond necklace. 

The Duke, therefore, though he did not choose to get caged inFitz-pompey House, sent his page, Spiridion, to the Countess, on aspecial embassy of announcement on the evening of his arrival, and onthe following morning his Grace himself made his appearance at an earlyhour. 

Lord Fitz-pompey, who was as consummate a judge of men and manners as hewas an indifferent speculator on affairs, and who was almost as finisheda man of the world as he was an imperfect philosopher, soon perceivedthat considerable changes had taken place in the ideas as well as in theexterior of his nephew. The Duke, however, was extremely cordial, andgreeted the family in terms almost of fondness. He shook his uncle bythe hand with a fervour with which few noblemen had communicated fora considerable period, and he saluted his aunt on the cheek with adelicacy which did not disturb the rouge. He turned to his cousin. 

Lady Caroline St. Maurice was indeed a right beautiful being. She, whomthe young Duke had left merely a graceful and kind-hearted girl, threeyears had changed into a somewhat dignified but most lovely woman. Alittle perhaps of her native ease had been lost; a little perhaps of amanner rather too artificial had supplanted that exquisite addresswhich Nature alone had prompted; but at this moment her manner was asunstudied and as genuine as when they had gambolled together in thebowers of Malthorpe. Her white and delicate arm was extended withcordial grace, her full blue eye beamed with fondness, and the softblush that rose on her fair cheek exquisitely contrasted with theclusters of her dark brown hair. 

The Duke was struck, almost staggered. He remembered their infantloves; he recovered with ready address. He bent his head with gracefulaffection and pressed her lips. He almost repented that he had notaccepted his uncle's offer of hospitality. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 _A Social Triumph_

LORD FITZ-POMPEY was a little consoled for the change which he hadobserved in the character of the Duke by the remembrance of the embracewith which his Grace had greeted Lady Caroline. Never indeed did aprocess which has, through the lapse of so many ages, occasioned so muchdelight, produce more lively satisfaction than the kiss in question. Lord Fitz-pompey had given up his plan of managing the Duke after thefamily dinner which his nephew had the pleasure to join the first dayof his first visit. The Duke and he were alone, and his Lordship availedhimself of the rare opportunity with that adroitness for which he wascelebrated. Nothing could be more polite, more affable, more kind, than his Grace's manner! but the uncle cared little for politeness, oraffability, or kindness. The crafty courtier wanted candour, and thatwas absent. That ingenuous openness of disposition, that frank andaffectionate demeanour, for which the Duke of St. James had beenso remarkable in his early youth, and with the aid of which LordFitz-pompey had built so many Spanish castles, had quite disappeared. 

Nothing could be more artificial, more conventional, more studied, thanhis whole deportment. In vain Lord Fitz-pompey pumped; the empty bucketinvariably reminded him of his lost labour. In vain his Lordship laidhis little diplomatic traps to catch a hint of the purposes or anintimation of the inclinations of his nephew; the bait was never seized. In vain the Earl affected unusual conviviality and boundless affection;the Duke sipped his claret and admired his pictures. Nothing woulddo. An air of habitual calm, a look of kind condescension, and aninclination to a smile, which never burst into a beam, announced thatthe Duke of St. James was perfectly satisfied with existence, andconscious that he was himself, of that existence, the most distinguishedornament. In fact, he was a sublime coxcomb; one of those rarecharacters whose finished manner and shrewd sense combined preventtheir conceit from being contemptible. After many consultations it wasdetermined between the aunt and uncle that it would be most prudent toaffect a total non-interference with their nephew's affairs, and inthe meantime to trust to the goodness of Providence and the charms ofCaroline. 

Lady Fitz-pompey determined that the young Duke should make his debut atonce, and at her house. Although it was yet January, she did not despairof collecting a select band of guests, Brahmins of the highest caste. Some choice spirits were in office, like her lord, and therefore intown; others were only passing through; but no one caught a flying-fishwith more dexterity than the Countess. The notice was short, the wholewas unstudied. It was a felicitous impromptu, and twenty guests wereassembled, who were the Corinthian capitals of the temple of fashion. 

There was the Premier, who was invited, not because he was a minister, but because he was a hero. There was another Duke not less celebrated, whose palace was a breathing shrine which sent forth the oracles ofmode. True, he had ceased to be a young Duke; but he might be consoledfor the vanished lustre of youth by the recollection that he had enjoyedit, and by the present inspiration of an accomplished manhood. Therewere the Prince and the Princess Protocoli: his Highness a first-ratediplomatist, unrivalled for his management of an opera; and his consort, with a countenance like Cleopatra and a tiara like a constellation, famed alike for her shawls and her snuff. There were Lord and LadyBloomerly, who were the best friends on earth: my Lord a sportsman, butsoft withal, his talk the Jockey Club, filtered through White's; my Ladya little blue, and very beautiful. Their daughter, Lady Charlotte, roseby her mother's side like a tall bud by a full-blown flower. There werethe Viscountess Blaze, a peeress in her own right, and her daughter, Miss Blaze Dash-away, who, besides the glory of the future coronet, moved in all the confidence of independent thousands. There was theMarquess of Macaroni, who was at the same time a general, an ambassador, and a dandy; and who, if he had liked, could have worn twelve orders;but this day, being modest, only wore six. There, too, was theMarchioness, with a stomacher stiff with brilliants extracted from thesnuff-boxes presented to her husband at a Congress. 

There were Lord Sunium, who was not only a peer but a poet; and hislady, a Greek, who looked just finished by Phidias. There, too, wasPococurante, the epicurean and triple millionaire, who in a politicalcountry dared to despise politics, in the most aristocratic of kingdomshad refused nobility, and in a land which showers all its honours uponits cultivators invested his whole fortune in the funds. He lived in aretreat like the villa of Hadrian, and maintained himself in an elevatedposition chiefly by his wit and a little by his wealth. There, too, werehis noble wife, thoroughbred to her fingers' tips, and beaming like theevening star; and his son, who was an M. P. , and thought his father afool. In short, our party was no common party, but a band who formed thevery core of civilisation; a high court of last appeal, whose word wasa fiat, whose sign was a hint, whose stare was death, andsneer----damnation!

The Graces befriend us! We have forgotten the most important personage. It is the first time in his life that Charles Annesley has beenneglected. It will do him good. 

Dandy has been voted vulgar, and beau is now the word. It may be doubtedwhether the revival will stand; and as for the exploded title, though ithad its faults at first, the muse of Byron has made it not only English, but classical. Charles Annesley could hardly be called a dandy or abeau. There was nothing in his dress--though some mysterious arrangementin his costume, some rare simplicity, some curious happiness, alwaysmade it distinguished--there was nothing, however, in his dress, whichcould account for the influence which he exercised over the manners ofhis contemporaries. Charles Annesley was about thirty. He had inheritedfrom his father, a younger brother, a small estate; and, though heirto a wealthy earldom, he had never abused what the world called 'hisprospects. ' Yet his establishment, his little house in Mayfair, hishorses, his moderate stud at Melton, were all unique, and everythingconnected with him was unparalleled for its elegance, its invention, andits refinement. But his manner was his magic. His natural and subduednonchalance, so different from the assumed non-emotion of a mere dandy;his coldness of heart, which was hereditary, not acquired; his cautiouscourage, and his unadulterated self-love, had permitted him to minglemuch with mankind without being too deeply involved in the play of theirpassions; while his exquisite sense of the ridiculous quickly revealedthose weaknesses to him which his delicate satire did not spare, evenwhile it refrained from wounding. All feared, marry admired, and nonehated him. He was too powerful not to dread, too dexterous not toadmire, too superior to hate. Perhaps the great secret of his mannerwas his exquisite superciliousness, a quality which, of all, is the mostdifficult to manage. Even with his intimates he was never confidential, and perpetually assumed his public character with the private coteriewhich he loved to rule. On the whole, he was unlike any of the leadingmen of modern days, and rather reminded one of the fine gentlemen of ourold brilliant comedy, the Dorimants, the Bellairs, and the Mirabels. 

Charles Annesley was a member of the distinguished party who were thisday to decide the fate of the young Duke. Let him come forward!

His Grace moved towards them, tall and elegant in figure, and with thatair of affable dignity which becomes a noble, and which adorns a court;none of that affected indifference which seems to imply that nothing cancompensate for the exertion of moving, and 'which makes the dandy, whileit mars the man. ' His large and somewhat sleepy grey eye, his clearcomplexion, his small mouth, his aquiline nose, his transparentforehead, his rich brown hair, and the delicacy of his extremities, presented, when combined, a very excellent specimen of that style ofbeauty for which the nobility of England are remarkable. Gentle, forhe felt the importance of the tribunal, never loud, ready, yet a littlereserved, he neither courted nor shunned examination. His finishedmanner, his experience of society, his pretensions to taste, thegaiety of his temper, and the liveliness of his imagination, graduallydeveloped themselves with the developing hours. 

The banquet was over: the Duke of St. James passed his examination withunqualified approval; and having been stamped at the mint of fashion asa sovereign of the brightest die, he was flung forth, like the restof his golden brethren, to corrupt the society of which he was thebrightest ornament. 

CHAPTER V. 

 _Sweeping Changes_

THE morning after the initiatory dinner the young Duke drove toHauteville House, his family mansion, situated in his family square. HisGrace particularly prided himself on his knowledge of the arts; a tastefor which, among other things, he intended to introduce into England. Nothing could exceed the horror with which he witnessed the exterior ofhis mansion, except the agony with which he paced through the interior. 

'Is this a palace?' thought the young Duke; 'this hospital a palace!'

He entered. The marble hall, the broad and lofty double staircasepainted in fresco, were not unpromising, in spite of the dingy gilding;but with what a mixed feeling of wonder and disgust did the Duke roamthrough clusters of those queer chambers which in England are calleddrawing-rooms!

'Where are the galleries, where the symmetrical saloons, where thelengthened suite, where the collateral cabinets, sacred to the statue ofa nymph or the mistress of a painter, in which I have been customed toreside? What page would condescend to lounge in this ante-chamber? Andis this gloomy vault, that you call a dining-room, to be my hall ofApollo? Order my carriage. '

The Duke sent immediately for Sir Carte Blanche, the successor, inEngland, of Sir Christopher Wren. His Grace communicated at the sametime his misery and his grand views. Sir Carte was astonished with hisGrace's knowledge, and sympathised with his Grace's feelings. He offeredconsolation and promised estimates. They came in due time. HautevilleHouse, in the drawing of the worthy Knight, might have been mistaken forthe Louvre. Some adjoining mansions were, by some magical process forwhich Sir Carte was famous, to be cleared of their present occupiers, and the whole side of the square was in future to be the site ofHauteville House. The difficulty was great, but the object was greater. The expense, though the estimate made a bold assault on the halfmillion, was a mere trifle, 'considering. ' The Duke was delighted. Hecondescended to make a slight alteration in Sir Carte's drawing, whichSir Carte affirmed to be a great improvement. Now it was Sir Carte'sturn to be delighted. The Duke was excited by his architect'sadmiration, and gave him a dissertation on Schönbrunn. 

Although Mr. Dacre had been disappointed in his hope of exercising apersonal influence over the education of his ward, he had been morefortunate in his plans for the management of his ward's property. Perhaps there never was an instance of the opportunities afforded bya long minority having been used to greater advantage. The estates hadbeen increased and greatly improved, all and very heavy mortgages hadbeen paid off, and the rents been fairly apportioned. Mr. Dacre, by hisconstant exertions and able dispositions since his return to England, also made up for the neglect with which an important point had been alittle treated; and at no period had the parliamentary influence of thehouse of Hauteville been so extensive, so decided, and so well bottomedas when our hero became its chief. 

In spite of his proverbial pride, it seemed that Mr. Dacre wasdetermined not to be offended by the conduct of his ward. The Duke hadnot yet announced his arrival in England to his guardian; but about amonth after that event he received a letter of congratulation from Mr. Dacre, who at the same time expressed a desire to resign a trust intohis Grace's hand which, he believed, had not been abused. The Duke, who rather dreaded an interview, wrote in return that he intended veryshortly to visit Yorkshire, when he should have the pleasure of availinghimself of the kind invitation to Castle Dacre; and having thus, as hethought, dexterously got rid of the old gentleman for the present, hetook a ride with Lady Caroline St. Maurice. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 _The Duke Visits Hauteville_

PARLIAMENT assembled, the town filled, and every moment in the day ofthe Duke of St. James was occupied. Sir Carte and his tribe filledup the morning. Then there were endless visits to endless visitors;dressing; riding, chiefly with Lady Caroline; luncheons, and the bowwindow at White's. Then came the evening with all its crash and glare;the banquet, the opera, and the ball. 

The Duke of St. James took the oaths and his seat. He was introducedby Lord Fitz-pompey. He heard a debate. We laugh at such a thing, especially in the Upper House; but, on the whole, the affair isimposing, particularly if we take part in it. Lord Ex-Chamberlainthought the nation going on wrong, and he made a speech full of currencyand constitution. Baron Deprivyseal seconded him with great effect, brief but bitter, satirical and sore. The Earl of Quarterday answeredthese, full of confidence in the nation and in himself. When the debatewas getting heavy, Lord Snap jumped up to give them something light. TheLords do not encourage wit, and so are obliged to put up with pertness. But Viscount Memoir was very statesmanlike, and spouted a sortof universal history. Then there was Lord Ego, who vindicated hischaracter, when nobody knew he had one, and explained his motives, because his auditors could not understand his acts. Then there was amaiden speech, so inaudible that it was doubted whether, after all, theyoung orator really did lose his virginity. In the end, up started thePremier, who, having nothing to say, was manly, and candid, and liberal;gave credit to his adversaries and took credit to himself, and then themotion was withdrawn. 

While all this was going on, some made a note, some made a bet, someconsulted a book, some their ease, some yawned, a few slept; yet, on thewhole, there was an air about the assembly which can be witnessed in noother in Europe. Even the most indifferent looked as if he would comeforward if the occasion should demand him, and the most imbecile as ifhe could serve his country if it required him. When a man raises hiseyes from his bench and sees his ancestor in the tapestry, he begins tounderstand the pride of blood. 

The young Duke had not experienced many weeks of his career before hebegan to sicken of living in an hotel. Hitherto he had not reaped any ofthe fruits of the termination of his minority. He was a _cavalier seul_, highly considered, truly, but yet a mere member of society. He had beenthis for years. This was not the existence to enjoy which he had hurriedto England. He aspired to be society itself. In a word, his tastes wereof the most magnificent description, and he sighed to be surrounded bya court. As Hauteville House, even with Sir Carte's extraordinaryexertions, could not be ready for his reception for three years, which to him appeared eternity, he determined to look about for anestablishment. He was fortunate. A nobleman who possessed an hereditarymansion of the first class, and much too magnificent for his resources, suddenly became diplomatic, and accepted an embassy. The Duke of St. James took everything off his hands: house, furniture, wines, cooks, servants, horses. Sir Carte was sent in to touch up the gilding and makea few temporary improvements; and Lady Fitz-pompey pledged herself toorganise the whole establishment ere the full season commenced and theearly Easter had elapsed, which had now arrived. 

It had arrived, and the young Duke had departed to his chief familyseat, Hauteville Castle, in Yorkshire. He intended at the same timeto fulfil his long-pledged engagement at Castle Dacre. He arrived atHauteville amid the ringing of bells, the roasting of oxen, and thecrackling of bonfires. The Castle, unlike most Yorkshire castles, was aGothic edifice, ancient, vast, and strong; but it had received numerousadditions in various styles of architecture, which were at the same timegreat sources of convenience and great violations of taste. The youngDuke was seized with a violent desire to live in a genuine Gothiccastle: each day his refined taste was outraged by discovering Romanwindows and Grecian doors. He determined to emulate Windsor, and he sentfor Sir Carte. 

Sir Carte came as quick as thunder after lightning. He was immediatelystruck with Hauteville, particularly with its capabilities. It was asuperb place, certainly, and might be rendered unrivalled. The situationseemed made for the pure Gothic. The left wing should decidedly bepulled down, and its site occupied by a Knight's hall; the old terraceshould be restored; the donjon keep should be raised, and a gallery, three hundred feet long, thrown through the body of the castle. Estimates, estimates, estimates! But the time? This was a greater pointthan the expense. Wonders should be done. There were now five hundredmen working for Hauteville House; there should be a thousand forHauteville Castle. Carte Blanche, Carte Blanche, Carte Blanche!

On his arrival in Yorkshire the Duke had learnt that the Dacres werein Norfolk on a visit. As the Castle was some miles off, he saw nonecessity to make a useless exertion, and so he sent his jäger with hiscard. He had now been ten days in his native county. It was dull, and hewas restless. He missed the excitement of perpetual admiration, and hiseye drooped for constant glitter. He suddenly returned to town, justwhen the county had flattered itself that he was about to appoint hispublic days. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 _The First Fancy_

EASTER was over, the sun shone, the world was mad, and the young Dukemade his début at Almack's. He determined to prove that he had profitedby a winter at Vienna. His dancing was declared consummate. He gallopedwith grace and waltzed with vigour. It was difficult to decide whichwas more admirable, the elegance of his prance or the precision of hiswhirl. A fat Russian Prince, a lean Austrian Count, a little GermanBaron, who, somehow or other, always contrived to be the most markedcharacters of the evening, disappeared in despair. 

There was a lady in the room who attracted the notice of our hero. Shewas a remarkable personage. There are some sorts of beauty which defydescription, and almost scrutiny. Some faces rise upon us in the tumultof life like stars from out the sea, or as if they had moved out of apicture. Our first impression is anything but fleshly. We are struckdumb, we gasp, our limbs quiver, a faintness glides over our frame, we are awed; instead of gazing upon the apparition, we avert the eyes, which yet will feed upon its beauty. A strange sort of unearthly painmixes with the intense pleasure. And not till, with a struggle, we callback to our memory the commonplaces of existence, can we recover ourcommonplace demeanour. These, indeed, are rare visions, early feelings, when our young existence leaps with its mountain torrents; but as theriver of our life rolls on, our eyes grow dimmer or our blood more cold. 

Some effect of this kind was produced on the Duke of St. James by theunknown dame. He turned away his head to collect his senses. His eyesagain rally; and this time, being prepared, he was more successful inhis observations. 

The lady was standing against the wall; a young man was addressing someremarks to her which apparently were not very interesting. She was talland young, and, as her tiara betokened, married; dazzling fair, butwithout colour; with locks like night and features delicate, butprecisely defined. Yet all this did not at first challenge theobservation of the young Duke. It was the general and peculiarexpression of her countenance which had caused in him such emotion. There was an expression of resignation, or repose, or sorrow, orserenity, which in these excited chambers was strange, and singular, andlone. She gazed like some genius invisible to the crowd, and mourningover its degradation. 

He stopped St. Maurice, as his cousin passed by, to inquire her name, and learnt that she was Lady Aphrodite Grafton, the wife of Sir LuciusGrafton. 

'What, Lucy Grafton!' exclaimed the Duke. 'I remember; I was his fagat Eton. He was a handsome dog; but I doubt whether he deserves such awife. Introduce me. '

Lady Aphrodite received our hero with a gentle bow, and did not seemquite as impressed with his importance as most of those to whom he hadbeen presented in the course of the evening. The Duke had considerabletact with women, and soon perceived that the common topics of a hackflirtation would not do in the present case. He was therefore mild andmodest, rather piquant, somewhat rational, and apparently perfectlyunaffected. Her Ladyship's reserve wore away. She refused to dance, but conversed with more animation. The Duke did not leave her side. Thewomen began to stare, the men to bet: Lady Aphrodite against thefield. In vain his Grace laid a thousand plans to arrange a tea-roomtête-à-tête. He was unsuccessful. As he was about to return to thecharge her Ladyship desired a passer-by to summon her carriage. No timewas to be lost. The Duke began to talk hard about his old friend andschoolfellow, Sir Lucius. A greenhorn would have thought it madness totake an interest in such a person of all others; but women like you toenter their house as their husband's friend. Lady Aphrodite could notrefrain from expressing her conviction that Sir Lucius would be mosthappy to renew his acquaintance with the Duke of St. James, and theDuke of St. James immediately said that he would take the earliestopportunity of giving him that pleasure. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 _A Noble Reprobate_

SIR LUCIUS GRAFTON was five or six years older than the Duke of St. James, although he had been his contemporary at Eton. He, too, had beena minor, and had inherited an estate capable of supporting the becomingdignity of an ancient family. In appearance he was an Antinous. Therewas, however, an expression of firmness, almost of ferocity, about hismouth, which quite prevented his countenance from being effeminate, andbroke the dreamy voluptuousness of the rest of his features. In mind hewas a roué. Devoted to pleasure, he had racked the goblet at an earlyage; and before he was five-and-twenty procured for himself a reputationwhich made all women dread and some men shun him. In the very wildestmoment of his career, when he was almost marked like Cain, he had metLady Aphrodite Maltravers. She was the daughter of a nobleman who justlyprided himself, in a degenerate age, on the virtue of his house. Nature, as if in recompense for his goodness, had showered all her blessings onhis only daughter. Never was daughter more devoted to a widowed sire;never was woman influenced by principles of purer morality. 

This was the woman who inspired Sir Lucius Grafton with an ungovernablepassion. Despairing of success by any other method, conscious that, sooner or later, he must, for family considerations, propagate futurebaronets of the name of Grafton, he determined to solicit her hand. Butfor him to obtain it, he was well aware, was difficult. Confident inhis person, his consummate knowledge of the female character, andhis unrivalled powers of dissimulation, Sir Lucius arranged hisdispositions. The daughter feared, the father hated him. There wasindeed much to be done; but the remembrance of a thousand triumphssupported the adventurer. Lady Aphrodite was at length persuaded thatshe alone could confirm the reformation which she alone had originated. She yielded to a passion which her love of virtue had alone kept insubjection. Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite knelt at the feet of the oldEarl. The tears of his daughter, ay! and of his future son-in-law--forSir Lucius knew when to weep--were too much for his kind and generousheart. He gave them his blessing, which faltered on his tongue. 

A year had not elapsed ere Lady Aphrodite woke to all the wildness of adeluded woman. The idol on whom she had lavished all the incense ofher innocent affections became every day less like a true divinity. At length even the ingenuity of a passion could no longer disguise thehideous and bitter truth. She was no longer loved. She thought of herfather. Ah, what was the madness of her memory!

The agony of her mind disappointed her husband's hope of an heir, andthe promise was never renewed. 

In vain she remonstrated with the being to whom she was devoted: in vainshe sought by meek endurance again to melt his heart. It was cold; itwas callous. Most women would have endeavoured to recover their lostinfluence by different tactics; some, perhaps, would have forgottentheir mortification in their revenge. But Lady Aphrodite had been thevictim of passion, and now was its slave. She could not dissemble. 

Not so her spouse. Sir Lucius knew too well the value of a goodcharacter to part very easily with that which he had so unexpectedlyregained. Whatever were his excesses, they were prudent ones. He feltthat boyhood could alone excuse the folly of glorying in vice; and heknew that, to respect virtue, it was not absolutely necessary to bevirtuous. No one was, apparently, more choice in his companions than SirLucius Grafton; no husband was seen oftener with his wife; no one paidmore respect to age, or knew better when to wear a grave countenance. The world praised the magical influence of Lady Aphrodite; and LadyAphrodite, in private, wept over her misery. In public she made aneffort to conceal all she felt; and, as it is a great inducement toevery woman to conceal that she is neglected by the man whom she adores, her effort was not unsuccessful. Yet her countenance might indicate thatshe was little interested in the scene in which she mixed. She was tooproud to weep, but too sad to smile. Elegant and lone, she stood amongher crushed and lovely hopes like a column amid the ruins of a beautifultemple. 

The world declared that Lady Aphrodite was desperately virtuous, and theworld was right. A thousand fireflies had sparkled round this myrtle, and its fresh and verdant hue was still unsullied and un-scorched. Nota very accurate image, but pretty; and those who have watched a glancingshower of these glittering insects will confess that, poetically, thebush might burn. The truth is, that Lady Aphrodite still trembled whenshe recalled the early anguish of her broken sleep of love, and had notcourage enough to hope that she might dream again. Like the old Hebrews, she had been so chastened for her wild idolatry that she dared not againraise an image to animate the wilderness of her existence. Man she atthe same time feared and despised. Compared with her husband, all whosurrounded her were, she felt, in appearance inferior, and were, shebelieved, in mind the same. 

We know not how it is, but love at first sight is a subject of constantridicule; but, somehow, we suspect that it has more to do with theaffairs of this world than the world is willing to own. Eyes meet whichhave never met before, and glances thrill with expression which isstrange. We contrast these pleasant sights and new emotions withhackneyed objects and worn sensations. Another glance and anotherthrill, and we spring into each other's arms. What can be more natural?

Ah, that we should awake so often to truth so bitter! Ah, that charmby charm should evaporate from the talisman which had enchanted ourexistence!

And so it was with this sweet woman, whose feelings grow under the pen. She had repaired to a splendid assembly to play her splendid partwith the consciousness of misery, without the expectation of hope. She awaited without interest the routine which had been so oftenuninteresting; she viewed without emotion the characters which had nevermoved. A stranger suddenly appeared upon the stage, fresh as the morningdew, and glittering like the morning star. All eyes await, all tonguesapplaud him. His step is grace, his countenance hope, his voice music!And was such a being born only to deceive and be deceived? Was he to runthe same false, palling, ruinous career which had filled so many heartswith bitterness and dimmed the radiancy of so many eyes? Never! Thenobility of his soul spoke from his glancing eye, and treated the foulsuspicion with scorn. Ah, would that she had such a brother to warn, toguide, to love!

So felt the Lady Aphrodite! So felt; we will not say so reasoned. Whenonce a woman allows an idea to touch her heart, it is miraculous withwhat rapidity the idea is fathered by her brain. All her experience, allher anguish, all her despair, vanished like a long frost, in an instant, and in a night. She felt a delicious conviction that a knight had atlength come to her rescue, a hero worthy of an adventure so admirable. The image of the young Duke filled her whole mind; she had no ear forothers' voices; she mused on his idea with the rapture of a votary onthe mysteries of a new faith. 

Yet strange, when he at length approached her, when he addressed her, when she replied to that mouth which had fascinated even before it hadspoken, she was cold, reserved, constrained. Some talk of the burningcheek and the flashing eye of passion; but a wise man would not, perhaps, despair of the heroine who, when he approaches her, treats himalmost with scorn, and trembles while she affects to disregard him. 

Lady Aphrodite has returned home: she hurries to her apartment, shefalls in a sweet reverie, her head leans upon her hand. Her soubrette, apretty and chattering Swiss, whose republican virtue had been corruptedby Paris, as Rome by Corinth, endeavours to divert Mer lady's ennui: sheexcruciates her beautiful mistress with tattle about the admiration ofLord B------and the sighs of Sir Harry. Her Ladyship reprimands her forher levity, and the soubrette, grown sullen, revenges herself for hermistress's reproof by converting the sleepy process of brushing intolively torture. 

The Duke of St. James called upon Lady Aphrodite Grafton the nextday, and at an hour when he trusted to find her alone. He was notdisappointed. More than once the silver-tongued pendule sounded duringthat somewhat protracted but most agreeable visit. He was, indeed, greatly interested by her, but he was an habitual gallant, and alwaysbegan by feigning more than he felt. She, on the contrary, who wasreally in love, feigned much less. Yet she was no longer constrained, though calm. Fluent, and even gay, she talked as well as listened, andher repartees more than once called forth the resources of her guest. She displayed a delicate and even luxurious taste, not only in herconversation, but (the Duke observed it with delight) in her costume. She had a passion for music and for flowers; she sang a romance, and shegave him a rose. He retired perfectly fascinated. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 _Old Friends Meet_

SIR LUCIUS GRAFTON called on the Duke of St. James. They did notimmediately swear an eternal friendship, but they greeted each otherwith considerable warmth, talked of old times and old companions, andcompared their former sensations with their present. No one could be amore agreeable companion than Sir Lucius, and this day he left a veryfavourable impression with his young friend. From this day, too, theDuke's visits at the Baronet's were frequent; and as the Graftons wereintimate with the Fitz-pompeys, scarcely a day elapsed without hishaving the pleasure of passing a portion of it in the company of LadyAphrodite: his attentions to her were marked, and sometimes mentioned. Lord Fitz-pompey was rather in a flutter. George did not ride so oftenwith Caroline, and never alone with her. This was disagreeable; but theEarl was a man of the world, and a sanguine man withal. These thingswill happen. It is of no use to quarrel with the wind; and, forhis part, he was not sorry that he had the honour of the Graftonacquaintance; it secured Caroline her cousin's company; and as forthe _liaison_, if there were one, why it must end, and probably thedifficulty of terminating it might even hasten the catastrophe which hehad so much at heart. 'So, Laura, dearest! let the Graftons be asked todinner. '

In one of those rides to which Caroline was not admitted, for LadyAphrodite was present, the Duke of St. James took his way to theRegent's Park, a wild sequestered spot, whither he invariably repairedwhen he did not wish to be noticed; for the inhabitants of this prettysuburb are a distinct race, and although their eyes are not unobserving, from their inability to speak the language of London they are unable tocommunicate their observations. 

The spring sun was setting, and flung a crimson flush over the bluewaters and the white houses. The scene was rather imposing, and remindedour hero of days of travel. A sudden thought struck him. Would it not bedelightful to build a beautiful retreat in this sweet and retired land, and be able in an instant to fly from the formal magnificence of aLondon mansion? Lady Aphrodite was charmed with the idea; for theenamoured are always delighted with what is fanciful. The Dukedetermined immediately to convert the idea into an object. To lose notime was his grand motto. As he thought that Sir Carte had enough uponhis hands, he determined to apply to an artist whose achievements hadbeen greatly vaunted to him by a distinguished and noble judge. 

M. Bijou de Millecolonnes, Chevalier of the Legion of Honour and memberof the Academy of St. Luke's, except in his title, was the antipodesof Sir Carte Blanche. Sir Carte was all solidity, solemnity, andcorrectness; Bijou de Millecolonnes all lightness, gaiety, andoriginality. Sir Carte was ever armed with the Parthenon, Palladio, and St. Peter's; Bijou de Millecolonnes laughed at the ancients, calledPalladio and Michel barbarians of the middle ages, and had himselfinvented an order. Bijou was not so plausible as Sir Carte; but he wasinfinitely more entertaining. Far from being servile, he allowed no oneto talk but himself, and made his fortune by his elegant insolence. Howsingular it is that those who love servility are always the victims ofimpertinence!

Gaily did Bijou de Millecolonnes drive his pea-green cabriolet to thespot in question. He formed his plan in an instant. 'The occasionalretreat of a noble should be something picturesque and poetical. Themind should be led to voluptuousness by exquisite associations, as wellas by the creations of art. It is thus their luxury is rendered moreintense by the reminiscences that add past experience to presentenjoyment! For instance, if you sail down a river, imitate the progressof Cleopatra. And here, here, where the opportunity is so ample, whatthink you of reviving the Alhambra?'

Splendid conception! The Duke already fancied himself a Caliph. 'Lose notime, Chevalier! Dig, plant, build!'

Nine acres were obtained from the Woods and Forests; mounds were thrownup, shrubs thrown in; the paths emulated the serpent; the nine acresseemed interminable. All was surrounded by a paling eight feet high, that no one might pierce the mystery of the preparations. 

A rumour was soon current that the Zoological Society intended to keepa Bengal tiger _au naturel_, and that they were contriving a residencewhich would amply compensate him for his native jungle. The Regent'sPark was in despair, the landlords lowered their rents, and thetenants petitioned the King. In a short time some hooded domes and someSaracenic spires rose to sight, and the truth was then made known thatthe young Duke of St. James was building a villa. The Regent's Park wasin rapture, the landlords raised their rents, and the tenants withdrewtheir petition. 

CHAPTER X. His Grace Entertains. 

MR. DACRE again wrote to the Duke of St. James. He regretted that he hadbeen absent from home when his Grace had done him the honour of callingat Castle Dacre. Had he been aware of that intended gratification, hecould with ease, and would with pleasure, have postponed his visit toNorfolk. He also regretted that it would not be in his power to visitLondon this season; and as he thought that no further time should belost in resigning the trust with which he had been so honoured, hebegged leave to forward his accounts to the Duke, and with them somenotes which he believed would convey some not unimportant informationto his Grace for the future management of his property. The young Duketook a rapid glance at the sum total of his rental, crammed all thepapers into a cabinet with a determination to examine them the firstopportunity, and then rolled off to a morning concert of which he wasthe patron. 

The intended opportunity for the examination of the important paperswas never caught, nor was it surprising that it escaped capture. It isdifficult to conceive a career of more various, more constant, or moredistracting excitement than that in which the Duke of St. James was nowengaged. His life was an ocean of enjoyment, and each hour, like eachwave, threw up its pearl. How dull was the ball in which he did notbound! How dim the banquet in which he did not glitter! His presence inthe Gardens compensated for the want of flowers; his vision in the Parkfor the want of sun. In public breakfasts he was more indispensablethan pine-apples; in private concerts more noticed than an absentprima donna. How fair was the dame on whom he smiled! How dark was thetradesman on whom he frowned! Think only of prime ministers and princes, to say nothing of princesses; nay! think only of managers of operasand French actors, to say nothing of French actresses; think only ofjewellers, milliners, artists, horse-dealers, all the shoals who hurriedfor his sanction; think only of the two or three thousand civilisedbeings for whom all this population breathed, and who each of them hadclaims upon our hero's notice! Think of the statesmen, who had so muchto ask and so much to give; the dandies to feed with and to be fed; thedangerous dowagers and the desperate mothers; the widows, wild as earlypartridges; the budding virgins, mild as a summer cloud and soft as anopera hat! Think of the drony bores, with their dull hum; think ofthe chivalric guardsmen, with their horses to sell and their bills todiscount; think of Willis, think of Crockford, think of White's, thinkof Brooks', and you may form a faint idea how the young Duke had totalk, and eat, and flirt, and cut, and pet, and patronise!

You think it impossible for one man to do all this. There is yet muchbehind. You may add to the catalogue Melton and Newmarket; and if tohunt without an appetite and to bet without an object will not sickenyou, why, build a yacht!

The Duke of St. James gave his first grand entertainment for the season. It was like the assembly of the immortals at the first levee of Jove. All hurried to pay their devoirs to the young king of fashion; and eachwho succeeded in becoming a member of the Court felt as proud as apeer with a new title, or a baronet with an old one. An air ofregal splendour, an almost imperial assumption, was observed in thearrangements of the fête. A troop of servants in rich liveries filledthe hall; grooms lined the staircase; Spiridion, the Greek page, loungedon an ottoman in an ante-chamber, and, with the assistance of six younggentlemen in crimson-and-silver uniforms, announced the coming ofthe cherished guests. Cartloads of pine-apples were sent up from theYorkshire Castle, and waggons of orange-trees from the Twickenham Villa. 

A brilliant coterie, of which his Grace was a member, had amusedthemselves a few nights before by representing in costume the Court ofCharles the First. They agreed this night to reappear in their splendiddresses; and the Duke, who was Villiers, supported his character, evento the gay shedding of a shower of diamonds. In his cap was observed anhereditary sapphire, which blazed like a volcano, and which was rumouredto be worth his rent-roll. 

There was a short concert, at which the most celebrated Signora madeher début; there was a single vaudeville, which a white satin play-bill, presented to each guest as they entered the temporary theatre, indicatedto have been written for the occasion; there was a ball, in whichwas introduced a new dance. Nothing for a moment was allowed to lag. _Longueurs_ were skilfully avoided, and the excitement was so rapid thatevery one had an appetite for supper. 

A long gallery lined with bronzes and _bijouterie_, with cabinets andsculpture, with china and with paintings, all purchased for the futureornament of Hauteville House, and here stowed away in unpretending, butmost artificial, confusion, offered accommodation to all the guests. To a table covered with gold, and placed in a magnificent tent upon thestage, his Grace loyally led two princes of the blood and a child ofFrance. Madame de Protocoli, Lady Aphrodite Grafton, the Duchess ofShropshire, and Lady Fitz-pompey, shared the honours of the pavilion, and some might be excused for envying a party so brilliant and asituation so distinguished. Yet Lady Aphrodite was an unwilling memberof it; and nothing but the personal solicitation of Sir Lucius wouldhave induced her to consent to the wish of their host. 

A pink _carte_ succeeded to the satin play-bill. Vi-tellius might havebeen pleased with the banquet. Ah, how shall we describe those soups, which surely must have been the magical elixir! How paint those ortolansdressed by the inimitable artist, à la St. James, for the occasion, andwhich look so beautiful in death that they must surely have preferredsuch an euthanasia even to flying in the perfumed air of an Auso-nianheaven!

Sweet bird! though thou hast lost thy plumage, thou shalt fly to mymistress! Is it not better to be nibbled by her than mumbled by acardinal? I, too, will feed on thy delicate beauty. Sweet bird! thycompanion has fled to my mistress; and now thou shalt thrill the nervesof her master! Oh! doff, then, thy waistcoat of wine-leaves, prettyrover! and show me that bosom more delicious even than woman's. Whatgushes of rapture! What a flavour! How peculiar! Even how sacred IHeaven at once sends both manna and quails. Another little wanderer!Pray follow my example! Allow me. All Paradise opens! Let me die eatingortolans to the sound of soft music!

Even the supper was brief, though brilliant; and again the cotillon andthe quadrille, the waltz and the galoppe! At no moment of his life hadthe young Duke felt existence so intense. Wherever he turned his eye hefound a responding glance of beauty and admiration; wherever he turnedhis ear the whispered tones were soft and sweet as summer winds. Eachlook was an offering, each word adoration! His soul dilated; the gloryof the scene touched all his passions. He almost determined not againto mingle in society; but, like a monarch, merely to receive theworld which worshipped him. The idea was sublime: was it even to himimpracticable? In the midst of his splendour he fell into a reverie, andmused on his magnificence. He could no longer resist the convictionthat he was a superior essence, even to all around him. The world seemedcreated solely for his enjoyment. Nor man nor woman could withstand him. From this hour he delivered himself up to a sublime selfishness. Withall his passions and all his profusion, a callousness crept over hisheart. His sympathy for those he believed his inferiors and his vassalswas slight. Where we do not respect we soon cease to love; when wecease to love, virtue weeps and flies. His soul wandered in dreams ofomnipotence. 

This picture perhaps excites your dislike; perchance your contempt. Pause! Pity him! Pity his fatal youth!

CHAPTER XI. 

 _Love at a Bazaar_

THE Lady Aphrodite at first refused to sit in the Duke's pavilion. Wasshe, then, in the _habit_ of refusing? Let us not forget our Venus ofthe Waters. Shall we whisper where the young Duke first dared to hope?No, you shall guess. _Je vous le donne en trois_. The Gardens? Theopera? The tea-room? No! no! no! You are conceiving a locality much moreromantic. Already you have created the bower of a Parisina, where thewaterfall is even more musical than the birds, more lulling than theevening winds; where all is pale, except the stars; all hushed, excepttheir beating pulses! Will this do? No! What think you, then, of a_Bazaar_?

O thou wonderful nineteenth century! thou that believest in no miraclesand doest so many, hast thou brought this, too, about, that ladies'hearts should be won, and gentlemen's also, not in courts of tourney orhalls of revel, but over a counter and behind a stall? We are, indeed, anation of shopkeepers!

The king of Otaheite, though a despot, was a reformer. He discoveredthat the eating of bread-fruit was a barbarous custom, which wouldinfallibly prevent his people from being a great nation. He determinedto introduce French rolls. A party rebelled; the despot was energetic;some were executed; the rest ejected. The vagabonds arrived in England. As they had been banished in opposition to French rolls, they weredeclared to be a British interest. They professed their admiration ofcivil and religious liberty, and also of a subscription. When they haddrunk a great deal of punch, and spent all their money, they discoveredthat they had nothing to eat, and would infallibly have been starved, had not an Hibernian Marchioness, who had never been in Ireland, beenexceedingly shocked that men should die of hunger; and so, being one ofthe bustlers, she got up a fancy sale and a _Sandwich Isle Bazaar_. 

All the world was there and of course our hero. Never was the arrival ofa comet watched by astronomers who had calculated its advent with moreanxiety than was the appearance of the young Duke. Never did man passthrough such dangers. It was the fiery ordeal. St. Anthony himself wasnot assailed by more temptations. Now he was saved from the lustre ofa blonde face by the superior richness of a blonde lace. He wouldinfallibly have been ravished by that ringlet had he not been nearlyreduced by that ring which sparkled on a hand like the white cat's. Hewas only preserved from his unprecedented dangers by their number. No, no! He had a better talisman: his conceit. 

'Ah, Lady Balmont!' said his Grace to a smiling artist, who offered himone of her own drawings of a Swiss cottage, 'for me to be a tenant, itmust be love and a cottage!'

'What! am I to buy this ring, Mrs. Abercroft? _Point de jour_. Oh!dreadful phrase! Allow me to present it to you, for you are the only onewhom such words cannot make tremble. '

'This chain, Lady Jemima, for my glass! It will teach me where to directit. '

'Ah! Mrs. Fitzroy!' and he covered his face with affected fear. 'Can youforgive me? Your beautiful note has been half an hour unanswered. Thebox is yours for Tuesday. '

He tried to pass the next stall with a smiling bow, but he could notescape. It was Lady de Courcy, a dowager, but not old. Once beautiful, her charms had not yet disappeared. She had a pair of glittering eyes, a skilfully-carmined cheek, and locks yet raven. Her eloquence madeher now as conspicuous as once did her beauty. The young Duke was herconstant object and her occasional victim. He hated above all things atalking woman; he dreaded above all others Lady de Courcy. 

He could not shirk. She summoned him by name so loud that crowds ofbarbarians stared, and a man called to a woman, and said, 'My dear! makehaste; here's a Duke!'

Lady de Courcy was prime confidant of the Irish Marchioness. Sheaffected enthusiasm about the poor sufferers. She had learnt Otaheitan, she lectured about the bread-fruit, and she played upon a barbarousthrum-thrum, the only musical instrument in those savage wastes, ironically called the Society Islands, because there is no society. Shewas dreadful. The Duke in despair took out his purse, poured forth fromthe pink and silver delicacy, worked by the slender fingers of LadyAphrodite, a shower of sovereigns, and fairly scampered off. At lengthhe reached the lady of his heart. 

'I fear, ' said the young Duke with a smile, and in a soft sweet voice, 'that you will never speak to me again, for I am a ruined man. '

A beam of gentle affection reprimanded him even for badinage on such asubject. 

'I really came here to buy up all your stock, but that gorgon, Lady deCourcy, captured me, and my ransom has sent me here free, but a beggar. I do not know a more ill-fated fellow than myself. Now, if you had onlycondescended to take me prisoner, I might have saved my money; for Ishould have kissed my chain. '

'My chains, I fear, are neither very alluring nor very strong. ' Shespoke with a thoughtful air, and he answered her only with his eye. 

'I must bear off something from your stall, ' he resumed in a more rapidand gayer tone, 'and, as I cannot purchase you must present. Now for agift!'

'Choose!'

'Yourself. '

'Your Grace is really spoiling my sale. See! poor Lord Bagshot. What avaluable purchaser. '

'Ah! Bag, my boy!' said the Duke to a slang young nobleman whom heabhorred, but of whom he sometimes made a butt, 'am I in your way? Here!take this, and this, and this, and give me your purse. I'll pay LadyAphrodite. ' And so the Duke again showered some sovereigns, and returnedthe shrunken silk to its defrauded owner, who stared, and would haveremonstrated, but the Duke turned his back upon him. 

'There now, ' he continued to Lady Aphrodite; 'there is two hundred percent, profit for you. You are not half a _marchande_. I will stand hereand be your shopman. Well, Annesley, ' said he, as that dignitary passed, 'what will you buy? I advise you to get a place. 'Pon my soul, 'tispleasant! Try Lady de Courcy. You know you are a favourite. '

'I assure your Grace, ' said Mr. Annesley, speaking slowly, 'that thatstory about Lady de Courcy is quite untrue and very rude. I never turnmy back on any woman; only my heel. We are on the best possible terms. She is never to speak to me, and I am always to bow to her. But I reallymust purchase. Where did you get that glass-chain, St. James? Lady Afy, can you accommodate me?'

'Here is one prettier! But are you near-sighted, too, Mr. Annesley?'

'Very. I look upon a long-sighted man as a brute who, not being able tosee with his mind, is obliged to see with his body. The price of this?'

'A sovereign, ' said the Duke; 'cheap; but we consider you as a friend. '

'A sovereign! You consider me a young Duke rather. Two shillings, andthat a severe price; a charitable price. Here is half-a-crown; give mesixpence. I was not a minor. Farewell! I go to the little Pomfret. Sheis a sweet flower, and I intend to wear her in my button-hole. Good-bye, Lady Afy!'

The gay morning had worn away, and St. James never left his fascinatingposition. Many a sweet and many a soft thing he uttered. Sometimes hewas baffled, but never beaten, and always returned to the charge withspirit. He was confident, because he was reckless: the lady had lesstrust in herself, because she was anxious. Yet she combated well, andrepressed the feelings which she could hardly conceal. 

Many of her colleagues had already departed. She requested the Duke tolook after her carriage. A bold plan suddenly occurred to him, and heexecuted it with rare courage and rarer felicity. 

'Lady Aphrodite Grafton's carriage!'

'Here, your Grace!'

'Oh! go home. Your lady will return with Madame de Protocoli. '

He rejoined her. 

'I am sorry, that, by some blunder, your carriage has gone. What couldyou have told them?'

'Impossible! How provoking! How stupid!'

'Perhaps you told them that you would return with the Fitz-pompeys, butthey are gone; or Mrs. Aberleigh, and she is not here; or perhaps--butthey have gone too. Everyone has gone. '

'What shall I do? How distressing! I had better send. Pray send; or Iwill ask Lady de Courcy. '

'Oh! no, no! I really did not like to see you with her. As a favour--asa favour to me, I pray you not. '

'What can I do? I must send. Let me beg your Grace to send. '

'Certainly, certainly; but, ten to one, there will be some mistake. There always is some mistake when you send these strangers. And, besides, I forgot all this time my carriage is here. Let it take youhome. '

'No, no!'

'Dearest Lady Aphrodite, do not distress yourself. I can wait here tillthe carriage returns, or I can walk; to be sure, I can walk. Pray, praytake the carriage! As a favour--as a favour to me!'

'But I cannot bear you to walk. I know you dislike walking. '

'Well, then, I will wait. '

'Well, if it must be so; but I am ashamed to inconvenience you. Howprovoking of these men! Pray, then, tell the coachman to drive fast, that you may not have to wait. I declare there is scarcely a human beingin the room; and those odd people are staring so!'

He pressed her arm as he led her to his carriage. She is in; and yet, before the door shuts, he lingers. 

'I shall certainly walk, ' said he. 'I do not think the easterly windwill make me very ill. Good-bye! Oh, what a _coup-de-vent_!'

'Let me get out, then; and pray, pray take the carriage. I would muchsooner do anything than go in it. I would much rather walk. I am sureyou will be ill!'

'Not if I be with you. '

CHAPTER XII. 

 _Royal Favour_

THERE was a brilliant levee, all stars and garters; and a splendiddrawing-room, all plumes and _séduisantes_. Many a bright eye, as itsowner fought his way down St. James's Street, shot a wistful glance atthe enchanted bow-window where the Duke and his usual companions, SirLucius, Charles Annesley, and Lord Squib, lounged and laughed, stretchedthemselves and sneered: many a bright eye, that for a moment pierced thefuturity that painted her going in state as Duchess of St. James. 

His Majesty summoned a dinner party, a rare but magnificent event, andthe chief of the house of Hauteville appeared among the chosenvassals. This visit did the young Duke good; and a few more might havepermanently cured the conceit which the present one momentarily calmed. His Grace saw the plate, and was filled with envy; his Grace listened tohis Majesty, and was filled with admiration. O, father of thy people! ifthou wouldst but look a little oftener on thy younger sons, their moralsand their manners might be alike improved. 

His Majesty, in the course of the evening, with his usual good-nature, signalled out for his notice the youngest, and not the leastdistinguished, of his guests. He complimented the young Duke on theaccession to the ornaments of his court, and said, with a smile, thathe had heard of conquests in foreign ones. The Duke accounted for hisslight successes by reminding his Majesty that he had the honour ofbeing his godson, and this he said in a slight and easy way, not smartor quick, or as a repartee to the royal observation; for 'it is notdecorous to bandy compliments with your Sovereign. ' His Majesty askedsome questions about an Emperor or an Archduchess, and his Graceanswered to the purpose, but short, and not too pointed. He listenedrather than spoke, and smiled more assents than he uttered. The King waspleased with his young subject, and marked his approbation by conversingwith that unrivalled affability which is gall to a Roundhead andinspiration to a Cavalier. There was a _bon mot_, which blazed with allthe soft brilliancy of sheet lightning. What a contrast to the forkyflashes of a regular wit! Then there was an anecdote of Sheridan--theroyal Sheridaniana are not thrice-told tales--recounted with thatcurious felicity which has long stamped the illustrious narrator as aconsummate _raconteur_. Then----but the Duke knew when to withdraw; andhe withdrew with renewed loyalty. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

 _A Lover's Trick_

ONE day, looking in at his jeweller's, to see some models of a shieldand vases which were executing for him in gold, the young Duke met LadyAphrodite and the Fitz-pompeys. Lady Aphrodite was speaking to thejeweller about her diamonds, which were to be reset for her approachingfête. The Duke took the ladies upstairs to look at the models, and whilethey were intent upon them and other curiosities, his absence for amoment was unperceived. He ran downstairs and caught Mr. Garnet. 

'Mr. Garnet! I think I saw Lady Aphrodite give you her diamonds?' 'Yes, your Grace. '

'Are they valuable?' in a careless tone. 'Hum! pretty stones; verypretty stones, indeed. Few Baronets' ladies have a prettier set; worthperhaps a 1000L. ; say 1200L. Lady Aphrodite Grafton is not theDuchess of St. James, you know, ' said Mr. Garnet, as if he anticipatedfurnishing that future lady with a very different set of brilliants. 

'Mr. Garnet, you can do me the greatest favour. ' 'Your Grace has only tocommand me at all times. '

'Well, then, in a word, for time presses, can you contrive, withoutparticularly altering--that is, without altering the general appearanceof these diamonds--can you contrive to change the stones, and substitutethe most valuable that you have; consistent, as I must impress upon you, with maintaining their general appearance as at present?'

'The most valuable stones, ' musingly repeated Mr. Garnet; 'generalappearance as at present? Your Grace is aware that we may run up somethousands even in this set?'

'I give you no limit. '

'But the time, ' rejoined Mr. Garnet. 'They must be ready for herLadyship's party. We shall be hard pressed. I am afraid of the time. '

'Cannot the men work all night? Pay them anything. '

'It shall be done, your Grace. Your Grace may command me in anything. '

'This is a secret between us, Garnet. Your partners------'

'Shall know nothing. And as for myself, I am as close as an emerald in aseal-ring. '

CHAPTER XIV. 

 _Close of the Season_

HUSSEIN PACHA, 'the favourite, ' not only of the Marquess of Mash, but ofTattersall's, unaccountably sickened and died. His noble master, full ofchagrin took to his bed, and followed his steed's example. The deathof the Marquess caused a vacancy in the stewardship of the approachingDoncaster. Sir Lucius Grafton was the other steward, and he proposed tothe Duke of St. James, as he was a Yorkshireman, to become hiscolleague. His Grace, who wished to pay a compliment to his county, closed with the proposition. Sir Lucius was a first-rate jockey; hiscolleague was quite ignorant of the noble science in all its details;but that was of slight importance. The Baronet was to be the workingpartner, and do the business; the Duke the show member of the concern, and do the magnificence; as one banker, you may observe, lives always inPortland Place, reads the Court Journal all the morning, and has anopera-box, while his partner lodges in Lombard Street, thumbs aprice-current, and only has a box at Clapham. 

The young Duke, however, was ambitious of making a good book; and, withall the calm impetuosity which characterises a youthful Hauteville, determined to have a crack stud at once. So at Ascot, where he spenta few pleasant hours, dined at the Cottage, was caught in a shower, inreturn caught a cold, a slight influenza for a week, and all the worldfull of inquiries and anxiety; at Ascot, I say, he bought up all thewinning horses at an average of three thousand guineas for each pair ofears. Sir Lucius stared, remonstrated, and, as his remonstrances were invain, assisted him. 

As people at the point of death often make a desperate rally, sothis, the most brilliant of seasons, was even more lively as it nearerapproached its end. The _déjeûner_ and the _villa fête_ the water partyand the rambling ride, followed each other with the bright rapidity ofthe final scenes in a pantomime. Each _dama_ seemed only inspired withthe ambition of giving the last ball; and so numerous were the partiesthat the town really sometimes seemed illuminated. To breakfast atTwickenham, and to dine in Belgrave Square; to hear, ' or rather tohonour, half an act of an opera; to campaign through half a dozenprivate balls, and to finish with a romp at the rooms, as after our winewe take a glass of liqueur; all this surely required the courage ofan Alexander and the strength of a Hercules, and, indeed, cannot beachieved without the miraculous powers of a Joshua. So thought the youngDuke, as with an excited mind and a whirling head he threw himself athalf-past six o'clock on a couch which brought him no sleep. 

Yet he recovered, and with the aid of the bath, the soda, and thecoffee, and all the thousand remedies which a skilful valet has ever athand, at three o'clock on the same day he rose and dressed, and in anhour was again at the illustrious bow-window, sneering with CharlesAnnesley, or laughing downright with Lord Squib. 

The Duke of St. James gave a water party, and the astounded Thamesswelled with pride as his broad breast bore on the ducal barges. St. Maurice, who was in the Guards, secured his band; and Lord Squib, who, though it was July, brought a furred great coat, secured himself. LadyAfy looked like Amphitrite, and Lady Caroline looked in love. Theywandered in gardens like Calypso's; they rambled over a villa whichreminded them of Baise; they partook of a banquet which should have beendescribed by Ariosto. All were delighted; they delivered themselves tothe charms of an unrestrained gaiety. Even Charles Annesley laughed andromped. 

This is the only mode in which public eating is essentially agreeable. A banqueting-hall is often the scene of exquisite pleasure; but that isnot so much excited by the gratification of a delicate palate as bythe magnificent effect of light and shade; by the beautiful women, theradiant jewels, the graceful costume, the rainbow glass, the glowingwines, the glorious plate. For the rest, all is too hot, too crowded, and too noisy, to catch a flavour; to analyse a combination, to dwellupon a gust. To eat, _really_ to eat, one must eat alone, with a softlight, with simple furniture, an easy dress, and a single dish, at atime. Hours of bliss! Hours of virtue! for what is more virtuous than tobe conscious of the blessings of a bountiful Nature? A good eater mustbe a good man; for a good eater must have a good digestion, and a gooddigestion depends upon a good conscience. 

But to our tale. If we be dull, skip: time will fly, and beauty willfade, and wit grow dull, and even the season, although it seems, for thenonce, like the existence of Olympus, will nevertheless steal away. Itis the hour when trade grows dull and tradesmen grow duller; it is thehour that Howell loveth not and Stultz cannot abide; though the firstmay be consoled by the ghosts of his departed millions of _mouchoirs_, and the second by the vision of coming millions of shooting-jackets. Oh, why that sigh, my gloomy Mr. Gunter? Oh, why that frown, my gentle Mrs. Grange?

One by one the great houses shut; shoal by shoal the little people sailaway. Yet beauty lingers still. Still the magnet of a straggling ballattracts the remaining brilliants; still a lagging dinner, like asumpter-mule on a march, is a mark for plunder. The Park, too, is notyet empty, and perhaps is even more fascinating; like a beauty in aconsumption, who each day gets thinner and more fair. The young Dukeremained to the last; for we linger about our first season, as wedo about our first mistress, rather wearied, yet full of delightfulreminiscences. 

BOOK II. 

CHAPTER I. 

 _His Grace Meets an Early Love_

LADY APHRODITE and the Duke of St. James were for the first time parted;and with an absolute belief on the lady's side, and an avowed convictionon the gentleman's, that it was impossible to live asunder, theyseparated, her Ladyship shedding some temporary tears, and his Gracevowing eternal fidelity. 

It was the crafty Lord Fitz-pompey who brought about this catastrophe. Having secured his nephew as a visitor to Malthorpe, by allowing himto believe that the Graftons would form part of the summer coterie, his Lordship took especial care that poor Lady Aphrodite should not beinvited. 'Once part them, once get him to Malthorpe alone, ' mused theexperienced Peer, 'and he will be emancipated. I am doing him, too, thegreatest kindness. What would I have given, when a young man, to havehad such an uncle!'

The Morning Post announced with a sigh the departure of the Duke of St. James to the splendid festivities of Malthorpe; and also apprised theworld that Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite were entertaining a numerousand distinguished party at their seat, Cleve Park, Cambridgeshire. 

There was a constant bustle kept up at Malthorpe, and the young Duke washourly permitted to observe that, independent of all private feeling, itwas impossible for the most distinguished nobleman to ally himself witha more considered family. There was a continual swell of guests dashingdown and dashing away, like the ocean; brilliant as its foam, numerousas its waves. But there was one permanent inhabitant of this princelymansion far more interesting to our hero than the evanescent crowds whorose like bubbles, glittered, broke, and disappeared. 

Once more wandering in that park of Malthorpe where had passed theinnocent days of his boyhood, his thoughts naturally recurred tothe sweet companion who had made even those hours of happiness morefelicitous. Here they had rambled, here they had first tried theirponies, there they had nearly fallen, there he had quite saved her; herewere the two very elms where St. Maurice made for them a swing, here wasthe very keeper's cottage of which she had made for him a drawing, andwhich he still retained. Dear girl! And had she disappointed the romanceof his boyhood; had the experience the want of which had allowed himthen to be pleased so easily, had it taught him to be ashamed of thosedays of affection? Was she not now the most gentle, the most graceful, the most beautiful, the most kind? Was she not the most wife-like womanwhose eyes had ever beamed with tenderness? Why, why not at once close acareer which, though short, yet already could yield reminiscences whichmight satisfy the most craving admirer of excitement? But there was LadyAphrodite; yet that must end. Alas! on his part, it had commenced inlevity; he feared, on hers, it must terminate in anguish. Yet, though heloved his cousin; though he could not recall to his memory the womanwho was more worthy of being his wife, he could not also conceal fromhimself that the feelings which impelled him were hardly so romantic ashe thought should have inspired a youth of one-and-twenty when he musedon the woman he loved best. But he knew life, and he felt convinced thata mistress and a wife must always be different characters. A combinationof passion with present respect and permanent affection he supposed tobe the delusion of romance writers. He thought he must marry Caroline, partly because he must marry sooner or later; partly because he hadnever met a woman whom he had loved so much, and partly because he felthe should be miserable if her destiny in life were not, in some way orother, connected with his own. 'Ah! if she had but been my sister!'

After a little more cogitation, the young Duke felt much inclined tomake his cousin a Duchess; but time did not press. After Doncaster hemust spend a few weeks at Cleve, and then he determined to come toan explanation with Lady Aphrodite. In the meantime, Lord Fitz-pompeysecretly congratulated himself on his skilful policy, as he perceivedhis nephew daily more engrossed with his daughter. Lady Caroline, likeall unaffected and accomplished women, was seen to great effect in thecountry. 

There, while they feed their birds, tend their flowers, and tune theirharp, and perform those more sacred, but not less pleasing, duties whichbecome the daughter of a great proprietor, they favourably contrast withthose more modish damsels who, the moment they are freed from the Parkand from Willis's, begin fighting for silver arrows and patronisingcounty balls. 

September came, and brought some relief to those who were suffering inthe inferno of provincial ennui; but this is only the purgatory to theParadise of _battues_. Yet September has its days of slaughter; andthe young Duke gained some laurels, with the aid of friend Egg, friendPurdy, and Manton. And the Premier galloped down sixty miles in onemorning. He sacked his cover, made a light bet with St. James on thefavourite, lunched standing, and was off before night; for he had onlythree days' holiday, and had to visit Lord Protest, Lord Content, andLord Proxy. So, having knocked off four of his crack peers, he gallopedback to London to flog up his secretaries. 

And the young Duke was off too. He had promised to spend a week withCharles Annesley and Lord Squib, who had taken some Norfolk Baronet'sseat for the autumn, and while he was at Spa were thinning hispreserves. It was a week! What fantastic dissipation! One day, thebrains of three hundred hares made a _pâté_ for Charles Annesley. Oh, Heliogabalus! you gained eternal fame for what is now 'done in acorner!'

CHAPTER II. 

 _A New Charmer_

THE Carnival of the North at length arrived. All civilised eyes were onthe most distinguished party of the most distinguished steward, whowith his horse Sanspareil seemed to share universal favour. TheFrench Princes and the Duke of Burlington; the Protocolis, and theFitz-pompeys, and the Bloomerlys; the Duke and Duchess of Shropshire, and the three Ladies Wrekin, who might have passed for the Graces; Lordand Lady Vatican on a visit from Rome, his Lordship taking hints for aheat in the Corso, and her Ladyship, a classical beauty with a face likea cameo; St. Maurice, and Annesley, and Squib, composed the party. ThePremier was expected, and there was murmur of an Archduke. Seven houseshad been prepared, a party-wall knocked down to make a dining-room, theplate sent down from London, and venison and wine from Hauteville. 

The assemblage exceeded in quantity and quality all preceding years, and the Hauteville arms, the Hauteville liveries, and the Hautevilleoutriders, beat all hollow in blazonry, and brilliancy, and number. TheNorth countrymen were proud of their young Duke and his carriages andsix, and longed for the Castle to be finished. Nothing could exceed thepropriety of the arrangements, for Sir Lucius was an unrivalled hand, and, though a Newmarket man, gained universal approbation even inYorkshire. Lady Aphrodite was all smiles and new liveries, and the Dukeof St. James reined in his charger right often at her splendid equipage. 

The day's sport was over, and the evening's sport begun, to a quiet man, who has no bet more heavy than a dozen pair of gloves, perhaps not theleast amusing. Now came the numerous dinner-parties, none to be comparedto that of the Duke of St. James. Lady Aphrodite was alone wanting, butshe had to head the _ménage_ of Sir Lucius. Every one has an appetiteafter a race: the Duke of Shropshire attacked the venison as Samson thePhilistines; and the French princes, for once in their life, drank realchampagne. 

Yet all faces were not so serene as those of the party of Hauteville. Many a one felt that strange mixture of fear and exultation whichprecedes a battle. To-morrow was the dreaded St. Leger. 

'Tis night, and the banquet is over, and all are hastening to the ball. 

In spite of the brilliant crowd, the entrance of the Hauteville partymade a sensation. It was the crowning ornament to the scene, the stampof the sovereign, the lamp of the Pharos, the flag of the tower. Theparty dispersed, and the Duke, after joining a quadrille with LadyCaroline, wandered away to make himself generally popular. 

As he was moving along, he turned his head; he started. 

'Ah!' exclaimed his Grace. 

The cause of this sudden and ungovernable exclamation can be no otherthan a woman. You are right. The lady who had excited it was advancingin a quadrille, some ten yards from her admirer. She was very young;that is to say, she had, perhaps, added a year or two to sweetseventeen, an addition which, while it does not deprive the sex of theearly grace of girlhood, adorns them with that indefinable dignity whichis necessary to constitute a perfect woman. She was not tall, but as shemoved forward displayed a figure so exquisitely symmetrical that for amoment the Duke forgot to look at her face, and then her head was turnedaway; yet he was consoled a moment for his disappointment by watchingthe movements of a neck so white, and round, and long, and delicate, that it would have become Psyche, and might have inspired Praxiteles. Her face is again turning towards him. It stops too soon; yet his eyefeeds upon the outline of a cheek not too full, yet promising of beauty, like hope of Paradise. 

She turns her head, she throws around a glance, and two streams ofliquid light pour from her hazel eyes on his. It was a rapid, gracefulmovement, unstudied as the motion of a fawn, and was in a momentwithdrawn, yet was it long enough to stamp upon his memory a memorablecountenance. Her face was quite oval, her nose delicately aquiline, andher high pure forehead like a Parian dome. The clear blood coursed underher transparent cheek, and increased the brilliancy of her dazzlingeyes. His never left her. There was an expression of decision about hersmall mouth, an air of almost mockery in her curling lip, which, thoughin themselves wildly fascinating, strangely contrasted with allthe beaming light and beneficent lustre of the upper part of hercountenance. There was something, too, in the graceful but ratherdecided air with which she moved, that seemed to betoken herself-consciousness of her beauty or her rank; perhaps it might be herwit; for the Duke observed that while she scarcely smiled, and conversedwith lips hardly parted, her companion, with whom she was evidentlyintimate, was almost constantly convulsed with laughter, although, as henever spoke, it was clearly not at his own jokes. 

Was she married? Could it be? Impossible! Yet there was a richness inher costume which was not usual for unmarried women. A diamond arrow hadpierced her clustering and auburn locks; she wore, indeed, no necklace;with such a neck it would have been sacrilege; no ear-rings, forher ears were too small for such a burthen; yet her girdle was ofbrilliants; and a diamond cross worthy of Belinda and her immortal bardhung upon her breast. 

The Duke seized hold of the first person he knew: it was Lord Bagshot. 

'Tell me, ' he said, in the stern, low voice of a despot; 'tell me whothat creature is. '

'Which creature?' asked Lord Bagshot. 

'Booby! brute! Bag, that creature of light and love!'

'Where?'

'There!

'What, my mother?'

'Your mother! cub! cart-horse! answer me, or I will run you through. '

'Who do you mean?'

'There, there, dancing with that raw-boned youth with red hair. '

'What, Lord St. Jerome! Lor! he is a Catholic. I never speak to them. Mygovernor would be so savage. '

'But the girl?'

'Oh! the girl! Lor! she is a Catholic, too. '

'But who is she?'

'Lor! don't you know?'

'Speak, hound; speak!'

'Lor! that is the beauty of the county; but then she is a Catholic. Howshocking! Blow us all up as soon as look at us. '

'If you do not tell me who she is directly, you shall never get intoWhite's. I will black-ball you regularly. '

'Lor! man, don't be in a passion. I will tell. But then I know you knowall the time. You are joking. Everybody knows the beauty of the county;everybody knows May Dacre. '

'May Dacre!' said the Duke of St. James, as if he were shot. 

'Why, what is the matter now?' asked Lord Bag-shot. 

'What, the daughter of Dacre of Castle Dacre?' pursued his Grace. 

'The very same; the beauty of the county. Everybody knows May Dacre. Iknew you knew her all the time. You did not take me in. Why, what is thematter?'

'Nothing; get away!'

'Civil! But you will remember your promise about White's?'

'Ay! ay! I shall remember you when you are proposed. '

'Here, here is a business!' soliloquized the young Duke. 'May Dacre!What a fool I have been! Shall I shoot myself through the head, orembrace her on the spot? Lord St. Jerome, too! He seems mightilypleased. And my family have been voting for two centuries to emancipatethis fellow! Curse his grinning face! I am decidedly anti-Catholic. Butthen she is a Catholic! I will turn Papist. Ah! there is Lucy. I want acounsellor. '

He turned to his fellow-steward. 'Oh, Lucy! such a woman! such anincident!'

'What! the inimitable Miss Dacre, I suppose. Everybody speaking of her;wherever I go, one subject of conversation. Burlington wanting towaltz with her, Charles Annesley being introduced, and Lady Bloomerlydecidedly of opinion that she is the finest creature in the county. Well, have you danced with her?'

'Danced, my dear fellow! Do not speak to me. '

'What is the matter?'

'The most diabolical matter that you ever heard of. '

'Well, well?'

'I have not even been introduced. '

'Well! come on at once. '

'I cannot. '

'Are you mad?'

'Worse than mad. Where is her father?'

'Who cares?'

'I do. In a word, my dear Lucy, her father is that guardian whom I haveperhaps mentioned to you, and to whom I have behaved so delicately. '

'Why! I thought your guardian was an old curmudgeon. '

'What does that signify, with such a daughter!'

'Oh! here is some mistake. This is the only child of Dacre of CastleDacre, a most delightful fellow; one of the first fellows in the county;I was introduced to him to-day on the course. I thought you knew them. You were admiring his outriders to-day, the green and silver. '

'Why, Bag told me they were old Lord Sunderland's. '

'Bag! How can you believe a word that booby says? He always has ananswer. To-day, when Afy drove in, I asked Bag who she was, and he saidit was his aunt, Lady de Courcy. I begged to be introduced, and tookover the blushing Bag and presented him. '

'But the father; the father, Lucy! How shall I get out of this scrape?'

'Oh! put on a bold face. Here! give him this ring, and swear youprocured it for him at Genoa, and then say that, now you are here, youwill try his pheasants. '

'My dear fellow, you always joke. I am in agony. Seriously, what shall Ido?'

'Why, seriously, be introduced to him, and do what you can. '

'Which is he?'

'At the extreme end, next to the very pretty woman, who, by-the-bye, Irecommend to your notice: Mrs. Dallington Vere. She is amusing. I knowher well. She is some sort of relation to your Dacres. I will presentyou to both at once. '

'Why! I will think of it. '

'Well, then! I must away. The two stewards knocking their heads togetheris rather out of character. Do you know it is raining hard? I amcursedly nervous about to-morrow. '

'Pooh! pooh! If I could get through to-night, I should not care forto-morrow. '

CHAPTER III. 

 _The Duke Apologises_

AS SIR LUCIUS hurried off his colleague advanced towards the upper endof the room, and, taking up a position, made his observations, throughthe shooting figures of the dancers, on the dreaded Mr. Dacre. The lateguardian of the Duke of St. James was in the perfection of manhood;perhaps five-and-forty by age; but his youth had lingered long. Hewas tall, thin, and elegant, with a mild and benevolent expression ofcountenance, not unmixed, however, with a little reserve, the ghost ofyouthly pride. Listening with polished and courtly bearing to the prettyMrs. Dallington Vere, assenting occasionally to her piquant observationsby a slight bow, or expressing his dissent by a still slighter smile, seldom himself speaking, yet always with that unembarrassed manner whichmakes a saying listened to, Mr. Dacre was altogether, in appearance, oneof the most distinguished personages in this distinguished assembly. Theyoung Duke fell into an attitude worthy of Hamlet: 'This, then, is _old_Dacre! O deceitful Fitz-pompey! O silly St. James! Could I ever forgetthat tall, mild man, who now is perfectly fresh in my memory? Ah! thatmemory of mine; it has been greatly developed to-night. Would that I hadcultivated that faculty with a little more zeal! But what am I to do?The case is urgent. What must the Dacres think of me? What must MayDacre think? On the course the whole day, and I the steward, and notconscious of the presence of the first family in the Riding! Fool, fool!Why, why did I accept an office for which I was totally unfitted? Why, why must I flirt away a whole morning with that silly Sophy Wrekin? Anagreeable predicament, truly, this! What would I give now once more tobe in St. James's Street! Confound my Yorkshire estates! How theymust dislike, how they must despise me! And now, truly, I am to be_introduced_ to him! The Duke of St. James, Mr. Dacre! Mr. Dacre, the Duke of St. James! What an insult to all parties! How supremelyludicrous! What a mode of offering my gratitude to the man to whom Iam under solemn and inconceivable obligations! A choice way, truly, tosalute the bosom-friend of my sire, the guardian of my interests, thecreator of my property, the fosterer of my orphan infancy! It isuseless to conceal it; I am placed in the most disagreeable, the mostinextricable situation. 'Inextricable! Am I, then, the Duke of St. James? Am I that being who, two hours ago, thought that the world wasformed alone for my enjoyment, and I quiver and shrink here like acommon hind? Out, out on such craven cowardice! I am no Hauteville! Iam bastard! Never! I will not be crushed. I will struggle with thisemergency; I will conquer it. Now aid me, ye heroes of my house! Onthe sands of Palestine, on the plains of France, ye were not in a moredifficult situation than is your descendant in a ball-room in his owncounty. My mind elevates itself to the occasion, my courage expands withthe enterprise; I will right myself with these Dacres with honour, andwithout humiliation. '

The dancing ceased, the dancers disappeared. There was a blank betweenthe Duke of St. James on one side of the broad room, and Mr. Dacre andthose with whom he was conversing on the other. Many eyes were on hisGrace, and he seized the opportunity to execute his purpose. He advancedacross the chamber with the air of a young monarch greeting a victoriousgeneral. It seemed that, for a moment, his Majesty wished to destroyall difference of rank between himself and the man that he honoured. Sostudied and so inexpressibly graceful were his movements that thegaze of all around involuntarily fixed upon him. Mrs. Dallington Vereunconsciously refrained from speaking as he approached; and one or two, without actually knowing his purpose, made way. They seemed awed by hisdignity, and shuffled behind Mr. Dacre, as if he were the only personwho was the Duke's match. 

'Mr. Dacre, ' said his Grace, in the softest but still audible tones, andhe extended, at the same time, his hand; 'Mr. Dacre, our first meetingshould have been neither here nor thus; but you, who have excused somuch, will pardon also this!'

Mr. Dacre, though a calm personage, was surprised by this suddenaddress. He could not doubt who was the speaker. He had left his warda mere child. He saw before him the exact and breathing image of theheart-friend of his ancient days. He forgot all but the memory of acherished friendship. 

He was greatly affected; he pressed the offered hand; he advanced; hemoved aside. The young Duke followed up his advantage, and, with an airof the greatest affection, placed Mr. Dacre's arm in his own, and thenbore off his prize in triumph. 

Right skilfully did our hero avail himself of his advantage. He spoke, and he spoke with emotion. There is something inexpressibly captivatingin the contrition of a youthful and a generous mind. Mr. Dacre and hislate ward soon understood each other; for it was one of those meetingswhich sentiment makes sweet. 

'And now, ' said his Grace, 'I have one more favour to ask, and that isthe greatest: I wish to be recalled to the recollection of my oldestfriend. '

Mr. Dacre led the Duke to his daughter; and the Earl of St. Jerome, whowas still laughing at her side, rose. 

'The Duke of St. James, May, wishes to renew his acquaintance with you. '

She bowed in silence. Lord St. Jerome, who was the great oracle of theYorkshire School, and who had betted desperately against the favourite, took Mr. Dacre aside to consult him about the rain, and the Duke ofSt. James dropped into his chair. That tongue, however, which had neverfailed him, for once was wanting. There was a momentary silence, whichthe lady would not break; and at last her companion broke it, and notfelicitously. 

'I think there is nothing more delightful than meeting with oldfriends. '

'Yes! that is the usual sentiment; but I half suspect that it isa commonplace, invented to cover our embarrassment under suchcircumstances; for, after all, "an old friend" so situated is a personwhom we have not seen for many years, and most probably not cared tosee. '

[Illustration: frontis-p79]

'You are indeed severe. '

'Oh! no. I think there is nothing more painful than parting with oldfriends; but when we have parted with them, I am half afraid they arelost. '

'Absence, then, with you is fatal?'

'Really, I never did part with any one I greatly loved; but I suppose itis with me as with most persons. '

'Yet you have resided abroad, and for many years?'

'Yes; but I was too young then to have many friends; and, in fact, Iaccompanied perhaps all that I possessed. '

'How I regret that it was not in my power to accept your kind invitationto Dacre in the Spring!'

'Oh! My father would have been very glad to see you; but we really aredull kind of people, not at all in your way, and I really do not thinkthat you lost much amusement. '

'What better amusement, what more interesting occupation, could I havehad than to visit the place where I passed my earliest and my happiesthours? 'Tis nearly fifteen years since I was at Dacre. '

'Except when you visited us at Easter. We regretted our loss. '

'Ah! yes! except that, ' exclaimed the Duke, remembering his jäger'scall; 'but that goes for nothing. I of course saw very little. '

'Yet, I assure you, you made a great impression. So eminent a personage, of course, observes less than he himself is observed. We had a graphicaldescription of you on our return, and a very accurate one, too; for Irecognised your Grace to-night merely from the report of your visit. '

The Duke shot a shrewd glance at his companion's face, but it betrayedno indication of badinage, and so, rather puzzled, he thought it best toput up with the parallel between himself and his servant. But Miss Dacredid not quit this agreeable subject with all that promptitude which hefondly anticipated. 

'Poor Lord St. Jerome, ' said she, 'who is really the most unaffectedperson I know, has been complaining most bitterly of his deficiency inthe _air noble_. He is mistaken for a groom perpetually; and once, hesays, had a _douceur_ presented to him in his character of an ostler. Your Grace must be proud of your advantage over him. You would have beengratified by the universal panegyric of our household. They, of course, you know, are proud of their young Duke, a real Yorkshire Duke, and theylove to dwell upon your truly imposing appearance. As for myself, whoam true Yorkshire also, I take the most honest pride in hearing themdescribe your elegant attitude, leaning back in your britzska, with yourfeet on the opposite cushions, your hat arranged aside with that air ofundefinable grace characteristic of the Grand Seigneur, and, which isthe last remnant of the feudal system, your reiterated orders to driveover an old woman. You did not even condescend to speak English, whichmade them quite enthusiastic--'

'Oh, Miss Dacre, spare me!'

'Spare you! I have heard of your Grace's modesty; but this excessivesensibility, under well-earned praise, surprises me!'

'But, Miss Dacre, you cannot indeed really believe that this vulgarruffian, this grim scarecrow, this Guy Faux, was--was--myself. '

'Not yourself! Really, I am a simple personage. I believe in my eyes andtrust to my ears. I am at a loss for your meaning. '

'I mean, then, ' said the Duke, who had gained time to rally, 'that thismonster was some impostor, who must have stolen my carriage, picked mypocket, and robbed me of my card, which, next to his reputation, is aman's most delicate possession. '

'Then you never called upon us?'

'I blush to confess it, never; but I will call, in future, every day. '

'Your ingenuousness really rivals your modesty. '

'Now, after these confessions and compliments, may I suggest a waltz?'

'No one is waltzing now. '

'When the quadrille, then, is finished?'

'Then I am engaged. '

'After your engagement?'

'That is indeed making a business of pleasure. I have just refuseda similar request of your fellow-steward. We damsels shall soon beobliged to carry a book to enrol our engagements as well as our bets, ifthis system of reversionary dancing be any longer encouraged. '

'But you must dance with me!' said the Duke, imploringly. 

'Oh! you will stumble upon me in the course of the evening, and I shallprobably be more fortunate. 

I suppose you feel nervous about to-morrow?'

'Not at all. '

'Ah! I forgot. Your Grace's horse is the favourite. Favourites alwayswin. '

'Have I a horse?'

'Why, Lord St. Jerome says he doubts whether it be one. '

'Lord St. Jerome seems a vastly amusing personage; and, as he is sooften taken for an ostler, I have no doubt is an exceedingly good judgeof horse-flesh. '

Miss Dacre smiled. It was that wild, but rather wicked, gleam whichsometimes accompanies the indulgence of innocent malice. It seemed toinsinuate, 'I know you are piqued, and I enjoy it' But here her hand wasclaimed for the waltz. 

The young Duke remained musing. 

'There she swims away! By heavens! unrivalled! And there is Lady Afyand Burlington; grand, too. Yet there is something in this little Dacrewhich touches my fancy more. What is it? I think it is her impudence. That confounded scrape of Carlstein! I will cashier him to-morrow. Confound his airs! I think I got out of it pretty well. To-night, onthe whole, has been a night of triumph; but if I do not waltz with thelittle Dacre I will only vote myself an ovation. But see, here comes SirLucius. Well! how fares my brother consul?'

'I do not like this rain. I have been hedging with Hounslow, havingpreviously set Bag at his worthy sire with a little information. Weshall have a perfect swamp, and then it will be strength against speed;the old story. Damn the St. Leger. I am sick of it. '

'Pooh! pooh! think of the little Dacre!'

'Think of her, my dear fellow! I think of her too much. I shouldabsolutely have diddled Hounslow, if it had not been for her confoundedpretty face flitting about my stupid brain. I saw you speaking toGuardy. You managed that business well. '

'Why, as I do all things, I flatter myself, Lucy. Do you know Lord St. Jerome?'

'Verbally. We have exchanged monosyllables; but he is of the other set. '

'He is cursedly familiar with the little Dacre. As the friend of herfather, I think I shall interfere. Is there anything in it, think you?'

'Oh! no; she is engaged to another. '

'Engaged!' said the Duke, absolutely turning pale. 

'Do you remember a Dacre at Eton?'

'A Dacre at Eton!' mused the Duke. At another time it would not havebeen in his power to have recalled the stranger to his memory; but thisevening the train of association had been laid, and after struggling amoment with his mind he had the man. 'To be sure I do: Arundel Dacre, anodd sort of a fellow; but he was my senior. '

'Well, that is the man; a nephew of Guardy, and cousin, of course, to LaBellissima. He inherits, you know, all the property. She will not havea sou; but old Dacre, as you call him, has managed pretty well, andMonsieur Arundel is to compensate for the entail by presenting him witha grandson. '

'The deuce!'

'The deuce, indeed! Often have I broken his head. Would that I had to alittle more purpose!'

'Let us do it now!'

'He is not here, otherwise----One dislikes a spooney to be successful. '

'Where are our friends?'

'Annesley with the Duchess, and Squib with the Duke at écarté. '

'Success attend them both!'

'Amen!'

CHAPTER IV. 

 _Innocence and Experience_

TO FEEL that the possessions of an illustrious ancestry are about toslide from out your line for ever; that the numerous tenantry, who lookup to you with the confiding eye that the most liberal parvenu cannotattract, will not count you among their lords; that the proud park, filled with the ancient and toppling trees that your fathers planted, will yield neither its glory nor its treasures to your seed, and thatthe old gallery, whose walls are hung with pictures more cherished thanthe collections of kings, will not breathe with your long posterity; allthese are feelings sad and trying, and are among those daily pangs whichmoralists have forgotten in their catalogue of miseries, but whichdo not the less wear out those heart-strings at which they are soconstantly tugging. 

This was the situation of Mr. Dacre. The whole of his large property wasentailed, and descended to his nephew, who was a Protestant; and yet, when he looked upon the blooming face of his enchanting daughter, heblessed the Providence which, after all his visitations, had doomed himto be the sire of a thing so lovely. An exile from her country at anearly age, the education of May Dacre had been completed in a foreignland; yet the mingling bloods of Dacre and of Howard would not in amoment have permitted her to forget The inviolate island of the sage andfree! even if the unceasing and ever-watchful exertions of her fatherhad been wanting to make her worthy of so illustrious an ancestry. 

But this, happily, was not the case; and to aid the development of theinfant mind of his young child, to pour forth to her, as she grewin years and in reason, all the fruits of his own richly-cultivatedintellect, was the solitary consolation of one over whose conscious headwas impending the most awful of visitations. May Dacre was gifted witha mind which, even if her tutor had not been her father, would haverendered tuition a delight. Her lively imagination, which early unfoldeditself; her dangerous yet interesting vivacity; the keen delight, theswift enthusiasm, with which she drank in knowledge, and then panted formore; her shrewd acuteness, and her innate passion for the excellent andthe beautiful, filled her father with rapture which he repressed, andmade him feel conscious how much there was to check, to guide, and toform, as well as to cherish, to admire, and to applaud. 

As she grew up the bright parts of her character shone with increasedlustre; but, in spite of the exertions of her instructor, some lessadmirable qualities had not yet disappeared. She was still too oftenthe dupe of her imagination, and though perfectly inexperienced, herconfidence in her theoretical knowledge of human nature was unbounded. She had an idea that she could penetrate the characters of individualsat a first meeting; and the consequence of this fatal axiom was, thatshe was always the slave of first impressions, and constantly the victimof prejudice. She was ever thinking individuals better or worse thanthey really were, and she believed it to be out of the power of anyoneto deceive her. Constant attendance during many years on a dying andbeloved mother, and her deeply religious feelings, had first broken, andthen controlled, a spirit which nature had intended to be arrogant andhaughty. Her father she adored; and she seemed to devote to him allthat consideration which, with more common characters, is generallydistributed among their acquaintance. We hint at her faults. Howshall we describe her virtues? Her unbounded generosity, her dignifiedsimplicity, her graceful frankness, her true nobility of thought andfeeling, her firmness, her courage and her truth, her kindness toher inferiors, her constant charity, her devotion to her parents, hersympathy with sorrow, her detestation of oppression, her pure unsulliedthoughts, her delicate taste, her deep religion. All these combinedwould have formed a delightful character, even if unaccompanied withsuch brilliant talents and such brilliant beauty. Accustomed from anearly age to the converse of courts and the forms of the most polishedcircles, her manner became her blood, her beauty, and her mind. Yetshe rather acted in unison with the spirit of society than obeyed itsminutest decree. She violated etiquette with a wilful grace which madethe outrage a precedent, and she mingled with princes without feelingher inferiority. Nature, and art, and fortune were the graces which hadcombined to form this girl. She was a jewel set in gold, and worn by aking. 

Her creed had made her, in ancient Christendom, feel less an alien; butwhen she returned to that native country which she had never forgotten, she found that creed her degradation. Her indignant spirit clung withrenewed ardour to the crushed altars of her faith; and not before thoseproud shrines where cardinals officiate, and a thousand acolytes flingtheir censers, had she bowed with half the abandonment of spirit withwhich she invoked the Virgin in her oratory at Dacre. 

The recent death of her mother rendered Mr. Dacre and herself littleinclined to enter society; and as they were both desirous of residing onthat estate from which they had been so long and so unwillingly absent, they had not yet visited London. The greater part of their time had beenpassed chiefly in communication with those great Catholic families withwhom the Dacres were allied, and to which they belonged. The modern raceof the Howards and the Cliffords, the Talbots, the Arundels, and theJerninghams, were not unworthy of their proud progenitors. Miss Dacreobserved with respect, and assuredly with sympathy, the milddignity, the noble patience, the proud humility, the calm hope, theuncompromising courage, with which her father and his friends sustainedtheir oppression and lived as proscribed in the realm which they hadcreated. Yet her lively fancy and gay spirit found less to admire in thefeelings which influenced these families in their intercourse with theworld, which induced them to foster but slight intimacies out of thepale of the proscribed, and which tinged their domestic life withthat formal and gloomy colouring which ever accompanies a monotonousexistence. Her disposition told her that all this affectednon-interference with the business of society might be politic, butassuredly was not pleasant; her quick sense whispered to her it wasunwise, and that it retarded, not advanced, the great result in whichher sanguine temper dared often to indulge. Under any circumstances, it did not appear to her to be wisdom to second the efforts of theiroppressors for their degradation or their misery, and to seek noconsolation in the amiable feelings of their fellow-creatures for thestern rigour of their unsocial government. But, independently of allgeneral principles, Miss Dacre could not but believe that it wasthe duty of the Catholic gentry to mix more with that world which somisconceived their spirit. Proud in her conscious knowledge oftheir exalted virtues, she felt that they had only to be known to berecognised as the worthy leaders of that nation which they had so oftensaved and never betrayed. 

She did not conceal her opinions from the circle in which they had grownup. All the young members were her disciples, and were decidedly ofopinion that if the House of Lords would but listen to May Dacre, emancipation would be a settled thing. Her logic would have destroyedLord Liverpool's arguments; her wit extinguished Lord Eldon's jokes. But the elder members only shed a solemn smile, and blessed May Dacre'sshining eyes and sanguine spirit. 

Her greatest supporter was Mrs. Dallington Vere. This lady was a distantrelation of Mr. Dacre. At seventeen she, herself a Catholic, had marriedMr. Dallington Vere, of Dallington House, a Catholic gentleman ofconsiderable fortune, whose age resembled his wealth. No sooner had thisincident taken place than did Mrs. Dallington Vere hurry to London, andsoon evinced a most laudable determination to console herself for herhusband's political disabilities. Mrs. Dallington Vere went to Court;and Mrs. Dallington Vere gave suppers after the opera, and concertswhich, in number and brilliancy, were only equalled by her balls. Thedandies patronised her, and selected her for their Muse. The Duke ofShropshire betted on her always at écarté; and, to crown the wholeaffair, she made Mr. Dallington Vere lay claim to a dormant peerage. Thewomen were all pique, the men all patronage. A Protestant ministerwas alarmed; and Lord Squib supposed that Mrs. Dallington must be theScarlet Lady of whom they had heard so often. 

Season after season she kept up the ball; and although, of course, sheno longer made an equal sensation, she was not less brilliant, norher position less eminent. She had got into the best set, and was morequiet, like a patriot in place. Never was there a gayer lady than Mrs. Dallington Vere, but never a more prudent one. Her virtue was onlyequalled by her discretion; but, as the odds were equal, Lord Squibbetted on the last. People sometimes indeed did say--they alwayswill--but what is talk? Mere breath. And reputation is marble, and iron, and sometimes brass; and so, you see, talk has no chance. They did saythat Sir Lucius Grafton was about to enter into the Romish communion;but then it turned out that it was only to get a divorce from his wife, on the plea that she was a heretic. 

The fact was, Mrs. Dallington Vere was a most successful woman, lucky ineverything, lucky even in her husband; for he died. He did not only die;he left his whole fortune to his wife. Some said that his relationswere going to set aside the will, on the plea that it was written with acrow-quill on pink paper; but this was false; it was only a codicil. 

All eyes were on a very pretty woman, with fifteen thousand a year, andonly twenty-three. The Duke of Shropshire wished he were disembarrassed. Such a player of écarté might double her income. Lord Raff advanced, trusting to his beard, and young Amadée de Rouerie mortgaged hisdressing-case, and came post from Paris; but in spite of his sky-bluenether garments and his Hessians, he followed my Lord's example, andre-crossed the water. It is even said that Lord Squib was sentimental;but this must have been the malice of Charles Annesley. 

All, however, failed. The truth is, Mrs. Dallington Vere had nothing togain by re-entering Paradise, which matrimony, of course, is; and so shedetermined to remain mistress of herself. She had gained fashion, andfortune, and rank; she was young, and she was pretty. She thought itmight be possible for a discreet, experienced little lady to lead a verypleasant life without being assisted in her expenses or disturbed in herdiversion by a gentleman who called himself her husband, occasionallyasked her how she slept in a bed which he did not share, or munificentlypresented her with a necklace purchased with her own money. DiscreetMrs. Dallington Vere!

She had been absent from London during the past season, having taken italso into her head to travel. 

She was equally admired and equally plotted for at Rome, at Paris, andat Vienna, as at London; but the bird had not been caught, and, flyingaway, left many a despairing prince and amorous count to muse over theirlean visages and meagre incomes. 

Dallington House made its fair mistress a neighbour of her relations, the Dacres. No one could be a more fascinating companion than Mrs. Dallington Vere. May Dacre read her character at once, and these ladiesbecame great allies. She was to assist Miss Dacre in her plans forrousing their Catholic friends, as no one was better qualified to beher adjutant. Already they had commenced their operations, and balls atDallington and Dacre, frequent, splendid, and various, had already madethe Catholic houses the most eminent in the Riding, and their brilliantmistresses the heroines of all the youth. 

CHAPTER V. 

 _Ruined Hopes_

IT RAINED all night without ceasing yet the morrow was serene. Nevertheless the odds had shifted. On the evening, thy had not been morethan two to one against the first favourite, the Duke of St. James's ch. C. Sanspareil, by Ne Plus Ultra; while they were five to one against thesecond favourite, Mr. Dash's gr. C. The Dandy, by Banker, and nine andten to one against the next in favour. This morning, however, affairswere altered. Mr. Dash and his Dandy were at the head of the poll; andas the owner rode his own horse, being a jockey and a fit rival for theDuke of St. James, his backers were sanguine. Sanspareil, was, however, the second favourite. 

The Duke, however, was confident as an universal conqueror, and came onin his usual state, rode round the course, inspirited Lady Aphrodite, who was all anxiety, betted with Miss Dacre, and bowed to Mrs. Dallington. 

There were more than ninety horses, and yet the start was fair. But theresult? Pardon me! The fatal remembrance overpowers my pen. An effortand some _Eau de Portingale_, and I shall recover. The first favouritewas never heard of, the second favourite was never seen after thedistance post, all the ten-to-oners were in the rear, and a _dark_horse, which had never been thought of, and which the careless St. Jameshad never even observed in the list, rushed past the grand stand insweeping triumph. The spectators were almost too surprised to cheer; butwhen the name of the winner was detected there was a deafening shout, particularly from the Yorkshiremen. The victor was the Earl of St. Jerome's b. F. May Dacre, by Howard. 

Conceive the confusion! Sanspareil was at last discovered, andimmediately shipped off for Newmarket, as young gentlemen who get intoscrapes are sent to travel. The Dukes of Burlington and Shropshireexchanged a few hundreds; the Duchess and Charles Annesley a few gloves. The consummate Lord Bloomerly, though a backer of the favourite, incompliment to his host, contrived to receive from all parties, andparticularly from St. Maurice. The sweet little Wrekins were absolutelyruined. Sir Lucius looked blue, but he had hedged; and Lord Squib lookedyellow, but some doubted. Lord Hounslow was done, and Lord Bagshot wasdiddled. 

The Duke of St. James was perhaps the heaviest sufferer on the field, and certainly bore his losses the best. Had he seen the five-and-twentythousand he was minus counted before him, he probably would have beenstaggered; but as it was, another crumb of his half-million was gone. The loss existed only in idea. It was really too trifling to thinkof, and he galloped up to Miss Dacre, and was among the warmest of hercongratulators. 

'I would offer your Grace my sympathy for your congratulations, ' saidMiss Dacre, in a rather amiable tone; 'but' (and here she resumed herair of mockery) 'you are too great a man to be affected by so light acasualty. And, now that I recollect myself, did you run a horse?'

'Why, no; the fault was, I believe, that he would not run; butSanspareil is as great a hero as ever. He has only been conquered by theelements. '

The dinner at the Duke of St. James's was this day more splendid eventhan the preceding. He was determined to show that the disappointmenthad produced no effect upon the temper of so imperial a personageas himself, and he invited several of the leading gentry to join hiscoterie. The Dacres were among the solicited; but they were, during theraces, the guests of Mrs. Dallington Vere, whose seat was only a mileoff, and therefore were unobtainable. 

Blazed the plate, sparkled the wine, and the aromatic venison sent forthits odourous incense to the skies. The favourite cook had done wonders, though a Sanspareil pâté, on which he had been meditating for a week, was obliged to be suppressed, and was sent up as a tourte à la Bourbon, in compliment to his Royal Highness. It was a delightful party: all thestiffness of metropolitan society disappeared. All talked, and laughed, and ate, and drank; and the Protocolis and the French princes, who weremost active members of a banquet, ceased sometimes, from want of breath, to moralize on the English character. The little Wrekins, with theirwell-acted lamentations over their losses, were capital; and Sophynearly smiled and chattered her head this day into the reversion of thecoronet of Fitz-pompey. May she succeed! For a wilder little partridgenever yet flew. Caroline St. Maurice alone was sad, and would not becomforted; although St. James, observing her gloom, and guessing at itscause, had in private assured her that, far from losing, on the whole hewas perhaps even a winner. 

None, however, talked more agreeable nonsense and made a more elegantuproar than the Duke of St. James. 

'These young men, ' whispered Lord Squib to Annesley, 'do not know thevalue of money. We must teach it them. I know too well; I find it verydear. '

If the old physicians are correct in considering from twenty-five tothirty-five as the period of lusty youth, Lord Squib was still a lustyyouth, though a very corpulent one indeed. The carnival of his life, however, was nearly over, and probably the termination of the race-weekmight hail him a man. He was the best fellow in the world; short andsleek, half bald, and looked fifty; with a waist, however, which had notyet vanished, and where Art successfully controlled rebellious Nature, like the Austrians the Lombards. If he were not exactly a wit, he wasstill, however, full of unaffected fun, and threw out the results of a_roué_ life with considerable ease and point. He had inherited a fairand peer-like property, which he had contrived to embarrass in socomplicated and extraordinary a manner that he had been a ruined man foryears, and yet lived well on an income allowed him by his creditors tomanage his estate for their benefit. The joke was, he really managedit well. It was his hobby, and he prided himself especially upon hischaracter as a man of business. 

The banquet is certainly the best preparative for the ball, if itsblessings be not abused, for then you get heavy. Your true votary ofTerpsichore, and of him we only speak, requires, particularly in a landof easterly winds, which cut into his cab-head at every turn of everystreet, some previous process to make his blood set him an example indancing. It is strong Burgundy and his sparkling sister champagne thatmake a race-ball always so amusing a _divertissement_. One enters theroom with a gay elation which defies rule without violating etiquette, and in these county meetings there is a variety of character, andclasses, and manners, which is interesting, and affords an agreeablecontrast to those more brilliant and refined assemblies the members ofwhich, being educated by exactly the same system and with exactly thesame ideas, think, look, move, talk, dress, and even eat, alike; theonly remarkable personage being a woman somewhat more beautiful thanthe beauties who surround her, and a man rather more original in hisaffectations than the puppies that surround him. The proof of thegeneral dulness of polite circles is the great sensation that is alwaysproduced by a new face. The season always commences briskly, becausethere are so many. Ball, and dinner, and concert collect then plentifulvotaries; but as we move on the dulness will develop itself, andthen come the morning breakfast, and the water party, and the _fêtechampêtre_, all desperate attempts to produce variety with oldmaterials, and to occasion a second effect by a cause which is alreadyexhausted. 

These philosophical remarks precede another introduction to the publicball-room at Doncaster. Mrs. Dallington Vere and Miss Dacre are walkingarm in arm at the upper end of the room. 

'You are disappointed, love, about Arundel?' said Mrs. Dallington. 

'Bitterly; I never counted on any event more certainly than on hisreturn this summer. '

'And why tarrieth the wanderer? unwillingly of course?'

'Lord Darrell, who was to have gone over as _Chargé d'affaires_, hasannounced to his father the impossibility of his becoming a diplomatist, so our poor _attaché_ suffers, and is obliged to bear the _portefeuillead interim_. '

'Does your cousin like Vienna?'

'Not at all. He is a regular John Bull; and, if I am to judge from hiscorrespondence, he will make an excellent ambassador in one sense, forI think his fidelity and his patriotism may be depended on. We seldomserve those whom we do not love; and, if I am to believe Arundel, thereis neither a person nor a place on the whole Continent that affords himthe least satisfaction. '

'How singular, then, that he should have fixed on such a _métier_; but, I suppose, like other young men, his friends fixed for him?'

'Not at all. No step could be less pleasing to my father than hisleaving England; but Arundel is quite unmanageable, even by papa. He isthe oddest but the dearest person in the world!'

'He is very clever, is he not?'

'I think so. I have no doubt he will distinguish himself, whatevercareer he runs; but he is so extremely singular in his manner that I donot think his general reputation harmonises with my private opinion. '

'And will his visit to England be a long one?'

'I hope that it will be a permanent one. I, you know, am his confidant, and entrusted with all his plans. If I succeed in arranging somethingaccording to his wishes, I hope that he will not again quit us. '

'I pray you may, sweet! and wish, love, for your sake, that he wouldenter the room this moment. '

'This is the most successful meeting, I should think, that ever wasknown at Doncaster, ' said Miss Dacre. 'We are, at least, indebted to theDuke of St. James for a very agreeable party, to say nothing of all thegloves we have won. '

'How do you like the Duke of Burlington?'

'Much. There is a calm courtliness about him which I think veryimposing. He is the only man I ever saw who, without being very young, was not an unfit companion for youth. And there is no affectation ofjuvenility about him. He involuntarily reminds you of youth, as an emptyorchestra does of music. '

'I shall tell him this. He is already your devoted; and I have nodoubt that, inspired at the same time by your universal charms andour universal hints, I shall soon hail you Duchess of Burlington. DonArundel will repent his diplomacy. '

'I thought I was to be another Duchess this morning. '

'You deserve to be a triple one. But dream not of the unhappy patron ofSanspareil. There is something in his eyes which tells me he is not amarrying man. '

There was a momentary pause, and Miss Dacre spoke. 

'I like his brother steward, Bertha. Sir Lucius is witty and candid. Itis an agreeable thing to see a man who had been so gay, and who has hadso many temptations to be gay, turn into a regular domestic character, without losing any of those qualities which made him an ornament tosociety. When men of the world terminate their career as prudently asSir Lucius, I observe that they are always amusing companions, becausethey are perfectly unaffected. '

'No one is more unaffected than Lucius Grafton. I am quite happy to findyou like him; for he is an old friend of mine, and I know that he has agood heart. '

'I like him especially because he likes you. '

'Dearest!'

'He introduced me to Lady Afy. I perceive that she is very attached toher husband. '

'Lady Afy is a charming woman. I know no woman so truly elegant as LadyAfy. The young Duke, you know they say, greatly admires Lady Afy. '

'Oh! does he? Well now, I should have thought her rather a sentimentaland serious donna; one very unlikely------'

'Hush! here come two cavaliers. '

The Dukes of Burlington and St. James advanced. 

'We are attracted by observing two nymphs wandering in this desert, 'said his Grace of Burlington. This was the Burgundy. 

'And we wish to know whether there be any dragon to destroy, any ogre todevour, any magician to massacre, or how, when, and where we can testifyour devotion to the ladies of our love, ' added his Grace of St. James. This was the champagne. 

'The age of chivalry is past, ' said Miss Dacre. 'Bores have succeededto dragons, and I have shivered too many lances in vain ever to hope fortheir extirpation; and as for enchantments----'

'They depend only upon yourself, ' gallantly interrupted the Duke ofBurgundy. Psha!--Burlington. 

'Our spells are dissolved, our wands are sunk five fathom deep; we hadretired to this solitude, and we were moralising, ' said Mrs. DallingtonVere. 

'Then you were doing an extremely useless and not very magnanimousthing, ' said the Duke of St. James; 'for to moralise in a desert is nogreat exertion of philosophy. You should moralise in a drawing-room; andso let me propose our return to that world which must long have missedus. Let us do something to astound these elegant barbarians. Look atthat young gentleman: how stiff he is! A Yorkshire Apollo! Look at thatold lady; how elaborately she simpers! The Venus of the Riding! Theyabsolutely attempt to flirt. Let us give them a gallop!'

He was advancing to salute this provincial couple; but his more maturecompanion repressed him. 

'Ah! I forgot, ' said the young Duke. 'I am Yorkshire. If I were awestern, like yourself, I might compromise my character. Your Gracemonopolises the fun. '

'I think you may safely attack them, ' said Miss Dacre. 'I do not thinkyou will be recognised. People entertain in this barbarous country, suchvulgar, old-fashioned notions of a Duke of St. James, that I have notthe least doubt your Grace might have a good deal of fun without beingfound out. '

'There is no necessity, ' said the Duke, 'to fly from Miss Dacre foramusement. By-the-bye, you make a good repartee. You must permit me tointroduce you to my friend, Lord Squib. I am sure you would agree so. '

'I have been introduced to Lord Squib. '

'And you found him most amusing? Did he say anything which vindicates myappointment of him as my court jester?'

'I found him modest. He endeavoured to excuse his errors by being yourcompanion; and to prove his virtues by being mine. '

'Treacherous Squib! I positively must call him out. Duke, bear him acartel. '

'The quarrel is ours, and must be decided here, ' said Mrs. DallingtonVere. 'I second Miss Dacre. '

'We are in the way of some good people here, I think, ' said the Duke ofBurlington, who, though the most dignified, was the most considerate ofmen; 'at least, here are a stray couple or two staring as if they wishedus to understand we prevented a set. '

'Let them stare, ' said the Duke of St. James; 'we were made to be lookedat. 'Tis our vocation, Hal, and they are gifted with vision purposely tobehold us. '

'Your Grace, ' said Miss Dacre, 'reminds me of my old friend, PrinceRubarini, who told me one day that when he got up late he always gaveorders to have the sun put back a couple of hours. '

'And you, Miss Dacre, remind me of my old friend, the Duchess of Nevers, who told me one day that in the course of her experience she had onlymet one man who was her rival in repartee. '

'And that man, ' asked Mrs. Vere. 

'Was your slave, Mrs. Dallington, ' said the young Duke, bowingprofoundly, with his hand on his heart. 

'I remember she said the same thing to me, ' said the Duke of Burlington, 'about ten years before. '

'That was her grandmother, Burley, ' said the Duke of St. James. 

'Her grandmother!' said Mrs. Dallington, exciting the contest. 

'Decidedly, ' said the young Duke. 'I remember my friend always spoke ofthe Duke of Burlington as grandpapa. '

'You will profit, I have no doubt, then, by the company of so venerablea friend, ' said Miss Dacre. 

'Why, ' said the young Duke, 'I am not a believer in the perfectibilityof the species; and you know, that when we come to a certain point----'

'We must despair of improvement, ' said the Duke of Burlington. 

'Your Grace came forward, like a true knight, to my rescue, ' said MissDacre, bowing to the Duke of Burlington. 

'Beauty can inspire miracles, ' said the Duke of St. James. 

'This young gentleman has been spoiled by travel, Miss Dacre, ' said theDuke of Burlington. 'You have much to answer for, for he tells every onethat you were his guardian. '

The eyes of Miss Dacre and the Duke of St. James met. He bowed with thatgraceful impudence which is, after all, the best explanation for everypossible misunderstanding. 

'I always heard that the Duke of St. James was born of age, ' said MissDacre. 

'The report was rife on the Continent when I travelled, ' said Mrs. Dallington Vere. 

'That was only a poetical allegory, which veiled the precocious resultsof my fair tutor's exertions. '

'How discreet he is!' said the Duke of Burlington. 'You may tellimmediately that he is two-and-forty. '

'We are neither of us, though, off the _pavé_ yet, Burlington; so whatsay you to inducing these inspiring muses to join the waltz which isjust now commencing?'

The young Duke offered his hand to Miss Dacre, and, followed bytheir companions, they were in a few minutes lost in the waves of thewaltzers. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 _A Complaisant Spouse_

THE gaieties of the race-week closed with a ball at Dallington House. As the pretty mistress of this proud mansion was acquainted with all themembers of the ducal party, our hero and his noble band were among thosewho honoured it with their presence. 

We really have had so many balls both in this and other as immortalworks that, in a literary point of view, we think we must give updancing; nor would we have introduced you to Dallington House if therehad been no more serious business on hand than a flirtation with a ladyor a lobster salad. Ah! why is not a little brief communion with thelast as innocent as with the first?

Small feet are flitting in the mazy dance and music winds with inspiringharmony through halls whose lofty mirrors multiply beauty and add freshlustre to the blazing lights. May Dacre there is wandering like a periin Paradise, and Lady Aphrodite is glancing with her dazzling brow, yetan Asmodeus might detect an occasional gloom over her radiant face. It is but for an instant, yet it thrills. She looks like some favouredsultana, who muses for a moment amid her splendour on her early love. 

And she, the sparkling mistress of this scene; say, where is she? Notamong the dancers, though a more graceful form you could scarcely lookupon; not even among her guests, though a more accomplished hostessit would be hard to find. Gaiety pours forth its flood, and allare thinking of themselves, or of some one sweeter even thanself-consciousness, or else perhaps one absent might be missed. 

Leaning on the arm of Sir Lucius Grafton, and shrouded in her cashmere, Mrs. Dallington Vere paces the terrace in earnest conversation. 

'If I fail in this, ' said Sir Lucius, 'I shall be desperate. Fortuneseems to have sent him for the very purpose. Think only of the state ofaffairs for a moment. After a thousand plots on my part; after havingfor the last two years never ceased my exertions to make her commitherself; when neither a love of pleasure, nor a love of revenge, nor thethoughtlessness to which women in her situation generally have recourse, produced the slightest effect; this stripling starts upon the stage, andin a moment the iceberg melts. Oh! I never shall forget the rapture ofthe moment when the faithful Lachen announced the miracle!'

'But why not let the adventure take the usual course? You have yourevidence, or you can get it. Finish the business. The _exposés_, to besure, are disagreeable enough; but to be the talk of the town for a weekis no great suffering. Go to Baden, drink the waters, and it will beforgotten. Surely this is an inconvenience not to be weighed for amoment against the great result. '

[Illustration: page106]

'Believe me, my dearest friend, Lucy Grafton cares very little about thebabble of the million, provided it do not obstruct him in his objects. Would to Heaven I could proceed in the summary and effectual mode youpoint out; but that I much doubt. There is about Afy, in spite ofall her softness and humility, a strange spirit, a cursed courage orobstinacy, which sometimes has blazed out, when I have over-galled her, in a way half-awful. I confess I dread her standing at bay. I am in herpower, and a divorce she could successfully oppose if I appeared to bethe person who hastened the catastrophe and she were piqued to show thatshe would not fall an easy victim. No, no! I have a surer, though a moredifficult, game. She is intoxicated with this boy. I will drive her intohis arms. '

'A probable result, forsooth! I do not think your genius hasparticularly brightened since we last met. I thought your letters weregetting dull. You seem to forget that there is a third person to beconsulted in this adventure. And why in the name of Doctors' Commons, the Duke is to close his career by marrying a woman of whom, with yourleave, he is already, if experience be not a dream, half-wearied, isreally past my comprehension, although as Yorkshire, Lucy, I should not, you know, be the least apprehensive of mortals. '

'I depend upon my unbounded influence over St. James. '

'What! do you mean to recommend the step, then?'

'Hear me! At present I am his confidential counsellor on allsubjects----'

'But one. '

'Patience, fair dame; and I have hitherto imperceptibly, butefficiently, exerted my influence to prevent his getting entangled withany other nets. '

'Faithful friend!'

'_Point de moquerie!_ Listen. I depend further upon his perfectinexperience of women; for, in spite of his numerous gallantries, hehas never yet had a grand passion, and is quite ignorant, even at thismoment, how involved his feelings are with his mistress. He has not yetlearnt the bitter lesson that, unless we despise a woman when wecease to love her, we are still a slave, without the consolement ofintoxication. I depend further upon his strong feelings; for strongI perceive they are, with all his affectation; and on his weaknessof character, which will allow him to be the dupe of his first greatemotion. It is to prevent that explosion from taking place under anyother roof than my own that I now require your advice and assistance;that advice and assistance which already have done so much for me. Ilike not this sudden and uncontemplated visit to Castle Dacre. I fearthese Dacres; I fear the revulsion of his feelings. Above all, I fearthat girl. '

'But her cousin; is he not a talisman? She loves him. '

'Pooh! a cousin! Is not the name an answer? She loves him as she lovesher pony; because he was her companion when she was a child, and kissedher when they gathered strawberries together. The pallid, moonlightpassion of a cousin, and an absent one, too, has but a sorry chanceagainst the blazing beams that shoot from the eyes of a new lover. Wouldto Heaven that I had not to go down to my boobies at Cleve! I shouldlike nothing better than to amuse myself an autumn at Dallington withthe little Dacre, and put an end to such an unnatural and irreligiousconnection. She is a splendid creature! Bring her to town next season. '

'But to the point. You wish me, I imagine, to act the same part with thelady as you have done with the gentleman. I am to step in, I suppose, as the confidential counsellor on all subjects of sweet May. I am topreserve her from a youth whose passions are so impetuous and whoseprinciples are so unformed. '

'Admirable Bertha! You read my thoughts. '

'But suppose I endanger, instead of advance, your plans. Suppose, forinstance, I captivate his Grace. As extraordinary things have happened, as you know. High place must be respected, and the coronet of a Duchessmust not be despised. '

'All considerations must yield to you, as do all men, ' said Sir Lucius, with ready gallantry, but not free from anxiety. 

'No, no; there is no danger of that. I am not going to play traitressto my system, even for the Duke of St. James; therefore, anything thatoccurs between us shall be merely an incident _pour passer le tempsseulement_, and to preserve our young friend from the little Dacre. Ihave no doubt he will behave very well, and that I shall send him safeto Cleve Park in a fortnight with a good character. I would recommendyou, however, not to encourage any unreasonable delay. '

'Certainly not; but I must, of course, be guided by circumstances. ' SirLucius observed truly. There were other considerations besides gettingrid of his spouse which cemented his friendship with the young Duke. Itwill be curious if lending a few thousands to the husband save our herofrom the wife. There is no such thing as unmixed evil. A man who loseshis money gains, at least, experience, and sometimes something better. But what the Duke of St. James gained is not yet to be told. 

'And you like Lachen?' asked Mrs. Dallington. 

'Very much. '

'I formed her with great care, but you must keep her in good humour. '

'That is not difficult. _Elle est très jolie_; and pretty women, likeyourself, are always good-natured. '

'But has she really worked herself into the confidence of the virtuousAphrodite?'

'Entirely. And the humour is, that Lachen has persuaded her that Lachenherself is on the best possible terms with my confidential valet, andcan make herself at all times mistress of her master's secrets. So it isalways in my power, apparently without taking the slightest interest inAfy's conduct, to regulate it as I will. At present she believes that myaffairs are in a distracted state, and that I intend to reside solely onthe Continent, and to bear her off from her Cupidon. This thought hauntsher rest, and hangs heavy on her waking mind. I think it will do thebusiness. '

'We have been too long absent. Let us return. '

'I accompany you, my charming friend. What should I do without such anally? I only wish that I could assist you in a manner equally friendly. Is there no obdurate hero who wants a confidential adviser to dilateupon your charms, or to counsel him to throw himself at your feet; orare that beautiful in face and lovely form, as they must always be, invincible?'

'I assure you quite disembarrassed of any attentions whatever. But, Isuppose, when I return to Athens, I must get Platonic again. '

'Let me be the philosopher!'

'No, no; we know each other too well. I have been free ever since thatfatal affair of young Darrell, and travel has restored my spirits alittle. They say his brother is just as handsome. He was expected atVienna, but I could not meet him, although I suppose, as I made him aViscount, I am rather popular than not with him. '

'Pooh! pooh! think not of this. No one blames you. You are still auniversal favourite. But I would recommend you, nevertheless, to take meas your cavalier. '

'You are too generous, or too bold. No, man! I am tired of flirtation, and really think, for variety's sake, I must fall in love. After all, there is nothing like the delicious dream, though it be but a dream. Spite of my discretion, I sometimes tremble lest I should end by makingmyself a fool, with some grand passion. You look serious. Fear not forthe young Duke. He is a dazzling gentleman, but not a hero exactly to mytaste. '

CHAPTER VII. 

 _At Castle Dacre_

THE moment that was to dissolve the spell which had combined andenchanted so many thousands of human beings arrived. Nobles andnobodies, beauties and blacklegs, dispersed in all directions. The Dukeof Burlington carried off the French princes and the Protocolis, theBloomerlys and the Vaticans, to his Paradise of Marringworth. TheFitz-pompeys cantered off with the Shropshires; omen of felicity tothe enamoured St. Maurice and the enamouring Sophy. Annesley and Squibreturned to their pâtés. Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite, neither of themwith tempers like summer skies, betook their way to Cambridgeshire, likeAdam and Eve from the glorious garden. The Duke of St. James, after ahurried visit to London, found himself, at the beginning of October, onhis way to Dacre. 

As his carriage rolled on he revelled in delicious fancies. The youngDuke built castles not only at Hauteville, but in less substantialregions. Reverie, in the flush of our warm youth, generally indulges inthe future. We are always anticipating the next adventure and clothe thecoming heroine with a rosy tint. When we advance a little on our limitedjourney, and an act or two of the comedy, the gayest in all probability, are over, the wizard Memory dethrones the witch Imagination, and 'tisthe past on which the mind feeds in its musings. 'Tis then we ponderon each great result which has stolen on us without the labour ofreflection; 'tis then we analyse emotions which, at the time, we couldnot comprehend, and probe the action which passion inspired, and whichprejudice has hitherto defended. Alas! who can strike these occasionalbalances in life's great ledger without a sigh! Alas! how little dothey promise in favour of the great account! What whisperings of finalbankruptcy! what a damnable consciousness of present insolvency! Myfriends! what a blunder is youth! Ah! why does Truth light her torch butto illume the ruined temple of our existence! Ah! why do we know we aremen only to be conscious of our exhausted energies!

And yet there is a pleasure in a deal of judgment which your judiciousman alone can understand. It is agreeable to see some younkers fallinginto the same traps which have broken our own shins; and, shipwreckedon the island of our hopes, one likes to mark a vessel go down full insight. 'Tis demonstration that we are not branded as Cains among thefavoured race of man. Then giving advice: that _is_ delicious, andperhaps repays one all. It is a privilege your grey-haired signorssolely can enjoy; but young men now-a-days may make some claims to it. And, after all, experience is a thing that all men praise. Bards singits glories, and proud Philosophy has long elected it her favouritechild. 'Tis the '_rò Kaxàv_', in spite of all its ugliness, and the_elixir vitæ_, though we generally gain it with a shattered pulse. 

No more! no more! it is a bitter cheat, the consolation of blunderers, the last refuge of expiring hopes, the forlorn battalion that is tocapture the citadel of happiness; yet, yet impregnable! Oh! what iswisdom, and what is virtue, without youth! Talk not to me of knowledgeof mankind; give, give me back the sunshine of the breast which theyo'erclouded! Talk not to me of proud morality; oh! give me innocence!

Amid the ruins of eternal Rome I scribble pages lighter than the wind, and feed with fancies volumes which will be forgotten ere I can hearthat they are even published. Yet am I not one insensible to the magicof my memorable abode, and I could pour my passion o'er the land; but Irepress my thoughts, and beat their tide back to their hollow caves!

The ocean of my mind is calm, but dim, and ominous of storms that mayarise. A cloud hangs heavy o'er the horizon's verge, and veils thefuture. Even now a star appears, steals into light, and now again'tis gone! I hear the proud swell of the growing waters; I hear thewhispering of the wakening winds; but reason lays her trident on thecresting waves, and all again is hushed. 

For I am one, though young, yet old enough to know ambition is a demon;and I fly from what I fear. And fame has eagle wings, and yet she mountsnot so high as man's desires. When all is gained, how little then iswon! And yet to gain that little how much is lost! Let us once aspireand madness follows. Could we but drag the purple from the hero's heart;could we but tear the laurel from the poet's throbbing brain, and readtheir doubts, their dangers, their despair, we might learn a greaterlesson than we shall ever acquire by musing over their exploits ortheir inspiration. Think of unrecognised Caesar, with his wasting youth, weeping over the Macedonian's young career! Could Pharsalia compensatefor those withering pangs? View the obscure Napoleon starving inthe streets of Paris! What was St. Helena to the bitterness ofsuch existence? The visions of past glory might illumine even thatdark-imprisonment; but to be conscious that his supernatural energiesmight die away without creating their miracles: can the wheel or therack rival the torture of such a suspicion? Lo! Byron bending o'er hisshattered lyre, with inspiration in his very rage. And the pert tauntcould sting even this child of light! To doubt of the truth of thecreed in which you have been nurtured is not so terrific as to doubtrespecting the intellectual vigour on whose strength you have stakedyour happiness. Yet these were mighty ones; perhaps the records of theworld will not yield us threescore to be their mates! Then tremble, yewhose cheek glows too warmly at their names! Who would be more than manshould fear lest he be less. 

Yet there is hope, there should be happiness, for them, for all. KindNature, ever mild, extends her fond arms to her truant children, andbreathes her words of solace. As we weep on her indulgent and maternalbreast, the exhausted passions, one by one, expire like gladiators inyon huge pile that has made barbarity sublime. Yes! there is hope andjoy; and it is here!

Where the breeze wanders through a perfumed sky, and where the beautifulsun illumines beauty. 

On the poet's farm and on the conqueror's arch thy beam is lingering!It lingers on the shattered porticoes that once shrouded from thyo'erpowering glory the lords of earth; it lingers upon the ruinedtemples that even in their desolation are yet sacred! 'Tis gone, asif in sorrow! Yet the woody lake still blushes with thy warm kiss; andstill thy rosy light tinges the pine that breaks the farthest heaven!

A heaven all light, all beauty, and all love! What marvel men shouldworship in these climes? And lo! a small and single cloud is sailing inthe immaculate ether, burnished with twilight, like an Olympian chariotfrom above, with the fair vision of some graceful god!

It is the hour that poets love; but I crush thoughts that rise from outmy mind, like nymphs from out their caves, when sets the sun. Yes, 'tisa blessing here to breathe and muse. And cold his clay, indeed, who doesnot yield to thy Ausonian beauty! Clime where the heart softens and themind expands! Region of mellowed bliss! O most enchanting land!

But we are at the park gates. 

They whirled along through a park which would have contained half ahundred of those Patagonian paddocks of modern times which have usurpedthe name. At length the young Duke was roused from his reverieby Carlstein, proud of his previous knowledge, leaning over andannouncing--

'Château de Dacre, your Grace!'

The Duke looked up. The sun, which had already set, had tinged with adying crimson the eastern sky, against which rose a princely edifice. Castle Dacre was the erection of Vanbrugh, an imaginative artist, whose critics we wish no bitterer fate than not to live in his splendidcreations. A spacious centre, richly ornamented, though broken, perhaps, into rather too much detail, was joined to wings of a correspondingmagnificence by fanciful colonnades. A terrace, extending the wholefront, was covered with orange trees, and many a statue, and many anobelisk, and many a temple, and many a fountain, were tinted withthe warm twilight. The Duke did not view the forgotten scene of youthwithout emotion. It was a palace worthy of the heroine on whom he hadbeen musing. The carriage gained the lofty portal. Luigi and Spiridion, who had preceded their master, were ready to receive the Duke, who wasimmediately ushered to the rooms prepared for his reception. He waslater than he had intended, and no time was to be unnecessarily lost inhis preparation for his appearance. 

His Grace's toilet was already prepared: the magical dressing-boxhad been unpacked, and the shrine for his devotions was coveredwith richly-cut bottles of all sizes, arranged in all the elegantcombinations which the picturesque fancy of his valet could devise, adroitly intermixed with the golden instruments, the china vases, andthe ivory and rosewood brushes, which were worthy even of Delcroix'sexquisite inventions. 

The Duke of St. James was master of the art of dress, and consequentlyconsummated that paramount operation with the decisive rapidity of onewhose principles are settled. He was cognisant of all effects, couldcalculate in a second all consequences, and obtained his result withthat promptitude and precision which stamp the great artist. For amoment he was plunged in profound abstraction, and at the same timestretched his legs after his drive. He then gave his orders with thedecision of Wellington on the arrival of the Prussians, and the battlebegan. 

His Grace had a taste for magnificence in costume; but he was handsome, young, and a duke. Pardon him. Yet to-day he was, on the whole, simple. Confident in a complexion whose pellucid lustre had not yielded to aseason of dissipation, his Grace did not dread the want of relief whicha white face, a white cravat, and a white waistcoat would seem to imply. 

A hair chain set in diamonds, worn in memory of the absent Aphrodite, and to pique the present Dacre, is annexed to a glass, which reposesin the waistcoat pocket. This was the only weight that the Duke of St. James ever carried. It was a bore, but it was indispensable. 

It is done. He stops one moment before the long pier-glass, and shootsa glance which would have read the mind of Talleyrand. It will do. He assumes the look, the air that befit the occasion: cordial, butdignified; sublime, but sweet. He descends like a deity from Olympus toa banquet of illustrious mortals. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 _'Fair Women and Brave Men. '_

MR. DACRE received him with affection: his daughter with a cordialitywhich he had never yet experienced from her. Though more simply dressedthan when she first met his ardent gaze, her costume again charmed hispractised eye. 'It must be her shape, ' thought the young Duke; 'it ismagical!'

The rooms were full of various guests, and some of these were presentedto his Grace, who was, of course, an object of universal notice, butparticularly by those persons who pretended not to be aware of hisentrance. The party assembled at Castle Dacre consisted of some thirtyor forty persons, all of great consideration, but of a differentcharacter from any with whom the Duke of St. James had been acquaintedduring his short experience of English society. They were not what arecalled fashionable people. We have no princes and no ambassadors, noduke who is a gourmand, no earl who is a jockey, no manoeuvring mothers, no flirting daughters, no gambling sons, for your entertainment. Thereis no superfine gentleman brought down specially from town to gaugethe refinement of the manners of the party, and to prevent them, byhis constant supervision and occasional sneer, from losing any of thebeneficial results of their last campaign. We shall sadly want, too, a Lady Patroness to issue a decree or quote her code of consolidatedetiquette. We are not sure that Almack's will ever be mentioned: quitesure that Maradan has never yet been heard of. The Jockey Club may bequoted, but Crockford will be a dead letter. As for the rest, Boodle'sis all we can promise; miserable consolation for the bow-window. As forbuffoons and artists, to amuse a vacant hour or sketch a vacant face, wemust frankly tell you at once that there is not one. Are you frightened?Will you go on? Will you trust yourself with these savages? Try. Theyare rude, but they are hospitable. 

The party, we have said, were all persons of great consideration; somewere noble, most were rich, all had ancestors. There were the Earland Countess of Faulconcourt. He looked as if he were fit to reconquerPalestine, and she as if she were worthy to reward him for his valour. Misplaced in this superior age, he was _sans peur_ and she _sansreproche_. There was Lord Mildmay, an English peer and a French colonel. Methinks such an incident might have been a better reason for a latemeasure than an Irishman being returned a member of our ImperialParliament. There was our friend Lord St. Jerome; of course hisstepmother, yet young, and some sisters, pretty as nuns. There were somecousins from the farthest north, Northumbria's bleakest bound, who camedown upon Yorkshire like the Goths upon Italy, and were revelling inwhat they considered a southern clime. 

There was an M. P. In whom the Catholics had hopes. He had made a greatspeech; not only a great speech, but a great impression. His mattercertainly was not new, but well arranged, and his images not singularlyoriginal, but appositely introduced; in short, a bore, who, speakingon a subject in which a new hand is indulged, and connected with thefamilies whose cause he was pleading, was for once courteously listenedto by the very men who determined to avenge themselves for theircomplaisance by a cough on the first opportunity. But the orator wasprudent; he reserved himself, and the session closed with his fame yetfull-blown. 

Then there were country neighbours in great store, with wives thatwere treasures, and daughters fresh as flowers. Among them we wouldparticularise two gentlemen. They were great proprietors, and Catholicsand Baronets, and consoled themselves by their active maintenance of thegame-laws for their inability to regulate their neighbours by any other. One was Sir Chetwode Chetwode of Chetwode; the other was Sir TichborneTichborne of Tichborne. It was not easy to see two men less calculatedto be the slaves of a foreign and despotic power, which we all knowCatholics are. Tall, and robust, and rosy, with hearts even stouterthan their massy frames, they were just the characters to assemble inRunnymede, and probably, even at the present day, might have imitatedtheir ancestors, even in their signatures. In disposition they weremuch the same, though they were friends. In person there were somedifferences, but they were slight. Sir Chetwode's hair was straight andwhite; Sir Tichborne's brown and curly. Sir Chetwode's eyes were blue;Sir Tichborne's grey. 

Sir Chetwode's nose was perhaps a snub; Sir Tichborne's was certainly abottle. Sir Chetwode was somewhat garrulous, and was often like a man ata play, in the wrong box! Sir Tichborne was somewhat taciturn; but whenhe spoke, it was always to the purpose, and made an impression, even ifit were not new. Both were kind hearts; but Sir Chetwode was jovial, Sir Tichborne rather stern. Sir Chetwode often broke into a joke; SirTichborne sometimes backed into a sneer. . 

A few of these characters were made known by Mr. Dacre to his youngfriend, but not many, and in an easy way; those that stood nearest. Introduction is a formality and a bore, and is never resorted to by yourwell-bred host, save in a casual way. When proper people meet at properhouses, they give each other credit for propriety, and slide into anacquaintance by degrees. The first day they catch a name; the next, theyask you whether you are the son of General----. 'No; he was my uncle. ''Ah! I knew him well. A worthy soul!' And then the thing is settled. Youride together, shoot, or fence, or hunt. A game of billiards will do nogreat harm; and when you part, you part with a hope that you may meetagain. 

Lord Mildmay was glad to meet with the son of an old friend. He knew thelate Duke well, and loved him better. It is pleasant to hear our fatherspraised. We, too, may inherit their virtues with their lands, orcash, or bonds; and, scapegraces as we are, it is agreeable to find aprecedent for the blood turning out well. And, after all, there is nofeeling more thoroughly delightful than to be conscious that the kindbeing from whose loins we spring, and to whom we cling with an innateand overpowering love, is viewed by others with regard, with reverence, or with admiration. There is no pride like the pride of ancestry, for itis a blending of all emotions. How immeasurably superior to the herd isthe man whose father only is famous! Imagine, then, the feelings ofone who can trace his line through a thousand years of heroes and ofprinces!

'Tis dinner! hour that I have loved as loves the bard the twilight; butno more those visions rise that once were wont to spring in my quickfancy. The dream is past, the spell is broken, and even the lore onwhich I pondered in my first youth is strange as figures in Egyptiantombs. 

No more, no more, oh! never more to me, that hour shall bring itsrapture and its bliss! No more, no more, oh! never more for me, shallFlavour sit upon her thousand thrones, and, like a syren with a sunnysmile, win to renewed excesses, each more sweet! My feasting days areover: me no more the charms of fish, or flesh, still less of fowl, canmake the fool of that they made before. The fricandeau is like a dreamof early love; the fricassee, with which I have so often flirted, islike the tattle of the last quadrille; and no longer are my dreamshaunted with the dark passion of the rich ragoût. Ye soups! o'er whosecreation I have watched, like mothers o'er their sleeping child! Yesauces! to which I have even lent a name, where are ye now? Tickling, perchance, the palate of some easy friend, who quite forgets the booncompanion whose presence once lent lustre even to his ruby wine andadded perfume to his perfumed hock!

Our Duke, however, had not reached the age of retrospection. He peckedas prettily as any bird. Seated on the right hand of his delightfulhostess, nobody could be better pleased; supervised by his jäger, whostood behind his chair, no one could be better attended. He smiled, with the calm, amiable complacency of a man who feels the world is quiteright. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 _The Châtelaine of Castle Dacre_

HOW is your Grace's horse, Sans-pareil?' asked Sir Chetwode Chetwodeof Chetwode of the Duke of St. James, shooting at the same time a slyglance at his opposite neighbour, Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne. 

'Quite well, sir, ' said the Duke in his quietest tone, but with an airwhich, he flattered himself, might repress further inquiry. 

'Has he got over his fatigue?' pursued the dogged Baronet, with a short, gritty laugh, that sounded like a loose drag-chain dangling against thestones. 'We all thought the Yorkshire air would not agree with him. '

'Yet, Sir Chetwode, that could hardly be your opinion of Sanspareil, 'said Miss Dacre, 'for I think, if I remember right, I had the pleasureof making you encourage our glove manufactory. '

Sir Chetwode looked a little confused. The Duke of St. James, inspiritedby his fair ally, rallied, and hoped Sir Chetwode did not back his steedto a fatal extent. 'If, ' continued he, 'I had had the slightest ideathat any friend of Miss Dacre was indulging in such an indiscretion, Icertainly would have interfered, and have let him known that the horsewas not to win. '

'Is that a fact?' asked Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne, with asturdy voice. 

'Can a Yorkshireman doubt it?' rejoined the Duke. 'Was it possible foranyone but a mere Newmarket dandy to have entertained for a moment thesupposition that anyone but May Dacre should be the Queen of the St. Leger?'

'I have heard something of this before, ' said Sir Tichborne, 'but I didnot believe it. A young friend of mine consulted me upon the subject. "Would you advise me, " said he, "to settle?" "Why, " said I, "if youcan prove any bubble, my opinion is, don't; but if you cannot proveanything, my opinion is, do. "'

'Very just! very true!' were murmured by many in the neighbourhood ofthe oracle; by no one with more personal sincerity than Lady Tichborneherself. 

'I will write to my young friend, ' continued the Baronet. 

'Oh, no!' said Miss Dacre. 'His Grace's candour must not be abused. Ihave no idea of being robbed of my well-earned honours. Sir Tichborne, private conversation must be respected, and the sanctity of domesticlife must not be profaned. If the tactics of Doncaster are no longer tobe fair war, why, half the families in the Riding will be ruined!'

'Still, '--said Sir Tichborne. 

But Mr. Dacre, like a deity in a Trojan battle, interposed, and askedhis opinion of a keeper. 

'I hope you are a sportsman, ' said Miss Dacre to the Duke, 'for this isthe palace of Nimrod!'

'I have hunted; it was not very disagreeable. I sometimes shoot; it isnot very stupid. '

'Then, in fact, I perceive that you are a heretic. Lord Faulconcourt, his Grace is moralising on the barbarity of the chase. '

'Then he has never had the pleasure of hunting in company with MissDacre. '

'Do you indeed follow the hounds?' asked the Duke. 

'Sometimes do worse, ride over them; but Lord Faulconcourt is fastemancipating me from the trammels of my frippery foreign education, and I have no doubt that, in another season, I shall fling off quite instyle. '

'You remember Mr. Annesley?' asked the Duke. 

'It is difficult to forget him. He always seemed to me to think that theworld was made on purpose for him to have the pleasure of "cutting" it. '

'Yet he was your admirer!'

'Yes, and once paid me a compliment. He told me it was the only one thathe had ever uttered. '

'Oh, Charley, Charley! this is excellent. We shall have a tale when wemeet. What was the compliment?'

'It would be affectation in me to pretend that I have forgotten it. Nevertheless, you must excuse me. '

'Pray, pray let me have it!'

'Perhaps you will not like it?'

'Now, I must hear it. '

'Well then, he said that talking to me was the only thing that consoledhim for having to dine with you and to dance with Lady Shropshire. '

'Charles is jealous, ' drawled the Duke. 

'Of her Grace?' asked Miss Dacre, with much anxiety. 

'No; but Charles is aged, and once, when he dined with me, was taken formy uncle. '

The ladies retired, and the gentlemen sat barbarously long. Sir ChetwodeChetwode of Chetwode and Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne were twomen who drank wine independent of fashion, and exacted, to the lastglass, the identical quantity which their fathers had drunk half acentury before, and to which they had been used almost from theircradle. The only subject of conversation was sporting. Terrible shots, more terrible runs, neat barrels, and pretty fencers. The Duke of St. James was not sufficiently acquainted with the geography of the mansionto make a premature retreat, an operation which is looked upon with anevil eye, and which, to be successful, must be prompt and decisive, and executed with supercilious nonchalance. So he consoled himself bya little chat with Lord Mildmay, who sat smiling, handsome, andmustachioed, with an empty glass, and who was as much out of water as hewas out of wine. The Duke was not very learned in Parisian society; butstill, with the aid of the Duchess de Berri and the Duchess de Duras, Léontine Fay, and Lady Stuart de Rothesay, they got on, and made out thetime until Purgatory ceased and Paradise opened. 

For Paradise it was, although there were there assembled some thirty orforty persons not less dull than the majority of our dull race, and inthose little tactics that make society less burdensome perhaps even lessaccomplished. But a sunbeam will make even the cloudiest day break intosmiles; a bounding fawn will banish monotony even from a wilderness; anda glass of claret, or perchance some stronger grape, will convert eventhe platitude of a goblet of water into a pleasing beverage, and so MayDacre moved among her guests, shedding light, life, and pleasure. 

She was not one who, shrouded in herself, leaves it to chance or fateto amuse the beings whom she has herself assembled within her halls. Nonchalance is the _métier_ of your modern hostess; and so long asthe house be not on fire, or the furniture not kicked, you may beeven ignorant who is the priestess of the hospitable fane in which youworship. 

They are right; men shrink from a fussy woman. And few can aspire toregulate the destinies of their species, even in so slight a point as anhour's amusement, without rare powers. There is no greater sin than tobe _trop prononcée_. A want of tact is worse than a want of virtue. Some women, it is said, work on pretty well against the tide without thelast: I never knew one who did not sink who ever dared to sail withoutthe first. 

Loud when they should be low, quoting the wrong person, talking onthe wrong subject, teasing with notice, excruciating with attentions, disturbing a tête-à-tête in order to make up a dance; wasting eloquencein persuading a man to participate in amusement whose reputation dependson his social sullenness; exacting homage with a restless eye, andnot permitting the least worthy knot to be untwined without theirdivinityships' interference; patronising the meek, anticipating theslow, intoxicated with compliment, plastering with praise, that you inreturn may gild with flattery; in short, energetic without elegance, active without grace, and loquacious without wit; mistaking bustlefor style, raillery for badinage, and noise for gaiety, these are thecharacters who mar the very career they think they are creating, and whoexercise a fatal influence on the destinies of all those who have themisfortune to be connected with them. 

Not one of these was she, the lady of our tale. There was a quietdignity lurking even under her easiest words and actions which made youfeel her notice a compliment: there was a fascination in her calm smileand in her sunlit eye which made her invitation to amusement itselfa pleasure. If you refused, you were not pressed, but left to thatisolation which you appeared to admire; if you assented, you wererewarded with a word which made you feel how sweet was such society!Her invention never flagged, her gaiety never ceased; yet both werespontaneous, and often were unobserved. All felt amused, and all wereunconsciously her agents. Her word and her example seemed, each instant, to call forth from her companions new accomplishments, new graces, newsources of joy and of delight. All were surprised that they were soagreeable. 

CHAPTER X. 

 _Love's Young Dream_

MORNING came, and the great majority of the gentlemen rose early asAurora. The chase is the favourite pastime of man and boy; yet somepreferred plundering their host's preserves, by which means theirslumbers were not so brief and their breakfast less disturbed. The_battue_, however, in time, called forth its band, and then one by one, or two by two, or sometimes even three, leaning on each other's armsand smiling in each other's faces, the ladies dropped into thebreakfast-room at Castle Dacre. There, until two o'clock, a loungingmeal might always be obtained, but generally by twelve the coast wasclear; for our party were a natural race of beings, and would haveblushed if flaming noon had caught them napping in their easy couches. Our bright bird, May Dacre, too, rose from her bower, full of the memoryof the sweetest dreams, and fresh as lilies ere they kiss the sun. 

She bends before her ivory crucifix, and gazes on her blessed mother'sface, where the sweet Florentine had tinged with light a countenance

 Too fair for worship, too divine for love!

And innocence has prayed for fresh support, and young devotion told herholy beads. She rises with an eye of mellowed light, and her soft cheekis tinted with the flush that comes from prayer. Guard over her, yeangels! wheresoe'er and whatsoe'er ye are! For she shall be your meetcompanion in an after-day. Then love your gentle friend, this sinlesschild of clay!

The morning passed as mornings ever pass where twenty women, for themost part pretty, are met together. Some read, some drew, some worked, all talked. Some wandered in the library, and wondered why such greatbooks were written. One sketched a favourite hero in the picturegallery, a Dacre, who had saved the State or Church, had fought atCressy, or flourished at Windsor: another picked a flower out of theconservatory, and painted its powdered petals. Here, a purse, half-made, promised, when finished quite, to make some hero happy. Then there waschat about the latest fashions, caps and bonnets, _séduisantes_, andsleeves. As the day grew' old, some rode, some walked, some drove. Apony-chair was Lady Faulconcourt's delight, whose arm was roundly turnedand graced the whip; while, on the other hand, Lady St. Jerome ratherloved to try the paces of an ambling nag, because her figure was of thesublime; and she looked not unlike an Amazonian queen, particularly whenLord Mildmay was her Theseus. 

He was the most consummate, polished gentleman that ever issued from thecourt of France. He did his friend Dacre the justice to suppose that hewas a victim to his barbarous guests; but for the rest of the gallopingcrew, who rode and shot all day, and in the evening fell asleep justwhen they were wanted, he shrugged his shoulders, and he thanked hisstars! In short, Lord Mildmay was the ladies' man; and in their morningdearth of beaux, to adopt their unanimous expression, 'quite a host!'

Then there was archery for those who could draw a bow or point anarrow; and we are yet to learn the sight that is more dangerous for yourbachelor to witness, or the ceremony which more perfectly develops allthat the sex would wish us to remark, than this 'old English' custom. 

With all these resources, all was, of course, free and easy as the air. Your appearance was your own act. If you liked, you might have remained, like a monk or nun, in your cell till dinner-time, but no later. Privacyand freedom are granted you in the morning, that you may not exhaustyour powers of pleasing before night, and that you may reserve for thosefavoured hours all the new ideas that you have collected in the courseof your morning adventures. 

But where was he, the hero of our tale? Fencing? Craning? Hitting?Missing? Is he over, or is he under? Has he killed, or is he killed? forthe last is but the chance of war, and pheasants have the pleasureof sometimes seeing as gay birds as themselves with plumage quite asshattered. But there is no danger of the noble countenance of the Dukeof St. James bearing to-day any evidence of the exploits of himself orhis companions. His Grace was in one of his sublime fits, and did notrise. Luigi consoled himself for the bore of this protracted attendanceby diddling the page-in-waiting at dominos. 

The Duke of St. James was in one of his sublime fits. He had commencedby thinking of May Dacre, and he ended by thinking of himself. He wasunder that delicious and dreamy excitement which we experience when theimage of a lovely and beloved object begins to mix itself up with ourown intense self-love. She was the heroine rather of an indefinitereverie than of definite romance. Instead of his own image alone playingabout his fancy, her beautiful face and springing figure intruded theirexquisite presence. He no longer mused merely on his own voice and wit:he called up her tones of thrilling power; he imagined her in all thetriumph of her gay repartee. In his mind's eye, he clearly watched allthe graces of her existence. She moved, she gazed, she smiled. Now hewas alone, and walking with her in some rich wood, sequestered, warm, solemn, dim, feeding on the music of her voice, and gazing withintenseness on the wakening passion of her devoted eye. Now they rodetogether, scudded over champaign, galloped down hills, scampered throughvalleys, all life, and gaiety, and vivacity, and spirit. Now they werein courts and crowds; and he led her with pride to the proudest kings. He covered her with jewels; but the world thought her brighter than hisgems. Now they met in the most unexpected and improbable manner: nowthey parted with a tenderness which subdued their souls even more thanrapture. Now he saved her life: now she blessed his existence. Now hisreverie was too vague and misty to define its subject. It was a streamof passion, joy, sweet voices, tender tones, exulting hopes, beamingfaces, chaste embraces, immortal transports!

It was three o'clock, and for the twentieth time our hero made an effortto recall himself to the realities of life. How cold, how tame, howlifeless, how imperfect, how inconsecutive, did everything appear! Thisis the curse of reverie. But they who revel in its pleasures must bearits pains, and are content. Yet it wears out the brain, and unfits usfor social life. They who indulge in it most are the slaves of solitude. They wander in a wilderness, and people it with their voices. They sitby the side of running waters, with an eye more glassy than the stream. The sight of a human being scares them more than a wild beast does atraveller; the conduct of life, when thrust upon their notice, seemsonly a tissue of adventures without point; and, compared with thecreatures of their imagination, human nature seems to send forth onlyabortions. 

'I must up, ' said the young Duke; 'and this creature on whom I havelived for the last eight hours, who has, in herself, been to me theuniverse, this constant companion, this cherished friend, whose voicewas passion and whose look was love, will meet me with all the formalityof a young lady, all the coldness of a person who has never even thoughtof me since she saw me last. Damnable delusion! To-morrow I will get upand hunt. '

He called Luigi, and a shower-bath assisted him in taking a more healthyview of affairs. Yet his faithful fancy recurred to her again. He mustindulge it a little. He left off dressing and flung himself in a chair. 

'And yet, ' he continued, 'when I think of it again, there surely canbe no reason that this should not turn into a romance of real life. Iperceived that she was a little piqued when we first met at Don-caster. Very natural! Very flattering! I should have been piqued. Certainly, I behaved decidedly ill. But how, in the name of Heaven, was I to knowthat she was the brightest little being that ever breathed! Well, I amhere now! She has got her wish. And I think an evident alteration hasalready taken place. But she must not melt too quickly. She will not;she will do nothing but what is exquisitely proper. How I do love thischild! I dote upon her very image. It is the very thing that I havealways been wanting. The women call me inconstant. I have never beenconstant. But they will not listen to us without we feign feelings, andthen they upbraid us for not being influenced by them. I have sighed, Ihave sought, I have wept, for what I now have found. What would she giveto know what is passing in my mind! By Heavens! there is no blood inEngland that has a better chance of being a Duchess!'

CHAPTER XI. 

 _Le Roi S'Amuse_

A CANTER is the cure for every evil, and brings the mind back to itselfsooner than all the lessons of Chrysippus and Crantor. It is the onlyprocess that at the same time calms the feelings and elevates thespirits, banishes blue devils and raises one to the society of 'angelsever bright and fair. ' It clears the mind; it cheers the heart. It isthe best preparation for all enterprises, for it puts a man in goodhumour both with the world and himself; and, whether you are going tomake a speech or scribble a scene, whether you are about to conquer theworld or yourself, order your horse. As you bound along, your wit willbrighten and your eloquence blaze, your courage grow more adamantine, and your generous feelings burn with a livelier flame. And when theexercise is over the excitement does not cease, as when it grows frommusic, for your blood is up, and the brilliancy of your eye is fed byyour bubbling pulses. Then, my young friend, take my advice: rush intothe world, and triumph will grow out of your quick life, like Victorybounding from the palm of Jove!

Our Duke ordered his horses, and as he rattled along recovered from theenervating effects of his soft reverie. On his way home he fell in withMr. Dacre and the two Baronets, returning on their hackneys from a hardfought field. 

'Gay sport?' asked his Grace. 

'A capital run. I think the last forty minutes the most splitting thingwe have had for a long time!' answered Sir Chetwode. 'I only hope JackWilson will take care of poor Fanny. I did not half like leaving her. Your Grace does not join us?'

'I mean to do so; but I am, unfortunately, a late riser. '

'Hem!' said Sir Tichborne. The monosyllable meant much. 

'I have a horse which I think will suit your Grace, ' said Mr. Dacre, 'and to which, in fact, you are entitled, for it bears the name of yourhouse. You have ridden Hauteville, Sir Tichborne?'

'Yes; fine animal!'

'I shall certainly try his powers, ' said the Duke. 'When is your nextfield-day?'

'Thursday, ' said Sir Tichborne; 'but we shall be too early for you, I amafraid, ' with a gruff smile. 

'Oh, no!' said the young Duke, who saw his man; 'I assure you I havebeen up to-day nearly two hours. Let us get on. '

The first person that his Grace's eye met, when he entered the room inwhich they assembled before dinner, was Mrs. Dallington Vere. 

Dinner was a favourite moment with the Duke of St. James during thisvisit at Castle Dacre, since it was the only time in the day that, thanks to his rank, which he now doubly valued, he could enjoy atête-à-tête with its blooming mistress. 

'I am going to hunt, ' said the Duke, 'and I am to ride Hauteville. Ihope you will set me an example on Thursday, and that I shall establishmy character with Sir Tichborne. '

'I am to lead on that day a bold band of archers. I have already toomuch neglected my practising, and I fear that my chance of the silverarrow is slight. '

'I have betted upon you with everybody, ' said the Duke of St. James. 

'Remember Doncaster! I am afraid that May Dacre will again be theoccasion of your losing your money. '

'But now I am on the right side. Together we must conquer. '

'I have a presentiment that our union will not be a fortunate one. '

'Then I am ruined, ' said his Grace with rather a serious tone. 

'I hope you have not really staked anything upon such nonsense?' saidMiss Dacre. 

'I have staked everything, ' said his Grace. 

'Talking of stakes, ' said Lord St. Jerome, who pricked up his ears ata congenial subject, 'do you know what they are going to do about thataffair of Anderson's?'

'What does he say for himself?' asked Sir Chetwode. 

'He says that he had no intention of embezzling the money, but that, ashe took it for granted the point could never be decided, he thought itwas against the usury laws to allow money to lie idle. '

'That fellow has always got an answer, ' said Sir Tichborne. 'I hate menwho have always got an answer. There is no talking common sense withthem. '

The Duke made his escape to-day, and, emboldened by his illustriousexample, Charles Faulcon, Lord St. Jerome, and some other heroesfollowed, to the great disgust of Sir Chetwode and Sir Tichborne. 

As the evening glided on conversation naturally fell upon the amusementsof society. 

'I am sure we are tired of dancing every night, ' said Miss Dacre. 'Iwonder if we could introduce any novelty. What think you, Bertha? Youcan always suggest. '

'You remember the _tableaux vivants_?' said Mrs. Dallington Vere. 

'Beautiful! but too elaborate a business, I fear, for us. We wantsomething more impromptu. The _tableaux_ are nothing without brilliantand accurate costume, and to obtain that we must work at least for aweek, and then, after all, in all probability, a failure. _Ils sont troprecherchés_, ' she said, lowering her voice to Mrs. Dallington, '_pournous ici_. They must spring out of a society used to such exhibitions. '

'I have a costume dress here, ' said the Duke of

St. James. 

'And I have a uniform, ' said Lord Mildmay. 

'And then, ' said Mrs. Dallington, 'there are cashmeres, and scarfs, andjewels to be collected. I see, however, you think it impossible. '

'I fear so. However, we will think of it. In the meantime, what shall wedo now? Suppose we act a fairy tale?'

'None of the girls can act, ' said Mrs. Dallington, with a look of kindpity. 

'Let us teach them. That itself will be an amusement. Suppose we actCinderella? There is the music of Cendrillon, and you can compose, whennecessary, as you go on. Clara Howard!' said May Dacre, 'come here, love! We want you to be Cinderella in a little play. '

'I act! oh! dear May! How can you laugh at me so! I cannot act. '

'You will not have to speak. Only just move about as I direct you whileBertha plays music. '

'Oh! dear May, I cannot, indeed! I never did act. Ask Eugenia!'

'Eugenia! If you are afraid, I am sure she will faint. I asked youbecause I thought you were just the person for it. '

'But only think, ' said poor Clara, with an imploring voice, 'to act, May! Why, acting is the most difficult thing in the world. Acting isquite a dreadful thing. I know many ladies who will not act. '

'But it is not acting, Clara. Well! I will be Cinderella, and you shallbe one of the sisters. '

'No, dear May!'

'Well, then, the Fairy?' 'No, dear, dear, dear May!'

'Well, Duke of St. James, what am I to do with this rebellious troop?'

'Let me be Cinderella!'

'It is astonishing, ' said Miss Dacre, 'the difficulty which youencounter in England, if you try to make people the least amusing orvary the regular dull routine, which announces dancing as the beautifulof diversions and cards as the sublime. '

'We are barbarians, ' said the Duke. 'We were not, ' said May Dacre. 'Whatare _tableaux_, or acted charades, or romances, to masques, which werethe splendid and various amusement of our ancestors. Last Christmas weperformed "Comus" here with great effect; but then we had Arundel, andhe is an admirable actor. '

'Curse Arundel!' thought the Duke. 'I had forgotten him. '

'I do not wonder, ' said Mrs. Dallington Vere, 'at people objecting toact regular plays, for, independently of the objections, not thatI think anything of them myself, which are urged against "privatetheatricals, " the fact is, to get up a play is a tremendous business, and one or two is your bound. But masques, where there is so littleto learn by rote, a great consideration, where music and song are soexquisitely introduced, where there is such an admirable opportunityfor brilliant costume, and where the scene may be beautiful withoutchange--such an important point--I cannot help wondering that thisnational diversion is not revived. '

'Suppose we were to act a romance without the costume?' said the Duke. 'Let us consider it a rehearsal. And perhaps the Misses Howard will haveno objection to sing?'

'It is difficult to find a suitable romance, ' said Miss Dacre. 'All ourmodern English ones are too full of fine poetry. We tried once an oldballad, but it was too long. Last Christmas we got up a good many, andArundel, Isabella, and myself used to scribble some nonsense for theoccasion. But I am afraid they are all either burnt or taken away. Iwill look in the music-case. '

She went to the music-case with the Duke and Mrs. Dallington. 

'No, ' she continued; 'not one, not a single one. But what are these?'She looked at some lines written in pencil in a music-book. 'Oh! here issomething; too slight, but it will do. You see, ' she continued, readingit to the Duke, 'by the introduction of the same line in every verse, describing the same action, a back-scene is, as it were, created, andthe story, if you can call it such, proceeds in front. Really, I think, we might make something of this. '

Mr. Dacre and some others were at whist. The two Baronets were together, talking over the morning's sport. Ecarté covered a flirtation betweenLord Mildmay and Lady St. Jerome. Miss Dacre assembled her whole troop;and, like a manager with a new play, read in the midst of them theballad, and gave them directions for their conduct. A japan screen wasunfolded at the end of the room. Two couches indicated the limits ofthe stage. Then taking her guitar, she sang with a sweet voice and archsimplicity these simpler lines:--

 I. 

 Childe Dacre stands in his father's hall, While all the rest are dancing; Childe Dacre gazes on the wall, While brightest eyes are glancing. Then prythee tell me, gentles gay! What makes our Childe so dull to-day?

Each verse was repeated. 

In the background they danced a cotillon. 

In the front, the Duke of St. James, as Childe Dacre, leant against thewall, with arms folded and eyes fixed; in short, in an attitude whichcommanded great applause. 

 II. 

 I cannot tell, unless it be, While all the rest are dancing, The Lady Alice, on the sea, With brightest eyes is glancing, Or muses on the twilight hour Will bring Childe Dacre to her bower. 

Mrs. Dallington Vere advances as the Lady Alice. Her walk is abrupt, herlook anxious and distracted; she seems to be listening for some signal. She falls into a musing attitude, motionless and graceful as a statue. Clara Howard alike marvels at her genius and her courage. 

 III. 

 Childe Dacre hears the curfew chime, While all the rest are dancing; Unless I find a fitting rhyme, Oh! here ends my romancing! But see! her lover's at her feet! Oh! words of joy! oh! meeting sweet!

The Duke advances, chivalric passion in his every gesture. The LadyAlice rushes to his arms with that look of trembling transport whichtells the tale of stolen love. They fall into a group which would havemade the fortune of an Annual. 

 IV. 

 Then let us hope, when next I sing, And all the rest are dancing, Our Childe a gentle bride may bring, All other joys enhancing. Then we will bless the twilight hour That call'd him to a lady's bower. 

The Duke led Mrs. Dallington to the dancers with courtly grace. Therewas great applause, but the spirit of fun and one-and-twenty inspiredhim, and he led off a gallop. In fact, it was an elegant romp. Thetwo Baronets started from their slumbers, and Lord Mildmay called forMademoiselle Dacre. The call was echoed. Miss Dacre yielded to thepublic voice, and acted to the life the gratified and condescending airof a first-rate performer. Lord Mildmay called for Madame Dallington. Miss Dacre led on her companion as Sontag would Malibran. There was nowreath at hand, but the Duke of St. James robbed his coat of its rose, and offered it on his knee to Mademoiselle, who presented it withParisian feeling to her rival. The scene was as superb as anything atthe _Académie_. 

CHAPTER XII. 

 _An Impromptu Excursion_

'WE CERTAINLY must have a masque, ' said the young Duke, as he threwhimself into his chair, satisfied with his performance. 

'You must open Hauteville with one, ' said Mrs. Dallington. 

'A capital idea; but we will practise at Dacre first. '

'When is Hauteville to be finished?' asked Mrs. Dallington. 'I shallreally complain if we are to be kept out of it much longer. I believe Iam the only person in the Riding who has not been there. '

'I have been there, ' said the Duke, 'and am afraid I must go again; forSir Carte has just come down for a few days, and I promised to meet him. It is a sad bore. I wish it were finished. '

'Take me with you, ' said Mrs. Dallington; 'take us all, and let us makea party. '

'An admirable idea, ' exclaimed the young Duke, with a brighteningcountenance. 'What admirable ideas you have, Mrs. Dallington! This is, indeed, turning business into pleasure! What says our hostess?'

'I will join you. '

'To-morrow, then?' said the Duke. 

'To-morrow! You are rapid!'

'Never postpone, never prepare: that is your own rule. To-morrow, to-morrow, all must go. '

'Papa, will you go to-morrow to Hauteville?'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes, ' said Miss Dacre: 'we never postpone; we never prepare. '

'But do not you think a day, at least, had better intervene?' urged Mr. Dacre; 'we shall be unexpected. '

'I vote for to-morrow, ' said the Duke. 

'To-morrow!' was the universal exclamation. Tomorrow was carried. 

'I will write to Blanche at once, ' said the Duke. 

Mrs. Dallington Vere ran for the writing materials, and his Graceindicted the following pithy note:--

'Half-past Ten, Castle Dacre. 

'Dear Sir Carte, 'Our party here intend to honour Hauteville with a visit to-morrow, andanticipate the pleasure of viewing the improvements, with yourself fortheir cicerone. Let Rawdon know immediately of this. They tell me herethat the sun rises about six. As we shall not be with you till noon, Ihave no doubt your united energies will be able to make all requisitepreparations. We may be thirty or forty. Believe me, dear Sir Carte, 'Your faithful servant, 'St. James. 

'Carlstein bears this, which you will receive in an hour. Let me have aline by return. '

CHAPTER XIII. 

 _The Charms of Hauteville_

IT WAS a morning all dew and sunshine, soft yet bright, just fit for ahawking party, for dames of high degree, feathered cavaliers, amblingpalfreys, and tinkling bells. Our friends rose early, and assembledpunctually. All went, and all went on horseback; but they sent beforesome carriages for the return, in case the ladies should be weariedwith excessive pleasure. The cavalcade, for it was no less, broke intoparties which were often out of sight of each other. The Duke andLord St. Jerome, Clara Howard and Charles Faulcon, Miss Dacre and Mrs. Dallington, formed one, and, as they flattered themselves, not the leastbrilliant. They were all in high spirits, and his Grace lectured onriding-habits with erudite enthusiasm. 

Their road lay through a country wild and woody, where crag and copsebeautifully intermixed with patches of rich cultivation. Halfway, theypassed Rosemount, a fanciful pavilion where the Dukes of St. Jamessometimes sought that elegant simplicity which was not afforded byall the various charms of their magnificent Hauteville. At length theyarrived at the park-gate of the castle, which might itself have passedfor a tolerable mansion. It was ancient and embattled, flanked by acouple of sturdy towers, and gave a noble promise of the baronialpile which it announced. The park was a petty principality; and itsapparently illimitable extent, its rich variety of surface, its ancientwoods and numerous deer, attracted the attention and the admiration evenof those who had been born in such magical enclosures. 

Away they cantered over the turf, each moment with their blood moresparkling. A turn in the road, and Hauteville, with its donjon keep andlordly flag, and many-windowed line of long perspective, its towers, andturrets, and terraces, bathed with the soft autumnal sun, met their gladsight. 

'Your Majesty is welcome to my poor castle!' said the young Duke, bowingwith head uncovered to Miss Dacre. 

'Nay, we are at the best but captive princesses about to be immured inthat fearful keep; and this is the way you mock us!'

'I am content that you shall be my prisoner. '

'A struggle for freedom!' said Miss Dacre, looking back to Mrs. Dallington, and she galloped towards the castle. 

Lord Mildmay and Lady St. Jerome cantered up, and the rest soonassembled. Sir Carte came forward, all smiles, with a clerk of theworks bearing a portfolio of plans. A crowd of servants, for the Dukemaintained an establishment at Hauteville, advanced, and the fairequestrians were dismounted. They shook their habits and their curls, vowed that riding was your only exercise, and that dust in the earthlyeconomy was a blunder. And then they entered the castle. 

Room after room, gallery after gallery; you know the rest. Shall wedescribe the silk hangings and the reverend tapestry, the agate tablesand the tall screens, the china and the armour, the state beds and thecurious cabinets, and the family pictures mixed up so quaintly withItalian and Flemish art? But we pass from meek Madonnas and seraphicsaints, from gleaming Claudes and Guidos soft as Eve, from Rubens'ssatyrs and Albano's boys, and even from those gay and natural medleys, paintings that cheer the heart, where fruit and flower, with theirbrilliant bloom, call to a feast the butterfly and bee; we pass fromthese to square-headed ancestors by Holbein, all black velvet and goldchains; cavaliers, by Vandyke, all lace and spurs, with pointed beards, that did more execution even than their pointed swords; patriots andgenerals, by Kneller, in Blenheim wigs and Steen-kirk cravats, allrobes and armour; scarlet judges that supported ship-money, and purplebishops, who had not been sent to the Tower. Here was a wit who hadsipped his coffee at Button's, and there some mad Alcibiades duke whohad exhausted life ere he had finished youth, and yet might be consoledfor all his flashing follies could he witness the bright eyes thatlingered on his countenance, while they glanced over all the patriotismand all the piety, all the illustrious courage and all the historiccraft, which, when living, it was daily told him that he had shamed. Yedames with dewy eyes that Lely drew! have we forgotten you? No! by thatsleepy loveliness that reminds us that night belongs to beauty, ye weremade for memory! And oh! our grandmothers, that we now look upon asgirls, breathing in Reynolds's playful canvas, let us also pay ourhomage to your grace!

The chapel, where you might trace art from the richly Gothic tomb, designed by some neighbouring abbot, to the last effort of Flaxman;the riding-house, where, brightly framed, looked down upon you with acourtly smile the first and gartered duke, who had been Master of theHorse, were alike visited, and alike admired. They mounted the summitof the round tower, and looked around upon the broad county, which theywere proud to call their own. Amid innumerable seats, where blazed thehearths of the best blood of England, they recognised, with delight, thedome of Dacre and the woods of Dallington. They walked along a terracenot unworthy of the promenade of a court; they visited the flowergardens, where the peculiar style of every nation was in turn imitated;they loitered in the vast conservatories, which were themselvesa palace; they wandered in the wilderness, where the invention ofconsummate art presented them with the ideal of nature. In this poeticsolitude, where all was green, and still, and sweet, or where the onlysound was falling water or fluttering birds, the young Duke recurred tothe feelings which, during the last momentous week, had so mastered hisnature, and he longed to wind his arm round the beautiful being withoutwhom this enchanting domain was a dreary waste. 

They assembled in a green retreat, where the energetic Sir Carte haderected a marquée, and where a collation greeted the eyes of thosewho were well prepared for it. Rawdon had also done his duty, and theguests, who were aware of the sudden manner in which the whole affairhad arisen, wondered at the magic which had produced a result worthy ofa week's preparation. But it is a great thing to be a young Duke. Thepasties, and the venison, and the game, the pines, and the peaches, andthe grapes, the cakes, and the confectionery, and the ices, which provedthat the still-room at Hauteville was not an empty name, were all mostpopular. But the wines, they were marvellous! And as the finest cellarsin the country had been ransacked for excellence and variety, it is notwonderful that their produce obtained a panegyric. There was hock of acentury old, which made all stare, though we, for our part, cannot see, or rather taste, the beauty of this antiquity. Wine, like woman, inour opinion, should not be too old, so we raise our altar to the infantBacchus; but this is not the creed of the million, nor was it thepersuasion of Sir Chetwode Chetwode or of Sir Tichborne Tichborne, goodjudges both. The Johannisberger quite converted them. They no longerdisliked the young Duke. They thought him a fool, to be sure, but at thesame time a good-natured one. In the meantime, all were interested, andCarlstein with his key bugle, from out a neighbouring brake, affordedthe only luxury that was wanting. 

It is six o'clock, carriages are ordered, and horses are harnessed. Back, back to Dacre! But not at the lively rate at which they had leftthat lordly hall this morning. They are all alike inclined to moveslowly; they are silent, yet serene and satisfied; they ponder upon thereminiscences of a delightful morning, and also of a delightful meal. Perhaps they are a little weary; perhaps they wish to gaze upon thesunset. 

It is eight o'clock, and they enter the park gates. Dinner isuniversally voted a bore, even by the Baronets. Coffee covers theretreat of many a wearied bird to her evening bower. The rest lounge ona couch or sofa, or chew the cud of memory on an ottoman. It was a dayof pleasure which had been pleasant. That was certain: but that waspast. Who is to be Duchess of St. James? Answer this. May Dacre, orBertha Vere, or Clara Howard? Lady St. Jerome, is it to be a daughterof thy house? Lady Faulconcourt, art thou to be hailed as the unrivalledmother?' Tis mystery all, as must always be the future of this world. Wemuse, we plan, we hope, but naught is certain but that which is naught;for, a question answered, a doubt satisfied, an end attained; what arethey but fit companions for clothes out of fashion, cracked china, andbroken fans?

Our hero was neither wearied nor sleepy, for his mind was too full ofexciting fancies to think of the interests of his body. As all werewithdrawing, he threw his cloak about him and walked on the terrace. It was a night soft as the rhyme that sighs from Rogers' shell, andbrilliant as a phrase just turned by Moore. The thousand stars smiledfrom their blue pavilions, and the moon shed the mild light that makes alover muse. Fragrance came in airy waves from trees rich with the goldenorange, and from out the woods there ever and anon arose a sound, deepand yet hushed, and mystical, and soft. It could not be the wind!

His heart was full, his hopes were sweet, his fate pledged on a die. Andin this shrine, where all was like his love, immaculate and beautiful, he vowed a faith which had not been returned. Such is the madness oflove! Such is the magic of beauty!

Music rose upon the air. Some huntsmen were practising their horns. Thetriumphant strain elevated his high hopes, the tender tone accorded withhis emotions. He paced up and down the terrace in excited reverie, fedby the music. In imagination she was with him: she spoke, she smiled, she loved. He gazed upon her beaming countenance: his soul thrilled withtones which, only she could utter. He pressed her to his throbbing andtumultuous breast!

The music stopped. He fell from his seventh heaven. He felt all theexhaustion of his prolonged reverie. All was flat, dull, unpromising. The moon seemed dim, the stars were surely fading, the perfume of thetrees was faint, the wind of the woods was a howling demon. Exhausted, dispirited, ay! almost desperate, with a darkened soul and staggeringpace, he regained his chamber. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

 _Pride Has a Fall_

THERE is nothing more strange, but nothing more certain, than thedifferent influence which the seasons of night and day exercise upon themoods of our minds. Him whom the moon sends to bed with a head full ofmisty meaning the sun-will summon in the morning with a brain clear andlucid as his beam. Twilight makes us pensive; Aurora is the goddess ofactivity. Despair curses at midnight; Hope blesses at noon. 

And the bright beams of Phoebus--why should this good old name beforgotten?--called up our Duke rather later than a monk at matins, ina less sublime disposition than that in which he had paced among theorange-trees of Dacre. His passion remained, but his poetry was gone. Hewas all confidence, and gaiety, and love, and panted for the moment whenhe could place his mother's coronet on the only head that was worthy toshare the proud fortunes of the house of Hauteville. 

'Luigi, I will rise. What is going on to-day?' 'The gentlemen are allout, your Grace. '

'And the ladies?'

'Are going to the Archery Ground, your Grace. '

'Ah! she will be there, Luigi?'

'Yes, your Grace. '

'My robe, Luigi. '

'Yes, your Grace. '

'I forgot what I was going to say. Luigi!'

'Yes, your Grace. '

'Luigi, Luigi, Luigi, ' hummed the Duke, perfectly unconscious, andbeating time with his brush. His valet stared, but more when his lord, with eyes fixed on the ground, fell into a soliloquy, not a word ofwhich, most provokingly, was audible, except to my reader. 

'How beautiful she looked yesterday upon the keep when she tried tofind Dacre! I never saw such eyes in my life! I must speak to Lawrenceimmediately. I think I must have her face painted in four positions, like that picture of Lady Alice Gordon by Sir Joshua. Her full faceis sublime; and yet there is a piquancy in the profile, which I am notsure--and yet again, when her countenance is a little bent towards you, and her neck gently turned, I think that is, after all--but thenwhen her eyes meet yours, full! oh! yes! yes! yes! That first look atDoncaster! It is impressed upon my brain like self-consciousness. Inever can forget it. But then her smile! When she sang on Tuesdaynight! By Heavens!' he exclaimed aloud, 'life with such a creature isimmortality!'

About one o'clock the Duke descended into empty chambers. Not a soulwas to be seen. The birds had flown. He determined to go to the ArcheryGround. He opened the door of the music-room. 

He found Miss Dacre alone at a table, writing. She looked up, and hisheart yielded as her eye met his. 

'You do not join the nymphs?' asked the Duke. 

'I have lent my bow, ' she said, 'to an able substitute. '

She resumed her task, which he perceived was copying music. He advanced, he seated himself at the table, and began playing with a pen. He gazedupon her, his soul thrilled with unwonted sensations, his frame shookwith emotions which, for a moment, deprived him even of speech. Atlength he spoke in a low and tremulous tone:--

'I fear I am disturbing you, Miss Dacre?'

'By no means, ' she said, with a courteous air; and then, remembering shewas a hostess, 'Is there anything that you require?'

'Much; more than I can hope. O Miss Dacre! suffer me to tell you howmuch I admire, how much I love you!'

She started, she stared at him with distended eyes, and her small mouthwas open like a ring. 

'My Lord!'

'Yes!' he continued in a rapid and impassioned tone. 'I at lengthfind an opportunity of giving way to feelings which it has been longdifficult for me to control. O beautiful being! tell me, tell me that Iam blessed!'

'My Lord! I--I am most honoured; pardon me if I say, most surprised. '

'Yes! from the first moment that your ineffable loveliness rose onmy vision my mind has fed upon your image. Our acquaintance has onlyrealised, of your character, all that my imagination had preconceived, Such unrivalled beauty, such unspeakable grace, could only have beenthe companions of that exquisite taste and that charming delicacy which, even to witness, has added great felicity to my existence. Oh! tellme--tell me that they shall be for me something better than a transientspectacle. Condescend to share the fortune and the fate of one who onlyesteems his lot in life because it enables him to offer you a stationnot utterly unworthy of your transcendent excellence!'

'I have permitted your Grace to proceed too far. For your--for my ownsake, I should sooner have interfered, but, in truth, I was so astoundedat your unexpected address that I have but just succeeded in recallingmy scattered senses. Let me again express to you my acknowledgments foran honour which I feel is great; but permit me to regret that for youroffer of your hand and fortune these acknowledgments are all I canreturn. '

'Miss Dacre! am I then to wake to the misery of being rejected?'

'A little week ago, Duke of St. James, we were strangers. It would behard if it were in the power of either of us now to deliver the other tomisery. '

'You are offended, then, at the presumption which, on so slight anacquaintance, has aspired to your hand. It is indeed a high possession. I thought only of you, not of myself. Your perfections require no timefor recognition. Perhaps my imperfections require time for indulgence. Let me then hope!'

'You have misconceived my meaning, and I regret that a foolish phraseshould occasion you the trouble of fresh solicitude, and me the pain ofrenewed refusal. In a word, it is not in my power to accept your hand. '

He rose from the table, and stifled the groan which struggled in histhroat. He paced up and down the room with an agitated step and aconvulsed brow, which marked the contest of his passions. But he wasnot desperate. His heart was full of high resolves and mighty meanings, indefinite but great, He felt like some conqueror, who, marking thebattle going against him, proud in his infinite resources and invinciblepower, cannot credit the madness of a defeat. And the lady, she leanther head upon her delicate arm, and screened her countenance from hisscrutiny. 

He advanced. 

'Miss Dacre! pardon this prolonged intrusion; forgive this reneweddiscourse. But let me only hope that a more favoured rival is the causeof my despair, and I will thank you----'

'My Lord Duke, ' she said, looking up with a faint blush, but with aflashing eye, and in an audible and even energetic tone, 'the questionyou ask is neither fair nor manly; but, as you choose to press me, Iwill say that it requires no recollection of a third person to make medecline the honour which you intended me. '

'Miss Dacre! you speak in anger, almost in bitterness. Believe me, ' headded, rather with an air of pique, 'had I imagined from your conducttowards me that I was an object of dislike, I would have spared you thisinconvenience and myself this humiliation. '

'At Castle Dacre, my conduct to all its inmates is the same. The Dukeof St. James, indeed, hath both hereditary and personal claims to beconsidered here as something better than a mere inmate; but your Gracehas elected to dissolve all connection with our house, and I am notdesirous of assisting you in again forming any. '

'Harsh words, Miss Dacre!'

'Harsher truth, my Lord Duke, ' said Miss Dacre, rising from her seat, and twisting a pen with agitated energy. 'You have prolonged thisinterview, not I. Let it end, for I am not skilful in veiling my mind;and I should regret, here at least, to express what I have hithertosucceeded in concealing. '

'It cannot end thus, ' said his Grace: 'let me, at any rate, know theworst. You have, if not too much kindness, at least too much candour, topart sol' 'I am at a loss to understand, ' said Miss Dacre, 'what otherobject our conversation can have for your Grace than to ascertain myfeelings, which I have already declared more than once, upon a pointwhich you have already more than once urged. If I have not beensufficiently explicit or sufficiently clear, let me tell you, sir, thatnothing but the request of a parent whom I adore would have induced meeven to speak to the person who had dared to treat him with contempt. ''Miss Dacre!'

'You are moved, or you affect to be moved. 'Tis well: if a word from astranger can thus affect you, you may be better able to comprehend thefeelings of that person whose affections you have so long outraged; yourequal in blood, Duke of St. James, your superior in all other respects. '

'Beautiful being!' said his Grace, advancing, falling on his knee, andseizing her hand. 'Pardon, pardon, pardon! Like your admirable sire, forgive; cast into oblivion all remembrance of my fatal youth. Is notyour anger, is not this moment, a bitter, an utter expiation for allmy folly, all my thoughtless, all my inexperienced folly; for it wasno worse? On my knees, and in the face of Heaven, let me pray you to bemine. I have staked my happiness upon this venture. In your power is myfate. On you it depends whether I shall discharge my duty to society, to the country to which I owe so much, or whether I shall move in itwithout an aim, an object, or a hope. Think, think only of the sympathyof our dispositions; the similarity of our tastes. Think, think only ofthe felicity that might be ours. Think of the universal good we mightachieve! Is there anything that human reason could require that we couldnot command? any object which human mind could imagine that we could notobtain? And, as for myself, I swear that I will be the creature of yourwill. Nay, nay! oaths are mockery, vows are idle! Is it possible toshare existence with you, beloved girl! without watching for your everywish, without--'

'My Lord Duke, this must end. You do not recommend yourself to me bythis rhapsody. What do you know of me, that you should feel all this? Imay be different from what you expected; that is all. Another week, andanother woman may command a similar effusion. I do not believe you tobe insincere. There would be more hope for you if you were. You actfrom impulse, and not from principle. This is your best excuse for yourconduct to my father. It is one that I accept, but which will certainlyever prevent me from becoming your wife. Farewell!' 'Nay, nay! let usnot part in enmity!' 'Enmity and friendship are strong words; wordsthat are much abused. There is another, which must describe our feelingstowards the majority of mankind, and mine towards you. Substitute forenmity indifference. '

She quitted the room: he remained there for some minutes, leaning on themantelpiece, and then rushed into the park. He hurried for some distancewith the rapid and uncertain step which betokens a tumultuous anddisordered mind. At length he found himself among the ruins of DacreAbbey. The silence and solemnity of the scene made him conscious, by thecontrast, of his own agitated existence; the desolation of the beautifulruin accorded with his own crushed and beautiful hopes. He sat himselfat the feet of the clustered columns, and, covering his face with hishands, he wept. 

They were the first tears that he had shed since childhood, and theywere agony. Men weep but once, but then their tears are blood. We thinkalmost their hearts must crack a little, so heartless are they everafter. Enough of this. 

It is bitter to leave our fathers hearth for the first time; bitter isthe eve of our return, when a thousand fears rise in our haunted souls. Bitter are hope deferred, and self-reproach, and power unrecognised. Bitter is poverty; bitterer still is debt. It is bitter to be neglected;it is more bitter to be misunderstood. It is bitter to lose an onlychild. It is bitter to look upon the land which once was ours. Bitter isa sister's woe, a brother's scrape; bitter a mother's tear, and bittererstill a father's curse. Bitter are a briefless bag, a curate's bread, adiploma that brings no fee. Bitter is half-pay!

It is bitter to muse on vanished youth; it is bitter to lose anelection or a suit. Bitter are rage suppressed, vengeance unwreaked, andprize-money kept back. Bitter are a failing crop, a glutted market, anda shattering spec. Bitter are rents in arrear and tithes in kind. Bitter are salaries reduced and perquisites destroyed. Bitter is a tax, particularly if misapplied; a rate, particularly if embezzled. Bitter isa trade too full, and bitterer still a trade that has worn out. Bitteris a bore!

It is bitter to lose one's hair or teeth. It is bitter to find ourannual charge exceed our income. It is bitter to hear of others' famewhen we are boys. It is bitter to resign the seals we fain would keep. It is bitter to hear the winds blow when we have ships at sea, orfriends. Bitter are a broken friendship and a dying love. Bitter a womanscorned, a man betrayed!

Bitter is the secret woe which none can share. Bitter are a brutalhusband and a faithless wife, a silly daughter and a sulky son. Bitterare a losing card, a losing horse. Bitter the public hiss, the privatesneer. Bitter are old age without respect, manhood without wealth, youthwithout fame. Bitter is the east wind's blast; bitter a stepdame's kiss. It is bitter to mark the woe which we cannot relieve. It is bitter todie in a foreign land. 

But bitterer far than this, than these, than all, is waking from ourfirst delusion! For then we first feel the nothingness of self; thathell of sanguine spirits. All is dreary, blank, and cold. The sun ofhope sets without a ray, and the dim night of dark despair shadows onlyphantoms. The spirits that guard round us in our pride have gone. Fancy, weeping, flies. Imagination droops her glittering pinions and sinks intothe earth. Courage has no heart, and love seems a traitor. A busy demonwhispers in our ear that all is vain and worthless, and we among thevainest of a worthless crew!

And so our young friend here now depreciated as much as he had beforeexaggerated his powers. There seemed not on the earth's face a moreforlorn, a more feeble, a less estimable wretch than himself, but justnow a hero. O! what a fool, what a miserable, contemptible fool was he!With what a light tongue and lighter heart had he spoken of this womanwho despised, who spurned him! His face blushed, ay! burnt, atthe remembrance of his reveries and his fond monologues! the veryrecollection made him shudder with disgust. He looked up to see if anydemon were jeering him among the ruins. 

His heart was so crushed that hope could not find even one desolatechamber to smile in. His courage was so cowed that, far from indulgingin the distant romance to which, under these circumstances, we sometimesfly, he only wondered at the absolute insanity which, for a moment, hadpermitted him to aspire to her possession. 'Sympathy of dispositions!Similarity of tastes, forsooth! Why, we are different existences! Naturecould never have made us for the same world or with the same clay! Oconsummate being! why, why did we meet? Why, why are my eyes atlength unsealed? Why, why do I at length feel conscious of my utterworthlessness? O God! I am miserable!' He arose and hastened to thehouse. He gave orders to Luigi and his people to follow him to Rosemountwith all practicable speed, and having left a note for his host with theusual excuse, he mounted his horse, and in half an hour's time, with acountenance like a stormy sea, was galloping through the park gates ofDacre. 

BOOK III. 

CHAPTER I. 

 _'If She Be Not Fair For Me. '_

THE day after the arrival of the Duke of St. James at Cleve Park, his host, Sir Lucius Grafton, received the following note from Mrs. Dallington Vere:

'Castle Dacre, -------, 182--. 

'My dear Baronet, 'Your pigeon has flown, otherwise I should have tied this under hiswing, for I take it for granted he is trained too dexterously to alightanywhere but at Cleve. 

'I confess that in this affair your penetration has exceeded mine. I hope throughout it will serve you as well. I kept my promise, andarrived here only a few hours after him. The prejudice which I had longobserved in the little Dacre against your protégé was too markedto render any interference on my part at once necessary, nor did Ianticipate even beginning to give her good advice for a month to come. Heaven knows what a month of his conduct might have done! A monthachieves such wonders! And, to do him justice, he was most agreeable;but our young gentleman grew impetuous, and so the day before yesterdayhe vanished, and in the most extraordinary manner! Sudden departure, unexpected business, letter and servants both left behind; Monsieurgrave, and a little astonished; and the demoiselle thoughtful at theleast, but not curious. Very suspicious this last circumstance! A flashcrossed my mind, but I could gain nothing, even with my most dexterouswiles, from the little Dacre, who is a most unmanageable heroine. However, with the good assistance of a person who in a French tragedywould figure as my confidante, and who is the sister of your Lachen, something was learnt from Monsieur le valet, to say nothing of the page. All agree; a countenance pale as death, orders given in a low voiceof suppressed passion and sundry oaths. I hear he sulked the night atRosemount. 

'Now, my good Lucy, listen to me. Lose no time about the great object. If possible, let this autumn be distinguished. You have an idea that ourfriend is a very manageable sort of personage; in phrase less courteous, is sufficiently weak for all reasonable purposes. I am not quite soclear about this. He is at present very young, and his character isnot formed; but there is a something about him which makes me half fearthat, if you permit his knowledge of life to increase too much, you mayquite fear having neglected my admonitions. At present his passions arehigh. Use his blood while it is hot, and remember that if you count onhis rashness you may, as nearly in the present instance, yourself rueit. In a word, despatch. The deed that is done, you know--

'My kindest remembrances to dear Lady Afy, and tell her how muchI regret I cannot avail myself of her most friendly invitation. Considering, as I know, she hates me, I really do feel flattered. 

'You cannot conceive what Vandals I am at present among! Nothing but mysincere regard for you, my much-valued friend, would induce me to stayhere a moment. I have received from the countenance of the Dacres allthe benefit which a marked connection with so respectable and so morala family confers, and I am tired to death. But it is a well-devised planto have a reserve in the battles of society. You understand me; and Iam led to believe that it has had the best effect, and silenced even theloudest. "Confound their politics!" as dear little Squib says, from whomI had the other day the funniest letter, which I have half a mind tosend you, only you figure in it so much!

'Burlington is at Brighton, and all my friends, except yourself. Ihave a few barbarians to receive at Dallington, and then I shall be offthere. Join us as quickly as you can. Do you know, I think that it wouldbe an excellent _locale_ for the _scena_. We might drive them over toDieppe: only do not put off your visit too long, or else there will beno steamers. 

'The Duke of Shropshire has had a fit, but rallied. He vows he was onlypicking up a letter, or tying his shoestring, or something of that kind;but Ruthven says he dined off _boudins à la Sefton_, and that, after acertain age, you know--

'Lord Darrell is with Annesley and Co. I understand, most friendlytowards me, which is pleasant; and Charles, who is my firm ally, takescare to confirm the kind feeling. I am glad about this. 

'Felix Crawlegh, or Crawl_ey_, as some say, has had an affair with TommySeymour, at Grant's. Felix was grand about porter, or something, whichhe never drank, and all that. Tommy, Who knew nothing about the brewingfather, asked him, very innocently, why malt liquors had so degenerated. Conceive the agony, particularly as Lady Selina is said to have noviolent aversion to quartering her arms with a mash-tub, argent. 

'The Macaronis are most hospitable this year; and the Marquess says thatthe only reason that they kept in before was because he was determinedto see whether economy was practicable. He finds it is not; so nowexpense is no object. 

'Augustus Henley is about to become a senator! What do you think ofthis? He says he has tried everything for an honest livelihood, and evenonce began a novel, but could not get on; which, Squib says, is odd, because there is a receipt going about for that operation which savesall trouble:

'"Take a pair of pistols and a pack of cards, a cookery-book and aset of new quadrilles; mix them up with half an intrigue and a wholemarriage, and divide them into three equal portions. " Now, as Augustushas both fought and gamed, dined and danced, I suppose it was themorality which posed him, or perhaps the marriage. 

'They say there is something about Lady Flutter, but, I should think, all talk. Most probably a report set about by her Ladyship. Lord Flamehas been blackballed, that is certain. But there is no more news, exceptthat the Wiltshires are going to the Continent: we know why; and thatthe Spankers are making more dash than ever: God knows how! Adieu!

'B. D. V. '

The letter ended; all things end at last. A she-correspondent for ourmoney; provided always that she does not _cross_. 

Our Duke--in spite of his disgrace, he still is ours, and yours too, Ihope, gentlest reader--our Duke found himself at Cleve Park again, in adifferent circle from the one to which he had been chiefly accustomed. The sporting world received him with open arms. With some of theseworthies, as owner of Sanspareil, he had become slightly acquainted. But what is half a morning at Tattersall's, or half a week at Doncaster, compared with a meeting at Newmarket? There your congenial spiritscongregate. Freemasons every man of them! No uninitiated wretch theredares to disturb, with his profane presence, the hallowed mysteries. There the race is not a peg to hang a few days of dissipation on, buta sacred ceremony, to the celebration of which all men and allcircumstances tend and bend. No balls, no concerts, no publicbreakfasts, no bands from Litolf, no singers from Welsh, no pineapplesfrom Gunter, are there called for by thoughtless thousands, who havemet, not from any affection for the turfs delights or their neighbour'scash, but to sport their splendid liveries and to disport their showyselves. 

The house was full of men, whose talk was full of bets. The women werenot as bad, but they were not plentiful. Some lords and signors werethere without their dames. Lord Bloomerly, for instance, alone, orrather with his eldest son, Lord Bloom, just of age, and already aknowing hand. His father introduced him to all his friends with thatsmiling air of self-content which men assume when they introduce ayouth who may show the world what they were at his years; so the Earlpresented the young Viscount as a lover presents his miniature to hismistress. Lady Afy shone in unapproached perfection. A dull Marchioness, a _gauche_ Viscountess, and some other dames, who did not look like thechorus of this Diana, acted as capital foils, and permitted her to meether cavalier under what are called the most favourable auspices. 

They dined, and discussed the agricultural interest in all its exhaustedramifications. Wheat was sold over again, even at a higher price;poachers were recalled to life, or from beyond seas, to be re-killed orre-transported. The poor-laws were a very rich topic, and the poor landsa very ruinous one. But all this was merely the light conversation, justto vary, in an agreeable mode, which all could understand, the regularmaterial of discourse, and that was of stakes and stallions, pedigreesand plates. 

Our party rose early, for their pleasure was their business. Here wereno lounging dandies and no exclusive belles, who kept their bowers untilhunger, which also drives down wolves from the Pyrenees, brought themfrom their mystical chambers to luncheon and to life. In short, anair of interest, a serious and a thoughtful look, pervaded everycountenance. Fashion was kicked to the devil, and they were all too muchin earnest to have any time for affectation. Breakfast was over, andit was a regular meal at which all attended, and they hurried tothe course. It seems, when the party arrive, that they are the onlyspectators. A party or two come on to keep them company. A clubdischarges a crowd of gentlemen, a stable a crowd of grooms. At lengtha sprinkling of human beings is collected, but all is wondrous still andwondrous cold. The only thing that gives sign of life is Lord Breedall'smovable stand; and the only intimation that fire is still an element isthe sailing breath of a stray cigar. 

'This, then, is Newmarket!' exclaimed the young Duke. 'If it requiredfive-and-twenty thousand pounds to make Doncaster amusing, a plum, atleast, will go in rendering Newmarket endurable. '

But the young Duke was wrong. There was a fine race, and theconnoisseurs got enthusiastic. Sir Lucius Grafton was the winner. TheDuke sympathised with his friend's success. 

He began galloping about the course, and his blood warmed. He paid avisit to Sanspareil. He heard his steed was still a favourite for acoming race. He backed his steed, and Sanspareil won. He began to findNewmarket not so disagreeable. In a word, our friend was in an entirelynew scene, which was exactly the thing he required. He was interested, and forgot, or rather forcibly expelled from his mind, his lateoverwhelming adventure. He grew popular with the set. His courteousmanners, his affable address, his gay humour, and the facility withwhich he adopted their tone and temper, joined with his rank and wealth, subdued the most rugged and the coldest hearts. Even the jockeys werecivil to him, and welcomed him with a sweet smile and gracious nod, instead of the sour grin and malicious wink with which those charactersgenerally greet a stranger; those mysterious characters who, in theirinfluence over their superiors, and their total want of sympathy withtheir species, are our only match for the oriental eunuch. 

He grew, we say, popular with the set. They were glad to see among thema young nobleman of spirit. He became a member of the Jockey Club, andtalked of taking a place in the neighbourhood. All recommended thestep, and assured him of their readiness to dine with him as often ashe pleased. He was a universal favourite; and even Chuck Farthing, the gentleman jockey, with a cock-eye and a knowing shake of his head, squeaked out, in a sporting treble, one of his monstrous fudges aboutthe Prince in days of yore, and swore that, like his Royal Highness, theyoung Duke made the Market all alive. 

The heart of our hero was never insensible to flattery. He could notrefrain from comparing his present with his recent situation. Theconstant consideration of all around him, the affectionate cordiality ofSir Lucius, and the unobtrusive devotion of Lady Afy, melted his soul. These agreeable circumstances graciously whispered to him each hour thathe could scarcely be the desolate and despicable personage which lately, in a moment of madness, he had fancied himself. He began to indulge thesatisfactory idea, that a certain person, however unparalleled in formand mind, had perhaps acted with a little precipitation. Then his eyesmet those of Lady Aphrodite; and, full of these feelings, he exchanged alook which reminded him of their first meeting; though now, mellowed bygratitude, and regard, and esteem, it was perhaps even more delightful. He was loved, and he was loved by an exquisite being, who was the objectof universal admiration. What could he desire more? Nothing but thewilfulness of youth could have induced him for a moment to contemplatebreaking chains which had only been formed to secure his felicity. Hedetermined to bid farewell for ever to the impetuosity of youth. Hehad not been three days under the roof of Cleve before he felt that hishappiness depended upon its fairest inmate. You see, then, that absenceis not always fatal to love!

CHAPTER II. 

 _Fresh Entanglements_

HIS Grace completed his stud, and became one of the most distinguishedvotaries of the turf. Sir Lucius was the inspiring divinity upon thisoccasion. Our hero, like all young men, and particularly young nobles, did everything in extremes; and extensive arrangements were made byhimself and his friend for the ensuing campaign. Sir Lucius was to reaphalf the profit, and to undertake the whole management. The Duke was toproduce the capital and to pocket the whole glory. Thus rolled on someweeks, at the end of which our hero began to get a little tired. Hehad long ago recovered all his self-complacency, and if the form of MayDacre ever flitted before his vision for an instant, he clouded itover directly by the apparition of a bet, or thrust it away with thatdesperate recklessness with which we expel an ungracious thought. TheDuke sighed for a little novelty. Christmas was at hand. He began tothink that a regular country Christmas must be a sad bore. Lady Afy, too, was rather _exigeante_. It destroys one's nerves to be amiableevery day to the same human being. She was the best creature in theworld; but Cambridgeshire was not a pleasant county. He was mostattached; but there was not another agreeable woman in the house. Hewould not hurt her feelings for the world; but his own were sufferingdesperately. He had no idea that he ever should get so entangled. Brighton, they say, is a pleasant place. 

To Brighton he went; and although the Graftons were to follow him ina fortnight, still even these fourteen days were a holiday. It isextraordinary how hourly, and how violently, change the feelings of aninexperienced young man. 

Sir Lucius, however, was disappointed in his Brighton trip. Ten daysafter the departure of the young Duke the county member died. Sir Luciushad been long maturing his pretensions to the vacant representation. Hewas strongly supported; for he was a personal favourite, and hisfamily had claims; but he was violently opposed; for a _novus homo_ wasambitious, and the Baronet was poor. Sir Lucius was a man of violentpassions, and all feelings and considerations immediately merged inhis paramount ambition. His wife, too, at this moment, was an importantpersonage. She was generally popular; she was beautiful, highlyconnected, and highly considered. Her canvassing was a great object. Shecanvassed with earnestness and with success; for since her consolatoryfriendship with the Duke of St. James her character had greatly changed, and she was now as desirous of conciliating her husband and the opinionof society as she was before disdainful of the one and fearless of theother. Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite Grafton were indeed on the bestpossible terms, and the whole county admired his conjugal attentions andher wifelike affections. 

The Duke, who had no influence in this part of the world, and who wasnot at all desirous of quitting Brighton, compensated for his absence atthis critical moment by a friendly letter and the offer of his purse. By this good aid, his wife's attractions, and his own talents, Sir Lucysucceeded, and by the time Parliament had assembled he was returnedmember for his native county. 

In the meantime, his friend had been spending his time at Brighton in afar less agitated manner, but, in its way, not less successful; for hewas amused, and therefore gained his object as much as the Baronet. TheDuke liked Brighton much. Without the bore of an establishment, he foundhimself among many agreeable friends, living in an unostentatious andimpromptu, though refined and luxurious, style. One day a new face, another day a new dish, another day a new dance, successively interestedhis feelings, particularly if the face rode, which they all do; thedish was at Sir George Sauceville's, and the dance at the Duke ofBurlington's. So time flew on, between a canter to Rottindean, theflavours of a Perigord, and the blunders of the mazurka. 

But February arrived, and this agreeable life must end. The philosophyof society is so practical that it is not allowed, even to a young Duke, absolutely to trifle away existence. Duties will arise, in spite of ourbest endeavours; and his Grace had to roll up to town, to dine with thePremier, and to move the Address. 

CHAPTER III. 

 _A New Star Rises_

ANOTHER season had arrived, another of those magical periods of whichone had already witnessed his unparalleled triumphs, and from whichhe had derived such exquisite delight. To his surprise, he viewed itsarrival without emotion; if with any feeling, with disgust. 

He had quaffed the cup too eagerly. The draught had been delicious; buttime also proved that it had been satiating. Was it possible for hisvanity to be more completely gratified than it had been? Was it possiblefor victories to be more numerous and more unquestioned during thecoming campaign than during the last? Had not his life, then, been onelong triumph? Who had not offered their admiration? Who had not paidhomage to his all-acknowledged empire? Yet, even this career, howeverdazzling, had not been pursued, even this success, however brilliant, had not been attained, without some effort and some weariness, also someexhaustion. Often, as he now remembered, had his head ached; more thanonce, as now occurred to him, had his heart faltered. Even his firstseason had not passed over without his feeling lone in the crowdedsaloon, or starting at the supernatural finger in the banqueting-hall. Yet then he was the creature of excitement, who pursued an end whichwas as indefinite as it seemed to be splendid. All had now happened thatcould happen. He drooped. He required the impulse which we derive froman object unattained. 

Yet, had he exhausted life at two-and-twenty? This must not be. Hisfeelings must be more philosophically accounted for. He began to suspectthat he had lived too much for the world and too little for himself;that he had sacrificed his ease to the applause of thousands, andmistaken excitement for enjoyment. His memory dwelt with satisfaction onthe hours which had so agreeably glided away at Brighton, in the choicesociety of a few intimates. He determined entirely to remodel the systemof his life; and with the sanguine impetuosity which characterised him, he, at the same moment, felt that he had at length discovered the roadto happiness, and determined to pursue it without the loss of a preciousmoment. 

The Duke of St. James was seen less in the world, and he appeared butseldom at the various entertainments which he had once so adorned. Yethe did not resign his exalted position in the world of fashion; but, on the contrary, adopted a course of conduct which even increasedhis consideration. He received the world not less frequently or lesssplendidly than heretofore; and his magnificent mansion, early in theseason, was opened to the favoured crowd. Yet in that mansion, which hadbeen acquired with such energy and at such cost, its lord was almost asstrange, and certainly not as pleased, an inmate as the guests, who felttheir presence in his chambers a confirmation, or a creation, of theirclaims to the world's homage. The Alhambra was finished, and therethe Duke of St. James entirely resided; but its regal splendour wasconcealed from the prying eye of public curiosity with a proud reserve, a studied secrecy, and stately haughtiness becoming a caliph. A smallband of initiated friends alone had the occasional entrée, and themysterious air which they provokingly assumed whenever they werecross-examined on the internal arrangements of this mystical structure, only increased the number and the wildness of the incidents whichdaily were afloat respecting the fantastic profusion and scientificdissipation of the youthful sultan and his envied viziers. 

The town, ever since the season commenced, had been in feverishexpectation of the arrival of a new singer, whose fame had heralded herpresence in all the courts of Christendom. Whether she were an Italianor a German, a Gaul or a Greek, was equally unknown. An air of mysteryenvironed the most celebrated creature in Europe. There were oddwhispers of her parentage. Every potentate was in turn entitled to thegratitude of mankind for the creation of this marvel. Now it was anemperor, now a king. A grand duke then put in his claim, and then anarchduke. To-day she was married, tomorrow she was single. To-day herhusband was a prince incog. , to-morrow a drum-major well known. Evenher name was a mystery; and she was known and worshipped throughout thewhole civilised world by the mere title of '_The Bird of Paradise!_'

About a month before Easter telegraphs announced her arrival. TheAdmiralty yacht was too late. She determined to make her firstappearance at the opera: and not only the young Duke, but even afar more exalted personage, was disappointed in the sublime idea ofanticipating the public opinion by a private concert. She was to appearfor the first time on Tuesday; the House of Commons adjourned. 

The curtain is drawn up, and the house is crowded. Everybody is therewho is anybody. Protocoli, looking as full of fate as if the French wereagain on the Danube; Macaroni, as full of himself as if no other beingwere engrossing universal attention. The Premier appears far moreanxious than he does at Council, and the Duke of Burlington arranges hisfanlike screen with an agitation which, for a moment, makes him forgethis unrivalled nonchalance. Even Lady Bloomerly is in suspense, andeven Charles Annesley's heart beats. But ah! (or rather, bah!) theenthusiasm of Lady de Courcy! Even the young Guardsman, who paid herLadyship for her ivory franks by his idle presence, even he must havefelt, callous as those young Guardsmen are. 

Will that bore of a tenor ever finish that provoking aria, that we haveheard so often? How drawlingly he drags on his dull, deafening--

_Êccola!_

Have you seen the primal dew ere the sun has lipped the pearl? Have youseen a summer fly, with tinted wings of shifting light, glance in theliquid noontide air? Have you marked a shooting star, or watched a younggazelle at play? Then you have seen nothing fresher, nothing brighter, nothing wilder, nothing lighter, than the girl who stands before you!She was infinitely small, fair, and bright. Her black hair was braidedin Madonnas over a brow like ivory; a deep pure pink spot gave lustreto each cheek. Her features were delicate beyond a dream! her nose quitestraight, with a nostril which would have made you crazy, if you had notalready been struck with idiocy by gazing on her mouth. She a singer!Impossible! She cannot speak. And, now we look again, she must sing withher eyes, they are so large and lustrous!

The Bird of Paradise curtsied as if she shrunk under the overwhelminggreeting, and crossed her breast with arms that gleamed like moonbeamsand hands that glittered like stars. This gave time to the _cognoscenti_to remark her costume, which was ravishing, and to try to see herfeet; but they were too small. At last Lord Squib announced that hehad discovered them by a new glass, and described them as a couple ofdiamond-claws most exquisitely finished. 

She moved her head with a faint smile, as if she distrusted her powersand feared the assembly would be disappointed, and then she shot fortha note which thrilled through every heart and nearly cracked thechandelier. Even Lady Fitz-pompey said 'Brava!' As she proceeded theaudience grew quite frantic. It was agreed on all hands that miracleshad recommenced. Each air was sung only to call forth fresh exclamationsof 'Miracolo!' and encores were as unmerciful as an usurper. 

Amid all this rapture the young Duke was not silent. His box was on thestage; and ever and anon the syren shot a glance which seemed to tellhim that he was marked out amid this brilliant multitude. Each round ofapplause, each roar of ravished senses, only added a more fearful actionto the wild purposes which began to flit about his Grace's mind. Hisimagination was touched. His old passion to be distinguished returnedin full force. This creature was strange, mysterious, celebrated. Herbeauty, her accomplishments, were as singular and as rare as her destinyand her fame. His reverie absolutely raged; it was only disturbed by herrepeated notice and his returned acknowledgments. He arose in a stateof mad excitation, once more the slave or the victim of his intoxicatedvanity. He hurried behind the scenes. He congratulated her on hersuccess, her genius, and her beauty; and, to be brief, within a week ofher arrival in our metropolis, the Bird of Paradise was fairly caged inthe Alhambra. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 _The Bird is Caged_

HITHERTO the Duke of St. James had been a celebrated personage, but hisfame had been confined to the two thousand Brahmins who constitute theworld. His patronage of the Signora extended his celebrity in a mannerwhich he had not anticipated; and he became also the hero of the ten, ortwelve, or fifteen millions of pariahs for whose existence philosophershave hitherto failed to adduce a satisfactory cause. 

The Duke of St. James was now, in the comprehensive sense of the phrase, a public character. Some choice spirits took the hint from the publicfeeling, and determined to dine on the public curiosity. A Sundayjournal was immediately established. Of this epic our Duke was the hero. His manners, his sayings, his adventures, regularly regaled, on eachholy day, the Protestant population of this Protestant empire, who inFrance or Italy, or even Germany, faint at the sight of a peasantrytestifying their gratitude for a day of rest by a dance or a tune. 'Sketches of the Alhambra, ' '_Soupers_ in the Regent's Park, ' 'The Courtof the Caliph, ' 'The Bird Cage, ' &c, &c, &c, were duly announced andduly devoured. This journal, being solely devoted to the illustrationof the life of a single and a private individual, was appropriatelyentitled 'The Universe. ' Its contributors were eminently successful. Their pure inventions and impure details were accepted as delicatetruth; and their ferocious familiarity with persons with whom they weretotally unacquainted demonstrated at the same time their knowledge bothof the forms and the personages of polite society. 

At the first announcement of this hebdomadal his Grace was a littleannoyed, and 'Noctes Hautevillienses' made him fear treason; but whenhe had read a number, he entirely acquitted any person of a breach ofconfidence. On the whole he was amused. A variety of ladies in time wereintroduced, with many of whom the Duke had scarcely interchanged a bow;but the respectable editor was not up to Lady Afy. 

If his Grace, however, were soon reconciled to this not very agreeablenotoriety, and consoled himself under the activity of his libellersby the conviction that their prolusions did not even amount to acaricature, he was less easily satisfied with another performance whichspeedily advanced its claims to public notice. 

There is an unavoidable reaction in all human affairs. The Duke ofSt. James had been so successfully attacked that it became worth whilesuccessfully to defend him, and another Sunday paper appeared, theobject of which was to maintain the silver side of the shield. Hereeverything was _couleur de rose_. One week the Duke saved a poor manfrom the Serpentine; another a poor woman from starvation; now an orphanwas grateful; and now Miss Zouch, impelled by her necessity and hisreputation, addressed him a column and a half, quite heart-rending. Parents with nine children; nine children without parents; clergymenmost improperly unbeneficed; officers most wickedly reduced; widows ofyounger sons of quality sacrificed to the Colonies; sisters of literarymen sacrificed to national works, which required his patronage toappear; daughters who had known better days, but somehow or otherhad not been so well acquainted with their parents; all advanced withmultiplied petitions, and that hackneyed, heartless air of misery whichdenotes the mumper. His Grace was infinitely annoyed, and scarcelycompensated for the inconvenience by the prettiest little creature inthe world, who one day forced herself into his presence to solicit thehonour of dedicating to him her poems. 

He had enough on his hands, so he wrote her a cheque and, with acourtesy which must have made Sappho quite desperate, put her out of theroom. 

We forgot to say that the name of the new journal was 'The New World. 'The new world is not quite so big as the universe, but then it is aslarge as all the other quarters of the globe together. The worst of thisbusiness was, 'The Universe' protested that the Duke of St. James, likea second Canning, had called this 'New World' into existence, which wastoo bad, because, in truth, he deprecated its discovery scarcely lessthan the Venetians. 

Having thus managed, in the course of a few weeks, to achieve thereputation of an unrivalled roué, our hero one night betook himself toAlmack's, a place where his visits, this season, were both shorter andless frequent. 

Many an anxious mother gazed upon him, as he passed, with an eye whichlonged to pierce futurity; many an agitated maiden looked exquisitelyunembarrassed, while her fluttering memory feasted on the sweet thoughtthat, at any rate, another had not captured this unrivalled prize. Perhaps she might be the Anson to fall upon this galleon. It was worth along cruise, and even a chance of shipwreck. 

He danced with Lady Aphrodite, because, since the affair of the Signora, he was most punctilious in his attentions to her, particularly inpublic. That affair, of course, she passed over in silence, though itwas bitter. She, however, had had sufficient experience of man to feelthat remonstrance is a last resource, and usually an ineffectual one. Itwas something that her rival--not that her ladyship dignified the Birdby that title--it was something that she was not her equal, that she wasnot one with whom she could be put in painful and constant collision. She tried to consider it a freak, to believe only half she heard, andto indulge the fancy that it was a toy which would soon tire. As forSir Lucius, he saw nothing in this adventure, or indeed in the Alhambrasystem at all, which militated against his ulterior views. No one moreconstantly officiated at the ducal orgies than himself, both because hewas devoted to self-gratification, and because he liked ever to havehis protégé in sight. He studiously prevented any other individual frombecoming the Petronius of the circle. His deep experience also taughthim that, with a person of the young Duke's temper, the mode of lifewhich he was now leading was exactly the one which not only wouldinsure, but even hurry, the catastrophe his faithful friend so eagerlydesired. His pleasures, as Sir Lucius knew, would soon pall; for heeasily perceived that the Duke was not heartless enough for a roué. Whenthorough satiety is felt, young men are in the cue for desperate deeds. Looking upon happiness as a dream, or a prize which, in life's lottery, they have missed; worn, hipped, dissatisfied, and desperate, they oftenhurry on a result which they disapprove, merely to close a miserablecareer, or to brave the society with which they cannot sympathise. 

The Duke, however, was not yet sated. As after a feast, when we havedespatched a quantity of wine, there sometimes, as it were, arises asecond appetite, unnatural to be sure, but very keen; so, in a career ofdissipation, when our passion for pleasure appears to be exhausted, thefatal fancy of man, like a wearied hare, will take a new turn, throw offthe hell-hounds of ennui, and course again with renewed vigour. 

And to-night the Duke of St. James was, as he had been for some weeks, all life, and fire, and excitement; and his eye was even now wanderinground the room in quest of some consummate spirit whom he might summonto his Saracenic Paradise. 

A consummate spirit his eye lighted on. There stood May Dacre. He gaspedfor breath. He turned pale. It was only for a moment, and his emotionwas unperceived. There she stood, beautiful as when she first glancedbefore him; there she stood, with all her imperial graces; and allsurrounding splendour seemed to fade away before her dazzling presence, like mournful spirits of a lower world before a radiant creature of thesky. 

She was speaking with her sunlight smile to a young man whose appearanceattracted his notice. He was dressed entirely in black, rather short, but slenderly made; sallow, but clear, with long black curls and aMurillo face, and looked altogether like a young Jesuit or a Venetianofficial by Giorgone or Titian. His countenance was reserved and hismanner not easy: yet, on the whole, his face indicated intellect and hisfigure blood. The features haunted the Duke's memory. He had met thisperson before. There are some countenances which when once seen cannever be forgotten, and the young man owned one of these. The Dukerecalled him to his memory with a pang. 

Our hero--let him still be ours, for he is rather desolate, and herequires the backing of his friends--our hero behaved pretty well. Heseized the first favourable opportunity to catch Miss Dacre's eye, andwas grateful for her bow. Emboldened, he accosted her, and asked afterMr. Dacre. She was courteous, but unembarrassed. Her calmness, however, piqued him sufficiently to allow him to rally. He was tolerably easy, and talked of calling. Their conversation lasted only for a few minutes, and was fortunately terminated without his withdrawal, which would havebeen awkward. The young man whom we have noticed came up to claim herhand. 

'Arundel Dacre, or my eyes deceive me?' said the young Duke. 'I alwaysconsider an old Etonian a friend, and therefore I address you withoutceremony. '

The young man accepted, but not with readiness, the offered hand. Heblushed and spoke, but in a hesitating and husky voice. Then he clearedhis throat, and spoke again, but not much more to the purpose. Then helooked to his partner, whose eyes were on the ground, and rose as heendeavoured to catch them. For a moment he was silent again; then hebowed slightly to Miss Dacre and solemnly to the Duke, and then hecarried off his cousin. 

'Poor Dacre!' said the Duke; 'he always had the worst manner in theworld. Not in the least changed. '

His Grace wandered into the tea-room. A knot of dandies were in deepconverse. He heard his own name and that of the Duke of Burlington; thencame 'Doncaster beauty. ' 'Don't you know?' 'Oh! yes. ' 'All quite mad, '&c, &c, &c. As he passed he was invited in different ways to join thecoterie of his admirers, but he declined the honour, and passed themwith that icy hauteur which he could assume, and which, judiciouslyused, contributed not a little to his popularity. 

He could not conquer his depression; and, although it was scarcelypast midnight, he determined to disappear. Fortunately his carriage waswaiting. He was at a loss what to do with himself. He dreaded even to bealone. The Signora was at a private concert, and she was the lastperson whom, at this moment, he cared to see. His low spirits rapidlyincreased. He got terribly nervous, and felt miserable. At last he droveto White's. 

The House had just broken up, and the political members had justentered, and in clusters, some standing and some yawning, somestretching their arms and some stretching their legs, presented symptomsof an escape from boredom. Among others, round the fire, was a young mandressed in a rough great coat all cords and sables, with his hat bentaside, a shawl tied round his neck with boldness, and a huge oaken staffclenched in his left hand. With the other he held the 'Courier, ' andreviewed with a critical eye the report of the speech which he had madethat afternoon. This was Lord Darrell. 

We have always considered the talents of younger brothers as anunanswerable argument in favour of a Providence. Lord Darrell was theyounger son of the Earl of Darleyford, and had been educated for adiplomatist. A report some two years ago had been very current thathis elder brother, then Lord Darrell, was, against the consent of hisfamily, about to be favoured with the hand of Mrs. Dallington Vere. Certain it is he was a devoted admirer of that lady. Of that lady, however, a less favoured rival chose one day to say that which staggeredthe romance of the impassioned youth. In a moment of rashness, impelledby sacred feelings, it is reported, at least, for the whole is amystery, he communicated what he had heard with horror to the mistressof his destinies. Whatever took place, certain it is Lord Darrellchallenged the indecorous speaker, and was shot through the heart. Theaffair made a great sensation, and the Darleyfords and their connectionssaid bitter things of Mrs. Dallington, and talked much of rash youth andsubtle women of discreeter years, and passions shamefully inflamed andpurposes wickedly egged on. We say nothing of all this; nor will wedwell upon it. Mrs. Dallington Vere assuredly was no slight sufferer. But she conquered the cabal that was formed against her, for the dandieswere her friends, and gallantly supported her through a trial underwhich some women would have sunk. As it was, at the end of the seasonshe did travel, but all is now forgotten; and Hill Street, BerkeleySquare, again contains, at the moment of our story, its brightestornament. 

The present Lord Darrell gave up all idea of being an ambassador, but hewas clever; and though he hurried to gratify a taste for pleasurewhich before had been too much mortified, he could not relinquish theambitious prospects with which he had, during the greater part of hislife, consoled himself for his cadetship. He piqued himself upon beingat the same time a dandy and a statesman. He spoke in the House, and notwithout effect. He was one of those who make themselves masters of greatquestions; that is to say, who read a great many reviews and newspapers, and are full of others' thoughts without ever having thought themselves. He particularly prided himself upon having made his way into theAlhambra set. He was the only man of business among them. The Dukeliked him, for it is agreeable to be courted by those who are themselvesconsidered. 

Lord Darrell was a favourite with women. They like a little intellect. He talked fluently on all subjects. He was what is called 'a talentedyoung man. ' Then he had mind, and soul, and all that. The miracles ofcreation have long agreed that body without soul will not do; and evena coxcomb in these days must be original, or he is a bore. No longer issuch a character the mere creation of his tailor and his perfumer. LordDarrell was an avowed admirer of Lady Caroline St. Maurice, and a greatfavourite with her parents, who both considered him an oracle onthe subjects which respectively interested them. You might dine atFitz-pompey House and hear his name quoted at both ends of the table; bythe host upon the state of Europe, and by the hostess upon the state ofthe season. Had it not been for the young Duke, nothing would havegiven Lady Fitz-pompey greater pleasure than to have received him asa son-in-law; but, as it was, he was only kept in store for the secondstring to Cupid's bow. 

Lord Darrell had just quitted the House in a costume which, thoughrough, was not less studied than the finished and elaborate toiletwhich, in the course of an hour, he will exhibit in the enchanted hallsof Almack's. There he will figure to the last, the most active and themost remarked; and though after these continued exertions he will notgain his couch perhaps till seven, our Lord of the Treasury, for heis one, will resume his official duties at an earlier hour than anyfunctionary in the kingdom. 

Yet our friend is a little annoyed now. What is the matter? He dilatesto his uncle, Lord Seymour Temple, a greyheaded placeman, on theprofligacy of the press. What is this? The Virgilian line our oratorintroduced so felicitously is omitted. He panegyrizes the 'Mirror ofParliament, ' where, he has no doubt, the missing verse will appear. Thequotation was new, 'Timeo Danaos. '

Lord Seymour Temple begins a long story about Fox and GeneralFitzpatrick. This is a signal for a general retreat; and the bore, asSir Boyle Roche would say, like the last rose of summer, remains talkingto himself. 

CHAPTER V. 

 _His Grace's Rival_

ARUNDEL DACRE was the only child of Mr. Dacre's only and deceasedbrother, and the heir to the whole of the Dacre property. His father, a man of violent passions, had married early in life, against theapprobation of his family, and had revolted from the Catholic communion. The elder brother, however mortified by this great deed, which passionhad prompted, and not conscience, had exerted his best offices tomollify their exasperated father, and to reconcile the sire to the son. But he had exerted them ineffectually; and, as is not unusual, found, after much harrowing anxiety and deep suffering, that he was not evenrecompensed for his exertions and his sympathy by the gratitude of hisbrother. The younger Dacre was not one of those minds whose rashness andimpetuosity are counterbalanced, or rather compensated, by a generouscandour and an amiable remorse. He was headstrong, but he was obstinate:he was ardent, but he was sullen: he was unwary, but he was suspicious. Everyone who opposed him was his enemy: all who combined for hispreservation were conspirators. His father, whose feelings he hadoutraged and never attempted to soothe, was a tyrant; his brother, whowas devoted to his interests, was a traitor. 

These were his living and his dying thoughts. While he existed, he wasone of those men who, because they have been imprudent, think themselvesunfortunate, and mistake their diseased mind for an implacable destiny. When he died, his deathbed was consoled by the reflection that hispersecutors might at last feel some compunction; and he quitted theworld without a pang, because he flattered himself that his departurewould cost them one. 

His father, who died before him, had left him no fortune, and even hadnot provided for his wife or child. His brother made another ineffectualattempt to accomplish a reconciliation; but his proffers of love andfortune were alike scorned and himself insulted, and Arundel Dacreseemed to gloat on the idea that he was an outcast and a beggar. 

Yet even this strange being had his warm feelings. He adored his wife, particularly because his father had disowned her. He had a friend whomhe idolised, and who, treating his occasional conduct as a speciesof insanity, had never deserted him. This friend had been his collegecompanion, and, in the odd chapter of circumstances, had become apowerful political character. Dacre was a man of talent, and his friendtook care that he should have an opportunity of displaying it. He wasbrought into Parliament, and animated by the desire, as he thought, oftriumphing over his family, he exerted himself with success. But hisinfernal temper spoiled all. His active quarrels and his noisy brawlswere even more endurable than his sullen suspicions, his dark hints, andhis silent hate. He was always offended and always offending. Such aman could never succeed as a politician, a character who, of all others, must learn to endure, to forget, and to forgive. He was soon universallyshunned; but his first friend was faithful, though bitterly tried, andDacre retired from public life on a pension. 

His wife had died, and during the latter years of his life almost hisonly companion was his son. He concentrated on this being all thatardent affection which, had he diffused among his fellow-creatures, might have ensured his happiness and his prosperity. Yet even sometimeshe would look in his child's face with an anxious air, as if he readincubating treason, and then press him to his bosom with unusualfervour, as if he would stifle the idea, which alone was madness. 

This child was educated in an hereditary hate of the Dacre family. Hisuncle was daily painted as a tyrant, whom he classed in his young mindwith Phalaris or Dionysius. There was nothing that he felt keener thanhis father's wrongs, and nothing which he believed more certain than hisuncle's wickedness. He arrived at his thirteenth year when his fatherdied, and he was to be consigned to the care of that uncle. 

Arundel Dacre had left his son as a legacy to his friend; but thatfriend was a man of the world; and when the elder brother not onlyexpressed his willingness to maintain the orphan, but even his desire toeducate and adopt him as his son, he cheerfully resigned all his claimsto the forlorn boy, and felt that, by consigning him to his uncle, hehad most religiously discharged the trust of his confiding friend. 

The nephew arrived at Castle Dacre with a heart equally divided betweenmisery and hatred. It seemed to him that a fate more forlorn thanhis had seldom been awarded to mortal. Although he found his unclediametrically opposite to all that his misled imagination had paintedhim, although he was treated with a kindness and indulgence which triedto compensate for their too long estranged affections, Arundel Dacrecould never conquer the impressions of his boyhood; and had it not beenfor his cousin, May, a creature of whom he had not heard, and of whom nodistorted image had therefore haunted his disturbed imagination; had itnot been for this beautiful girl, who greeted him with affection whichwarmed and won his heart, so morbid were his feelings, that he wouldin all probability have pined away under the roof which he should havelooked upon as his own. 

His departure for Eton was a relief. As he grew up, although hisknowledge of life and man had long taught him the fallacy of his earlyfeelings, and although he now yielded a tear of pity, rather than ofindignation, to the adored manes of his father, his peculiar temper andhis first education never allowed him entirely to emancipate himselffrom his hereditary feelings. His character was combined of many andeven of contrary qualities. 

His talents were great, but his want of confidence made them moredoubtful to himself than to the world; yet, at times, in his solitarymusings, he perhaps even exaggerated his powers. He was proud, and yetworldly. He never forgot that he was a Dacre; but he desired to be thearchitect of his own fortune; and his very love of independence madehim, at an early period, meditate on the means of managing mankind. Hewas reserved and cold, for his imagination required much; yet he pantedfor a confidant and was one of those youths with whom friendship is apassion. To conclude, he was a Protestant among Catholics; and althoughthis circumstance, inasmuch as it assisted him in the views which hehad early indulged, was not an ungracious one, he felt that, till hewas distinguished, it had lessened his consideration, since he couldnot count upon the sympathy of hereditary connections and ancient party. Altogether, he was one who, with the consciousness of ancient blood, thecertainty of future fortune, fine talents, great accomplishments, andnot slight personal advantages, was unhappy. Yet, although not of asanguine temper, and occasionally delivered to the darkest spleen, hisintense ambition sustained him, and he lived on the hope, and sometimeson the conviction, that a bright era would, some day, console him forthe bitterness of his past and present life. 

At school and at college he equally distinguished himself, and waseverywhere respected and often regarded; yet he had never found thatfriend on whom his fancy had often busied itself, and which one whosealternations of feeling were so violent peremptorily required. Hisuncle and himself viewed each other with mutual respect and regard, butconfidence did not exist between them. Mr. Dacre, in spite of his longand constant efforts, despaired of raising in the breast of his nephewthe flame of filial love; and had it not been for his daughter, who wasthe only person in the world to whom Arundel ever opened his mind, andwho could, consequently, throw some light upon his wants and wishes, it would not have been in his power to evince to his nephew that thisdisappointment had not affected his uncle's feelings in his favour. 

When his education was completed, Mr. Dacre had wished him to take uphis residence in Yorkshire, and, in every sense, to act as his son, ashe was his successor. But Arundel declined this proposition. He obtainedfrom his father's old political connection the appointment of _attaché_to a foreign embassy, and he remained on the Continent, with theexception of a yearly visit to Yorkshire, three or four years. But hisviews were not in the diplomatic line, and this appointment only servedas a political school until he could enter Parliament. May Dacre hadwormed from him his secret, and worked with energy in his cause. Anopportunity appeared to offer itself, and, under the patronage of aCatholic nobleman, he was to appear as a candidate for an open borough. It was on this business that he had returned to England. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 _Birds of a Feather_

WE WILL go and make a morning call. The garish light of day, that neversuits a chamber, was broken by a muslin veil, which sent its softenedtwilight through a room of moderate dimensions but of princelydecoration, and which opened into a conservatory. The choice saloon washung with rose-coloured silk, which diffused a delicate tint over theinlaid and costly cabinets. It was crowded with tables covered with_bijouterie_. Apparently, however, a road had been cut through thefurniture, by which you might wind your way up to the divinity of thetemple. A ravishing perfume, which was ever changing, wandered throughthe apartment. Now a violet breeze made you poetical; now a rosy galecalled you to love. And ever and anon the strange but thrilling breathof some rare exotic summoned you, like an angel, to opening Eden. Allwas still and sweet, save that a fountain made you, as it were, moreconscious of silence; save that the song of birds made you, as it were, more sensible of sweetness. 

Upon a couch, her small head resting upon an arm covered with bracelets, which blazed like a Sol-dan's treasure, reclined Mrs. Dallington Vere. 

She is in thought. Is her abstracted eye fixed in admiration upon thattwinkling foot which, clothed in its Russian slipper, looks like aserpent's tongue, small, red, and pointed; or does a more seriousfeeling than self-admiration inspire this musing? Ah! a cloud coursesover that pellucid brow. Tis gone, but it frowned like the harbinger ofa storm. Again! A small but blood-red blush rises into that clear cheek. It was momentary, but its deep colour indicated that it came from theheart. Her eye lights up with a wild and glittering fire, but the flashvanishes into darkness, and gloom follows the unnatural light. Sheclasps her hands; she rises from an uneasy seat, though supported by athousand pillows, and she paces the conservatory. 

A guest is announced. It is Sir Lucius Grafton. 

He salutes her with that studied courtesy which shows they are onlyfriends, but which, when maintained between intimate acquaintance, sometimes makes wicked people suspect that they once perhaps were more. She resumes her seat, and he throws himself into an easy chair which isopposite. 

'Your note I this moment received, Bertha, and I am here. You perceivethat my fidelity is as remarkable as ever. '

'We had a gay meeting last night. '

'Very much so. So Lady Araminta has at last shown mercy. '

'I cannot believe it. '

'I have just had a note from Challoner, preliminary, I suppose, tomy trusteeship. You are not the only person who holds my talents forbusiness in high esteem. '

'But Ballingford; what will he say?'

'That is his affair; and as he never, to my knowledge, spoke to thepurpose, his remarks now, I suppose, are not fated to be much moreapropos. '

'Yet he can say things. We all know----'

'Yes, yes, we all know; but nobody believes. That is the motto of thepresent day; and the only way to neutralise scandal, and to counteractpublicity. '

Mrs. Dallington was silent, and looked uneasy; and her friend perceivingthat, although she had sent to him so urgent a billet, she did notcommunicate, expressed a little surprise. 

'But you wish to see me, Bertha?'

'I do very much, and to speak to you. For these many days I haveintended it; but I do not know how it is, I have postponed and postponedour interview. I begin to believe, ' she added, looking up with a faintsmile, 'I am half afraid to speak. '

'Good God!' said the Baronet, really alarmed, 'you are in no trouble?'

'Oh, no! make yourself easy. Trouble, trouble! No, no! I am not exactlyin trouble. I am not in debt; I am not in a scrape; but--but--but I amin something--something worse, perhaps: I am in love. '

The Baronet looked puzzled. He did not for a moment suspect himself tobe the hero; yet, although their mutual confidence was illimitable, hedid not exactly see why, in the present instance, there had beensuch urgency to impart an event not altogether either unnatural ormiraculous. 

'In love!' said Sir Lucius; 'a very proper situation for the prettiestwoman in London. Everybody is in love with you; and I heartily rejoicethat some one of our favoured sex is about to avenge our sufferings. '

'_Point de moquerie_, Lucy! I am miserable. '

'Dear little pigeon, what is the matter?'

'Ah, me!'

'Speak, -speak, ' said he, in a gay tone; 'you were not made for sighs, but smiles. Begin----'

'Well, then, the young Duke----'

'The deuce!' said Sir Lucius, alarmed. 

'Oh! no! make yourself easy, ' said Mrs. Dallington, smiling; 'nocounterplot, I assure you, although really you do not deserve tosucceed. '

'Then who is it?' eagerly asked Sir Lucius. 

'You will not let me speak. The young Duke----'

'Damn the Duke!'

'How impatient you are, Lucy! I must begin with the beginning. Well, theyoung Duke has something to do with it. '

'Pray be explicit. '

'In a word, then, ' said Mrs. Dallington, in a low voice, but with anexpression of earnestness which Sir Lucius had never before remarked, 'Iam in love, desperately in love, with one whom hitherto, in accordancewith your wishes, I have been driving into the arms of another. Our views, our interests are opposite; but I wish to act fairly, ifpossible; I wish to reconcile them; and it is for this purpose that Ihave summoned you this morning. '

'Arundel Dacre!' said Sir Lucius, quietly, and he rapped his cane on hisboot. The blood-red spot again rose in his companion's cheek. 

There was silence for a moment. Sir Lucius would not disturb it, andMrs. Dallington again spoke. 

'St. James and the little Dacre have again met. You have my secret. I donot ask your good services with Arundel, which I might at another time;but you cannot expect me to work against myself. Depend, then, no longeron my influence with May Dacre; for to be explicit, as we have alwaysbeen, most heartily should I rejoice to see her a duchess. '

'The point, Bertha, ' said Sir Lucius, very quietly, 'is not that I canno longer count upon you as an ally; but I must, I perceive, reckon youan opponent. '

'Cannot we prevent this?' asked Mrs. Dallington with energy. 

'I see no alternative, ' said Sir Lucius, shaking his head with greatunconcern. 'Time will prove who will have to congratulate the other. '

'My friend, ' said Mrs. Dallington, with briskness and decision, 'noaffectation between us. Drop this assumed unconcern. You know, you knowwell, that no incident could occur to you at this moment more mortifyingthan the one I have communicated, which deranges your plans, andprobably may destroy your views. You cannot misconceive my motives inmaking this not very agreeable communication. I might have pursued myobject without your knowledge and permission. In a word, I might havebetrayed you. But with me every consideration has yielded to friendship. I cannot forget how often, and how successfully, we have combined. Ishould grieve to see our ancient and glorious alliance annulled. I amyet in hopes that we may both obtain our objects through its medium. '

'I am not aware, ' said Sir Lucius, with more feeling, 'that I have givenyou any cause to complain of my want of candour. We are in a difficultposition. I have nothing to suggest, but I am ready to listen. You knowhow ready I am to adopt all your suggestions; and I know how seldom youhave wanted an expedient. '

'The little Dacre, then, must not marry her cousin; but we cannotflatter ourselves that such a girl will not want to marry some one;I have a conviction that this is her decisive season. She must beoccupied. In a word, Lucy, some one must be found. '

The Baronet started from his chair, and nearly knocked down a table. 

'Confound your tables, Bertha, ' said he, in a pettish tone; 'I can neverconsult in a room full of tables. ' He walked into the conservatory, andshe followed him. He seemed plunged in thought. They were again silent. Suddenly he seized her hand and led her back to the sofa, on which theyboth sat down. 

'My dear friend, ' he said, in a tone of agitated solemnity. 'I willconceal no longer from you what I have sometimes endeavoured to concealfrom myself: I love that girl to distraction. ' 'You!'

'Yes; to distraction. Ever since we first met her image has haunted me. I endeavoured to crush a feeling which promised only to plunge me intoanxiety, and to distract my attention from my important objects; butin vain, in vain. Her unexpected appearance yesterday has revived mypassion with triple fervour. I have passed a sleepless night, and risewith the determination to obtain her. '

'You know your own power, Lucius, better perhaps than I do, or theworld. We rank it high; none higher; yet, nevertheless, I look upon thisdeclaration as insanity. '

He raised her hand to his lips, and pressed it with delicate warmth, andsummoned his most insinuating tone. 'With your aid, Bertha, I should notdespair!'

'Lucy, I am your friend; perhaps your best friend: but these Dacres!Would it were anyone but a Dacre! No, no, this cannot be. '

'Bertha, you know me better than the world: I am a roué, and you aremy friend; but, believe me, I am not quite so vain as to indulge fora moment in the idea that May Dacre should be aught to me but what allmight approve and all might honour. Yes, I intend her for my wife. '

'Your wife! You are, indeed, premature. '

'Not quite so premature as you perhaps imagine. Know, then, that thegreat point is on the eve of achievement. Urged by the information whichAfy thinks she unconsciously obtains from Lachen, and harrowed by theidea that I am about to tear her from England, she has appealed to theDuke in a manner to which they were both unused. Hitherto her dociletemper has not permitted her to abuse her empire. Now she exertsher power with an energy to which he believed her a stranger. He isstaggered by his situation. He at the same time repents having so rashlyengaged the feelings of a woman, and is flattered that he is so loved. They have more than once consulted upon the expediency of an elopement. '

'This is good news. '

'O! Bertha, you must feel like me before you can estimate it. Yes!'he clenched his fist with horrible energy, 'there is no hell like adetested wife!'

They were again silent; but when she thought that his emotion hadsubsided, she again recalled their consideration to the object of theirinterview. 

'You play a bold game, indeed; but it shall not fail from any deficiencyon my part. But how are we to proceed at present? Who is to interest thefeelings of the little Dacre at once?'

'Who but her future husband? What I want you to do is this: we shallcall; but prepare the house to receive us not only as acquaintances, butas desirable intimates. You know what to say. I have an idea that thedivine creature entertains no very unfavourable opinion of your obedientslave; and with her temper I care not for what she will not probablyhear, the passing opinion of a third person. I stand at present, thanksto Afy, very high with the public; and you know, although my lifehas not the least altered, that my indiscretions have now a dashof discretion in them; and a reformed rake, as all agree, is thepersonification of morality. Prepare my way with the Dacres, and allwill go right. And as for this Arundel, I know him not; but you havetold me enough to make me consider him the most fortunate of men. As forlove between cousins, I laugh at it. A glance from you will extinguishthe feeble flame, as a sunbeam does a fire: and for the rest, the worlddoes me the honour to believe that, if Lucius Grafton be remarkable forone thing more than another, it is for the influence he attains overyoung minds. I will get acquainted with this boy; and, for once, letlove be unattended by doubt. '

Long was their counsel. The plans we have hinted at were analysed, canvassed, weighed, and finally matured. They parted, after a longmorning, well aware of the difficulties which awaited their fulfilment, but also full of hope. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 _A Dangerous Guide_

SUCH able and congenial spirits as Mrs. Dallington Vere and Sir LuciusGrafton prosecuted their plans with the success which they had aright to anticipate. Lady Aphrodite, who was proud of her previousacquaintance, however slight, with the most distinguished girlin London, and eager to improve it, unconsciously assisted theiroperations. Society is so constituted that it requires no littletalent and no slight energy to repel the intimacy even of those whoseacquaintance is evidently not desirable; and there are many people inthis world mixing, apparently, with great spirit and self-esteem inits concerns, who really owe their constant appearance and occasionalinfluence in circles of consideration to no other qualities than theirown callous impudence, and the indolence and the irresolution of theirvictims. They, who at the same time have no delicacy and no shame, countfearful odds; and, much as is murmured about the false estimation ofriches, there is little doubt that the parvenus as often owe theiradvancement in society to their perseverance as to their pelf. 

When, therefore, your intimacy is courted by those whose intimacy isan honour, and that, too, with an art, which conceals its purpose, youoften find that you have, and are a devoted friend, really before youhave felt sufficient gratitude for the opera-box which has been so oftenlent, the carriage which has been ever at hand, the brother who hasreceived such civilities, or the father who has been requested to acceptsome of the unattainable tokay which he has charmed you by admiring atyour own table. 

The manoeuvres and tactics of society are infinitely more numerous andinfinitely finer than those of strategy. Woe betide the rash knightwho dashes into the thick of the polished melée without some slightexperience of his barb and his lance! Let him look to his arms! He willdo well not to appear before his helm be plumed with some reputation, however slight. He may be very rich, or even very poor. We have seenthat answer with a Belisarius-like air; and more than one hero withoutan obolus has stumbled upon a fortune merely from his contempt ofriches. If to fight, or write, or dress be above you, why, then, you canride, or dance, or even skate; but do not think, as many young gentlemenare apt to believe, that _talking_ will serve your purpose. That is thequicksand of your young beginners. All can talk in a public assembly;that is to say, all can give us exhortations which do not move, andarguments which do not convince; but to converse in a private assemblyis a different affair, and rare are the characters who can be endured ifthey exceed a whisper to their neighbours. But though mild and silent, be ever ready with the rapier of repartee, and be ever armed with thebreastplate of good temper. You will infallibly gather laurels if youadd to these the spear of sarcasm and the shield of nonchalance. 

The high style of conversation where eloquence and philosophy emulateeach other, where principles are profoundly expounded and felicitouslyillustrated, all this has ceased. It ceased in this country with Johnsonand Burke, and it requires a Johnson and a Burke for its maintenance. There is no mediocrity in such discourse, no intermediate characterbetween the sage and the bore. The second style, where men, not things, are the staple, but where wit, and refinement, and sensibility investeven personal details with intellectual interest, does flourish atpresent, as it always must in a highly civilised society. S. Is, orrather was, a fine specimen of this school, and M. And L. Are his worthyrivals. This style is indeed, for the moment, very interesting. Thencomes your conversation man, who, we confess, is our aversion. His talkis a thing apart, got up before he enters the company from whose conductit should grow out. He sits in the middle of a large table, and, with abrazen voice, bawls out his anecdotes about Sir Thomas or Sir Humphry, Lord Blank, or my Lady Blue. He is incessant, yet not interesting; evervarying, yet always monotonous. Even if we were amused, we are no moregrateful for the entertainment than we are to the lamp over the tablefor the light which it universally sheds, and to yield which it wasobtained on purpose. We are more gratified by the slight conversationof one who is often silent, but who speaks from his momentary feelings, than by all this hullaballoo. Yet this machine is generally a favouritepiece of furniture with the hostess. You may catch her eye as herecounts some adventure of the morning, which proves that he not onlybelongs to every club, but goes to them, light up with approbation;and then, when the ladies withdraw, and the female senate deliver theircriticism upon the late actors, she will observe, with a gratifiedsmile, to her confidante, that the dinner went off well, and that Mr. Bellow was very strong to-day. 

All this is horrid, and the whole affair is a delusion. A variety ofpeople are brought together, who all come as late as possible, andretire as soon, merely to show they have other engagements. A dinner isprepared for them, which is hurried over, in order that a certain numberof dishes should be, not tasted, but seen: and provided that there isno moment that an absolute silence reigns; provided that, besides thebustling of the servants, the clattering of the plates and knives, a stray anecdote is told, which, if good, has been heard before, andwhich, if new, is generally flat; provided a certain number of certainnames of people of consideration are introduced, by which some stranger, for whom the party is often secretly given, may learn the scale ofcivilisation of which he this moment forms a part; provided the senatorsdo not steal out too soon to the House, and their wives to anotherparty, the hostess is congratulated on the success of her entertainment. 

And this glare, and heat, and noise, these _congeries_ of individualswithout sympathy and dishes without flavour; this is society! What aneffect without a cause! A man must be green indeed to stand this for twoseasons. One cannot help thinking that one consequence of the increasedintelligence of the present day will be a great change in the habits ofour intercourse. 

To our tale; we linger. Few who did not know too much of Sir LuciusGrafton could refrain from yielding him their regard when he chose tochallenge it, and with the Dacres he was soon an acknowledged favourite. As a new M. P. , and hitherto doubtful supporter of the Catholic cause, it was grateful to Mr. Dacre's feelings to find in him an ally, andflattering to Mr. Dacre's judgment when that ally ventured to consulthim on his friendly operations. With Miss Dacre he was a mild, amiableman, who knew the world; thoroughly good, but void of cant, and owner ofa virtue not less to be depended on because his passions had once beenstrong, and he had once indulged them. His experience of life made himvalue domestic felicity; because he knew that there was no other sourceof happiness which was at once so pure and so permanent. But he was notone of those men who consider marriage as an extinguisher of all thosefeelings and accomplishments which throw a lustre on existence; and hedid not consider himself bound, because he had plighted his faith toa beautiful woman, immediately to terminate the very conduct which hadinduced her to join him in the sacred and eternal pledge. His gaietystill sparkled, his wit still flashed; still he hastened to be foremostamong the courteous; and still his high and ready gallantry indicatedthat he was not prepared to yield the fitting ornament of his stillblooming youth. A thousand unobtrusive and delicate attentions whichthe innocent now received from him without a thought, save of LadyAphrodite's good fortune; a thousand gay and sentimental axioms, whichproved not only how agreeable he was, but how enchanting he must havebeen; a thousand little deeds which struggled to shun the light, andwhich palpably demonstrated that the gaiety of his wit, the splendour ofhis accomplishments, and the tenderness of his soul were only equalledby his unbounded generosity and unparalleled good temper; all thesecombined had made Sir Lucius Grafton, to many, always a delightful, often a dangerous, and sometimes a fatal, companion. He was one of thosewhose candour is deadly. It was when he least endeavoured to conceal hischaracter that its hideousness least appeared. He confessed sometimesso much, that you yielded that pity which, ere the shrived culprit couldreceive, by some fatal alchemy was changed into passion. His smile was alure, his speech was a spell; but it was when he was silent, and almostgloomy, when you caught his serious eye, charged, as it were, withemotion, gazing on yours, that if you had a guardian sylph you shouldhave invoked its aid; and we pray, if ever you meet the man of whom wewrite, your invocation may not be forgotten, or be, what is more likely, too late. 

The Dacres, this season, were the subject of general conversation. Shewas the distinguished beauty, and the dandies all agreed that hisdinner was worthy of his daughter. Lady Fitz-pompey was not behind thewelcoming crowd. She was too politic a leader not to feel anxious toenlist under her colours a recruit who was so calculated to maintain thereputation of her forces. Fitz-pompey House must not lose its characterfor assembling the most distinguished, the most agreeable, and the mostrefined, and May Dacre was a divinity who would summon many a crowd toher niche in this Pantheon of fashion. 

If any difficulty were for a moment anticipated in bringing about thisarrangement, a fortunate circumstance seemed sufficient to remove it. Lord St. Maurice and Arundel Dacre had been acquainted at Vienna, and, though the intimacy was slight, it was sweet. St. Maurice had receivedmany favours from the _attaché_, and, as he was a man of family andreputation, had been happy to greet him on his arrival in London. Beforethe Dacres made their appearance in town for the season Arundel had beeninitiated in the mysteries of Fitz-pompey House, and therefore a desirefrom that mansion to cultivate the good graces of his Yorkshire relationseemed not only not forced, but natural. So, the families met, and, tothe surprise of each other, became even intimate, for May Dacre and LadyCaroline soon evinced a mutual regard for each other. Female friendshipsare of rapid growth, and in the present instance, when there was nothingon either side which was not lovable, it was quite miraculous, and thefriendship, particularly on the part of Lady Caroline, shot up in onenight, like a blooming aloe. 

Perhaps there is nothing more lovely than the love of two beautifulwomen, who are not envious of each other's charms. How delightfully theyimpart to each other the pattern of a cap, or flounce, or frill! howcharmingly they entrust some slight, slender secret about tinting aflower or netting a purse! Now one leans over the other, and guides herinexperienced hand, as it moves in the mysteries of some novel work, and then the other looks up with an eye beaming with devotion; andthen again the first leans down a little lower, and gently presses heraromatic lips upon her friend's polished forehead. 

These are sights which we quiet men, who, like 'little Jack Horner, 'know where to take up a safe position, occasionally enjoy, but whichyour noisy fellows, who think that women never want to be alone--a sadmistake--and consequently must be always breaking or stringing a guitar, or cutting a pencil, or splitting a crowquill, or overturning the goldink, or scribbling over a pattern, or doing any other of the thousandacts of mischief, are debarred from. 

Not that these bright flowers often bloomed alone; a blossom not lessbrilliant generally shared with them the same parterre. Mrs. Dallingtoncompleted the bouquet, and Arundel Dacre was the butterfly, who, she wasglad to perceive, was seldom absent when her presence added beauty tothe beautiful. Indeed, she had good reason to feel confidence in herattractions. Independently of her charms, which assuredly were great, her fortune, which was even greater, possessed, she was well aware, no slight allurement to one who ever trembled when he thought of hisdependence, and often glowed when he mused over his ambition. Hisslight but increasing notice was duly estimated by one who wasperfectly acquainted with his peculiar temper, and daily perceived howdisregardful he was of all others, except her and his cousin. But acousin! She felt confidence in the theory of Sir Lucius Grafton. 

And the young Duke; have we forgotten him? Sooth to say, he was seldomwith our heroine or heroines. He had called on Mr. Dacre, and hadgreeted him with marked cordiality, and he had sometimes met him and hisdaughter in society. But although invited, he had hitherto avoided beingtheir visitor; and the comparatively secluded life which he now ledprevented him from seeing them often at other houses. Mr. Dacre, whowas unaware of what had passed between him and his daughter, thought hisconduct inexplicable; but his former guardian remembered that it was notthe first time that his behaviour had been unusual, and it was never thedisposition of Mr. Dacre to promote explanations. 

Our hero felt annoyed at his own weakness. It would have been infinitelymore worthy of so celebrated, so unrivalled a personage as the Duke ofSt. James not to have given the woman who had rejected him this evidenceof her power. According to etiquette, he should have called there dailyand have dined there weekly, and yet never have given the former objectof his adoration the slightest idea that he cared a breath for herpresence. According to etiquette, he should never have addressed her butin a vein of persiflage, and with a smile which indicated his perfectheartease and her bad taste. According to etiquette, he should haveflirted with every woman in her company, rode with her in the Park, walked with her in the Gardens, chatted with her at the opera, and drunkwine with her at a water party; and finally, to prove how sincere hewas in his former estimation of her judgment, have consulted her on thepresents which he should make to some intimate friend of hers, whom heannounces as his future bride. This is the way to manage a woman; andthe result may be conceived. She stares, she starts, she sighs, sheweeps; feels highly offended at her friend daring to accept him; writesa letter of rejection herself to the affianced damsel, which she makeshim sign, and then presents him with the hand which she always meant tobe his. 

But this was above our hero. The truth is, whenever he thought of MayDacre his spirit sank. She had cowed him; and her arrival in London hadmade him as dissatisfied with his present mode of life as he had beenwith his former career. They had met again, and under circumstancesapparently, to him, the most unfavourable. Although he was hopeless, yethe dreaded to think what she might hear of him. Her contempt was bitter;her dislike would even be worse. Yet it seemed impossible to retrieve. He was plunged deeper than he imagined. Embarrassed, entangled, involved, he flew to Lady Afy, half in pique and half in misery. Passionhad ceased to throw a glittering veil around this idol; but she waskind, and pure, and gentle, and devoted. It was consoling to be loved toone who was so wretched. It seemed to him that life must ever be a blankwithout the woman who, a few months ago, he had left an encumbrance. Therecollection of past happiness was balm to one who was so forlorn. Heshuddered at the thought of losing his only precious possession, and hewas never more attached to his mistress than when the soul of friendshiprose from the body of expired love. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 _An Epicurean Feast_

THE Duke of St. James dines to-day with Mr. Annesley. Men and thingsshould be our study; and it is universally acknowledged that a dinneris the most important of affairs, and a dandy the most important ofindividuals. If we liked, we could give you a description of the fêtewhich should make all your mouths water; but everyone cooks now, andekes out his page by robbing Jarrin and by rifling Ude. 

Charles Annesley was never seen to more advantage than when a host. Thenhis superciliousness would, if not vanish, at least subside. He was notless calm, but somewhat less cold, like a summer lake. Therefore we willhave an eye upon his party; because, to dine with dandies should be aprominent feature in your career, and must not be omitted in this sketchof the 'Life and Times' of our young hero. The party was of thatnumber which at once secures a variety of conversation and theimpossibility of two persons speaking at the same time. The guests werehis Grace, Lord Squib, and Lord Darrell. The repast, like everythingconnected with Mr. Annesley, was refined and exquisite, rather slightthan solid, and more novel than various. There was no affectation of_gourmandise_, the vice of male dinners. Your imagination and your sightwere not at the same time dazzled and confused by an agglomeration ofthe peculiar luxuries of every clime and every season. As you mused overa warm and sunny flavour of a brown soup, your host did not dilate uponthe milder and moonlight beauties of a white one. A gentle dallying witha whiting, that chicken of the ocean, was not a signal for a panegyricof the darker attraction of a _matelotte à la royale_. The disappearanceof the first course did not herald a catalogue of discordant dainties. You were not recommended to neglect the _croquettes_ because the_boudins_ might claim attention; and while you were crowning yourimportant labours with a quail you were not reminded that the _pâté deTroyes_, unlike the less reasonable human race, would feel offended ifit were not cut. Then the wines were few. Some sherry, with a pedigreelike an Arabian, heightened the flavour of the dish, not interfered withit; as a toady keeps up the conversation which he does not distract. Agoblet of Graffenburg, with a bouquet like woman's breath, made you, as you remembered some liquid which it had been your fate to fallupon, suppose that German wines, like German barons, required somediscrimination, and that hock, like other titles, was not always thesign of the high nobility of its owner. A glass of claret was the thirdgrace. But, if we had been there, we should have devoted ourselvesto one of the sparkling sisters; for one wine, like one woman, issufficient to interest one's feelings for four-and-twenty hours. Fickleness we abhor. 

'I observed you riding to-day with the gentle Leonora, St. James, ' saidMr. Annesley. 

'No! her sister. '

'Indeed! Those girls are uncommonly alike. The fact is, now, thatneither face nor figure depends upon nature. '

'No, ' said Lord Squib; 'all that the artists of the present day want isa model. Let a family provide one handsome sister, and the hideousnessof the others will not prevent them, under good management, from beingmistaken, by the best judges, for the beauty, six times in the samehour. '

'You are trying, I suppose, to account for your unfortunate error atCleverley's, on Monday, Squib?' said Lord Darrell, laughing. 

'Pooh! all nonsense. '

'What was it?' said Mr. Annesley. 

'Not a word true, ' said Lord Squib, stifling curiosity. 

'I believe it, ' said the Duke, without having heard a syllable. 'Come, Darrell, out with it!'

'It really is nothing very particular, only it is whispered that Squibsaid something to Lady Clever-ley which made her ring the bell, andthat he excused himself to his Lordship by protesting that, from theirsimilarity of dress and manner and strong family likeness, he hadmistaken the Countess for her sister. '

_Omnes_. 'Well done, Squib! And were you introduced to the rightperson?'

'Why, ' said his Lordship, 'fortunately I contrived to fall out about thesettlements, and so I escaped. '

'So the chaste Diana is to be the new patroness?' said Lord Darrell. 

'So I understand, ' rejoined Mr. Annesley. 'This is the age of unexpectedappointments. '

'_On dit_ that when it was notified to the party most interested, therewas a rider to the bill, excluding my Lord's relations. '

'Ha, ha, ha, ' faintly laughed Mr. Annesley. 'What have they been doingso remarkable?'

'Nothing, ' said Lord Squib. 'That is just their fault. They haveevery recommendation; but when any member of that family is in a room, everybody feels so exceedingly sleepy that they all sink to the ground. That is the reason that there are so many ottomans at Heavyside House. '

'Is it true, ' asked the Duke, 'that his Grace really has a flapper?'

'Unquestionably, ' said Lord Squib. 'The other day I was announced, and his attendant was absent. He had left his instrument on a sofa. Iimmediately took it up, and touched my Lord upon his hump. I never knewhim more entertaining. He really was quite lively. '

'But Diana is a favourite goddess of mine, ' said Annesley; 'taste thathock. '

'Superb! Where did you get it?'

'A present from poor Raffenburg. '

'Ah! where is he now?'

'At Paris, I believe. '

'Paris! and where is she?'

'I liked Raffenburg, ' said Lord Squib; 'he always reminded me of acountry innkeeper who supplies you with pipes and tobacco gratis, provided that you will dine with him. '

'He had unrivalled meerschaums, ' said Mr. Annesley, 'and he was mostliberal. There are two. You know I never use them, but they are handsomefurniture. '

'Those Dalmaines are fine girls, ' said the Duke of St. James. 

'Very pretty creatures! Do you know, Duke, ' said Annesley, 'I think theyoungest one something like Miss Dacre. '

'Indeed! I cannot say the resemblance struck me. '

'I see old mother Dalmaine dresses her as much like the Doncaster belleas she possibly can. '

'Yes, and spoils her, ' said Lord Squib; 'but old mother Dalmaine, withall her fuss, was ever a bad cook, and overdid everything. '

'Young Dalmaine, they say, ' observed Lord Darrell, 'is in a sort of ascrape. '

'Ah! what?'

'Oh! some confusion at head-quarters. A great tallow-chandler's son gotinto the regiment, and committed some heresy at mess. '

'I do not know the brother, ' said the Duke. 

'You are fortunate, then. He is unendurable. To give you an idea of him, suppose you met him here (which you never will), he would write to youthe next day, "My dear St. James. "'

'My tailor presented me his best compliments, the other morning, ' saidthe Duke. 

'The world is growing familiar, ' said Mr. Annesley. 

'There must be some remedy, ' said Lord Darrell. 

'Yes!' said Lord Squib, with indignation. 'Tradesmen now-a-days consolethemselves for not getting their bills paid by asking their customers todinner. '

'It is shocking, ' said Mr. Annesley, with a forlorn air. 'Do you know, I never enter society now without taking as many preliminary precautionsas if the plague raged in all our chambers. In vain have I hithertoprided myself on my existence being unknown to the million. I never nowstand still in a street, lest my portrait be caught for a lithograph;I never venture to a strange dinner, lest I should stumble upon afashionable novelist; and even with all this vigilance, and all thisdenial, I have an intimate friend whom I cannot cut, and who, they say, writes for the Court Journal. '

'But why cannot you cut him?' asked Lord Darrell. 

'He is my brother; and, you know, I pride myself upon my domesticfeelings. '

'Yes!' said Lord Squib, 'to judge from what the world says, one wouldthink, Annesley, you were a Brummel!'

'Squib, not even in jest couple my name with one whom I will not call asavage, merely because he is unfortunate. '

'What did you think of little Eugenie, Annesley, last night?' asked theDuke. 

'Well, very well, indeed; something like Brocard's worst. '

'I was a little disappointed in her début, and much interested in hersuccess. She was rather a favourite of mine in Paris, so I invited herto the Alhambra yesterday, with Claudius Piggott and some more. I hadhalf a mind to pull you in, but I know you do not much admire Piggott. '

'On the contrary, I have been in Piggott's company without being muchoffended. '

'I think Piggott improves, ' said Lord Darrell. 'It was those waistcoatswhich excited such a prejudice against him when he first came over. '

'What! a prejudice against Peacock Piggott!' said Lord Squib; 'prettyPeacock Piggott! Tell it not in Gath, whisper it not in Ascalon; and, above all, insinuate it not to Lady de Courcy. '

'There is not much danger of my insinuating anything to her, ' said Mr. Annesley. 

'Your compact, I hope, is religiously observed, ' said the Duke. 

'Yes, very well. There was a slight infraction once, but I sent CharlesFitzroy as an ambassador, and war was not declared. '

'Do you mean, ' asked Lord Squib, 'when your cabriolet broke down beforeher door, and she sent out to request that you would make yourself quiteat home?'

'I mean that fatal day, ' replied Mr. Annesley. 'I afterwards discoveredshe had bribed my tiger. '

'Do you know Eugenie's sister, St. James?' asked Lord Darrell. 

'Yes: she is very clever; very popular at Paris. But I like Eugenie, because she is so good-natured. Her laugh is so hearty. '

'So it is, ' said Lord Squib. 'Do you remember that girl at Madrid, Annesley, who used to laugh so?'

'What, Isidora? She is coming over. '

'But I thought it was high treason to plunder the grandees' dovecotes?'

'Why, all our regular official negotiations have failed. She is notpermitted to treat with a foreign manager; but the new ambassador hasa secretary, and that secretary has some diplomatic ability, and soIsidora is to be smuggled over. '

'In a red box, I suppose, ' said Lord Squib. 

'I rather admire our Adèle, ' said the Duke of St. James. 'I really thinkshe dances with more _aplomb_ than any of them. '

'Oh! certainly; she is a favourite of mine. '

'But I like that wild little Ducis, ' said Lord Squib. 'She puts me inmind of a wild cat. '

'And Marunia of a Bengal tiger, ' said his Grace. 

'She is a fine woman, though, ' said Lord Darrell. 

'I think your cousin, St. James, ' said Lord Squib, 'will get into ascrape with Marunia. I remember Chetwynd telling me, and he was not aptto complain on that score, that he never should have broken up if it hadnot been for her. '

'But he was an extravagant fellow, ' said Mr. Annesley: 'he called me inat his _bouleversement_ for advice, as I have the reputation of agood economist. I do not know how it is, though I see these thingsperpetually happen; but why men, and men of small fortunes, shouldcommit such follies, really exceeds my comprehension. Ten thousandpounds for trinkets, and nearly as much for old furniture!'

'Chetwynd kept it up a good many years, though, I think, ' said LordDarrell. 'I remember going to see his rooms when I first came over. Yourecollect his pearl fountain of Cologne water?'

'Millecolonnes fitted up his place, I think?' asked the young Duke; 'butit was before my time. '

'Oh! yes; little Bijou, ' said Annesley. 'He has done you justice, Duke. I think the Alhambra much the prettiest thing in town. '

'I was attacked the other day most vigorously by Mrs. Dallington toobtain a sight, ' said Lord Squib. 'I referred her to Lucy Grafton. Doyou know, St. James, I have half a strange idea that there is a renewalin that quarter?'

'So they say, ' said the Duke; 'if so, I confess I am surprised. ' Butthey remembered Lord Darrell, and the conversation turned. 

'Those are clever horses of Lincoln Graves, ' said Mr. Annesley. 

'Neat cattle, as Bagshot says, ' observed Lord Squib. 

'Is it true that Bag is going to marry one of the Wrekins?' asked theDuke. 

'Which?' asked Lord Squib; 'not Sophy, surely I thought she was to beyour cousin. I dare say, ' he added, 'a false report. I suppose, to usea Bagshotism, his governor wants it; but I should think Lord Cub wouldnot yet be taken in. By-the-bye, he says you have promised to proposehim at White's, St. James. '

'Oppose him, I said, ' rejoined the Duke. 'Bag really never understandsEnglish. However, I think it as probable that he will lounge there as onthe Treasury bench. That was his "governor's" last shrewd plan. '

'Darrell, ' said Lord Squib, 'is there any chance of my being acommissioner for anything? It struck me last night that I had never beenin office. '

'I do not think, Squib, that you ever will be in office, if even you beappointed. '

'On the contrary, my good fellow, my punctuality should surprise you. Ishould like very much to be a lay lord, because I cannot afford tokeep a yacht, and theirs, they say, are not sufficiently used, for theAdmirals think it spooney, and the landlubbers are always sick. '

'I think myself of having a yacht this summer, ' said the Duke of St. James. 'Be my captain, Squib. '

'If you be serious I will commence my duties tomorrow. '

'I am serious. I think it will be amusing. I give you full authorityto do exactly what you like, provided, in two months' time, I have thecrack vessel in the club. '

'I begin to press. Annesley, your dinner is so good that you shall bepurser; and Darrell, you are a man of business, you shall be his clerk. For the rest, I think St. Maurice may claim a place, and----'

'Peacock Piggott, by all means, ' said the Duke. 'A gay sailor is quitethe thing. '

'And Charles Fitzroy, ' said Annesley, 'because I am under obligations tohim, and promised to have him in my eye. '

'And Bagshot for a butt, ' said the Duke. 

'And Backbite for a buffoon, ' said Mr. Annesley. 

'And for the rest, ' said the young Duke, 'the rest of the crew, I vote, shall be women. The Dalmaines will just do. '

'And the little Trevors, ' said Lord Darrell. 

'And Long Harrington, ' said Lord Squib. 'She is my beauty. '

'And the young Ducie, ' said Annesley. 'And Mrs. Dallington of course, and Caroline St. Maurice, and Charlotte Bloomerly; really, she wasdressed most prettily last night; and, above all, the queen bee of thehive, May Dacre, eh! St. James? And I have another proposition, ' saidAnnesley, with unusual animation. 'May Dacre won the St. Leger, andruled the course; and May Dacre shall win the cup, and rule the waves. Our yacht shall be christened by the Lady Bird of Yorkshire. '

'What a delightful thing it would be, ' said the Duke of St. James, 'if, throughout life, we might always choose our crew; cull the beauties, andbanish the bores. '

'But that is impossible, ' said Lord Darrell. 'Every ornament of societyis counterbalanced by some accompanying blur. I have invariably observedthat the ugliness of a chaperon is exactly in proportion to the charmsof her charge; and that if a man be distinguished for his wit, hisappearance, his style, or any other good quality, he is sure to besaddled with some family or connection, who require all his popularityto gain them a passport into the crowd. '

'One might collect an unexceptionable coterie from our present crowd, 'said Mr. Annesley. 'It would be curious to assemble all the pet lambs ofthe flock. '

'Is it impossible?' asked the Duke. 

'Burlington is the only man who dare try, ' said Lord Darrell. 

'I doubt whether any individual would have sufficient pluck, ' said LordSquib. 

'Yes, ' said the Duke, 'it must, I think, be a joint-stock company toshare the glory and the odium. Let us do it!'

There was a start, and a silence, broken by Annesley in a low voice:

'By Heavens it would be sublime, if practicable; but the difficulty doesindeed seem insurmountable. '

'Why, we would not do it, ' said the young Duke, 'if it were notdifficult. The first thing is to get a frame for our picture, to hitupon some happy pretence for assembling in an impromptu style the youngand gay. Our purpose must not be too obvious. It must be somethingto which all expect to be asked, and where the presence of all isimpossible; so that, in fixing upon a particular member of a family, we may seem influenced by the wish that no circle should be neglected. Then, too, it should be something like a water-party or a fêtechampêtre, where colds abound and fits are always caught, so that aconsideration for the old and the infirm may authorise us not to invitethem; then, too----'

_Omnes_. 'Bravo! bravo! St. James. It shall be! it shall be!'

'It must be a fête champêtre, ' said Annesley, decidedly, 'and as farfrom town as possible. '

'Twickenham is at your service, ' said the Duke. 

'Just the place, and just the distance. The only objection is, that, bybeing yours, it will saddle the enterprise too much upon you. We mustall bear our share in the uproar, for, trust me, there will be one; butthere are a thousand ways by which our responsibility may be insistedupon. For instance, let us make a list of all our guests, and then letone of us act as secretary, and sign the invitations, which shall belike tickets. No other name need appear, and the hosts will indicatethemselves at the place of rendezvous. '

'My Lords, ' said Lord Squib, 'I rise to propose the health of Mr. Secretary Annesley, and I think if anyone carry the business through, itwill be he. '

'I accept the trust. At present be silent as night; for we have much tomature, and our success depends upon our secrecy. '

CHAPTER IX. 

 _The Fête of Youth and Beauty_

ARUNDEL DACRE, though little apt to cultivate an acquaintance withanyone, called on the young Duke the morning after their meeting. Thetruth is, his imagination was touched by our hero's appearance. HisGrace possessed all that accomplished manner of which Arundel painfullyfelt the want, and to which he eagerly yielded his admiration. Heearnestly desired the Duke's friendship, but, with his usual _mauvaisehonte_, their meeting did not advance his wishes. He was as shyand constrained as usual, and being really desirous of appearing toadvantage, and leaving an impression in his favour, his manner was evendivested of that somewhat imposing coldness which was not altogetherineffective. In short, he was rather disagreeable. The Duke wascourteous, as he usually was, and ever to the Da-cres, but he was notcordial. He disliked Arundel Dacre; in a word, he looked upon him ashis favoured rival. The two young men occasionally met, but did not growmore intimate. Studiously polite the young Duke ever was both to himand to his lovely cousin, for his pride concealed his pique, and he wasalways afraid lest his manner should betray his mind. 

In the meantime Sir Lucius Grafton apparently was running his usualcourse of triumph. It is fortunate that those who will watch and wonderabout everything are easily satisfied with a reason, and are ever quickin detecting a cause; so Mrs. Dallington Vere was the fact that dulyaccounted for the Baronet's intimacy with the Dacres. All was rightagain between them. It was unusual, to be sure, these _rifacimentos_;still she was a charming woman; and it was well known that Lucius hadspent twenty thousand on the county. Where was that to come from, theyshould like to know, but from old Dallington Vere's Yorkshire estates, which he had so wisely left to his pretty wife by the pink papercodicil?

And this lady of so many loves, how felt she? Most agreeably, as alldames do who dote upon a passion which they feel convinced will bereturned, but which still waits for a response. Arundel Dacre wouldyield her a smile from a face more worn by thought than joy; and ArundelDacre, who was wont to muse alone, was now ever ready to join his cousinand her friends in the ride or the promenade. Miss Dacre, too, hadnoticed to her a kindly change in her cousin's conduct to her father. Hewas more cordial to his uncle, sought to pay him deference, and seemedmore desirous of gaining his good-will. The experienced eye, too, ofthis pretty woman allowed her often to observe that her hero's presencewas not particularly occasioned, or particularly inspired, by hiscousin. In a word, it was to herself that his remarks were addressed, his attentions devoted, and often she caught his dark and liquid eyefixed upon her beaming and refulgent brow. 

Sir Lucius Grafton proceeded with that strange mixture of craft andpassion which characterised him. Each day his heart yearned more for thebeing on whom his thoughts should never have pondered. Now exulting inher increased confidence, she seemed already his victim; now awed by hermajestic spirit, he despaired even of her being his bride. Now meltedby her unsophisticated innocence, he cursed even the least unhallowed ofhis purposes; and now enchanted by her consummate loveliness, he forgotall but her beauty and his own passion. 

Often had he dilated to her, with the skill of an arch deceiver, on theblessings of domestic joy; often, in her presence, had his eye sparkled, when he watched the infantile graces of some playful children. Then hewould embrace them with a soft care and gushing fondness, enough to meltthe heart of any mother whom he was desirous to seduce, and then, witha half-murmured sigh, he regretted, in broken accents, that he, too, wasnot a father. 

In due time he proceeded even further. Dark hints of domestic infelicitybroke unintentionally from his ungoverned lips. Miss Dacre stared. He quelled the tumult of his thoughts, struggled with his outbreakingfeelings, and triumphed; yet not without a tear, which forced its waydown a face not formed for grief, and quivered upon his fair and downycheek. Sir Lucius Grafton was well aware of the magic of his beauty, andused his charms to betray, as if he were a woman. 

Miss Dacre, whose soul was sympathy, felt in silence for this excellent, this injured, this unhappy, this agreeable man. Ill could even herpractised manner check the current of her mind, or conceal from LadyAphrodite that she possessed her dislike. As for the young Duke, hefell into the lowest abyss of her opinions, and was looked upon as alikefrivolous, heartless, and irreclaimable. 

But how are the friends with whom we dined yesterday? Frequent were themeetings, deep the consultations, infinite the suggestions, innumerablethe expedients. In the morning they met and breakfasted with Annesley;in the afternoon they met and lunched with Lord Squib; in the eveningthey met and dined with Lord Darrell; and at night they met and suppedat the Alhambra. Each council only the more convinced them that thescheme was feasible, and must be glorious. At last their ideas werematured, and Annesley took steps to break a great event to the world, who were on the eve of being astonished. 

He repaired to Lady Bloomerly. The world sometimes talked of herLadyship and Mr. Annesley; the world were quite wrong, as they often areon this subject. Mr. Annesley knew the value of a female friend. ByLady Bloomerly's advice, the plan was entrusted in confidence to about adozen dames equally influential. Then a few of the most considered malefriends heard a strange report. Lord Darrell dropped a rumour at theTreasury; but with his finger on the mouth, and leaving himself outof the list, proceeded to give his favourable opinion of the project, merely as a disinterested and expected guest. Then the Duke promisedPeacock Piggott one night at the Alhambra, but swore him to solemnsecrecy over a vase of sherbet. Then Squib told his tailor, inconsideration that his bill should not be sent in; and finally, the Birdof Paradise betrayed the whole affair to the musical world, who were, of course, all agog. Then, when rumour began to wag its hundred tongues, the twelve peeresses found themselves bound in honour to step into thebreach, yielded the plan their decided approbation, and their avowedpatronage puzzled the grumblers, silenced the weak, and sneered down theobstinate. 

The invitations began to issue, and the outcry against them burst forth. A _fronde_ was formed, but they wanted a De Retz; and many kept back, with the hope of being bribed from joining it. The four cavaliers soonfound themselves at the head of a strong party, and then, like afaction who have successfully struggled for toleration, they now openlymaintained their supremacy. It was too late to cabal. The uninvitedcould only console themselves by a passive sulk or an active sneer;but this would not do, and their bilious countenances betrayed theirchagrin. 

The difficulty now was, not to keep the bores away, but to obtain afew of the beauties, who hesitated. A chaperon must be found for one;another must be added on to a party, like a star to the cluster of aconstellation. Among those whose presence was most ardently desired, butseemed most doubtful, was Miss Dacre. An invitation had been sent to herfather; but he was out of town, and she did not like to join so peculiara party without him: but it was unanimously agreed that, without her, the affair would be a failure; and Charles Annesley was sent, envoyextraordinary, to arrange. With the good aid of his friend Mrs. Dallington all was at length settled; and fervid prayers that theimportant day might be ushered in by a smiling sun were offered upduring the next fortnight, at half-past six every morning, by allcivilised society, who then hurried to their night's rest. 

CHAPTER X. 

 _Sir Lucius Drops the Mask_

THE fête at 'the Pavilion, ' such was the title of the Twickenham Villa, though the subject of universal interest, was anticipated by no onewith more eager anxiety than by Sir Lucius Grafton; for that day, hedetermined, should decide the fate of the Duke of St. James. He wassanguine as to the result, nor without reason. For the last month hehad, by his dark machinery, played desperately upon the feelings ofLady Aphrodite; and more than once had she despatched rapid notes to heradmirer for counsel and for consolation. The Duke was more skilful insoothing her griefs than in devising expedients for their removal. Hetreated the threatened as a distant evil! and wiped away her tears in amanner which is almost an encouragement to weep. 

At last the eventful morn arrived, and a scorching sun made those exultto whom the barge and the awning promised a progress equally calmand cool. Woe to the dusty britzska! woe to the molten furnace of thecrimson cabriolet!

They came, as the stars come out from the heavens, what time the sunis in his first repose: now a single hero, brilliant as a planet; now asplendid party, clustering like a constellation. Music is on thewaters and perfume on the land; each moment a barque glides up with itscymbals, each moment a cavalcade bright with bouquets!

Ah, gathering of brightness! ah, meeting of lustre! why, why are you tobe celebrated by one so obscure and dull as I am? Ye Lady Carolinesand ye Lady Franceses, ye Lady Barbaras and ye Lady Blanches, is it myfault?

O, graceful Lord Francis, why, why have you left us; why, why have youexchanged your Ionian lyre for an Irish harp? You were not made forpolitics; leave them to clerks. Fly, fly back to pleasure, to frolic, and fun! Confess, now, that you sometimes do feel a little queer. We saynothing of the difference between May Fair and Donnybrook. 

And thou, too, Luttrell, gayest bard that ever threw off a triplet amidthe clattering of cabs and the chattering of clubs, art thou, too, mute?Where, where dost thou linger? Is our Druid among the oaks of Ampthill;or, like a truant Etonian, is he lurking among the beeches of Burnham?What! has the immortal letter, unlike all other good advice, absolutelynot been thrown away? or is the jade incorrigible? Whichever be thecase, you need not be silent. There is yet enough to do, and yet enoughto instruct. Teach us that wealth is not elegance; that profusion is notmagnificence; and that splendour is not beauty. Teach us that taste isa talisman which can do greater wonders than the millions of theloanmonger. Teach us that to vie is not to rival, and to imitate notto invent. Teach us that pretension is a bore. Teach us that wit isexcessively good-natured, and, like champagne, not only sparkles, butis sweet. Teach us the vulgarity of malignity. Teach us that envyspoils our complexions, and that anxiety destroys our figure. Catch thefleeting colours of that sly chameleon, Cant, and show what excessivetrouble we are ever taking to make ourselves miserable and silly. Teachus all this, and Aglaia shall stop a crow in its course and presentyou with a pen, Thalia hold the golden fluid in a Sèvres vase, andEuphrosyne support the violet-coloured scroll. 

The four hosts greeted the arrivals and assisted the disembarkations, like the famous four sons of Aymon. 

They were all dressed alike, and their costume excited great attention. At first it was to have been very plain, black and white and a singlerose; but it was settled that simplicity had been overdone, and, likea country girl after her first season, had turned into a most affectedbaggage, so they agreed to be regal; and fancy uniforms, worthy of thecourt of Oberon, were the order of the day. We shall not describe them, for the description of costume is the most inventive province of ourhistorical novelists, and we never like to be unfair, or trench uponour neighbour's lands or rights; but the Alhambra button indicated amystical confederacy, and made the women quite frantic with curiosity. 

The guests wandered through the gardens, always various, and now aparadise of novelty. There were four brothers, fresh from the wildestrecesses of the Carpathian Mount, who threw out such woodnotes wild thatall the artists stared; and it was universally agreed that, had they notbeen French chorus-singers, they would have been quite a miracle. Butthe Lapland sisters were the true prodigy, who danced the Mazurka inthe national style. There was also a fire-eater; but some said he wouldnever set the river in flames, though he had an antidote against allpoisons! But then our Mithridates always tried its virtues on a stuffedpoodle, whose bark evinced its vitality. There also was a giant in thewildest part of the shrubbery, and a dwarf, on whom the ladies showeredtheir sugarplums, and who, in return, offered them tobacco. But itwas not true that the giant sported stilts, or that the dwarf was asucking-babe. Some people are so suspicious. Then a bell rang, andassembled them in the concert-room; and the Bird of Paradise who to-daywas consigned to the cavaliership of Peacock Piggott, condescended tofavour them with a new song, which no one had ever heard, and which, consequently, made them feel more intensely all the sublimity ofexclusiveness. Shall we forget the panniers of shoes which Melnotte hadplaced in every quarter of the gardens? We will say nothing ofMaradan's cases of caps, because, for this incident, Lord Bagshot is ourauthority. 

On a sudden, it seemed that a thousand bugles broke the blue air, and they were summoned to a déjeûner in four crimson tents worthy ofSardanapalus. 

Over each waved the scutcheon of the president. Glittering were theglories of the hundred quarterings of the house of Darrell. '_Si non èvero è ben trovato_, ' was the motto. Lord Darrell's grandfather had beena successful lawyer. Lord Squib's emblazonry was a satire on its owner. '_Holdfast_' was the motto of a man who had let loose. Annesley'ssimple shield spoke of the Conquest; but all paled before the banner ofthe house of Hauteville, for it indicated an alliance with royalty. Theattendants of each pavilion wore the livery of its lord. 

Shall we attempt to describe the delicacy of this banquet, whereimagination had been racked for novel luxury? Through the centre of eachtable ran a rivulet of rose-water, and gold and silver fish glanced inits unrivalled course. The bouquets were exchanged every half-hour, andmusic soft and subdued, but constant and thrilling, wound them up byexquisite gradations to that pitch of refined excitement which is sostrange a union of delicacy and voluptuousness, when the soul, as itwere, becomes sensual, and the body, as it were, dissolves into spirit. And in this choice assembly, where all was youth, and elegance, andbeauty, was it not right that every sound should be melody, every sighta sight of loveliness, and every thought a thought of pleasure?

They arose and re-assembled on the lawn, where they found, to theirsurprise, had arisen in their absence a Dutch Fair. Numerous were thebooths, innumerable were the contents. The first artists had arrangedthe picture and the costumes; the first artists had made the trinketsand the toys. And what a very agreeable fair, where all might suit theirfancy without the permission of that sulky tyrant, a purse! All were inexcellent humour, and no false shame prevented them from plunderingthe stalls. The noble proprietors set the example. Annesley offered abouquet of precious stones to Charlotte Bloomerly, and it was accepted, and the Duke of St. James showered a sack of whimsical breloques among ascrambling crowd of laughing beauties. Among them was Miss Dacre. He hadnot observed her. Their eyes met, and she smiled. It seemed that he hadnever felt happiness before. 

Ere the humours of the fair could be exhausted they were summoned to themargin of the river, where four painted and gilded galleys, whichmight have sailed down the Cydmus, and each owning its peculiar chief, prepared to struggle for pre-eminence in speed. All betted; and theDuke, encouraged by the smile, hastened to Miss Dacre to try to win backsome of his Doncaster losses, but Arundel Dacre had her arm in his, and she was evidently delighted with his discourse. His Grace's bloodturned, and he walked away. 

It was sunset when they returned to the lawn, and then the ball-roompresented itself; but the twilight was long, and the night was warm;there were no hateful dews, no odious mists, and therefore a greatnumber danced on the lawn. The fair was illuminated, and all the little_marchandes_ and their lusty porters walked about in their costume. 

The Duke again rallied his courage, and seeing Arundel Dacre withMrs. Dallington Vere, he absolutely asked Miss Dacre to dance. She wasengaged. He doubted, and walked into the house disconsolate; yet, if hehad waited one moment, he would have seen Sir Lucius Grafton rejoinher, and lead her to the cotillon that was forming on the turf. The Dukesauntered to Lady Aphrodite, but she would not dance; yet she didnot yield his arm, and proposed a stroll. They wandered away to theextremity of the grounds. Fainter and fainter grew the bursts of therevellers, yet neither of them spoke much, for both were dull. 

[Illustration: page243]

Yet at length her Ladyship did speak, and amply made up for her previoussilence. All former scenes, to this, were but as the preface to thebook. All she knew and all she dreaded, all her suspicions, all hercertainties, all her fears, were poured forth in painful profusion. Thisnight was to decide her fate. She threw herself on his mercy, if he hadforgotten his love. Out dashed all those arguments, all thoseappeals, all those assertions, which they say are usual under thesecircumstances. She was a woman; he was a man. She had staked herhappiness on this venture; he had a thousand cards to play. Love, andfirst love, with her, as with all women, was everything; he and all men, at the worst, had a thousand resources. He might plunge into politics, he might game, he might fight, he might ruin himself in innumerableways, but she could only ruin herself in one. Miserable woman! Miserablesex! She had given him her all. She knew it was little: would she hadmore! She knew she was unworthy of him: would she were not! She did notask him to sacrifice himself to her: she could not expect it; she didnot even desire it. Only, she thought he ought to know exactly the stateof affairs and of consequences, and that certainly if they were parted, which assuredly they would be, most decidedly she would droop, and fade, and die. She wept, she sobbed; his entreaties alone seemed to preventhysterics. 

These scenes are painful at all times, and even the callous, they say, have a twinge; but when the actress is really beautiful and pure, asthis lady was, and the actor young and inexperienced and amiable, asthis actor was, the consequences are more serious than is usual. TheDuke of St. James was unhappy, he was discontented, he was dissatisfiedwith himself. He did not love this lady, if love were the passion whichhe entertained for Miss Dacre, but she loved him. He knew that she wasbeautiful, and he was convinced that she was excellent. The worldis malicious, but the world had agreed that Lady Aphrodite was anunblemished pearl: yet this jewel was reserved for him! Intensegratitude almost amounted to love. In short, he had no idea at thismoment that feelings are not in our power. His were captive, even ifentrapped. It was a great responsibility to desert this creature, theonly one from whom he had experienced devotion. To conclude: a seasonof extraordinary dissipation, to use no harsher phrase, had somewhatexhausted the nervous powers of our hero; his energies were desertinghim; he had not heart or heartlessness enough to extricate himself fromthis dilemma. It seemed that if this being to whom he was indebted forso much joy were miserable, he must be unhappy; that if she died, lifeought to have, could have, no charms for him. He kissed away her tears, he pledged his faith, and Lady Aphrodite Grafton was his betrothed!

She wonderfully recovered. Her deep but silent joy seemed to repay himeven for this bitter sacrifice. Compared with the late racking of hisfeelings, the present calm, which was merely the result of suspensebeing destroyed, seemed happiness. His conscience whispered approbation, and he felt that, for once, he had sacrificed himself to another. 

They re-entered the villa, and he took the first opportunity ofwandering alone to the least frequented parts of the grounds: his minddemanded solitude, and his soul required soliloquy. 

'So the game is up! truly a most lame and impotent conclusion! And this, then, is the result of all my high fancies and indefinite aspirations!Verily, I am a very distinguished hero, and have not abused myunrivalled advantages in the least. What! am I bitter on myself? Therewill be enough to sing my praises without myself joining in this chorusof congratulation. O! fool! fool! Now I know what folly is. But barelyfifteen months since I stepped upon these shores, full of hope and fullof pride; and now I leave them; how? O! my dishonoured fathers! Even myposterity, which God grant I may not have, will look on my memory withhatred, and on hers with scorn!

'Well, I suppose we must live for ourselves. We both of us know theworld; and Heaven can bear witness that we should not be haunted by anyuneasy hankering after what has brought us such a heartache. If it werefor love, if it were for--but away! I will not profane her name; ifit were for her that I was thus sacrificing myself. I could bear it, I could welcome it. I can imagine perfect and everlasting bliss in thesole society of one single being, but she is not that being. Let me notconceal it; let me wrestle with this bitter conviction!

'And am I, indeed, bound to close my career thus; to throw away allhope, all chance of felicity, at my age, for a point of honour? No, no;it is not that. After all, I have experienced that with her, and fromher, which I have with no other woman; and she is so good, so gentle, and, all agree, so lovely! How infinitely worse would her situation beif deserted, than mine is as her perpetual companion! The very thoughtmakes my heart bleed. Yes! amiable, devoted, dearest Afy, I throw asidethese morbid feelings; you shall never repent having placed your trustin me. I will be proud and happy of such a friend, and you shall be minefor ever!'

A shriek broke on the air: he started. It was near: he hastened afterthe sound. He entered into a small green glade surrounded by shrubs, where had been erected a fanciful hermitage. There he found Sir LuciusGrafton on his knees, grasping the hand of the indignant but terrifiedMiss Dacre. The Duke rushed forward; Miss Dacre ran to meet him; SirLucius rose. 

'This lady, Sir Lucius Grafton, is under my protection, ' said the youngDuke, with a flashing eye but a calm voice. She clung to his arm; hebore her away. The whole was the affair of an instant. 

The Duke and his companion proceeded in silence. She tried to hasten, but he felt her limbs shake upon his arm. He stopped: no one, not evena servant, was near. He could not leave her for an instant. There shestood trembling, her head bent down, and one hand clasping the other, which rested on his arm. Terrible was her struggle, but she would notfaint, and at length succeeded in repressing her emotions. They were yeta considerable way from the house. She motioned with her left handto advance; but still she did not speak. On they walked, though moreslowly, for she was exhausted, and occasionally stopped for breath orstrength. 

At length she said, in a faint voice, 'I cannot join the party. I mustgo home directly. How can it be done?'

'Your companions?' said the Duke. 

'Are of course engaged, or not to be found; but surely somebody I knowis departing. Manage it: say I am ill. '

'O, Miss Dacre! if you knew the agony of my mind!'

'Do not speak; for Heaven's sake, do not speak!'

He turned off from the lawn, and approached by a small circuit the gateof the ground. Suddenly he perceived a carriage on the point of goingoff. It was the Duchess of Shropshire's. 

'There is the Duchess of Shropshire! You know her; but not a minute isto be lost. There is such a noise, they will not hear. Are you afraid tostop here one instant by yourself? I shall not be out of sight, and notaway a second. I run very quick. '

'No, no, I am not afraid. Go, go!'

Away rushed the Duke of St. James as if his life were on his speed. Hestopped the carriage, spoke, and was back in an instant. 

'Lean, lean on me with all your strength. I have told everythingnecessary to Lady Shropshire. Nobody will speak a word, because theybelieve you have a terrible headache. I will say everything necessaryto Mrs. Dallington and your cousin. Do not give yourself a moment'suneasiness. And, oh! Miss Dacre! if I might say one word!'

She did not stop him. 

'If, ' continued he, 'it be your wish that the outrage of to-night shouldbe known only to myself and him, I pledge my word it shall be so; thoughwillingly, if I were authorised, I would act a different part in thisaffair. '

'It is my wish. ' She spoke in a low voice, with her eyes still upon theground. 'And I thank you for this, and for all. '

They had now joined the Shropshires; but it was now discovered MissDacre had no shawl: and sundry other articles were wanting, to theevident dismay of the Ladies Wrekin. They offered theirs, but theirvisitor refused, and would not allow the Duke to fetch her own. Off theydrove; but when they had proceeded above half a mile, a continued shouton the road, which the fat coachman for a long time would not hear, stopped them, and up came the Duke of St. James, covered with dust, andpanting like a racer, with Miss Dacre's shawl. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 _Grim Preparations_

SO MUCH time was occupied by this adventure of the shawl, and by makingrequisite explanations to Mrs. Dallington Vere, that almost the whole ofthe guests had retired, when the Duke found himself again in the saloon. His brother-hosts, too, were off with various parties, to which they hadattached themselves. He found the Fitz-pompeys and a few still lingeringfor their carriages, and Arundel Dacre and his fair admirer. His Gracehad promised to return with Lady Afy, and was devising some schemeby which he might free himself from this, now not very suitable, engagement, when she claimed his arm. She was leaning on it, and talkingto Lady Fitz-pompey, when Sir Lucius approached, and, with his usualtone, put a note into the Duke's hand, saying at the same time, 'Thisappears to belong to you. I shall go to town with Piggott;' and then hewalked away. 

With the wife leaning on his arm, the young Duke had the pleasure ofreading the following lines, written with the pencil of the husband:--

'After what has just occurred, only one more meeting can take placebetween us, and the sooner that takes place the better for all parties. This is no time for etiquette. I shall be in Kensington Gardens, in thegrove on the right side of the summer-house, at half-past six to-morrowmorning, and shall doubtless find you there. '

Sir Lucius was not out of sight when the Duke had finished reading hiscartel. Making some confused excuse to Lady Afy, which was not expected, he ran after the Baronet, and soon reached him. 

'Grafton, I shall be punctual: but there is one point on which I wish tospeak to you at once. The cause of this meeting may be kept, I hope, asecret?'

'So far as I am concerned, an inviolable one, ' bowed the Baronet, stiffly; and they parted. 

The Duke returned satisfied, for Sir Lucius Grafton ever observed hisword, to say nothing of the great interest which he surely had this timein maintaining his pledge. 

Our hero thought that he never should reach London. The journey seemeda day; and the effort to amuse Lady Afy, and to prevent her fromsuspecting, by his conduct, that anything had occurred, was mostpainful. Silent, however, he at last became; but her mind, too, wasengaged, and she supposed that her admirer was quiet only because, likeherself, he was happy. At length they reached her house, but he excusedhimself from entering, and drove on immediately to Annesley. He was atLady Bloomerly's. Lord Darrell had not returned, and his servant did notexpect him. Lord Squib was never to be found. 

The Duke put on a great coat over his uniform and drove to White's; itwas really a wilderness. Never had he seen fewer men there in his life, and there were none of his set. The only young-looking man was oldColonel Carlisle, who, with his skilfully enamelled cheek, flowingauburn locks, shining teeth, and tinted whiskers, might have beenmistaken for gay twenty-seven, instead of grey seventy-two; but theColonel had the gout, to say nothing of any other objections. 

The Duke took up the 'Courier' and read three or four advertisementsof quack medicines, but nobody entered. It was nearly midnight: hegot nervous. Somebody came in; Lord Hounslow for his rubber. Even hisfavoured child, Bagshot, would be better than nobody. The Duke protestedthat the next acquaintance who entered should be his second, old oryoung. His vow had scarcely been registered when Arundel Dacre came inalone. He was the last man to whom the Duke wished to address himself, but Fate seemed to have decided it, and the Duke walked up to him. 

'Mr. Dacre, I am about to ask of you a favour to which I have no claim. '

Mr. Dacre looked a little confused, and murmured his willingness to doanything. 

'To be explicit, I am engaged in an affair of honour of an urgentnature. Will you be my friend?'

'Willingly. ' He spoke with more ease. 'May I ask the name of the otherparty, the--the cause of the meeting?'

'The other party is Sir Lucius Grafton. '

'Hum!' said Arundel Dacre, as if he were no longer curious about thecause. 'When do you meet?'

'At half-past six, in Kensington Gardens, to-morrow; I believe I shouldsay this morning. '

'Your Grace must be wearied, ' said Arundel, with unusual ease andanimation. 'Now, follow my advice. Go home at once and get some rest. Give yourself no trouble about preparations; leave everything to me. I will call upon you at half-past five precisely, with a chaise andpost-horses, which will divert suspicion. Now, good night!'

'But really, your rest must be considered; and then all this trouble!'

'Oh! I have been in the habit of sitting up all night. Do not think ofme; nor am I quite inexperienced in these matters, in too many of whichI have unfortunately been engaged in Germany. '

The young men shook hands, and the Duke hastened home. Fortunately theBird of Paradise was at her own establishment in Baker Street, a bureauwhere her secretary, in her behalf, transacted business with the variouscourts of Europe and the numerous cities of Great Britain. Here many anegotiation was carried on for opera engagements at Vienna, or Paris, or Berlin, or St. Petersburg. Here many a diplomatic correspondenceconducted the fate of the musical festivals of York, or Norwich, orExeter. 

CHAPTER XII. 

An Affair of Honour. 

LET us return to Sir Lucius Grafton. He is as mad as any man must bewho feels that the imprudence of a moment has dashed the ground all theplans, and all the hopes, and all the great results, over which he hadso often pondered. The great day from which he had expected so much hadpassed, nor was it possible for four-and-twenty hours more completelyto have reversed all his feelings and all his prospects. Miss Dacre hadshared the innocent but unusual and excessive gaiety which had properlybecome a scene of festivity at once so agreeable, so various, and sonovel. Sir Lucius Grafton had not been insensible to the excitement. Onthe contrary his impetuous passions seemed to recall the former andmore fervent days of his career, and his voluptuous mind dangerouslysympathised with the beautiful and luxurious scene. He was elated, too, with the thought that his freedom would perhaps be sealed this evening, and still more by his almost constant attendance on his fascinatingcompanion. As the particular friend of the Dacre family, and as thesecret ally of Mrs. Dallington Vere, he in some manner contrived alwaysto be at Miss Dacre's side. With the laughing but insidious pretencethat he was now almost too grave and staid a personage for such scenes, he conversed with few others, and humourously maintaining that his'dancing days were over, ' danced with none but her. Even when herattention was engaged by a third person, he lingered about, and withhis consummate knowledge of the world, easy wit, and constant resources, generally succeeded in not only sliding into the conversation, butengrossing it. Arundel Dacre, too, although that young gentleman had notdeparted from his usual coldness in favour of Sir Lucius Grafton, theBaronet would most provokingly consider as his particular friend; neverseemed to be conscious that his reserved companion was most punctiliousin his address to him; but on the contrary, called him in return'Dacre, ' and sometimes 'Arundel. ' In vain young Dacre struggled tomaintain his position. His manner was no match for that of Sir LuciusGrafton. Annoyed with himself, he felt confused, and often quitted hiscousin that he might be free of his friend. Thus Sir Lucius Graftoncontrived never to permit Miss Dacre to be alone with Arundel, and toher he was so courteous, so agreeable, and so useful, that his absenceseemed always a blank, or a period in which something ever went wrong. 

The triumphant day rolled on, and each moment Sir Lucius felt moresanguine and more excited. We will not dwell upon the advancingconfidence of his desperate mind. Hope expanded into certainty, certainty burst into impatience. In a desperate moment he breathed hispassion. 

May Dacre was the last girl to feel at a loss in such a situation. Noone would have rung him out of a saloon with an air of more contemptuousmajesty. But the shock, the solitary strangeness of the scene, thefear, for the first time, that none were near, and perhaps, also, herexhausted energy, frightened her, and she shrieked. One only had heardthat shriek, yet that one was legion. Sooner might the whole world knowthe worst than this person suspect the least. Sir Lucius was left silentwith rage, mad with passion, desperate with hate. 

He gasped for breath. Now his brow burnt, now the cold dew ran off hiscountenance in streams. He clenched his fist, he stamped with agony, hefound at length his voice, and he blasphemed to the unconscious woods. 

His quick brain flew to the results like lightning. The Duke had escapedfrom his mesh; his madness had done more to win this boy Miss Dacre'sheart than an age of courtship. He had lost the idol of his passion; hewas fixed for ever with the creature of his hate. He loathed the idea. He tottered into the hermitage, and buried his face in his hands. 

Something must be done. Some monstrous act of energy must repair thisfatal blunder. He appealed to the mind which had never deserted him. Theoracle was mute. Yet vengeance might even slightly redeem the bitternessof despair. This fellow should die; and his girl, for already he hatedMiss Dacre, should not triumph in her minion. He tore a leaf from histablets, and wrote the lines we have already read. 

The young Duke reached home. You expect, of course, that he sat up allnight making his will and answering letters. By no means. The firstobject that caught his eye was an enormous ottoman. He threw himselfupon it without undressing, and without speaking a word to Luigi, andin a moment was fast asleep. He was fairly exhausted. Luigi stared, andcalled Spiridion to consult. They agreed that they dare not go to bed, and must not leave their lord; so they played écarté, till at last theyquarrelled and fought with the candles over the table. But even this didnot wake their unreasonable master; so Spiridion threw down a few chairsby accident; but all in vain. At half-past five there was a knocking atthe gate, and they hurried away. 

Arundel Dacre entered with them, woke the Duke, and praised him for hispunctuality. His Grace thought that he had only dozed a few minutes; buttime pressed; five minutes arranged his toilet, and they were first onthe field. 

In a moment Sir Lucius and Mr. Piggott appeared. Arundel Dacre, on theway, had anxiously enquired as to the probability of reconciliation, butwas told at once it was impossible, so now he measured the ground andloaded the pistols with a calmness which was admirable. They fired atonce; the Duke in the air, and the Baronet in his friend's side. WhenSir Lucius saw his Grace fall his hate vanished. He ran up with realanxiety and unfeigned anguish. 

'Have I hit you? by h-ll!'

His Grace was magnanimous, but the case was urgent. A surgeon gave afavourable report, and extracted the ball on the spot. The Duke wascarried back to his chaise, and in an hour was in the state bed, not ofthe Alhambra, but of his neglected mansion. 

Arundel Dacre retired when he had seen his friend home, but gave urgentcommands that he should be kept quiet. No sooner was the second outof sight than the principal ordered the room to be cleared, with theexception of Spiridion, and then, rising in his bed, wrote this note, which the page was secretly to deliver. 

'----House, ----, 182-. 

'Dear Miss Dacre, 'A very unimportant but somewhat disagreeable incident has occurred. I have been obliged to meet Sir Lucius Grafton, and our meeting hasfortunately terminated without any serious consequences. Yet I wish thatyou should hear of this first from me, lest you might imagine that I hadnot redeemed my pledge of last night, and that I had placed for a momentmy own feelings in competition with yours. This is not the case, andnever shall be, dear Miss Dacre, with one whose greatest pride is tosubscribe himself

'Your most obedient and faithful servant, 'St. James. '

CHAPTER XIII. 

 _A Mind Distraught_

THE world talked of nothing but the duel between the Duke of St. Jamesand Sir Lucius Grafton. 

It was a thunderbolt; and the phenomenon was accounted for by everycause but the right one. Yet even those who most confidently solved theriddle were the most eagerly employed in investigating its true meaning. The seconds were of course applied to. Arundel Dacre was proverbiallyunpumpable; but Peacock Piggott, whose communicative temper was anadage, how came he on a sudden so diplomatic? Not a syllable oozed froma mouth which was ever open; not a hint from a countenance which nevercould conceal its mind. He was not even mysterious, but really lookedjust as astonished and was just as curious as themselves. Fine timesthese for 'The Universe' and 'The New World!' All came out about LadyAfy; and they made up for their long and previous ignorance, or, as theynow boldly blustered, their long and considerate forbearance. Sheetsgiven away gratis, edition on Saturday night for the country, andwoodcuts of the Pavilion fête: the when, the how, and the wherefore. A. The summer-house, and Lady Aphrodite meeting the young Duke. B. The hedge behind which Sir Lucius Grafton was concealed. C. KensingtonGardens, and a cloudy morning; and so on. Cruikshank did wonders. 

But let us endeavour to ascertain the feelings of the principal agentsin this odd affair. Sir Lucius now was cool, and, the mischief beingdone, took a calm review of the late mad hours. As was his custom, hebegan to enquire whether any good could be elicited from all thisevil. He owed his late adversary sundry moneys, which he had nevercontemplated the possibility of repaying to the person who had elopedwith his wife. Had he shot his creditor the account would equally havebeen cleared; and this consideration, although it did not prompt, hadnot dissuaded, the late desperate deed. As it was, he now appeared stillto enjoy the possession both of his wife and his debts, and had losthis friend. Bad generalship, Sir Lucy! Reconciliation was out of thequestion. The Duke's position was a good one. Strongly entrenched with aflesh wound, he had all the sympathy of society on his side; and, afterhaving been confined for a few weeks, he could go to Paris for a fewmonths, and then return, as if the Graftons had never crossed his eye, rid of a troublesome mistress and a troublesome friend. His position wascertainly a good one; but Sir Lucius was astute, and he determined toturn this Shumla of his Grace. The quarrel must have been about herLadyship. Who could assign any other cause for it? And the Duke must nowbe weak with loss of blood and anxiety, and totally unable to resistany appeal, particularly a personal one, to his feelings. He determined, therefore, to drive Lady Afy into his Grace's arms. If he could only gether into the house for an hour, the business would be settled. 

These cunning plans were, however, nearly being crossed by a very simpleincident. Annoyed at finding that her feelings could be consulted onlyby sacrificing those of another woman, Miss Dacre, quite confident that, as Lady Aphrodite was innocent in the present instance, she must beimmaculate, told everything to her father, and, stifling her tears, begged him to make all public; but Mr. Dacre, after due consideration, enjoined silence. 

In the meantime the young Duke was not in so calm a mood as Sir Lucius. Rapidly the late extraordinary events dashed through his mind, andalready those feelings which had prompted his soliloquy in the gardenwere no longer his. All forms, all images, all ideas, all memory, meltedinto Miss Dacre. He felt that he loved her with a perfect love: that shewas to him what no other woman had been, even in the factitious deliriumof early passion. A thought of her seemed to bring an entirely noveltrain of feelings, impressions, wishes, hopes. The world with her mustbe a totally different system, and his existence in her society a newand another life. Her very purity refined the passion which raged evenin his exhausted mind. Gleams of virtue, morning streaks of duty, brokeupon the horizon of his hitherto clouded soul; an obscure suspicionof the utter worthlessness of his life whispered in his hollow ear;he darkly felt that happiness was too philosophical a system to be theresult or the reward of impulse, however unbounded, and that principlealone could create and could support that bliss which is our being's endand aim. 

But when he turned to himself, he viewed his situation with horror, and yielded almost to despair. What, what could she think of the impurelibertine who dared to adore her? If ever time could bleach his own souland conciliate hers, what, what was to become of Aphrodite? Was his newcareer to commence by a new crime? Was he to desert this creature of hisaffections, and break a heart which beat only for him? It seemed thatthe only compensation he could offer for a life which had achievedno good would be to establish the felicity of the only being whosehappiness seemed in his power. Yet what a prospect! If before he hadtrembled, now----

But his harrowed mind and exhausted body no longer allowed him evenanxiety. Weak, yet excited, his senses fled; and when Arundel Dacrereturned in the evening he found his friend delirious. He sat by his bedfor hours. Suddenly the Duke speaks. Arundel Dacre rises: he leans overthe sufferer's couch. 

Ah! why turns the face of the listener so pale, and why gleam those eyeswith terrible fire? The perspiration courses down his clear but sallowcheek: he throws his dark and clustering curls aside, and passes hishand over his damp brow, as if to ask whether he, too, had lost hissenses from this fray. 

The Duke is agitated. He waves his arm in the air, and calls out in atone of defiance and of hate. His voice sinks: it seems that he breathesa milder language, and speaks to some softer being. There is no sound, save the long-drawn breath of one on whose countenance is stampedinfinite amazement. Arundel Dacre walks the room disturbed; often hepauses, plunged in deep thought. 'Tis an hour past midnight, and hequits the bedside of the young Duke. 

He pauses at the threshold, and seems to respire even the noisome airof the metropolis as if it were Eden. As he proceeds down Hill Street hestops, and gazes for a moment on the opposite house. What passes inhis mind we know not. Perhaps he is reminded that in that mansion dwellbeauty, wealth, and influence, and that all might be his. Perhaps loveprompts that gaze, perhaps ambition. Is it passion, or is it power? ordoes one struggle with the other?

As he gazes the door opens, but without servants; and a man, deeplyshrouded in his cloak, comes out. It was night, and the individualwas disguised; but there are eyes which can pierce at all seasons andthrough all concealments, and Arundel Dacre marked with astonishment SirLucius Grafton. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

 _Reconciliation_

WHEN it was understood that the Duke of St. James had been delirious, public feeling reached what is called its height; that is to say, thecuriosity and the ignorance of the world were about equal. Everybody wasindignant, not so much because the young Duke had been shot, but becausethey did not know why. If the sympathy of the women could have consoledhim, our hero might have been reconciled to his fate. Among these, noone appeared more anxious as to the result, and more ignorant as tothe cause, than Mrs. Dallington Vere. Arundel Dacre called on her themorning ensuing his midnight observation, but understood that she hadnot seen Sir Lucius Grafton, who, they said, had quitted London, whichshe thought probable. Nevertheless Arundel thought proper to walk downHill Street at the same hour, and, if not at the same minute, yet in duecourse of time, he discovered the absent man. 

In two or three days the young Duke was declared out of immediatedanger, though his attendants must say he remained exceedingly restless, and by no means in a satisfactory state; yet, with their aid, they hada right to hope the best. At any rate, if he were to go off, his friendswould have the satisfaction of remembering that all had been donethat could be; so saying, Dr. X. Took his fee, and Surgeons Y. And Z. Prevented his conduct from being singular. 

Now began the operations on the Grafton side. A letter from LadyAphrodite full of distraction. She was fairly mystified. What couldhave induced Lucy suddenly to act so, puzzled her, as well it might. Herdespair, and yet her confidence in his Grace, seemed equally great. Sometalk there was of going off to Cleve at once. Her husband, on the whole, maintained a rigid silence and studied coolness. Yet he had talked ofVienna and Florence, and even murmured something about public disgraceand public ridicule. In short, the poor lady was fairly worn out, andwished to terminate her harassing career at once by cutting the Gordianknot. In a word, she proposed coming on to her admirer and, as shesupposed, her victim, and having the satisfaction of giving him hiscooling draughts and arranging his bandages. 

If the meeting between the young Duke and Sir Lucius Grafton had beenoccasioned by any other cause than the real one, it is difficult to saywhat might have been the fate of this proposition. Our own opinion is, that this work would have been only in one volume; for the requisitemorality would have made out the present one; but, as it was, theimage of Miss Dacre hovered above our hero as his guardian genius. Hedespaired of ever obtaining her; but yet he determined not wilfully tocrush all hope. Some great effort must be made to right his position. Lady Aphrodite must not be deserted: the very thought increased hisfever. He wrote, to gain time; but another billet, in immediate answer, only painted increased terrors, and described the growing urgency of herpersecuted situation. He was driven into a corner, but even a stag atbay is awful: what, then, must be a young Duke, the most noble animal inexistence?

Ill as he was, he wrote these lines, not to Lady Aphrodite, but to herhusband:--

'My Dear Grafton, 'You will be surprised at hearing from me. Is it necessary for me toassure you that my interference on a late occasion was accidental? Andcan you, for a moment, maintain that, under the circumstances, I couldhave acted in a different manner? I regret the whole business; but mostI regret that we were placed in collision. 

'I am ready to cast all memory of it into oblivion; and, as Iunintentionally offended, I indulge the hope that, in this conduct, youwill bear me company. 

'Surely, men like us are not to be dissuaded from following ourinclinations by any fear of the opinion of the world. The whole affairis, at present, a mystery; and I think, with our united fancies, some explanation may be hit upon which will render the mystery quiteimpenetrable, while it professes to offer a satisfactory solution. 

'I do not know whether this letter expresses my meaning, for my mind issomewhat agitated and my head not very clear; but, if you be inclinedto understand it in the right spirit, it is sufficiently lucid. At anyrate, my dear Grafton, I have once more the pleasure of subscribingmyself, faithfully yours, 'St. James. '

This letter was marked 'Immediate, ' consigned to the custody of Luigi, with positive orders to deliver it personally to Sir Lucius; and, if notat home, to follow till he found him. 

He was not at home, and he was found at----'s Clubhouse. Sullen, dissatisfied with himself, doubtful as to the result of his freshmanouvres, and brooding over his infernal debts, Sir Lucius had steppedinto----, and passed the whole morning playing desperately with LordHounslow and Baron de Berghem. Never had he experienced such a smashingmorning. He had long far exceeded his resources, and was proceeding witha vague idea that he should find money somehow or other, when this notewas put into his hand, as it seemed to him by Providence. The signatureof Semiramis could not have imparted more exquisite delight to acollector of autographs. Were his long views, his complicated objects, and doubtful results to be put in competition a moment with so decided, so simple, and so certain a benefit? certainly not, by a gamester. Herose from the table, and with strange elation wrote these lines:--

'My Dearest Friend, 'You forgive me, but can I forgive myself? I am plunged in overwhelminggrief. Shall I come on? Your mad but devoted friend, 'Lucius Grafton. 

'The Duke of St. James. '

They met the same day. After a long consultation, it was settled thatPeacock Piggott should be entrusted, in confidence, with the secretof the affair: merely a drunken squabble, 'growing out' of the Bird ofParadise. Wine, jealousy, an artful woman, and headstrong youth willaccount for anything; they accounted for the present affair. The storywas believed, because the world were always puzzled at Lady Aphroditebeing the cause. The Baronet proceeded with promptitude to make theversion pass current: he indicted 'The Universe' and 'The New World;'he prosecuted the caricaturists; and was seen everywhere with his wife. 'The Universe' and 'The New World' revenged themselves on the Signora;and then she indicted them. They could not now even libel an operasinger with impunity; where was the boasted liberty of the press?

In the meantime the young Duke, once more easy in his mind, wonderfullyrecovered; and on the eighth day after the Ball of Beauty he returned tothe Pavilion, which had now resumed its usual calm character, for freshair and soothing quiet. 

CHAPTER XV. 

 _Arundel's Warning_

IN THE morning of the young Duke's departure for Twickenham, as MissDacre and Lady Caroline St. Maurice were sitting together at the houseof the former, and moralising over the last night's ball, Mr. ArundelDacre was announced. 

'You have just arrived in time to offer your congratulations, Arundel, on an agreeable event, ' said Miss Dacre. 'Lord St. Maurice is about tolead to the hymeneal altar----'

'Lady Sophy Wrekin; I know it. '

'How extremely diplomatic! The _attaché_ in your very air. I thought, of course, I was to surprise you; but future ambassadors have suchextraordinary sources of information. '

'Mine is a simple one. The Duchess, imagining, I suppose, that myattentions were directed to the wrong lady, warned me some weeks past. However, my congratulations shall be duly paid. Lady Caroline St. Maurice, allow me to express----'

'All that you ought to feel, ' said Miss Dacre. 'But men at the presentday pride themselves on insensibility. '

'Do you think I am insensible, Lady Caroline?' asked Arundel. 

'I must protest against unfair questions, ' said her Ladyship. 

'But it is not unfair. You are a person who have now seen me more thanonce, and therefore, according to May, you ought to have a perfectknowledge of my character. Moreover, you do not share the prejudices ofmy family. I ask you, then, do you think I am so heartless as May wouldinsinuate?'

'Does she insinuate so much?'

'Does she not call me insensible, because I am not in raptures that yourbrother is about to marry a young lady, who, for aught she knows, may bethe object of my secret adoration?'

'Arundel, you are perverse, ' said Miss Dacre. 

'No, May; I am logical. '

'I have always heard that logic is much worse than wilfulness, ' saidLady Caroline. 

'But Arundel always was both, ' said Miss Dacre. 'He is not onlyunreasonable, but he will always prove that he is right. Here is yourpurse, sir!' she added with a smile, presenting him with the result ofher week's labour. 

'This is the way she always bribes me, Lady Caroline. Do you approve ofthis corruption?'

'I must confess, I have a slight though secret kindness for a littlebribery. Mamma is now on her way to Mortimer's, on a corrupt embassy. The _nouvelle mariée_, you know, must be reconciled to her change of lotby quite a new set of playthings. I can give you no idea of the necklacethat our magnificent cousin, in spite of his wound, has sent Sophy. '

'But then, such a cousin!' said Miss Dacre. 'A young Duke, like theyoung lady in the fairy tale, should scarcely ever speak withoutproducing brilliants. '

'Sophy is highly sensible of the attention. As she amusingly observed, except himself marrying her, he could scarcely do more. I hear thecarriage. Adieu, love! Good morning, Mr. Dacre. '

'Allow me to see you to your carriage. I am to dine at Fitz-pompey Houseto-day, I believe. '

Arundel Dacre returned to his cousin, and, seating himself at the table, took up a book, and began reading it the wrong side upwards; then hethrew down a ball of silk, then he cracked a knitting-needle, and thenwith a husky sort of voice and a half blush, and altogether an air ofinfinite confusion, he said, 'This has been an odd affair, May, of theDuke of St. James and Sir Lucius Grafton?'

'A very distressing affair, Arundel. '

'How singular that I should have been his second, May?'

'Could he have found anyone more fit for that office, Arundel?'

'I think he might. I must say this: that, had I known at the time thecause of the fray, I should have refused to accompany him. '

She was silent, and he resumed:

'An opera singer, at the best! Sir Lucius Grafton showed morediscrimination. Peacock Piggott was just the character for his place, and I think my principal, too, might have found a more congenial spirit. What do you think, May?'

'Really, Arundel, this is a subject of which I know nothing. '

'Indeed! Well, it is odd, May; but do you know I have a queer suspicionthat you know more about it than anybody else. '

'I! Arundel?' she exclaimed, with marked confusion. 

'Yes, you, May, ' he repeated with firmness, and looked her in the facewith a glance which would read her soul. 'Ay! I am sure you do. '

'Who says so?'

'Oh! do not fear that you have been betrayed. No one says it; but I knowit. We future ambassadors, you know, have such extraordinary sources ofinformation. '

'You jest, Arundel, on a grave subject. '

'Grave! yes, it is grave, May Dacre. It is grave that there shouldbe secrets between us; it is grave that our house should have beeninsulted; it is grave that you, of all others, should have beenoutraged; but oh! it is much more grave, it is bitter, that any otherarm than this should have avenged the wrong. ' He rose from his chair, he paced the room in agitation, and gnashed his teeth with a vindictiveexpression that he tried not to suppress. 

'O! my cousin, my dear, dear cousin! spare me!' She hid her face in herhands, yet she continued speaking in a broken voice: 'I did it forthe best. It was to suppress strife, to prevent bloodshed. I knew yourtemper, and I feared for your life; yet I told my father; I told himall: and it was by his advice that I have maintained throughout thesilence which I, perhaps too hastily, at first adopted. '

'My own dear May! spare me! I cannot mark a tear from you without apang. How I came to know this you wonder. It was the delirium of thatperson who should not have played so proud a part in this affair, andwho is yet our friend; it was his delirium that betrayed all. In themadness of his excited brain he reacted the frightful scene, declaredthe outrage, and again avenged it. Yet, believe me, I am not tempted byany petty feeling of showing I am not ignorant of what is considereda secret to declare all this. I know, I feel your silence was for thebest; that it was prompted by sweet and holy feelings for my sake. Believe me, my dear cousin, if anything could increase the infiniteaffection with which I love you, it would be the consciousness that atall times, whenever my image crosses your mind, it is to muse for mybenefit, or to extenuate my errors. 

'Dear May, you, who know me better than the world, know well my heart isnot a mass of ice; and you, who are ever so ready to find a good reasoneven for my most wilful conduct, and an excuse for my most irrational, will easily credit that, in interfering in an affair in which youare concerned, I am not influenced by an unworthy, an officious, or ameddling spirit. No, dear May! it is because I think it better for youthat we should speak upon this subject that I have ventured to treatupon it. Perhaps I broke it in a crude, but, credit me, not in anunkind, spirit. I am well conscious I have a somewhat ungracious manner;but you, who have pardoned it so often, will excuse it now. To be brief, it is of your companion to that accursed fête that I would speak. '

'Mrs. Dallington?'

'Surely she. Avoid her, May. I do not like that woman. You know I seldomspeak at hazard; if I do not speak more distinctly now, it is because Iwill never magnify suspicions into certainties, which we must do even ifwe mention them. But I suspect, greatly suspect. An open rupture wouldbe disagreeable, would be unwarrantable, would be impolitic. The seasondraws to a close. Quit town somewhat earlier than usual, and, in themeantime, receive her, if necessary; but, if possible, never alone. Youhave many friends; and, if no other, Lady Caroline St. Maurice is worthyof your society. '

He bent down his head and kissed her forehead: she pressed his faithfulhand. 

'And now, dear May, let me speak of a less important object, of myself. I find this borough a mere delusion. Every day new difficulties arise;and every day my chance seems weaker. I am wasting precious time for onewho should be in action. I think, then, of returning to Vienna, and atonce. I have some chance of being appointed Secretary of Embassy, andI then shall have achieved what was the great object of my life, independence. '

'This is always a sorrowful subject to me, Arundel. You have cherishedsuch strange, do not be offended if I say such erroneous, ideas on thesubject of what you call independence, that I feel that upon it wecan consult neither with profit to you nor satisfaction to myself. Independence! Who is independent, if the heir of Dacre bow to anyone?Independence! Who can be independent, if the future head of one ofthe first families in this great country, will condescend to be thesecretary even of a king?'

'We have often talked of this, May, and perhaps I have carried a morbidfeeling to some excess; but my paternal blood flows in these veins, andit is too late to change. I know not how it is, but I seem misplaced inlife. My existence is a long blunder. '

'Too late to change, dearest Arundel! Oh! thank you for those words. Canit, can it ever be too late to acknowledge error? Particularly if, bythat very acknowledgment, we not only secure our own happiness, but thatof those we love and those who love us?'

'Dear May! when I talk with you, I talk with my good genius; but I amin closer and more constant converse with another mind, and of that I amthe slave. It is my own. I will not conceal from you, from whom I haveconcealed nothing, that doubts and dark misgivings of the truth andwisdom of my past feelings and my past career will ever and anon flitacross my fancy, and obtrude themselves upon my consciousness. Yourfather--yes! I feel that I have not been to him what nature intended, and what he deserved. '

'O Arundel!' she said, with streaming eyes, 'he loves you like a son. Yet, yet be one!'

He seated himself on the sofa by her side, and took her small hand andbathed it with his kisses. 

'My sweet and faithful friend, my very sister! I am overpowered withfeelings to which I have hitherto been a stranger. There is a cause forall this contest of my passions. It must out. My being has changed. Thescales have fallen from my sealed eyes, and the fountain of my hearto'erflows. Life seems to have a new purpose, and existence a new cause. Listen to me, listen; and if you can, May, comfort me!'

CHAPTER XVI. 

 _Three Graces_

AT TWICKENHAM the young Duke recovered rapidly. Not altogetherdispleased with his recent conduct, his self-complacency assisted hisconvalescence. Sir Lucius Grafton visited him daily. Regularly, aboutfour or five o'clock, he galloped down to the Pavilion with the last _ondit_: some gay message from White's, a _mot_ of Lord Squib, or a traitof Charles Annesley. But while he studied to amuse the wearisome hoursof his imprisoned friend, in the midst of all his gaiety an interestingcontrition was ever breaking forth, not so much by words as looks. Itwas evident that Sir Lucius, although he dissembled his affliction, was seriously affected by the consequence of his rash passion; and hisamiable victim, whose magnanimous mind was incapable of harbouring aninimical feeling, and ever respondent to a soft and generous sentiment, felt actually more aggrieved for his unhappy friend than for himself. Of Arundel Dacre the Duke had not seen much. That gentleman neverparticularly sympathised with Sir Lucius Grafton, and now he scarcelyendeavoured to conceal the little pleasure which he received from theBaronet's society. Sir Lucius was the last man not to detect this mood;but, as he was confident that the Duke had not betrayed him, he couldonly suppose that Miss Dacre had confided the affair to her family, andtherefore, under all circumstances, he thought it best to be unconsciousof any alteration in Arundel Dacre's intercourse with him. Civil, therefore, they were when they met; the Baronet was even courteous; butthey both mutually avoided each other. 

At the end of three weeks the Duke of St. James returned to town inperfect condition, and received the congratulations of his friends. Mr. Dacre had been of the few who had been permitted to visit him atTwickenham. Nothing had then passed between them on the cause of hisillness; but his Grace could not but observe that the manner of hisvalued friend was more than commonly cordial. And Miss Dacre, withher father, was among the first to hail his return to health and themetropolis. 

The Bird of Paradise, who, since the incident, had been several times inhysterics, and had written various notes, of three or four lines each, of enquiries and entreaties to join her noble friend, had been kept offfrom Twickenham by the masterly tactics of Lord Squib. She, however, would drive to the Duke's house the day after his arrival in town, andwas with him when sundry loud knocks, in quick succession, announced anapproaching levée. He locked her up in his private room, and hastenedto receive the compliments of his visitors. In the same apartment, amongmany others, he had the pleasure of meeting, for the first time, LadyAphrodite Grafton, Lady Caroline St. Maurice, and Miss Dacre, all womenwhom he had either promised, intended, or offered to marry. A curioussituation this! And really, when our hero looked upon them oncemore, and viewed them, in delightful rivalry, advancing with theircongratulations, he was not surprised at the feelings with which theyhad inspired him. Far, far exceeding the _bonhomie_ of Macheath, theDuke could not resist remembering that, had it been his fortune to havelived in the land in which his historiographer will soon be wandering;in short, to have been a pacha instead of a peer, he might have marriedall three. 

A prettier fellow and three prettier women had never met since theimmortal incident of Ida. 

It required the thorough breeding of Lady Afy to conceal the anxiety ofher passion; Miss Dacre's eyes showered triple sunshine, as she extendeda hand not too often offered; but Lady Caroline was a cousin, andconsanguinity, therefore, authorised as well as accounted for the warmthof her greeting. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

 _A Second Refusal_

A VERY few days after his return the Duke of St. James dined with Mr. Dacre. It was the first time that he had dined with him during theseason. The Fitz-pompeys were there; and, among others, his Grace hadthe pleasure of again meeting a few of his Yorkshire friends. 

Once more he found himself at the right hand of Miss Dacre. Allhis career, since his arrival in England, flitted across his mind. Doncaster, dear Don-caster, where he had first seen her, teemed onlywith delightful reminiscences to a man whose favourite had bolted. Suchis the magic of love! Then came Castle Dacre and the orange terrace, andtheir airy romps, and the delightful party to Hauteville; and then DacreAbbey. An involuntary shudder seemed to damp all the ardour of his soul;but when he turned and looked upon her beaming face, he could not feelmiserable. 

He thought that he had never been at so agreeable a party in his life:yet it was chiefly composed of the very beings whom he daily execratedfor their powers of boredom. And he himself was not very entertaining. He was certainly more silent than loquacious, and found himself oftengazing with mute admiration on the little mouth, every word breathedforth from which seemed inspiration. Yet he was happy. Oh! whathappiness is his who dotes upon a woman! Few could observe from hisconduct what was passing in his mind; yet the quivering of his softenedtones and the mild lustre of his mellowed gaze; his subdued and quietmanner; his un-perceived yet infinite attentions; his memory of littleincidents that all but lovers would have forgotten; the total absenceof all compliment, and gallantry, and repartee; all these, to a fineobserver, might have been gentle indications of a strong passion; andto her to whom they were addressed sufficiently intimated that no changehad taken place in his feelings since the warm hour in which he firstwhispered his o'erpowering love. 

The ladies retired, and the Duke of St. James fell into a reverie. Apolitical discourse of elaborate genius now arose. Lord Fitz-pompeygot parliamentary. Young Faulcon made his escape, having previouslywhispered to another youth, not unheard by the Duke of St. James, thathis mother was about to depart, and he was convoy. His Grace, too, had heard Lady Fitz-pompey say that she was going early to the opera. Shortly afterwards parties evidently retired. But the debate stillraged. Lord Fitz-pompey had caught a stout Yorkshire squire, and wasdelightedly astounding with official graces his stern opponent. A suddenthought occurred to the Duke; he stole out of the room, and gained thesaloon. 

He found it almost empty. With sincere pleasure he bid Lady Balmont, whowas on the point of departure, farewell, and promised to look in at herbox. He seated himself by Lady Greville Nugent, and dexterously made herfollow Lady Balmont's example. She withdrew with the conviction thathis Grace would not be a moment behind her. There were only old Mrs. Hungerford and her rich daughter remaining. They were in such raptureswith Miss Dacre's singing that his Grace was quite in despair; butchance favoured him. Even old Mrs. Hungerford this night broke throughher rule of not going to more than one house, and she drove off to Ladyde Courcy's. 

They were alone. It is sometimes an awful thing to be alone with thosewe love. 

'Sing that again!' asked the Duke, imploringly. 'It is my favourite air;it always reminds me of Dacre. '

She sang, she ceased; she sang with beauty, and she ceased with grace;but all unnoticed by the tumultuous soul of her adoring guest. Histhoughts were intent upon a greater object. The opportunity was sweet;and yet those boisterous wassailers, they might spoil all. 

'Do you know that this is the first time that I have seen your rooms litup?' said the Duke. 

'Is it possible! I hope they gain the approbation of so distinguished ajudge. '

'I admire them exceedingly. By-the-bye, I see a new cabinet in thenext room. Swaby told me, the other day, that you were one of hislady-patronesses. I wish you would show it me. I am very curious incabinets. '

She rose, and they advanced to the end of another and a longer room. 

'This is a beautiful saloon, ' said the Duke. 'How long is it?'

'I really do not know; but I think between forty and fifty feet. '

'Oh! you must be mistaken. Forty or fifty feet! I am an excellentjudge of distances. I will try. Forty or fifty feet! Ah! the next roomincluded. Let us walk to the end of the next room. Each of my pacesshall be one foot and a half. '

They had now arrived at the end of the third room. 

'Let me see, ' resumed the Duke; 'you have a small room to the right. Oh!did I not hear that you had made a conservatory? I see, I see it;lit up, too! Let us go in. I want to gain some hints about Londonconservatories. '

It was not exactly a conservatory; but a balcony of large dimensionshad been fitted up on each side with coloured glass, and was open to thegardens. It was a rich night of fragrant June. The moon and starswere as bright as if they had shone over the terrace of Dacre, and theperfume of the flowers reminded him of his favourite orange-trees. Themild, cool scene was such a contrast to the hot and noisy chamber theyhad recently quitted, that for a moment they were silent. 

'You are not afraid of this delicious air?' asked his Grace. 

'Midsummer air, ' said Miss Dacre, 'must surely be harmless. '

Again there was silence; and Miss Dacre, after having plucked a flowerand tended a plant, seemed to express an intention of withdrawing. Suddenly he spoke, and in a gushing voice of heartfelt words:

'Miss Dacre, you are too kind, too excellent to be offended, if I dareto ask whether anything could induce you to view with more indulgenceone who sensibly feels how utterly he is unworthy of you. '

'You are the last person whose feelings I should wish to hurt. Let usnot revive a conversation to which, I can assure you, neither of uslooks back with satisfaction. '

'Is there, then, no hope? Must I ever live with the consciousness ofbeing the object of your scorn?'

'Oh, no, no! As you will speak, let us understand each other. However Imay approve of my decision, I have lived quite long enough to repent themanner in which it was conveyed. I cannot, without the most unfeignedregret, I cannot for a moment remember that I have addressed abitter word to one to whom I am under the greatest obligations. If myapologies----'

'Pray, pray be silent!'

'I must speak. If my apologies, my complete, my most humble apologies, can be any compensation for treating with such lightness feelings whichI now respect, and offers by which I now consider myself honoured, accept them!'

'O, Miss Dacre! that fatal word, respect!'

'We have warmer words in this house for you. You are now our friend. '

'I dare not urge a suit which may offend you; yet, if you could read myheart, I sometimes think that we might be happy. Let me hope!'

'My dear Duke of St. James, I am sure you will not ever offend me, because I am sure you will not ever wish to do it. There are few peoplein this world for whom I entertain a more sincere regard than yourself. I am convinced, I am conscious, that when we met I did sufficientjustice neither to your virtues nor your talents. It is impossible forme to express with what satisfaction I now feel that you have resumedthat place in the affections of this family to which you have anhereditary right. I am grateful, truly, sincerely grateful, for allthat you feel with regard to me individually; and believe me, in againexpressing my regret that it is not in my power to view you in any otherlight than as a valued friend, I feel that I am pursuing that conductwhich will conduce as much to your happiness as my own. '

'My happiness, Miss Dacre!'

'Indeed, such is my opinion. I will not again endeavour to depreciatethe feelings which you entertain for me, and by which, ever remember, I feel honoured; but these very feelings prevent you from viewing theirobject so dispassionately as I do. '

'I am at a loss for your meaning; at least, favour me by speakingexplicitly: you see I respect your sentiments, and do not presume tourge that on which my very happiness depends. '

'To be brief, then, I will not affect to conceal that marriage is astate which has often been the object of my meditations. I think it theduty of all women that so important a change in their destiny shouldbe well considered. If I know anything of myself, I am convinced that Ishould never survive an unhappy marriage. '

'But why dream of anything so utterly impossible?'

'So very probable, so very certain, you mean. Ay! I repeat my words, forthey are truth. If I ever marry, it is to devote every feeling and everythought, each hour, each instant of existence, to a single being forwhom I alone live. Such devotion I expect in return; without it I shoulddie, or wish to die; but such devotion can never be returned by you. '

'You amaze me! I! who live only on your image. '

'Your education, the habits in which you are brought up, the maximswhich have been instilled into you from your infancy, the system whicheach year of your life has more matured, the worldly levity with whicheverything connected with woman is viewed by you and your companions;whatever may be your natural dispositions, all this would prevent you, all this would render it a perfect impossibility, all this will evermake you utterly unconscious of the importance of the subject on whichwe are now conversing. Pardon me for saying it, you know not of what youspeak. Yes! however sincere may be the expression of your feelings to methis moment, I shudder to think on whom your memory dwelt even this hourbut yesterday. I never will peril my happiness on such a chance; butthere are others who do not think as I do. '

'Miss Dacre! save me! If you knew all, you would not doubt. This momentis my destiny. '

'My dear Duke of St. James, save yourself. There is yet time. You havemy prayers. '

'Let me then hope----'

'Indeed, indeed, it cannot be. Here our conversation on this subjectends for ever. '

'Yet we part friends!' He spoke in a broken voice. 

'The best and truest!' She extended her arm; he pressed her hand to hisimpassioned lips, and quitted the house, mad with love and misery. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

 _Joys of the Alhambra_

THE Duke threw himself into his carriage in that mood which fits usfor desperate deeds. What he intended to do, indeed, was doubtful, but something very vigorous, very decided, perhaps very terrible. Anindefinite great effort danced, in misty magnificence, before the visionof his mind. His whole being was to be changed, his life was to berevolutionised. Such an alteration was to take place that even she couldnot doubt the immense yet incredible result. Then despair whispered itscold-blooded taunts, and her last hopeless words echoed in his ear. Buthe was too agitated to be calmly miserable, and, in the poignancy of hisfeelings, he even meditated death. One thing, however, he could obtain;one instant relief was yet in his power, solitude. He panted for theloneliness of his own chamber, broken only by his agitated musings. 

The carriage stopped; the lights and noise called him to life. This, surely, could not be home? Whirled open the door, down dashed the steps, with all that prompt precision which denotes the practised hand of anaristocratic retainer. (284)

'What is all this, Symmons? Why did you not drive home?'

'Your Grace forgets that Mr. Annesley and some gentlemen sup with yourGrace to-night at the Alhambra. '

'Impossible! Drive home. '

'Your Grace perhaps forgets that your Grace is expected?' said theexperienced servant, who knew when to urge a master, who, to-morrow, might blame him for permitting his caprice. 

'What am I to do? Stay here. I will run upstairs, and put them off. '

He ran up into the crush-room. The opera was just over, and some partieswho were not staying the ballet, had already assembled there. As hepassed along he was stopped by Lady Fitz-pompey, who would not let sucha capital opportunity escape of exhibiting Caroline and the young Duketogether. 

'Mr. Bulkley, ' said her Ladyship, 'there must be something wrong aboutthe carriage. ' An experienced, middle-aged gentleman, who jobbed on insociety by being always ready and knowing his cue, resigned the arm ofLady Caroline St. Maurice and disappeared. 

'George, ' said Lady Fitz-pompey, 'give your arm to Carry just for onemoment. '

If it had been anybody but his cousin, the Duke would easily haveescaped; but Caroline he invariably treated with marked regard; perhapsbecause his conscience occasionally reproached him that he had nottreated her with a stronger feeling. At this moment, too, she wasthe only being in the world, save one, whom he could remember withsatisfaction: he felt that he loved her most affectionately, but somehowshe did not inspire him with those peculiar feelings which thrilled hisheart at the recollection of May Dacre. 

In this mood he offered an arm, which was accepted; but he could not ina moment assume the tone of mind befitting his situation and the scene. He was silent; for him a remarkable circumstance. 

'Do not stay here, ' said Lady Caroline is a soft voice, which her mothercould not overhear. 'I know you want to be away. Steal off. '

'Where can I be better than with you, Carry?' said the young Duke, determined not to leave her, and loving her still more for her modestkindness; and thereon he turned round, and, to show that he was sincere, began talking with his usual spirit. Mr. Bulkley of course neverreturned, and Lady Fitz-pompey felt as satisfied with her diplomatictalents as a plenipotentiary who has just arranged an advantageoustreaty. 

Arundel Dacre came up and spoke to Lady Fitz-pompey. Never did twopersons converse together who were more dissimilar in their manner andtheir feelings; and yet Arundel Dacre did contrive to talk; a resultwhich he could not always accomplish, even with those who couldsympathise with him. Lady Fitz-pompey listened to him with attention;for Arundel Dacre, in spite of his odd manner, or perhaps in some degreein consequence of it, had obtained a distinguished reputation both amongmen and women; and it was the great principle of Lady Fitz-pompey toattach to her the distinguished youth of both sexes. She was pleasedwith this public homage of Arundel Dacre; because he was one who, withthe reputation of talents, family, and fashion, seldom spoke to anyone, and his attentions elevated their object. Thus she maintained herempire. 

St. Maurice now came up to excuse himself to the young Duke for notattending at the Alhambra to-night. 'Sophy could not bear it, ' hewhispered: 'she had got her head full of the most ridiculous fancies, and it was in vain to speak: so he had promised to give up that, as wellas Crockford's. '

This reminded our hero of his party, and the purpose of his entering theopera. He determined not to leave Caroline till her carriage was called;and he began to think that he really must go to the Alhambra, after all. He resolved to send them off at an early hour. 

'Anything new to-night, Henry?' asked his Grace, of Lord St. Maurice. 'Ihave just come in. '

'Oh! then you have seen them?'

'Seen whom?'

'The most knowing _forestieri_ we ever had. We have been speaking ofnothing else the whole evening. Has not Caroline told you? Arundel Dacreintroduced me to them. '

'Who are they?'

'I forget their names. Dacre, how do you call the heroes of the night?Dacre never answers. Did you ever observe that? But, see! there theycome. '

The Duke turned, and observed Lord Darrell advancing with two gentlemenwith whom his Grace was well acquainted. These were Prince Charles deWhiskerburg and Count Frill. 

M. De Whiskerburg was the eldest son of a prince, who, besides beingthe premier noble of the empire, possessed, in his own country, a verypretty park of two or three hundred miles in circumference, in theboundaries of which the imperial mandate was not current, but hid itsdiminished head before the supremacy of a subject worshipped under thetitle of John the Twenty-fourth. M. De Whiskerburg was a young man, tall, with a fine figure, and fine features. In short, a sort ofHungarian Apollo; only his beard, his mustachios, his whiskers, his _favoris_, his _padishas_, his sultanas, his mignonettas, hisdulcibellas, did not certainly entitle him to the epithet of _imberbis_, and made him rather an apter representative of the Hungarian Hercules. 

Count Frill was a different sort of personage. He was all rings andringlets, ruffles, and a little rouge. Much older than his companion, short in stature, plump in figure, but with a most defined waist, fair, blooming, with a multiplicity of long light curls, and a perpetual smileplaying upon his round countenance, he looked like the Cupid of an operaOlympus. 

The Duke of St. James had been intimate with these distinguishedgentlemen in their own country, and had received from them many anddistinguished attentions. Often had he expressed to them his sinceredesire to greet them in his native land. Their mutual anxiety of neveragain meeting was now removed. If his heart, instead of being bruised, had been absolutely broken, still honour, conscience, the glory of hishouse, his individual reputation, alike urged him not to be cold orbackward at such a moment. He advanced, therefore, with a due mixtureof grace and warmth, and congratulated them on their arrival. At thismoment, Lady Fitz-pompey's carriage was announced. Promising to returnto them in an instant, he hastened to his cousin; but Mr. Arundel Dacrehad already offered his arm, which, for Arundel Dacre, was really prettywell. 

The Duke was now glad that he had a small reunion this evening, as hecould at once pay a courtesy to his foreign friends. He ran into theSignora's dressing-room, to assure her of his presence. He stumbledupon Peacock Piggott as he came out, and summoned him to fill the vacantplace of St. Maurice, and then sent him with a message to some friendswho yet lingered in their box, and whose presence, he thought, might bean agreeable addition to the party. 

You entered the Alhambra by a Saracenic cloister, from the ceiling ofwhich an occasional lamp threw a gleam upon some Eastern arms hung upagainst the wall. This passage led to the armoury, a room of moderatedimensions, but hung with rich contents. Many an inlaid breastplate, many a Mameluke scimitar and Damascus blade, many a gemmed pistoland pearl-embroidered saddle, might there be seen, though viewed in asubdued and quiet light. All seemed hushed, and still, and shrouded inwhat had the reputation of being a palace of pleasure. 

In this chamber assembled the expected guests. And having all arrived, they proceeded down a small gallery to the banqueting-room. The roomwas large and lofty. It was fitted up as an Eastern tent. The wallswere hung with scarlet cloth, tied up with ropes of gold. Round the roomcrouched recumbent lions richly gilt, who grasped in their paws a lance, the top of which was a coloured lamp. The ceiling was emblazoned withthe Hauteville arms, and was radiant with burnished gold. A cresset lampwas suspended from the centre of the shield, and not only emitted anequable flow of soft though brilliant light, but also, as the aromaticoil wasted away, distilled an exquisite perfume. 

The table blazed with golden plate, for the Bird of Paradise lovedsplendour. At the end of the room, under a canopy and upon a throne, theshield and vases lately executed for his Grace now appeared. Everythingwas gorgeous, costly, and imposing; but there was no pretence, savein the original outline, at maintaining the Oriental character. Thefurniture was French; and opposite the throne Canova's Hebe, boundedwith a golden cup from a pedestal of ormolu. 

The guests are seated; but after a few minutes the servants withdraw. Small tables of ebony and silver, and dumb waiters of ivory and gold, conveniently stored, are at hand, and Spiridion never leaves the room. The repast was refined, exquisite, various. It was one of those meetingswhere all eat. When a few persons, easy and unconstrained, unencumberedwith cares, and of dispositions addicted to enjoyment, get together atpast midnight, it is extraordinary what an appetite they evince. Singersalso are proverbially prone to gourmandise; and though the Bird ofParadise unfortunately possessed the smallest mouth in all Singingland, it is astonishing how she pecked! But they talked as well as feasted, and were really gay. 

'Prince, ' said the Duke, 'I hope Madame de Harestein approves of yourtrip to England?'

The Prince only smiled, for he was of a silent disposition, andtherefore wonderfully well suited his travelling companion. 

'Poor Madame de Harestein!' exclaimed Count Frill. 'What despair she wasin, when you left Vienna, my dear Duke. I did what I could to amuse her. I used to take my guitar, and sing to her morning and night, but withouteffect. She certainly would have died of a broken heart, if it had notbeen for the dancing-dogs. '

'Did they bite her?' asked a lady who affected the wit of Lord Squib, 'and so inoculate her with gaiety. '

'Everybody was mad about the dancing-dogs. They came from Peru, anddanced the mazurka in green jackets with a _jabot_. Oh! what a _jabot!_'

'I dislike animals excessively, ' remarked another lady, who was asrefined as Mr. Annesley, her model. 

'Dislike the dancing-dogs!' said Count Frill. 'Ah! my good lady, youwould have been enchanted. Even the Kaiser fed them with pistachio nuts. Oh! so pretty! Delicate leetle things, soft shining little legs, andpretty little faces! so sensible, and with such _jabots!_'

'I assure you they were excessively amusing, ' said the Prince, in asoft, confidential undertone to his neighbour, Mrs. Montfort, who was asdignified as she was beautiful, and who, admiring his silence, which shetook for state, smiled and bowed with fascinating condescension. 

'And what else has happened very remarkable, Count, since I left you?'asked Lord Darrell. 

'Nothing, nothing, my dear Darrell. This _bêtise_ of a war has madeus all serious. If old Clamstandt had not married that gipsy, littleDugiria, I really think I should have taken a turn to Belgrade. '

'You should not eat so much, Poppet!' drawled Charles Annesley toa Spanish danseuse, tall, dusky and lithe, glancing like a lynx andgraceful as a jennet. She was very silent, but no doubt indicatedthe possession of Cervantic humour by the sly calmness with which sheexhausted her own waiter, and pillaged her neighbours. 

'Why not?' said a little French actress, highly finished like aminiature, who scarcely ate anything, but drank champagne and chattedwith equal rapidity and composure, and who was always ready to fightanybody's battle, provided she could get an opportunity to talk. 'Whynot, Mr. Annesley? You never will let anybody eat. I never eat myself, because every night, having to talk so much, I am dry, dry, dry; soI drink, drink, drink. It is an extraordinary thing that there is nolanguage which makes you so thirsty as French. '

'What can be the reason?' asked a sister of Mrs. Montfort, a tall fairgirl, who looked sentimental, but was only silly. 

'Because there is so much salt in it, ' said Lord Squib. 

'Delia, ' drawled Mr. Annesley, 'you look very pretty to-night!'

'I am charmed to charm you, Mr. Annesley. Shall I tell you what Lord BonMot said of you?'

'No, _ma mignonne!_ I never wish to hear my own good things. '

'Spoiled, you should add, ' said the fair rival of Lord Squib, 'if BonMot be in the case. '

'Lord Bon Mot is a most gentlemanlike man, ' said Delia, indignant atan admirer being attacked. 'He always wants to be amusing. Whenever hedines out, he comes and sits with me for half an hour to catch the airof the Parisian badinage. '

'And you tell him a variety of little things?' asked Lord Squib, insidiously drawing out the secret tactics of Bon Mot. 

'_Beaucoup, beaucoup_, ' said Delia, extending two little white handssparkling with gems. 'If he come in ever so, how do you call it? heavy, not that: in the domps. Ah! it is that. If ever he come in the domps, hegoes out always like a _soufflée_. '

'As empty, I have no doubt, ' said the witty lady. 

'And as sweet, I have no doubt, ' said Lord Squib; 'for Delcroixcomplains sadly of your excesses, Delia. '

'Mr. Delcroix complain of me! That, indeed, is too bad. Just because Irecommend Montmorency de Versailles to him for an excellent customer, ever since he abuses me, merely because Montmorency has forgot, in thehurry of going off, to pay his little account. '

'But he says you have got all the things, ' said Lord Squib, whose greatamusement was to put Delia in a passion. 

'What of that?' screamed the little lady. 'Montmorency gave them me. '

'Don't make such a noise, ' said the Bird of Paradise. 'I never can eatwhen there is a noise. Duke, ' continued she in a fretful tone, 'theymake such a noise!'

'Annesley, keep Squib quiet. '

'Delia, leave that young man alone. If Isidora would talk a littlemore, and you eat a little more, I think you would be the most agreeablelittle ladies I know. Poppet! put those bonbons in your pocket. Youshould never eat sugarplums in company. '

Thus, talking agreeable nonsense, tasting agreeable dishes, and sippingagreeable wines, an hour ran on. Sweetest music from an unseen sourceever and anon sounded, and Spiridion swung a censer full of perfumesround the chamber. At length the Duke requested Count Frill to give thema song. The Bird of Paradise would never sing for pleasure, only forfame and a slight cheque. The Count begged to decline, and at the sametime asked for a guitar. The Signora sent for hers; and his Excellency, preluding with a beautiful simper, gave them some slight thing to thiseffect. 

 I. 

 Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! What a gay little girl is charming Bignetta! She dances, she prattles, She rides and she rattles; But she always is charming, that charming Bignetta!

 II

 Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! What a wild little witch is charming Bignetta! When she smiles, I'm all madness; When she frowns, I'm all sadness; But she always is smiling, that charming Bignetta!

 III. 

 Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! What a wicked young rogue is charming Bignetta! She laughs at my shyness, And flirts with his Highness; Yet still she is charming, that charming Bignetta!

 IV. 

 Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! What a dear little girl is charming Bignetta! 'Think me only a sister, ' Said she trembling: I kissed her. What a charming young sister is charming Bignetta!

To choicer music chimed his gay guitar 'In Este's Halls, ' yet still hissong served its purpose, for it raised a smile. 

'I wrote that for Madame Sapiepha, at the Congress of Verona, ' saidCount Frill. 'It has been thought amusing. '

'Madame Sapiepha!' exclaimed the Bird of Paradise. 'What! that prettylittle woman, who has such pretty caps?'

'The same! Ah! what caps! what taste!'

'You like caps, then?' asked the Bird of Paradise, with a sparkling eye. 

'Oh! if there be anything more than another that I know most, it is thecap. Here, ' said he, rather oddly unbuttoning his waistcoat, 'you seewhat lace I have got. '

'Ah me! what lace!' exclaimed the Bird, in rapture. 'Duke, look at hislace. Come here, sit next to me. Let me look at that lace. ' She examinedit with great attention, then turned up her beautiful eyes with afascinating smile. '_Ah! c'est jolie, n'est-ce pas?_ But you like caps. I tell you what, you shall see my caps. Spiridion, go, _mon cher_, andtell Ma'amselle to bring my caps, all my caps, one of each set. '

In due time entered the Swiss, with the caps, all the caps, one of eachset. As she handed them in turn to her mistress, the Bird chirped apanegyric upon each. 

'That is pretty, is it not, and this also? but this is my favourite. What do you think of this border? _c'est belle cette garniture? etce jabot, c'est très-séduisant, n'est-ce pas? Mais voici_, the cap ofPrincess Lichtenstein. _C'est superb, c'est mon favori_. But I also lovevery much this of the Duchess de Berri. She gave me the pattern herself. And, after, all, this _cornette à petite santé_ of Lady Blaze is a dearlittle thing; then, again, this _coiffe à dentelle_ of Lady Macaroni isquite a pet. '

'Pass them down, ' said Lord Squib; 'we want to look at them. 'Accordingly they were passed down. Lord Squib put one on. 

'Do I look superb, sentimental, or only pretty?' asked his Lordship. Theexample was contagious, and most of the caps were appropriated. No onelaughed more than their mistress, who, not having the slightest idea ofthe value of money, would have given them all away on the spot; not fromany good-natured feeling, but from the remembrance that tomorrow shemight amuse half an hour in buying others. 

Whilst some were stealing, and she remonstrating, the Duke clappedhis hands like a caliph. The curtain at the end of the apartment wasimmediately withdrawn, and the ball-room stood revealed. 

It was the same size as the banqueting-hall. Its walls exhibited a longperspective of golden pilasters, the frequent piers of which were oflooking-glass, save where, occasionally, a picture had been, as it were, inlaid in its rich frame. Here was the Titian Venus of the Tribune, deliciously copied by a French artist: there, the Roman Fornarina, withher delicate grace, beamed like the personification of Raf-faelle'sgenius. Here, Zuleikha, living in the light and shade of that magicianGuercino, in vain summoned the passions of the blooming Hebrew: andthere, Cleopatra, preparing for her last immortal hour, proved by whatwe saw that Guido had been a lover. 

The ceiling of this apartment was richly painted, and richly gilt: fromit were suspended three lustres by golden cords, which threw a softenedlight upon the floor of polished and curiously inlaid woods. At the endof the apartment was an orchestra. 

Round the room waltzed the elegant revellers. Softly and slowly, led bytheir host, they glided along like spirits of air; but each time thatthe Duke passed the musicians, the music became livelier, and the motionmore brisk, till at length you might have mistaken them for a college ofspinning dervishes. One by one, an exhausted couple retreated from thelists. Some threw themselves on a sofa, some monopolised an easy chair;but in twenty minutes the whirl had ceased. At length Peacock Piggottgave a groan, which denoted returning energy, and raised a stretchingleg in air, bringing up, though most unwittingly, upon his foot, one ofthe Bird's sublime and beautiful caps. 

'Halloa! Piggott, armed _cap-au-pied_, I see, ' said Lord Squib. Thisjoke was a signal for general resuscitation. 

The Alhambra formed a quadrangle: all the chambers were on the basementstory. In the middle of the court of the quadrangle was a beautifulfountain; and the court was formed by a conservatory, which was builtalong each side of the interior square, and served, like a cloisteror covered way, for a communication between the different parts of thebuilding. To this conservatory they now repaired. It was broad, fullof rare and delicious plants and flowers, and brilliantly illuminated. Busts and statues were intermingled with the fairy grove; and a rich, warm hue, by a skilful arrangement of coloured lights, was thrown overmany a nymph and fair divinity, many a blooming hero and beardless god. Here they lounged in different parties, talking on such subjects asidlers ever fall upon; now and then plucking a flower, now and thenlistening to the fountain, now and then lingering over the distantmusic, and now and then strolling through a small apartment which openedto their walks, and which bore the title of the Temple of Gnidus. Here, Canova's Venus breathed an atmosphere of perfume and of light; thatwonderful statue, whose full-charged eye is not very classical, to besure; but then, how true!

While they were thus whiling away their time, Lord Squib proposed avisit to the theatre, which he had ordered to be lit up. To the theatrethey repaired. They rambled over every part of the house, amusedthemselves with a visit to the gallery, and then collected behind thescenes. They were excessively amused with the properties; and Lord Squibproposed they should dress themselves. In a few minutes they were allin costume. A crowd of queens and chambermaids, Jews and chimney-sweeps, lawyers and Charleys, Spanish Dons, and Irish officers, rushed uponthe stage. The little Spaniard was Almaviva, and fell into magnificentattitudes, with her sword and plume. Lord Squib was the old woman ofBrentford, and very funny. Sir Lucius Grafton, Harlequin; and Darrell, Grimaldi. The Prince, and the Count without knowing it, figured aswatchmen. Squib whispered Annesley, that Sir Lucius O'Trigger mightappear in character, but was prudent enough to suppress the joke. 

The band was summoned, and they danced quadrilles with infinite spirit, and finished the night, at the suggestion of Lord Squib, by breakfastingon the stage. By the time this meal was despatched the purple light ofmorn had broken into the building, and the ladies proposed an immediatedeparture. 

BOOK IV. 

CHAPTER I. 

 _Pen Bronnock Palace_

THE arrival of the two distinguished foreigners reanimated the dyingseason. All vied in testifying their consideration, and the Duke of St. James exceeded all. He took them to see the alterations at HautevilleHouse, which no one had yet witnessed; and he asked their opinion of hisfurniture, which no one had yet decided on. Two fêtes in the same weekestablished, as well as maintained, his character as the Archduke offashion. Remembering, however, the agreeable month which he had spent inthe kingdom of John the Twenty-fourth, he was reminded, with annoyance, that his confusion at Hauteville prevented him from receiving hisfriends _en grand seigneur_ in his hereditary castle. Metropolitanmagnificence, which, if the parvenu could not equal, he at least couldimitate, seemed a poor return for the feudal splendour and impartialfestivity of an Hungarian magnate. While he was brooding over thesereminiscences, it suddenly occurred to him that he had never made aprogress into his western territories. Pen Bronnock Palace was the boastof Cornwall, though its lord had never paid it a visit. The Duke of St. James sent for Sir Carte Blanche. 

Besides entertaining the foreign nobles, the young Duke could no longerkeep off the constantly-recurring idea that something must be done toentertain himself. He shuddered to think where and what he should havebeen been, had not these gentlemen so providentially arrived. As foragain repeating the farce of last year, he felt that it would no longerraise a smile. Yorkshire he shunned. Doncaster made him tremble. Aweek with the Duke of Burlington at Marringworth; a fortnight with theFitz-pompeys at Malthorpe; a month with the Graftons at Cleve; and soon: he shuddered at the very idea. Who can see a pantomime more thanonce? Who could survive a pantomime the twentieth time? All the shiftingscenes, and flitting splendour; all the motley crowds of sparklingcharacters; all the quick changes, and full variety, are, once, enchantment. But when the splendour is discovered to be monotony; thechange, order, and the caprice a system; when the characters play everthe same part, and the variety never varies; how dull, how weary, howinfinitely flat, is such a world to that man who requires from itsconverse, not occasional relaxation, but constant excitement!

Pen Bronnock was a new object. At this moment in his life, novelty wasindeed a treasure. If he could cater for a month, no expense should begrudged; as for the future, he thrust it from his mind. By taking up hisresidence, too, at Pen Bronnock, he escaped from all invitations;and so, in a word, the worthy Knight received orders to make allpreparations at the palace for the reception of a large party in thecourse of three weeks. 

Sir Carte, as usual, did wonders. There was, fortunately for hisemployer, no time to build or paint, but some dingy rooms were hung withscarlet cloth; cart-loads of new furniture were sent down; the theatrewas re-burnished; the stables put in order; and, what was of infinitelymore importance in the estimation of all Englishmen, the neglected pilewas 'well aired. '

CHAPTER II. 

 _A Dandy From Vienna_

WE ARE in the country, and such a country, that even in Italy we thinkof thee, native Hesperia! Here, myrtles grow, and fear no blastingnorth, or blighting east. Here, the south wind blows with that softbreath which brings the bloom to flesh. Here, the land breaks in gentleundulations; and here, blue waters kiss a verdant shore. Hail! to thythousand bays, and deep-red earth, thy marble quarries, and thy silverveins! Hail! to thy far-extending landscape, whose sparkling villagesand streaky fields no clime can match!

Some gales we owe to thee of balmy breath, some gentle hours when lifehad fewest charms. And we are grateful for all this, to say nothing ofyour cider and your junkets. 

The Duke arrived just as the setting sun crowned the proud palace withhis gleamy rays. It was a pile which the immortal Inigo had raised insympathy with the taste of a noble employer, who had passed hisearliest years in Lombardy. Of stone, and sometimes even of marble, withpediments and balustrades, and ornamental windows, and richly-chasedkeystones, and flights of steps, and here and there a statue, thestructure was quite Palladian, though a little dingy, and, on the whole, very imposing. 

There were suites of rooms which had no end, and staircases which had nobeginning. In this vast pile, nothing was more natural than to lose yourway, an agreeable amusement on a rainy morning. There was a collectionof pictures, very various, by which phrase we understand not select. Yet they were amusing; and the Canalettis were unrivalled. There was aregular ball-room, and a theatre; so resources were at hand. The scenes, though dusty, were numerous; and the Duke had provided new dresses. Thepark was not a park; by which we mean, that it was rather a chase thanthe highly-finished enclosure which we associate with the first title. In fact, Pen Bronnock Chase was the right name of the settlement; butsome monarch travelling, having been seized with a spasm, recruited hisstrength under the roof of his loyal subject, then the chief seat of theHouse of Hauteville, and having in his urgency been obliged to hold aprivy council there, the supreme title of palace was assumed by right. 

The domain was bounded on one side by the sea; and here a yacht andsome slight craft rode at anchor in a small green bay, and offered anopportunity for the adventurous, and a refuge for the wearied. When youhave been bored for an hour or two on earth, it sometimes is a change tobe bored for an hour or two on water. 

The house was soon full, and soon gay. The guests, and the meansof amusing them, were equally numerous. But this was no common_villeggiatura_, no visit to a family with their regular pursuits andmatured avocations. The host was as much a guest as any other. The youngDuke appointed Lord Squib master of the ceremonies, and gave ordersfor nothing but constant excitement. Constant excitement his Lordshipmanaged to maintain, for he was experienced, clever, careless and gay, and, for once in his life, had the command of unbounded resources. Heordered, he invented, he prepared, and he expended. They acted, theydanced, they sported, they sailed, they feasted, they masqueraded; andwhen they began to get a little wearied of themselves, and their ownpowers of diversion gradually vanished, then a public ball was giventwice a week at the palace, and all the West of England invited. Newfaces brought new ideas; new figures brought new fancies. All weredelighted with the young Duke, and flattery from novel quarters will fora moment whet even the appetite of the satiated. Simplicity, too, caninterest. There were some Misses Gay-weather who got unearthed, whonever had been in London, though nature had given them sparkling eyesand springing persons. This tyranny was too bad. Papa was quizzed, mammaflattered, and the daughters' simplicity amused these young lordlings. Rebellion was whispered in the small ears of the Gay weathers. Thelittle heads, too, of the Gay-weathers were turned. They were theconstant butt, and the constant resource, of every lounging dandy. 

The Bird of Paradise also arranged her professional engagements so asto account with all possible propriety for her professional visit at PenBronnock. The musical meeting at Exeter over, she made her appearance, and some concerts were given, which electrified all Cornwall. CountFrill was very strong here; though, to be sure, he also danced, andacted, in all varieties. He was the soul, too, of a masqued ball; butwhen complimented on his accomplishments, and thanked for his exertions, he modestly depreciated his worth, and panegyrised the dancing-dogs. 

As for the Prince, on the whole, he maintained his silence; but itwas at length discovered by the fair sex that he was not stupid, butsentimental. When this was made known he rather lost ground with thedark sex, who, before thinking him thick, had vowed that he was adevilish good fellow; but now, being really envious, had their taleand hint, their sneer and sly joke. M. De Whiskerburg had one activeaccomplishment; this was his dancing. His gallopade was declared tobe divine: he absolutely sailed in air. His waltz, at his will, eithermelted his partner into a dream, or whirled her into a frenzy! DangerousM. De Whiskerburg!

CHAPTER III. 

 _'A Little Rift. '_

IT IS said that the conduct of refined society, in a literary point ofview, is, on the whole, productive but of slight interest; that all wecan aspire to is, to trace a brilliant picture of brilliant manners;and that when the dance and the festival have been duly inspired by therepartee and the sarcasm, and the gem, the robe, and the plume adroitlylighted up by the lamp and the lustre, our cunning is exhausted. And soyour novelist generally twists this golden thread with some substantialsilken cord, for use, and works up, with the light dance, and with theheavy dinner, some secret marriage, and some shrouded murder. And thus, by English plots and German mysteries, the page trots on, or jolts, till, in the end, Justice will have her way, and the three volumes arecompleted. 

A plan both good and antique, and also popular, but not our way. Weprefer trusting to the slender incidents which spring from out ourcommon intercourse. There is no doubt that that great pumice-stone, Society, smooths down the edges of your thoughts and manners. Bodies ofmen who pursue the same object must ever resemble each other: the lifeof the majority must ever be imitation. Thought is a labour to which feware competent; and truth requires for its development as much courage asacuteness. So conduct becomes conventional, and opinion is a legend; andthus all men act and think alike. 

But this is not peculiar to what is called fashionable life, it ispeculiar to civilisation, which gives the passions less to work upon. Mankind are not more heartless because they are clothed in ermine; it isthat their costume attracts us to their characters, and we stare becausewe find the prince or the peeress neither a conqueror nor a heroine. Thegreat majority of human beings in a country like England glides throughexistence in perfect ignorance of their natures, so complicated and socontrolling is the machinery of our social life! Few can break the bondsthat tie them down, and struggle for self-knowledge; fewer, whenthe talisman is gained, can direct their illuminated energies to thepurposes with which they sympathise. 

A mode of life which encloses in its circle all the dark and deepresults of unbounded indulgence, however it may appear to some whoglance over the sparkling surface, does not exactly seem to us oneeither insipid or uninteresting to the moral speculator; and, indeed, wehave long been induced to suspect that the seeds of true sublimity lurkin a life which, like this book, is half fashion and half passion. 

We know not how it was, but about this time an unaccountable, almostan imperceptible, coolness seemed to spring up between our hero and theLady Aphrodite. If we were to puzzle our brains for ever, we could notgive you the reason. Nothing happened, nothing had been said or done, which could indicate its origin. Perhaps this _was_ the origin; perhapsthe Duke's conduct had become, though unexceptionable, too negative. But here we only throw up a straw. Perhaps, if we must go on suggesting, anxiety ends in callousness. 

His Grace had thought so much of her feelings, that he had quiteforgotten his own, or worn them out. Her Ladyship, too, was perhapsa little disappointed at the unexpected reconciliation. When we havescrewed our courage up to the sticking point, we like not to be baulked. Both, too, perhaps--we go on _perhapsing_--both, too, we repeat, perhaps, could not help mutually viewing each other as the cause of muchmutual care and mutual anxiousness. Both, too, perhaps, were a littletired, but without knowing it. The most curious thing, and which wouldhave augured worst to a calm judge, was, that they silently seemedto agree not to understand that any alteration had really taken placebetween them, which, we think, was a bad sign: because a lover'squarrel, we all know, like a storm in summer, portends a renewal of warmweather or ardent feelings; and a lady is never so well seated in heradmirer's heart as when those betters are interchanged which express somuch, and those explanations entered upon which explain so little. 

And here we would dilate on greater things than some imagine; but, unfortunately, we are engaged. For Newmarket calls Sir Lucius and hisfriends. We will not join them, having lost enough. His Grace halfpromised to be one of the party; but when the day came, just rememberedthe Shropshires were expected, and so was very sorry, and the rest. LadyAphrodite and himself parted with warmth which remarkably contrastedwith their late intercourse, and which neither of them could decidewhether it were reviving affection or factitious effort. M. DeWhiskerburg and Count Frill departed with Sir Lucius, being extremelydesirous to be initiated in the mysteries of the turf, and, above all, to see a real English jockey. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 _Satiety. _

THE newspapers continued to announce the departures of new visitors tothe Duke of St. James, and to dilate upon the protracted and princelyfestivity of Pen Bron-nock. But while thousands were envying his lot, and hundreds aspiring to share it, what indeed was the condition of ourhero?

A month or two had rolled on and if he had not absolutely tastedenjoyment, at least he had thrown off reflection; but as the autumn woreaway, and as each day he derived less diversion or distraction from therepetition of the same routine, carried on by different actors, hecould no longer control feelings which would be predominant, and thosefeelings were not such as perhaps might have been expected from one whowas receiving the homage of an admiring world. In a word, the Duke ofSt. James was the most miserable wretch that ever lived. 

'Where is this to end?' he asked himself. 'Is this year to close, tobring only a repetition of the past? Well, I have had it all, and whatis it? My restless feelings are at last laid, my indefinite appetitesare at length exhausted. I have known this mighty world, and where amI? Once, all prospects, all reflections merged in the agitating, thetremulous and panting lust with which I sighed for it. Have I beendeceived? Have I been disappointed? Is it different from what Iexpected? Has it fallen short of my fancy? Has the dexterity of mymusings deserted me? Have I under-acted the hero of my reveries? HaveI, in short, mismanaged my début? Have I blundered? No, no, no! Far, farhas it gone beyond even my imagination, and _my_ life has, if no other, realised its ideas!

'Who laughs at me? Who does not burn incense before my shrine? Whatappetite have I not gratified? What gratification has proved bitter? Myvanity! Has it been, for an instant, mortified? Am I not acknowledgedthe most brilliant hero of the most brilliant society in Europe? Intenseas is my self-love, has it not been gorged? Luxury and splendour were myyouthful dreams, and have I not realised the very romance of indulgenceand magnificence? My career has been one long triumph. My palaces, andmy gardens, and my jewels, my dress, my furniture, my equipages, myhorses, and my festivals, these used to occupy my meditations, when Icould only meditate; and have my determinations proved a delusion? Askthe admiring world. 

'And now for the great point to which all this was to tend, which allthis was to fascinate and subdue, to adorn, to embellish, to delight, to honour. Woman! Oh! when I first dared, among the fields of Eton, to dwell upon the soft yet agitating fancy, that some day my existencemight perhaps be rendered more intense, by the admiration of thesemaddening but then mysterious creatures; could, could I have dreamt ofwhat has happened? Is not this the very point in which my career hasmost out-topped my lofty hopes?

'I have read, and sometimes heard, of _satiety_. It must then be satietythat I feel; for I do feel more like a doomed man, than a young noblefull of blood and youth. And yet, satiety; it is a word. What then? Aword is breath, and am I wiser? Satiety! Satiety! Satiety! Oh! give mehappiness! Oh! give me love!

'Ay! there it is, I feel it now. Too well I feel that happiness mustspring from purer fountains than self-love. We are not born merely forourselves, and they who, full of pride, make the trial, as I have done, and think that the world is made for them, and not for mankind, mustcome to as bitter results, perhaps as bitter a fate; for, by Heavens! Iam half tempted at this moment to fling myself from off this cliff, andso end all. 

'Why should I live? For virtue, and for duty; to compensate for allmy folly, and to achieve some slight good end with my abused andunparalleled means. Ay! it is all vastly rational, and vastly sublime, but it is too late. I feel the exertion above me. I am a lost man. 

'We cannot work without a purpose and an aim. I had mine, although itwas a false one, and I succeeded. Had I one now I might succeed again, but my heart is a dull void. And Caroline, that gentle girl, will notgive me what I want; and to offer her but half a heart may break hers, and I would not bruise that delicate bosom to save my dukedom. Thosesad, silly parents of hers have already done mischief enough; but I willsee Darrell, and will at least arrange that. I like him, and will makehim my friend for her sake. God! God! why am I not loved! A word fromher, and all would change. I feel a something in me which could put allright. I have the will, and she could give the power. 

'Now see what a farce life is! I shall go on, Heaven knows how! I cannotlive long. Men like me soon bloom and fade. What I may come to, I dreadto think. There is a dangerous facility in my temper; I know it well, for I know more of myself than people think; there is a dangerousfacility which, with May Dacre, might be the best guaranty of virtue;but with all others, for all others are at the best weak things, will ascertainly render me despicable, perhaps degraded. I hear the busy devilwhispering even now. It is my demon. Now, I say, see what a farce lifeis! I shall die like a dog, as I have lived like a fool; and then myepitaph will be in everybody's mouth. Here are the consequences ofself-indulgence: here is a fellow, forsooth, who thought only of thegratification of his vile appetites; and by the living Heaven, am I notstanding here among my hereditary rocks, and sighing to the ocean, to bevirtuous!

'She knew me well, she read me in a minute, and spoke more truth at thatlast meeting than is in a thousand sermons. It is out of our power toredeem ourselves. Our whole existence is a false, foul state, totallyinimical to love and purity, and domestic gentleness, and calm delight. Yet are we envied! Oh! could these fools see us at any other time exceptsurrounded by our glitter, and hear of us at any other moment save inthe first bloom of youth, which is, even then, often wasted; could theybut mark our manhood, and view our hollow marriages, and disappointedpassions; could they but see the traitors that we have for sons, thedaughters that own no duty; could they but watch us even to our grave, tottering after some fresh bauble, some vain delusion, which, to thelast, we hope may prove a substitute for what we have never foundthrough life, a contented mind, they would do something else but envyus. 

'But I stand prating when I am wanted. I must home. Home! O sacred word!and then comes night! Horrible night! Horrible day! It seems to me I amupon the eve of some monstrous folly, too ridiculous to be a crime, andyet as fatal. I have half a mind to go and marry the Bird of Paradise, out of pure pique with myself, and with the world. '

CHAPTER V. 

 _A Startling Letter_

SOUTHEY, that virtuous man, whom Wisdom calls her own, somewhere thanksGod that he was not born to a great estate. We quite agree with theseer of Keswick; it is a bore. Provided a man can enjoy every personalluxury, what profits it that your flag waves on castles you never visit, and that you count rents which you never receive? And yet there are somethings which your miserable, moderate incomes cannot command, and whichone might like to have; for instance, a band. 

A complete, a consummate band, in uniforms of uncut white velvet, witha highly-wrought gold button, just tipped with a single pink topaz, appears to me [Greek phrase]. When we die, 'Band' will be foundimpressed upon our heart, like 'Frigate' on the core of Nelson. Thenegroes should have their noses bored, as well as their ears, and hungwith rings of rubies. The kettle-drums should be of silver. And withregard to a great estate, no doubt it brings great cares; or, to getfree of them, the estate must be neglected, and then it is even worse. 

Elections come on, and all your members are thrown out; so much forneglected influence. Agricultural distress prevails, and all yourfarms are thrown up; so much for neglected tenants. Harassed by leases, renewals, railroads, fines, and mines, you are determined that lifeshall not be worn out by these continual and petty cares. Thinking itsomewhat hard, that, because you have two hundred thousand a-year, youhave neither ease nor enjoyment, you find a remarkably clever man, whomanages everything for you. Enchanted with his energy, his acuteness, and his foresight, fascinated by your increasing rent-roll, and thetotal disappearance of arrears, you dub him your right hand, introducehim to all your friends, and put him into Parliament; and then, firedby the ambition of rivalling his patron, he disburses, embezzles, anddecamps. 

But where is our hero? Is he forgotten? Never! But in the dumps, bluedevils, and so on. A little bilious, it may be, and dull. He scarcelywould amuse you at this moment. So we come forward with a graceful bow;the Jack Pudding of our doctor, who is behind. 

In short, that is to say, in long--for what is true use of this affectedbrevity? When this tale is done, what have you got? So let us make itlast. We quite repent of having intimated so much: in future, it is ourintention to develop more, and to describe, and to delineate, and todefine, and, in short, to bore. You know the model of this kind ofwriting, Richardson, whom we shall revive. In future, we shall, as anovelist, take Clarendon's Rebellion for our guide, and write our hero'snotes, or heroine's letters, like a state paper, or a broken treaty. 

The Duke, and the young Duke--oh! to be a Duke, and to be young, it istoo much--was seldom seen by the gay crowd who feasted in his hall. Hismornings now were lonely, and if, at night, his eye still sparkled, andhis step still sprang, why, between us, wine gave him beauty, and winegave him grace. 

It was the dreary end of dull November, and the last company werebreaking off. The Bird of Paradise, according to her desire, had goneto Brighton, where his Grace had presented her with a tenement, neat, light, and finished; and though situated amid the wilds of Kemp Town, not more than one hyæna on a night ventured to come down from theadjacent heights. He had half promised to join her, because he thoughthe might as well be there as here, and consequently he had not inviteda fresh supply of visitors from town, or rather from the country. As hewas hesitating about what he should do, he received a letter from hisbankers, which made him stare. He sent for the groom of the chambers, and was informed the house was clear, save that some single men stilllingered, as is their wont. They never take a hint. His Grace orderedhis carriage; and, more alive than he had been for the last two months, dashed off to town. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 _The Cost of Pleasure_

THE letter from his bankers informed the Duke of St. James that not onlywas the half-million exhausted, but, in pursuance of their powers, theyhad sold out all his stock, and, in reliance on his credit, had advancedeven beyond it. They were ready to accommodate him in every possibleway, and to advance as much more as he could desire, at five per cent. !Sweet five per cent. ! Oh! magical five per cent. ! Lucky the rogue nowwho gets three. Nevertheless, they thought it but proper to call hisGrace's attention to the circumstance, and to put him in possession ofthe facts. Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tellthe truth. 

The Duke of St. James had never affected to be a man of business; still, he had taken it for granted that pecuniary embarrassment was not everto be counted among his annoyances. He wanted something to do, anddetermined to look into his affairs, merely to amuse himself. 

The bankers were most polite. They brought their books, also severalpackets of papers neatly tied up, and were ready to give everyinformation. The Duke asked for results. He found that the turf, the Alhambra, the expenses of his outfit in purchasing the lease andfurniture of his mansion, and the rest, had, with his expenditure, exhausted his first year's income; but he reconciled himself to this, because he chose to consider them extraordinary expenses. Then thefestivities of Pen Bronnock counterbalanced the economy of his morescrambling life the preceding year; yet he had not exceeded his incomemuch. Then he came to Sir Carte's account. He began to get a littlefrightened. Two hundred and fifty thousand had been swallowed byHauteville Castle: one hundred and twenty thousand by Hauteville House. Ninety-six thousand had been paid for furniture. There were also someawkward miscellanies which, in addition, exceeded the half-million. 

This was smashing work; but castles and palaces, particularly of thecorrectest style of architecture, are not to be had for nothing. TheDuke had always devoted the half-million to this object; but he hadintended that sum to be sufficient. What puzzled and what annoyed himwas a queer suspicion that his resources had been exhausted withouthis result being obtained. He sent for Sir Carte, who gave everyinformation, and assured him that, had he had the least idea that alimit was an object, he would have made his arrangements accordingly. Asit was, he assured the young Duke that he would be the Lord of the mostsumptuous and accurate castle, and of the most gorgeous and tastefulpalace, in Europe. He was proceeding with a cloud of words, when hisemployer cut him short by a peremptory demand of the exact sum requisitefor the completion of his plans. Sir Carte was confused, and requestedtime. The estimates should be sent in as quickly as possible. The clerksshould sit up all night, and even his own rest should not be an object, any more than the Duke's purse. So they parted. 

The Duke determined to run down to Brighton for change of scene. He promised his bankers to examine everything on his return; in themeantime, they were to make all necessary advances, and honour hisdrafts to any amount. 

He found the city of chalk and shingles not quite so agreeable as lastyear. He discovered that it had no trees. There was there, also, justeverybody that he did not wish to see. It was one great St. James'Street, and seemed only an anticipation of that very season which hedreaded. He was half inclined to go somewhere else, but could not fixupon any spot. London might be agreeable, as it was empty; but thenthose confounded accounts awaited him. The Bird of Paradise was a sadbore. He really began to suspect that she was little better than anidiot: then, she ate so much, and he hated your eating women. He gladlyshuffled her off on that fool Count Frill, who daily brought his guitarto Kemp Town. They just suited each other. What a madman he had been, tohave embarrassed himself with this creature! It would cost him a prettyransom now before he could obtain his freedom. How we change! Alreadythe Duke of St. James began to think of pounds, shillings, and pence. Ayear ago, so long as he could extricate himself from a scrape by forceof cash, he thought himself a lucky fellow. 

The Graftons had not arrived, but were daily expected. He really couldnot stand them. As for Lady Afy, he execrated the greenhornism which hadmade him feign a passion, and then get caught where he meant to capture. As for Sir Lucius, he wished to Heaven he would just take it intohis head to repay him the fifteen thousand he had lent him at thatconfounded election, to say nothing of anything else. 

Then there was Burlington, with his old loves and his new dances. Hewondered how the deuce that fellow could be amused with such frivolity, and always look so serene and calm. Then there was Squib: that man neverknew when to leave off joking; and Annesley, with his false refinement;and Darrell, with his petty ambition. He felt quite sick, and took asolitary ride: but he flew from Scylla to Charybdis. Mrs. Montfort couldnot forget their many delightful canters last season to Rottingdean, and, lo! she was at his side. He wished her down the cliff. 

In this fit of the spleen he went to the theatre: there were elevenpeople in the boxes. He listened to the 'School for Scandal. ' Neverwas slander more harmless. He sat it all out, and was sorry when it wasover, but was consoled by the devils of 'Der Freischutz. ' How sincerely, how ardently did he long to sell himself to the demon! It was eleveno'clock, and he dreaded the play to be over as if he were a child. Whatto do with himself, or where to go, he was equally at a loss. Thedoor of the box opened, and entered Lord Bagshot. If it must be anacquaintance, this cub was better than any of his refined and latelycherished companions. 

'Well, Bag, what are you doing with yourself?'

'Oh! I don't know; just looking in for a lark. Any game?'

'On my honour, I can't say. '

'What's that girl? Oh! I see; that's little Wilkins. There's Moll Otway. Nothing new. I shall go and rattle the bones a little; eh! my boy?'

'Rattle the bones? what is that?'

'Don't you know?' and here this promising young peer manually explainedhis meaning. 

'What do you play at?' asked the Duke. 

'Hazard, for my money; but what you like. '

'Where?'

'We meet at De Berghem's. There is a jolly set of us. All crack men. When my governor is here, I never go. He is so jealous. I suppose theremust be only one gamester in the family; eh! my covey?' Lord Bagshot, excited by the unusual affability of the young Duke, grew quitefamiliar. 

'I have half a mind to look in with you, ' said his Grace with a carelessair. 

'Oh! come along, by all means. They'll be devilish glad to see you. DeBerghem was saying the other day what a nice fellow you were, and how heshould like to know you. You don't know De Berghem, do you?'

'I have seen him. I know enough of him. '

They quitted the theatre together, and under the guidance of LordBagshot, stopped at a door in Brunswick Terrace. There they foundcollected a numerous party, but all persons of consideration. The Baron, who had once been a member of the diplomatic corps, and now lived inEngland, by choice, on his pension and private fortune, received themwith marked courtesy. Proud of his companion, Lord Bagshot's hoarse, coarse, idiot voice seemed ever braying. His frequent introductionsof the Duke of St. James were excruciating, and it required all thefreezing of a finished manner to pass through this fiery ordeal. HisGrace was acquainted with most of the guests by sight, and to some heeven bowed. They were chiefly men of a certain age, with the exceptionof two or three young peers like himself. 

There was the Earl of Castlefort, plump and luxurious, with a youthfulwig, who, though a sexagenarian, liked no companion better than a minor. His Lordship was the most amiable man in the world, and the most lucky;but the first was his merit, and the second was not his fault. There wasthe juvenile Lord Dice, who boasted of having done his brothers out oftheir miserable 5, 000L. Patrimony, and all in one night. But the wrinklethat had already ruffled his once clear brow, his sunken eye, and hisconvulsive lip, had been thrown, we suppose, into the bargain, and, inour opinion, made it a dear one. There was Temple Grace, who had runthrough four fortunes, and ruined four sisters. Withered, though onlythirty, one thing alone remained to be lost, what he called his honour, which was already on the scent to play booty. There was Cogit, who, whenhe was drunk, swore that he had had a father; but this was deemed theonly exception to _in vino Veritas_. Who he was, the Goddess of Chancealone could decide; and we have often thought that he might bear thesame relation to her as Æneas to the Goddess of Beauty. His age was asgreat a mystery as anything else. He dressed still like a boy, yet somevowed he was eighty. He must have been Salathiel. Property he never had, and yet he contrived to live; connection he was not born with, yet hewas upheld by a set. He never played, yet he was the most skilful dealergoing. He did the honours of a _rouge et noir_ table to a miracle; andlooking, as he thought, most genteel in a crimson waistcoat and agold chain, raked up the spoils, or complacently announced après. LordCastlefort had few secrets from him: he was the jackal to these prowlingbeasts of prey; looked out for pigeons, got up little parties toRichmond or Brighton, sang a song when the rest were too anxious to makea noise, and yet desired a little life, and perhaps could cog a die, arrange a looking-glass, or mix a tumbler. 

Unless the loss of an occasional napoleon at a German watering-placeis to be so stigmatised, gaming had never formed one of the numerousfollies of the Duke of St. James. Rich, and gifted with a generous, sanguine, and luxurious disposition, he had never been tempted bythe desire of gain, or as some may perhaps maintain, by the desire ofexcitement, to seek assistance or enjoyment in a mode of life whichstultifies all our fine fancies, deadens all our noble emotions, andmortifies all our beautiful aspirations. 

We know that we are broaching a doctrine which many will start at, andwhich some will protest against, when we declare our belief that noperson, whatever his apparent wealth, ever yet gamed except from theprospect of immediate gain. We hear much of want of excitement, ofennui, of satiety; and then the gaming-table is announced as a sortof substitute for opium, wine, or any other mode of obtaining a moreintense vitality at the cost of reason. Gaming is too active, tooanxious, too complicated, too troublesome; in a word, _too sensible_ anaffair for such spirits, who fly only to a sort of dreamy and indefinitedistraction. 

The fact is, gaming is a matter of business. Its object is tangible, clear, and evident. There is nothing high, or inflammatory, or exciting;no false magnificence, no visionary elevation, in the affair at all. Itis the very antipodes to enthusiasm of any kind. It pre-supposes in itsvotary a mind essentially mercantile. All the feelings that are in itstrain are the most mean, the most commonplace, and the most annoyingof daily life, and nothing would tempt the gamester to experience themexcept the great object which, as a matter of calculation, he is willingto aim at on such terms. No man flies to the gaming-table in a paroxysm. The first visit requires the courage of a forlorn hope. The first stakewill make the lightest mind anxious, the firmest hand tremble, and thestoutest heart falter. After the first stake, it is all a matter ofcalculation and management, even in games of chance. Night after nightwill men play at _rouge et noir_, upon what they call a system, and forhours their attention never ceases, any more than it would if they werein the shop or oh the wharf. No manual labour is more fatiguing, andmore degrading to the labourer, than gaming. Every gamester feelsashamed. And this vice, this worst vice, from whose embrace, moralistsdaily inform us, man can never escape, is just the one from whichthe majority of men most completely, and most often, free themselves. Infinite is the number of men who have lost thousands in their youth, and never dream of chance again. It is this pursuit which, oftenerthan any other, leads man to self-knowledge. Appalled by the absolutedestruction on the verge of which he finds his early youth juststepping; aghast at the shadowy crimes which, under the influence ofthis life, seem, as it were, to rise upon his soul; often he hurries toemancipate himself from this fatal thraldom, and with a ruined fortune, and marred prospects, yet thanks his Creator that his soul is stillwhite, his conscience clear, and that, once more, he breathes the sweetair of heaven. 

And our young Duke, we must confess, gamed, as all other men havegamed, for money. His satiety had fled the moment that his affairs wereembarrassed. The thought suddenly came into his head while Bag-shot wasspeaking. He determined to make an effort to recover; and so completelywas it a matter of business with him, that he reasoned that, in thepresent state of his affairs, a few thousands more would not signify;that these few thousands might lead to vast results, and that, if theydid, he would bid adieu to the gaming-table with the same coolness withwhich he had saluted it. 

Yet he felt a little odd when he first 'rattled the bones;' and hisaffected nonchalance made him constrained. He fancied every one waswatching him; while, on the contrary, all were too much interested intheir own different parties. This feeling, however, wore off. 

According to every novelist, and the moralists 'our betters, ' the Dukeof St. James should have been fortunate at least to-night. You alwayswin at first, you know. If so, we advise said children of fancy and offact to pocket their gains, and not play again. The young Duke had notthe opportunity of thus acting. He lost fifteen hundred pounds, and athalf-past five he quitted the Baron's. 

Hot, bilious, with a confounded twang in his mouth, and a cracking painin his head, he stood one moment and sniffed in the salt sea breeze. The moon was unfortunately on the waters, and her cool, beneficent lightreminded him, with disgust, of the hot, burning glare of the Baron'ssaloon. He thought of May Dacre, but clenched his fist, and drove herimage from his mind. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 _Dangerous Friends_

HE ROSE late, and as he was lounging over his breakfast, entered LordBagshot and the Baron. Already the young Duke began to experience oneof the gamester's curses, the intrusive society of those of whom youare ashamed. Eight-and-forty hours ago, Lord Bagshot would no more havedared to call on the Duke of St. James than to call at the Pavilion; andnow, with that reckless want of tact which marks the innately vulgar, he seemed to triumph in their unhallowed intimacy, and lounging intohis Grace's apartment with that half-shuffling, hair-swaggering airindicative of the 'cove, ' hat cocked, and thumbs in his great-coatpockets, cast his complacent eye around, and praised his Grace's'rooms. ' Lord Bagshot, who for the occasional notice of the Duke of St. James had been so long a ready and patient butt, now appeared to assumea higher character, and addressed his friend in a tone and manner whichwere authorised by the equality of their rank and the sympathy of theirtastes. If this change had taken place in the conduct of the Viscount, it was not a singular one. The Duke also, to his surprise, found himselfaddressing his former butt in a very different style from that which hehad assumed in the ballroom of Doncaster. In vain he tried to rally, invain he tried to snub. It was indeed in vain. He no longer possessed anyright to express his contempt of his companion. That contempt, indeed, he still felt. He despised Lord Bagshot still, but he also despisedhimself. 

The soft and silky Baron was a different sort of personage; butthere was something sinister in all his elaborate courtesy and highlyartificial manner, which did not touch the feelings of the Duke, whosecourtesy was but the expression of his noble feelings, and whose gracewas only the impulse of his rich and costly blood. Baron de Berghem wastoo attentive, and too deferential. He smiled and bowed too much. He made no allusion to the last night's scene, nor did his tutoredcompanion, but spoke of different and lighter subjects, in a mannerwhich at once proved his experience of society, the liveliness of histalents, and the cultivation of his taste. He told many stories, allshort and poignant, and always about princes and princesses. Whateverwas broached, he always had his _apropos_ of Vienna, and altogetherseemed an experienced, mild, tolerant man of the world, not bigoted toany particular opinions upon any subject, but of a truly liberal andphilosophic mind. 

When they had sat chatting for half-an-hour, the Baron developed theobject of his visit, which was to endeavour to obtain the pleasure ofhis Grace's company at dinner, to taste some wild boar and try sometokay. The Duke, who longed again for action, accepted the invitation;and then they parted. 

Our hero was quite surprised at the feverish anxiety with which heawaited the hour of union. He thought that seven o'clock would nevercome. He had no appetite at breakfast, and after that he rode, butluncheon was a blank. In the midst of the operation, he found himselfin a brown study, calculating chances. All day long his imagination hadbeen playing hazard, or _rouge et noir_. Once he thought that he haddiscovered an infallible way of winning at the latter. On the long run, he was convinced it must answer, and he panted to prove it. 

Seven o'clock at last arrived, and he departed to Brunswick Terrace. There was a brilliant party to meet him: the same set as last night, but select. He was faint, and did justice to the _cuisine_ of his host, which was indeed remarkable. When we are drinking a man's good wine, itis difficult to dislike him. Prejudice decreases with every draught. His Grace began to think the Baron as good-hearted as agreeable. He wasgrateful for the continued attentions of old Castlefort, who, he nowfound out, had been very well acquainted with his father, and once evenmade a trip to Spa with him. Lord Dice he could not manage to endure, though that worthy was, for him, remarkably courteous, and grinned withhis parchment face, like a good-humoured ghoul. Temple Grace and theDuke became almost intimate. There was an amiable candour in thatgentleman's address, a softness in his tones, and an unstudied andextremely interesting delicacy in his manner, which in this society wasremarkable. Tom Cogit never presumed to come near the young Duke, butpaid him constant attention. He sat at the bottom of the table, andwas ever sending a servant with some choice wine, or recommending him, through some third person, some choice dish. It is pleasant to be 'mademuch of, ' as Shakspeare says, even by scoundrels. To be king of yourcompany is a poor ambition, yet homage is homage, and smoke is smoke, whether it come out of the chimney of a palace or of a workhouse. 

The banquet was not hurried. Though all wished it finished, no one likedto appear urgent. It was over at last, and they walked up-stairs, wherethe tables were arranged for all parties, and all play. Tom Cogit wentup a few minutes before them, like the lady of the mansion, to reviewthe lights, and arrange the cards. Feminine Tom Cogit!

The events of to-night were much the same as of the preceding one. TheDuke was a loser, but his losses were not considerable. He retired aboutthe same hour, with a head not so hot, or heavy: and he never lookedat the moon, or thought of May Dacre. The only wish that reigned in hissoul was a longing for another opportunity, and he had agreed to dinewith the Baron, before he left Brunswick Terrace. 

Thus passed a week, one night the Duke of St. James redeeming himself, another falling back to his old position, now pushing on to Madrid, nowre-crossing the Tagus. On the whole, he had lost four or five thousandpounds, a mere trifle to what, as he had heard, had been lost and gainedby many of his companions during only the present season. On the whole, he was one of the most moderate of these speculators, generally playedat the large table, and never joined any of those private coteries, someof which he had observed, and of some of which he had heard. Yet thiswas from no prudential resolve or temperate resolution. The young Dukewas heartily tired of the slight results of all his anxiety, hopes, andplans, and ardently wished for some opportunity of coming to closer andmore decided action. The Baron also had resolved that an end shouldbe put to this skirmishing; but he was a calm head, and never hurriedanything. 

'I hope your Grace has been lucky to-night!' said the Baron one evening, strolling up to the Duke: 'as for myself, really, if Dice goes onplaying, I shall give up banking. That fellow must have a talisman. Ithink he has broken more banks than any man living. The best thing hedid of that kind was the roulette story at Paris. You have heard ofthat?'

'Was that Lord Dice?'

'Oh yes! he does everything. He must have cleared his hundred thousandlast year. I have suffered a good deal since I have been in England. Castlefort has pulled in a great deal of my money. I wonder to whom hewill leave his property?'

'You think him rich?'

'Oh! he will cut up large!' said the Baron, elevating his eyebrows. 'Apleasant man too! I do not know any man that I would sooner play withthan Castlefort; no one who loses his money with better temper. '

'Or wins it, ' said his Grace. 

'That we all do, ' said the Baron, faintly laughing. 'Your Grace haslost, and you do not seem particularly dull. You will have your revenge. Those who lose at first are always the children of fortune. I alwaysdread a man who loses at first. All I beg is, that you will not break mybank. '

'Why! you see I am not playing now. ' 'I am not surprised. There is toomuch heat and noise here, ' said he. 'We will have a quiet dinner someday, and play at our ease. Come to-morrow, and I will ask Castlefortand Dice. I should uncommonly like, _entre nous_, to win some of theirmoney. I will take care that nobody shall be here whom you would notlike to meet. By-the-bye, whom were you riding with this morning? Finewoman!'

CHAPTER VIII. 

 _Birds of Prey_

THE young Duke had accepted the invitation of the Baron de Berg-hemfor to-morrow, and accordingly, himself, Lords Castlefort and Dice, and Temple Grace assembled in Brunswick Terrace at the usual hour. The dinner was studiously plain, and very little wine was drunk; yeteverything was perfect. Tom Cogit stepped in to carve in his usualsilent manner. He always came in and went out of a room without anyoneobserving him. He winked familiarly to Temple Grace, but scarcelypresumed to bow to the Duke. He was very busy about the wine, anddressed the wild fowl in a manner quite unparalleled. Tom Cogit was theman for a sauce for a brown bird. What a mystery he made of it! Cayenneand Burgundy and limes were ingredients, but there was a magic in theincantation with which he alone was acquainted. He took particular careto send a most perfect portion to the young Duke, and he did this, ashe paid all attentions to influential strangers, with the most markedconsciousness of the sufferance which permitted his presence: neveraddressing his Grace, but audibly whispering to the servant, 'Take thisto the Duke;' or asking the attendant, 'whether his Grace would try theHermitage?'

After dinner, with the exception of Cogit, who was busied in compoundingsome wonderful liquid for the future refreshment, they sat down to_écarté_. Without having exchanged a word upon the subject, there seemeda general understanding among all the parties that to-night was to be apitched battle, and they began at once, briskly. Yet, in spite of theiruniversal determination, midnight arrived without anything decisive. Another hour passed over, and then Tom Cogit kept touching the Baron'selbow and whispering in a voice which everybody could understand. Allthis meant that supper was ready. It was brought into the room. 

Gaming has one advantage, it gives you an appetite; that is to say, so long as you have a chance remaining. The Duke had thousands; forat present his resources were unimpaired, and he was exhausted bythe constant attention and anxiety of five hours. He passed over thedelicacies and went to the side-table, and began cutting himself somecold roast beef. Tom Cogit ran up, not to his Grace, but to the Baron, to announce the shocking fact that the Duke of St. James was enduringgreat trouble; and then the Baron asked his Grace to permit Mr. Cogit toserve him. Our hero devoured--we use the word advisedly, as fools sayin the House of Commons--he devoured the roast beef, and rejecting theHermitage with disgust, asked for porter. 

They set to again fresh as eagles. At six o'clock accounts were socomplicated that they stopped to make up their books. Each played withhis memoranda and pencil at his side. Nothing fatal had yet happened. The Duke owed Lord Dice about five thousand pounds, and Temple Graceowed him as many hundreds. Lord Castlefort also was his debtor to thetune of seven hundred and fifty, and the Baron was in his books, butslightly. Every half-hour they had a new pack of cards, and threw theused one on the floor. All this time Tom Cogit did nothing but snuff thecandles, stir the fire, bring them a new pack, and occasionally make atumbler for them. At eight o'clock the Duke's situation was worsened. The run was greatly against him, and perhaps his losses were doubled. Hepulled up again the next hour or two; but nevertheless, at ten o'clock, owed everyone something. No one offered to give over; and everyone, perhaps, felt that his object was not obtained. They made their toiletsand went down-stairs to breakfast. In the meantime the shutters wereopened, the room aired, and in less than an hour they were at it again. 

They played till dinner-time without intermission; and though the Dukemade some desperate efforts, and some successful ones, his losses were, nevertheless, trebled. Yet he ate an excellent dinner and was not atall depressed; because the more he lost, the more his courage and hisresources seemed to expand. At first he had limited himself to tenthousand; after breakfast it was to have been twenty thousand; thenthirty thousand was the ultimatum; and now he dismissed all thoughts oflimits from his mind, and was determined to risk or gain everything. 

At midnight, he had lost forty-eight thousand pounds. Affairs now beganto be serious. His supper was not so hearty. While the rest were eating, he walked about the room, and began to limit his ambition to recovery, and not to gain. When you play to win back, the fun is over: there isnothing to recompense you for your bodily tortures and your degradedfeelings; and the very best result that can happen, while it has nocharms, seems to your cowed mind impossible. 

[Illustration: page338]

On they played, and the Duke lost more. His mind was jaded. Hefloundered, he made desperate efforts, but plunged deeper in the slough. Feeling that, to regain his ground, each card must tell, he acted oneach as if it must win, and the consequences of this insanity (for agamester at such a crisis is really insane) were, that his losses wereprodigious. 

Another morning came, and there they sat, ankle-deep in cards. Noattempt at breakfast now, no affectation of making a toilet or airingthe room. The atmosphere was hot, to be sure, but it well became such aHell. There they sat, in total, in positive forgetfulness of everythingbut the hot game they were hunting down. There was not a man in theroom, except Tom Cogit, who could have told you the name of the townin which they were living. There they sat, almost breathless, watchingevery turn with the fell look in their cannibal eyes which showed theirtotal inability to sympathise with their fellow-beings. All forms ofsociety had been long forgotten. There was no snuff-box handedabout now, for courtesy, admiration, or a pinch; no affectation ofoccasionally making a remark upon any other topic but the all-engrossingone. Lord Castlefort rested with his arms on the table: a false toothhad got unhinged. His Lordship, who, at any other time, would have beenmost annoyed, coolly put it in his pocket. His cheeks had fallen, andhe looked twenty years older. Lord Dice had torn off his cravat, andhis hair hung down over his callous, bloodless cheeks, straight as silk. Temple Grace looked as if he were blighted by lightning; and his deepblue eyes gleamed like a hyaena's. The Baron was least changed. TomCogit, who smelt that the crisis was at hand, was as quiet as a bribedrat. 

On they played till six o'clock in the evening, and then they agreedto desist till after dinner. Lord Dice threw himself on a sofa. LordCastlefort breathed with difficulty. The rest walked about. While theywere resting on their oars, the young Duke roughly made up his accounts. He found that he was minus about one hundred thousand pounds. 

Immense as this loss was, he was more struck, more appalled, let us say, at the strangeness of the surrounding scene, than even by his own ruin. As he looked upon his fellow gamesters, he seemed, for the first time inhis life, to gaze upon some of those hideous demons of whom he had read. He looked in the mirror at himself. A blight seemed to have fallenover his beauty, and his presence seemed accursed. He had pursued adissipated, even more than a dissipated career. Many were the nightsthat had been spent by him not on his couch; great had been theexhaustion that he had often experienced; haggard had sometimes evenbeen the lustre of his youth. But when had been marked upon his browthis harrowing care? when had his features before been stamped withthis anxiety, this anguish, this baffled desire, this strange unearthlyscowl, which made him even tremble? What! was it possible? it could notbe, that in time he was to be like those awful, those unearthly, thoseunhallowed things that were around him. He felt as if he had fallen fromhis state, as if he had dishonoured his ancestry, as if he had betrayedhis trust. He felt a criminal. In the darkness of his meditations aflash burst from his lurid mind, a celestial light appeared to dissipatethis thickening gloom, and his soul felt as if it were bathed with thesoftening radiancy. He thought of May Dacre, he thought of everythingthat was pure, and holy, and beautiful, and luminous, and calm. It wasthe innate virtue of the man that made this appeal to his corruptednature. His losses seemed nothing; his dukedom would be too slight aransom for freedom from these ghouls, and for the breath of the sweetair. 

He advanced to the Baron, and expressed his desire to play no more. There was an immediate stir. All jumped up, and now the deed was done. Cant, in spite of their exhaustion, assumed her reign. They begged himto have his revenge, were quite annoyed at the result, had no doubt hewould recover if he proceeded. Without noticing their remarks, he seatedhimself at the table, and wrote cheques for their respective amounts, Tom Cogit jumping up and bringing him the inkstand. Lord Castlefort, in the most affectionate manner, pocketed the draft; at the same timerecommending the Duke not to be in a hurry, but to send it when he wascool. Lord Dice received his with a bow, Temple Grace with a sigh, theBaron with an avowal of his readiness always to give him his revenge. 

The Duke, though sick at heart, would not leave the room with anyevidence of a broken spirit; and when Lord Castlefort again repeated, 'Pay us when we meet again, ' he said, 'I think it very improbable thatwe shall meet again, my Lord. I wished to know what gaming was. I hadheard a great deal about it. It is not so very disgusting; but I am ayoung man, and cannot play tricks with my complexion. '

He reached his house. The Bird was out. He gave orders for himself notto be disturbed, and he went to bed; but in vain he tried to sleep. Whatrack exceeds the torture of an excited brain and an exhausted body? Hishands and feet were like ice, his brow like fire; his ears rung withsupernatural roaring; a nausea had seized upon him, and death he wouldhave welcomed. In vain, in vain he courted repose; in vain, in vain hehad recourse to every expedient to wile himself to slumber. Each minutehe started from his pillow with some phrase which reminded him of hislate fearful society. Hour after hour moved on with its leaden pace;each hour he heard strike, and each hour seemed an age. Each hour wasonly a signal to cast off some covering, or shift his position. It was, at length, morning. With a feeling that he should go mad if he remainedany longer in bed, he rose, and paced his chamber. The air refreshedhim. He threw himself on the floor; the cold crept over his senses, andhe slept. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 _A Duke Without A Friend_

O YE immortal Gods! ye are still immortal, although no longer ye hovero'er Olympus. The Crescent glitters on your mountain's base, and Crossesspring from out its toppling crags. But in vain the Mufti, and thePatriarch, and the Pope flout at your past traditions. They are marriedto man's memory by the sweetest chain that ever Fancy wove for Love. Thepoet is a priest, who does not doubt the inspiration of his oracles; andyour shrines are still served by a faithful band, who love the beautifuland adore the glorious! In vain, in vain they tell us your divinity isa dream. From the cradle to the grave, our thoughts and feelings taketheir colour from you! O! Ægiochus, the birch has often proved thouart still a thunderer; and, although thy twanging bow murmur no longerthrough the avenging air, many an apple twig still vindicates thyoutraged dignity, _pulcher_ Apollo. 

O, ye immortal Gods! nothing so difficult as to begin a chapter, andtherefore have we flown to you. In literature, as in life, it is thefirst step; you know the rest. After a paragraph or so our blood Is up, and even our jaded hackneys scud along, and warm up into friskiness. 

The Duke awoke: another day of his eventful life is now to run itscourse. He found that the Bird of Paradise had not returned from anexcursion to a neighbouring park: he left a note for her, apprising herof his departure to London, and he despatched an affectionate letter toLady Aphrodite, which was the least that he could do, considering thathe perhaps quitted Brighton the day of her arrival. And having done allthis, he ordered his horses, and before noon was on his first stage. 

It was his birthday. He had completed his twenty-third year. This wassufficient, even if he had no other inducement, to make him indulge insome slight reflection. These annual summings up are awkward things, even to the prosperous and the happy, but to those who are the reverse, who are discontented with themselves, and find that youth melting awaywhich they believe can alone achieve anything, I think a birthday isabout the most gloomy four-and-twenty hours that ever flap their dampdull wings over melancholy man. 

Yet the Duke of St. James was rather thoughtful than melancholy. Hislife had been too active of late to allow him to indulge much in thatpassive mood. 'I may never know what happiness is, ' thought his Grace, as he leaned back in his whirling britzska, 'but I think I know whathappiness is not. It is not the career which I have hitherto pursued. All this excitement which they talk of so much wears out the mind, and, I begin to believe, even the body, for certainly my energiesseem deserting me. But two years, two miserable years, four-and-twentymonths, eight-and-forty times the hours, the few hours, that I have beenworse than wasting here, and I am shipwrecked, fairly bulged. Yet I havedone everything, tried everything, and my career has been an eminentcareer. Woe to the wretch who trusts to his pampered senses forfelicity! Woe to the wretch who flies from the bright goddess Sympathy, to sacrifice before the dark idol Self-love! Ah! I see too late, we weremade for each other. Too late, I discover the beautiful results of thisgreat principle of creation. Oh! the blunders of an unformed character!Oh! the torture of an ill-regulated mind!

'Give me a life with no fierce alternations of rapture and anguish, noimpossible hopes, no mad depression. Free me from the delusions whichsucceed each other like scentless roses, that are ever blooming. Save mefrom the excitement which brings exhaustion, and from the passion thatprocreates remorse. Give me the luminous mind, where recognised andparamount duty dispels the harassing, ascertains the doubtful, confirmsthe wavering, sweetens the bitter. Give me content. Oh! give me love!

'How is it to end? What is to become of me? Can nothing rescue me? Isthere no mode of relief, no place of succour, no quarter of refuge, nohope of salvation? I cannot right myself, and there is an end of it. Society, society, society! I owe thee much; and perhaps in working inthy service, those feelings might be developed which I am now convincedare the only source of happiness; but I am plunged too deep in the quag. I have no impulse, no call. I know not how it is, but my energies, goodand evil, seem alike vanishing. There stares that fellow at my carriage!God! willingly would I break the stones upon the road for a year, toclear my mind of all the past!'

A carriage dashed by, and a lady bowed. It was Mrs. Dallington Vere. 

The Duke had appointed his banker to dine with him, as not a moment mustbe lost in preparing for the reception of his Brighton drafts. He wasalso to receive, this evening, a complete report of all his affairs. Thefirst thing that struck his eye on his table was a packet from Sir CarteBlanche. He opened it eagerly, stared, started, nearly shrieked. Itfell from his hands. He was fortunately alone. The estimates for thecompletion of his works, and the purchase of the rest of the furniture, exactly equalled the sum already expended. Sir Carte added, that theworks might of course be stopped, but that there was no possible wayof reducing them, with any deference to the original design, scale, andstyle; that he had already given instructions not to proceed with thefurniture until further notice, but regretted to observe that the orderswere so advanced that he feared it was too late to make any sensiblereduction. It might in some degree reconcile his Grace to this reportwhen he concluded by observing that the advanced state of the workscould permit him to guarantee that the present estimates would not beexceeded. 

The Duke had sufficiently recovered before the arrival of hisconfidential agent not to appear agitated, only serious. The awfulcatastrophe at Brighton was announced, and his report of affairswas received. It was a very gloomy one. Great agricultural distressprevailed, and the rents could not be got in. Five-and-twenty per cent, was the least that must be taken off his income, and with no prospectof being speedily added on. There was a projected railroad which wouldentirely knock up his canal, and even if crushed must be expensivelyopposed. Coals were falling also, and the duties in town increasing. There was sad confusion in the Irish estates. The missionaries, who werepatronised on the neighbouring lands of one of the City Companies, hadbeen exciting fatal confusion. Chapels were burnt, crops destroyed, stock butchered, and rents all in arrear. Mr. Dacre had contrived withgreat prudence to repress the efforts of the new reformation, and hadsucceeded in preventing any great mischief. His plans for the pursualof his ideas and feelings upon this subject had been communicated to hislate ward in an urgent and important paper, which his Grace had neverseen, but one day, unread, pushed into a certain black cabinet, whichperhaps the reader may remember. His Grace's miscellaneous debtshad also been called in, and amounted to a greater sum than they hadanticipated, which debts always do. One hundred and forty thousandpounds had crumbled away in the most imperceptible manner. A great sliceof this was the portion of the jeweller. His shield and his vases wouldat least be evidence to his posterity of the splendour and the tasteof their imprudent ancestor; but he observed the other items with lesssatisfaction. He discovered that in the course of two years he had givenaway one hundred and thirty-seven necklaces and bracelets; and as forrings, they must be counted by the bushel. The result of this gloomyinterview was, that the Duke had not only managed to get rid of theimmortal half-million, but had incurred debts or engagements to theamount of nearly eight hundred thousand pounds, incumbrances which wereto be borne by a decreased and perhaps decreasing income. His Grace wasonce more alone. 'Well! my brain is not turned; and yet I think it hasbeen pretty well worked these last few days. It cannot be true: it mustall be a dream. He never could have dined here, and said all this. HaveI, indeed, been at Brighton? No, no, no; I have been sleeping afterdinner. I have a good mind to ring and ask whether he really was here. It must be one great delusion. But no! there are those cursed accounts. Well! what does it signify? I was miserable before, and now I am onlycontemptible in addition. How the world will laugh! They were madeforsooth for my diversion. O, idiot! you will be the butt of everyone!Talk of Bagshot, indeed! Why, he will scarcely speak to me!

'Away with this! Let me turn these things in my mind. Take it at onehundred and fifty thousand. It is more, it must be more, but we willtake it at that. Now, suppose one hundred thousand is allotted everyyear to meet my debts; I suppose, in nine or ten years I shall be free. Not that freedom will be worth much then; but still I am thinking of theglory of the House I have betrayed. Well, then, there is fifty thousanda-year left. Let me see; twenty thousand have always been spent inIreland, and ten at Pen Bronnock, and they must not be cut down. Theonly thing I can do now is, not to spare myself. I am the cause, andlet me meet the consequences. Well, then, perhaps twenty thousand a-yearremain to keep Hauteville Castle and Hauteville House; to maintain thesplendour of the Duke of St. James. Why, my hereditary charities aloneamount to a quarter of my income, to say nothing of incidental charges:I too, who should and who would wish to rebuild, at my own cost, everybridge that is swept away, and every steeple that is burnt, in mycounty. 

'And now for the great point. Shall I proceed with my buildings? My ownpersonal convenience whispers no! But I have a strong conviction thatthe advice is treasonable. What! the young Duke's folly for every gazerin town and country to sneer at! Oh! my fathers, am I indeed your child, or am I bastard? Never, never shall your shield be sullied while I bearit! Never shall your proud banner veil while I am chieftain! They shallbe finished; certainly, they shall be finished, if I die an exile! Therecan be no doubt about this; I feel the deep propriety. 

'This girl, too, something must be done for her. I must get Squib torun down to Brighton for me: and Afy, poor dear Afy, I think she will besorry when she hears it all!

'My head is weak: I want a counsellor. This man cannot enter into myfeelings. Then there is my family lawyer; if I ask him for advice, hewill ask me for instructions. Besides, this is not a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence; it is an affair as much of sentiment as economy;it involves the honour of my family, and I want one to unburden myselfto, who can sympathise with the tortured feelings of a noble, of a Dukewithout a dukedom, for it has come to that. But I will leave sneers tothe world. 

'There is Annesley. He is clever, but so coldblooded. He has no heart. There is Squib; he is a good fellow, and has heart enough; and Isuppose, if I wanted to pension off a mistress, or compound with a fewrascally tradesmen, he would manage the affair to a miracle. There isDarrell; but he will be so fussy, and confidential, and official. Everymeeting will be a cabinet council, every discussion a debate, everymemorandum a state paper. There is Burlington; he is experienced, andclever, and kind-hearted, and, I really think, likes me; but, no, no, itis too ridiculous. We who have only met for enjoyment, whose countenancewas a smile, and whose conversation was badinage; we to meet, andmeditate on my broken fortunes! Impossible! Besides, what right have Ito compel a man, the study of whose life is to banish care, to takeall my anxieties on his back, or refuse the duty at the cost of myacquaintance and the trouble of his conscience. Ah! I once had a friend, the best, the wisest; but no more of that. What is even the loss offortune and of consideration to the loss of his--his daughter's love?'

His voice faltered, yet it was long before he retired; and he rose onthe morrow only to meditate over his harassing embarrassments. As if thecup of his misery were not o'erflowing, a new incident occurred aboutthis time, which rendered his sense of them even keener. But this isimportant enough to commence a new chapter. 

CHAPTER X. 

 _A New Star Rises_

WILLIAM HENRY, MARQUESS OF MARYLEBONE, completed his twenty-first year:an event which created a greater sensation among the aristocracy ofEngland, even, than the majority of George Augustus Frederick, Dukeof St. James. The rent-roll of his Grace was great: but that of hisLordship was incalculable. He had not indeed so many castles as ourhero; but then, in the metropolis, a whole parish owned him as Lord, and it was whispered that, when a few miles of leases fell in, the veryCivil List must give him the wall. Even in the duration of his minority, he had the superiority over the young Duke, for the Marquess was aposthumous son. 

Lord Marylebone was a short, thick, swarthy young gentleman, withwiry black hair, a nose somewhat flat, sharp eyes, and tusky mouth;altogether not very unlike a terrier. His tastes were unknown: he hadnot travelled, nor done anything very particular, except, with afew congenial spirits, beat the Guards in a rowing-match, apretty diversion, and almost as conducive to a small white hand asalmond-paste. 

But his Lordship was now of age, and might be seen every day at acertain hour rattling up Bond Street in a red drag, in which he drovefour or five particular friends who lived at Stevens' Hotel, andtherefore, we suppose, were the partners of his glory in his victoryover his Majesty's household troops. Lord Marylebone was the universalsubject of conversation. Pursuits which would have devoted a shabby Earlof twelve or fifteen thousand a year to universal reprobation, or, whatis much worse, to universal sneers, assumed quite a different characterwhen they constituted the course of life of this fortunate youth. Hewas a delightful young man. So unaffected! No super-refinement, no falsedelicacy. Everyone, each sex, everything, extended his, her, or its handto this cub, who, quite puzzled, but too brutal to be confused, keptdriving on the red van, and each day perpetrating some new actof profligacy, some new instance of coarse profusion, tastelessextravagance, and inelegant eccentricity. 

But, nevertheless, he was the hero of the town. He was the great pointof interest in 'The Universe, ' and 'The New World' favoured the old onewith weekly articles on his character and conduct. The young Dukewas quite forgotten, if really young he could be longer called. LordMarylebone was in the mouth of every tradesman, who authenticated hisown vile inventions by foisting them on his Lordship. The most grotesquefashions suddenly inundated the metropolis; and when the Duke of St. James ventured to express his disapprobation, he found his empire wasover. 'They were sorry that it did not meet his Grace's taste, butreally what his Grace had suggested was quite gone by. This was the onlyhat, or cane, or coat which any civilised being could be seen with. LordMarylebone wore, or bore, no other. '

In higher circles, it was much the same. Although the dandies would notbate an inch, and certainly would not elect the young Marquess for theirleader, they found, to their dismay, that the empire which they weremeditating to defend, had already slipped away from their grasp. Anew race of adventurous youths appeared upon the stage. Beards, andgreatcoats even rougher, bull-dogs instead of poodles, clubs instead ofcanes, cigars instead of perfumes, were the order of the day. There wasno end to boat-racing; Crockford's sneered at White's; and there waseven a talk of reviving the ring. Even the women patronised the youngMarquess, and those who could not be blind to his real character, weresure, that, if well managed, he would not turn out ill. 

Assuredly our hero, though shelved, did not envy his successful rival. Had he been, instead of one for whom he felt a sovereign contempt, abeing even more accomplished than himself, pity and not envy would havebeen the sentiment he would have yielded to his ascendant star. But, nevertheless, he could not be insensible to the results of thisincident; and the advent of the young Marquess seemed like the sting inthe epigram of his life. After all his ruinous magnificence, afterall the profuse indulgence of his fantastic tastes, he had sometimesconsoled himself, even in the bitterness of satiety, by remindinghimself, that he at least commanded the admiration of hisfellow-creatures, although it had been purchased at a costly price. Notinsensible to the power of his wealth, the magic of his station, he had, however, ventured to indulge in the sweet belief that these qualitieswere less concerned in the triumphs of his career than his splendidperson, his accomplished mind, his amiable disposition, and his finishedmanner; his beauty, his wit, his goodness, and his grace. Even from thisdelusion, too, was he to waken, and, for the first time in his life, hegauged the depth and strength of that popularity which had been so dearto him, and which he now found to be so shallow and so weak. 

'What will they think of me when they know all? What they will: I carenot. I would sooner live in a cottage with May Dacre, and work for ourdaily bread, than be worshipped by all the beauty of this Babylon. '

Gloomy, yet sedate, he returned home. His letters announced twoextraordinary events. M. De Whiskerburg had galloped off with LadyAphrodite, and Count Frill had flown away with the Bird of Paradise. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 _'Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly. '_

THE last piece of information was a relief; but the announcement of theelopement cost him a pang. Both surprised, and the first shocked him. We are unreasonable in love, and do not like to be anticipated even inneglect. An hour ago Lady Aphrodite Grafton was to him only an object ofanxiety and a cause of embarrassment. She was now a being to whom he wasindebted for some of the most pleasing hours of his existence, and whocould no longer contribute to his felicity. Everybody appeared desertinghim. 

He had neglected her, to be sure; and they must have parted, it wascertain. Yet, although the present event saved him from the mostharrowing of scenes, he could not refrain shedding a tear. So good! andso beautiful! and was this her end? He who knew all knew how bitter hadbeen the lot of her life. 

It is certain that when one of your very virtuous women ventures to bea little indiscreet, we say it is certain, though we regret it, thatsooner or later there is an explosion. And the reason is this, that theyare always in a hurry to make up for lost time, and so love with thembecomes a business instead of being a pleasure. Nature had intended LadyAphrodite Grafton for a Psyche, so spiritual was her soul, so pure herblood! Art--that is, education, which at least should be an art, thoughit is not--art had exquisitely sculptured the precious gem that Naturehad developed, and all that was wanting was love to stamp an impression. Lady Aphrodite Grafton might have been as perfect a character as wasever the heroine of a novel. And to whose account shall we place herblighted fame and sullied lustre? To that animal who seems formedonly to betray woman. Her husband was a traitor in disguise. She foundherself betrayed; but like a noble chieftain, when her capital was lost, maintained herself among the ruins of her happiness, in the citadel ofher virtue. She surrendered, she thought, on terms; and in yielding herheart to the young Duke, though never for a moment blind to her conduct, yet memory whispered extenuation, and love added all that was necessary. 

Our hero (we are for none of your perfect heroes) did not behave muchbetter than her husband. The difference between them was, Sir LuciusGrafton's character was formed, and formed for evil; while the Dukeof St. James, when he became acquainted with Lady Aphrodite, possessednone. Gallantry was a habit, in which he had been brought up. To protestto woman what he did not believe, and to feign what he did not feel, were, as he supposed, parts in the character of an accomplishedgentleman; and as hitherto he had not found his career productive ofany misery, we may perhaps view his conduct with less severity. But atlength he approaches, not a mere woman of the world, who tries to deludehim into the idea that he is the first hero of a romance that has beena hundred times repeated. He trembles at the responsibility which hehas incurred by engaging the feelings of another. In the conflict ofhis emotions, some rays of moral light break upon his darkened soul. Profligacy brings its own punishment, and he feels keenly that man isthe subject of sympathy, and not the slave of self-love. 

This remorse protracts a connection which each day is productive of morepainful feelings; but the heart cannot be overstrung, and anxietyends in callousness. Then come neglect, remonstrance, explanations, protestations, and, sooner or later, a catastrophe. 

But love is a dangerous habit, and when once indulged, is not easilythrown off, unless you become devout, which is, in a manner, giving thepassion a new direction. In Catholic countries, it is surprising howmany adventures end in a convent. A dame, in her desperation, flies tothe grate, which never reopens; but in Protestant regions she has timeto cool, and that's the deuce; so, instead of taking the veil, she takesa new lover. 

Lady Aphrodite had worked up her mind and the young Duke to a step thevery mention of which a year before would have made him shudder. What anenchanter is Passion! No wonder Ovid, who was a judge, made love so muchconnected with his Metamorphoses. With infinite difficulty she had daredto admit the idea of flying with his Grace; but when the idea was onceadmitted, when she really had, once or twice, constantly dwelt on theidea of at length being free from her tyrant, and perhaps about toindulge in those beautiful affections for which she was formed, and ofwhich she had been rifled; when, I say, all this occurred, and her herodiplomatised, and, in short, kept back; why, she had advanced one step, without knowing it, to running away with another man. 

It was unlucky that De Whiskerburg stepped in. An Englishman would nothave done. She knew them well, and despised them all; but he was new(dangerous novelty), with a cast of feelings which, because they werestrange, she believed to be unhackneyed; and he was impassioned. We neednot go on. 

So this star has dropped from out the heaven; so this precious pearl nolonger gleams among the jewels of society, and there she breathes in aforeign land, among strange faces and stranger customs, and, when shethinks of what is past, laughs at some present emptiness, and tries topersuade her withering heart that the mind is independent of country, and blood, and opinion. And her father's face no longer shines with itsproud love, and her mother's voice no longer whispers to her with sweetanxiety. Clouded is the brow of her bold brother, and dimmed is theradiancy of her budding sister's bloom. 

Poor creature! that is to say, wicked woman! for we are not of those whoset themselves against the verdict of society, or ever omit to expedite, by a gentle kick, a falling friend. And yet, when we just rememberbeauty is beauty, and grace is grace, and kindness is kindness, althoughthe beautiful, the graceful, and the amiable do get in a scrape, wedon't know how it is, we confess it is a weakness, but, under thesecircumstances, we do not feel quite inclined to sneer. 

But this is wrong. We should not pity or pardon those who have yieldedto great temptation, or perchance great provocation. Besides, it isright that our sympathy should be kept for the injured. 

To stand amid the cold ashes of your desolate hearth, with all yourPenates shivered at your feet; to find no smiling face meet your return, no brow look gloomy when you leave your door; to eat and sleep alone;to be bored with grumbling servants and with weekly bills; to have yourchildren asking after mamma; and no one to nurse your gout, or cure theinfluenza that rages in your household: all this is doubtless hard todigest, and would tell in a novel, particularly if written by my friendsMr. Ward or Mr. Bulwer. 

CHAPTER XII. 

 _Kindly Words_

THE Duke had passed a stormy morning with his solicitor, who wished himto sell the Pen Bronnock property, which, being parliamentary, wouldcommand a price infinitely greater than might be expected from itsrelative income. The very idea of stripping his coronet of thisbrightest jewel, and thus sacrificing for wealth the ends of riches, greatly disordered him, and he more and more felt the want of acounsellor who could sympathise with his feelings as well as arrange hisfortunes. In this mood he suddenly seized a pen, and wrote the followingletter:--

'----House, Feb. 5, 182--. 

'My dear Mr. Dacre, 'I keenly feel that you are the last person to whom I should apply forthe counsels or the consolation of friendship. I have long ago forfeitedall claims to your regard, and your esteem I never possessed. Yet, if only because my career ought to end by my being an unsuccessfulsuppliant to the individual whom both virtue and nature pointed out tome as my best friend, and whose proffered and parental support I have sowantonly, however thoughtlessly, rejected, I do not regret that this iswritten. No feeling of false delicacy can prevent me from applying toone to whom I have long ago incurred incalculable obligations, and nofeeling of false delicacy will, I hope, for a moment, prevent you fromrefusing the application of one who has acknowledged those obligationsonly by incalculable ingratitude. 

'In a word, my affairs, are, I fear, inextricably involved. I will notdwell upon the madness of my life; suffice that its consequences appallme. I have really endeavoured to examine into all details, and amprepared to meet the evil as becomes me; but, indeed, my head turns withthe complicated interests which solicit my consideration, and I tremblelest, in the distraction of my mind, I may adopt measures which maybaffle the very results I would attain. For myself, I am ready to paythe penalty of my silly profligacy; and if exile, or any other personalinfliction, can redeem the fortunes of the House that I have betrayed, Ishall cheerfully submit to my destiny. My career has been productive oftoo little happiness to make me regret its termination. 

'But I want advice: I want the counsel of one who can sympathise withmy distracted feelings, who will look as much, or rather more, to thehonour of my family than to the convenience of myself. I cannot obtainthis from what are called men of business, and, with a blush I confess, I have no friend. In this situation my thoughts recur to one on whom, believe me, they have often dwelt; and although I have no right toappeal to your heart, for my father's sake you will perhaps pardon thisaddress. Whatever you may resolve, my dearest sir, rest assured that youand your family will always command the liveliest gratitude of one whoregrets he may not subscribe himself

'Your obliged and devoted friend, 'St. James. 

'I beg that you will not answer this, if your determination be what Ianticipate and what I deserve. 'Dacre Dacre, Esq. , &c, &c, &c. '

It was signed, sealed, and sent. He repented its transmission when itwas gone. He almost resolved to send a courier to stop the post. Hecontinued walking up and down his room for the rest of the day; hecould not eat, or read, or talk. He was plunged in a nervous reverie. He passed the next day in the same state. Unable to leave his house, andunseen by visitors, he retired to his bed feverish and dispirited. Themorning came, and he woke from his hot and broken sleep at an earlyhour; yet he had not energy to rise. At last the post arrived, and hisletters were brought up to him. With a trembling hand and sinking breathhe read these lines:--

'Castle Dacre, February 6, 182--. 

'My dear young Friend, 'Not only for your father's sake, but your own, are my services ever atyour command. I have long been sensible of your amiable disposition, andthere are circumstances which will ever make me your debtor. 

'The announcement of the embarrassed state of your affairs fills me withsorrow and anxiety, yet I will hope the best. Young men, unconsciously, exaggerate adversity as well as prosperity. If you are not an habitualgamester, and I hope you have not been even an occasional one, unboundedextravagance could scarcely in two years have permanently injured yourresources. However, bring down with you all papers, and be careful tomake no arrangement, even of the slightest nature, until we meet. 

'We expect you hourly. May desires her kindest regards, and begs me toexpress the great pleasure which she will feel at again finding you ourguest. It is unnecessary for me to repeat how very sincerely

'I am your friend, 'Dacre Dacre. '

He read the letter three times to be sure he did not mistake thedelightful import. Then he rang the bell with a vivacity which had notcharacterised him for many a month. 

'Luigi! prepare to leave town to-morrow morning for an indefiniteperiod. I shall only take you. I must dress immediately, and orderbreakfast and my horses. '

The Duke of St. James had communicated the state of his affairs to LordFitz-pompey, who was very shocked, offered his best services, and alsoasked him to dinner, to meet the Marquess of Marylebone. The youngDuke had also announced to his relatives, and to some of his particularfriends, that he intended to travel for some time, and he well knew thattheir charitable experience would understand the rest. They understoodeverything. The Marquess's party daily increased, and 'The Universe' and'The New World' announced that the young Duke was 'done up. '

There was one person to whom our hero would pay a farewell visit beforehe left London. This was Lady Caroline St. Maurice. He had called atFitz-pompey House one or two mornings in the hope of finding her alone, and to-day he determined to be more successful. As he stopped his horsefor the last time before his uncle's mansion, he could not help callingto mind the first visit which he had paid after his arrival. But thedoor opens, he enters, he is announced, and finds Lady Caroline alone. 

Ten minutes passed away, as if the morning ride or evening ball wereagain to bring them together. The young Duke was still gay and stillamusing. At last he said with a smile, 'Do you know, Caroline, this is a farewell visit, and to you?'

She did not speak, but bent her head as if she were intent upon somework, and so seated herself that her countenance was almost hid. 

'You have heard from my uncle, ' continued he, laughing; 'and if youhave not heard from him, you have heard from somebody else, of my littlescrape. A fool and his money, you know, Caroline, and a short reign anda merry one. When we get prudent we are wondrous fond of proverbs. Myreign has certainly been brief enough; with regard to the merriment, that is not quite so certain. I have little to regret except yoursociety, sweet coz!'

'Dear George, how can you talk so of such serious affairs! If you knewhow unhappy, how miserable I am, when I hear the cold, callous worldspeak of such things with indifference, you would at least not imitatetheir heartlessness. '

'Dear Caroline!' said he, seating himself at her side. 

'I cannot help thinking, ' she continued, 'that you have not sufficientlyexerted yourself about these embarrassments. You are, of course, tooharassed, too much annoyed, too little accustomed to the energy and thedetail of business, to interfere with any effect; but surely a friendmight. You will not speak to my father, and perhaps you have yourreasons; but is there no one else? St. Maurice, I know, has no head. Ah!George, I often feel that if your relations had been different people, your fate might have been different. We are the fault. '

He kissed her hand. 

'Among all your intimates, ' she continued, 'is there no one fit to beyour counsellor, no one worthy of your confidence?'

'None, ' said the Duke, bitterly, 'none, none. I have no friend amongthose intimates: there is not a man of them who cares to serve or iscapable of serving me. '

'You have well considered?' asked Lady Caroline. 

'Well, dear, well. I know them all by rote, head and heart. Ah! my dear, dear Carry, if you were a man, what a nice little friend you would be!'

'You will always laugh, George. But I--I have no heart to laugh. Thisbreaking up of your affairs, this exile, this losing you whom we alllove, love so dearly, makes me quite miserable. '

He kissed her hand again. 

'I dare say, ' she continued, 'you have thought me as heartless as therest, because I never spoke. But I knew; that is, I feared; or, rather, hoped that a great part of what I heard was false; and so I thoughtnotice was unnecessary, and might be painful. Yet, heaven knows, thereare few subjects that have been oftener in my thoughts, or cost me moreanxiety. Are you sure you have no friend?'

'I have you, Caroline. I did not say I had no friends: I said I had noneamong those intimates you talked of; that there was no man among themcapable of the necessary interference, even if he were willing toundertake it. But I am not friendless, not quite forlorn, dear! My fatehas given me a friend that I but little deserve: one whom, if I hadprized better, I should not perhaps have been obliged to put hisfriendship to so severe a trial. To-morrow, Caroline, I depart forCastle Dacre; there is my friend. Alas! how little have I deserved sucha boon!'

'Dacre!' exclaimed Lady Caroline, 'Mr. Dacre! Oh! you have made me sohappy, George! Mr. Dacre is the very, very person; that is, the verybest person you could possibly have applied to. '

'Good-bye, Caroline, ' said his Grace, rising. 

She burst into tears. 

Never, never had she looked so lovely: never, never had he loved herso entirely! Tears! tears shed for him! Oh! what, what is grief whena lovely woman remains to weep over our misfortunes! Could he bemiserable, could his career indeed be unfortunate, when this wasreserved for him? He was on the point of pledging his affection, but toleave her under such circumstances was impossible: to neglect Mr. Dacrewas equally so. He determined to arrange his affairs with all possiblepromptitude, and then to hasten up, and entreat her to share hisdiminished fortunes. But he would not go without whispering hope, without leaving some soft thought to lighten her lonely hours. He caughther in his arms; he covered her sweet small mouth with kisses, andwhispered, in the midst of their pure embrace, 'Dearest Carry! I shall soon return, and we will yet be happy. '

BOOK V. 

CHAPTER I. 

 _Once More at Dacre_

MISS DACRE, although she was prepared to greet the Duke of St. Jameswith cordiality, did not anticipate with equal pleasure the arrivalof the page and the jäger. Infinite had been the disturbances they hadoccasioned during their first visit, and endless the complaints of thesteward and the housekeeper. The men-servants were initiated inthe mysteries of dominoes, and the maid-servants in the tactics offlirtation. Karlstein was the hero of the under-butlers, and even thetrusty guardian of the cellar himself was too often on the point ofobtaining the German's opinion of his master's German wines. Gaming, anddrunkenness, and love, the most productive of all the teeming causesof human sorrow, had in a week sadly disordered the well-regulatedhousehold of Castle Dacre, and nothing but the impetuosity of our herowould have saved his host's establishment from utter perdition. MissDacre was, therefore, not less pleased than surprised when the britzskaof the Duke of St. James discharged on a fine afternoon, its noblemaster, attended only by the faithful Luigi, at the terrace of theCastle. 

A few country cousins, fresh from Cumberland, who knew nothing of theDuke of St. James except from a stray number of 'The Universe, ' whichoccasionally stole down to corrupt the pure waters of their lakes, werethe only guests. Mr. Dacre grasped our hero's hand with a warmth andexpression which were unusual with him, but which conveyed, better thanwords, the depth of his friendship; and his daughter, who looked morebeautiful than ever, advanced with a beaming face and joyous tone, whichquite reconciled the Duke of St. James to being a ruined man. 

The presence of strangers limited their conversation to subjects ofgeneral interest. At dinner, the Duke took care to be agreeable: hetalked in an unaffected manner, and particularly to the cousins, whowere all delighted with him, and found him 'quite a different personfrom what they had fancied. ' The evening passed over, and even lightly, without the aid of _écarté_, romances, or gallops. Mr. Dacre chattedwith old Mr. Montingford, and old Mrs. Montingford sat still admiringher 'girls, ' who stood still admiring May Dacre singing or talking, andoccasionally reconciled us to their occasional silence by a frequentand extremely hearty laugh; that Cumberland laugh which never outlives asingle season in London. 

And the Duke of St. James, what did he do? It must be confessed that insome points he greatly resembled the Misses Montingford, for he was bothsilent and admiring; but he never laughed. Yet he was not dull, andwas careful not to show that he had cares, which is vulgar. If a man begloomy, let him keep to himself. No one has a right to go croakingabout society, or, what is worse, looking as if he stifled grief. Thesefellows should be put in the pound. We like a good broken heart or sonow and then; but then one should retire to the Sierra Morena mountains, and live upon locusts and wild honey, not 'dine out' with our crackedcores, and, while we are meditating suicide, the Gazette, or theChiltern Hundreds, damn a vintage or eulogise an _entrée_. 

And as for cares, what are cares when a man is in love? Once more theyhad met; once more he gazed upon that sunny and sparkling face; oncemore he listened to that sweet and thrilling voice, which sounded likea bird-like burst of music upon a summer morning. She moved, and eachattitude was fascination. She was still, and he regretted that shemoved. Now her neck, now her hair, now her round arm, now her taperingwaist, ravished his attention; now he is in ecstasies with her twinklingfoot; now he is dazzled with her glancing hand. 

Once more he was at Dacre! How different was this meeting to theirfirst! Then, she was cold, almost cutting; then she was disregardful, almost contemptuous; but then he had hoped; ah! madman, he had more thanhoped. Now she was warm, almost affectionate; now she listened to himwith readiness, ay! almost courted his conversation. And now he couldonly despair. As he stood alone before the fire, chewing this bittercud, she approached him. 

'How good you were to come directly!' she said with a smile, whichmelted his heart. 'I fear, however, you will not find us so merry asbefore. But you can make anything amusing. Come, then, and sing to thesedamsels. Do you know they are half afraid of you? and I cannot persuadethem that a terrible magician has not assumed, for the nonce, the airand appearance of a young gentleman of distinction. '

He smiled, but could not speak. Repartee sadly deserts the lover; yetsmiles, under those circumstances, are eloquent; and the eye, after all, speaks much more to the purpose than the tongue. Forgetting everythingexcept the person who addressed him, he offered her his hand, andadvanced to the group which surrounded the piano. 

CHAPTER II. 

 _The Moth and the Flame_

THE next morning was passed by the Duke of St. James in giving Mr. Dacre his report of the state of his affairs. His banker's accounts, his architect's estimates, his solicitor's statements, were all broughtforward and discussed. A ride, generally with Miss Dacre and one of heryoung friends, dinner, and a short evening, and eleven o'clock, sentthem all to repose. Thus glided on a fortnight. The mornings continuedto be passed in business. Affairs were more complicated than his Gracehad imagined, who had no idea of detail. He gave all the informationthat he could, and made his friend master of his particular feelings. For the rest, Mr. Dacre was soon involved in much correspondence; andalthough the young Duke could no longer assist him, he recommended andearnestly begged that he would remain at Dacre; for he could perceive, better than his Grace, that our hero was labouring under a great deal ofexcitement, and that his health was impaired. A regular course of lifewas therefore as necessary for his constitution as it was desirable forall other reasons. 

Behold, then, our hero domesticated at Dacre; rising at nine, joininga family breakfast, taking a quiet ride, or moderate stroll, sometimeslooking into a book, but he was no great reader; sometimes fortunateenough in achieving a stray game at billiards, usually with a MissMontingford, and retiring to rest about the time that in London his mostactive existence generally began. Was he dull? was he wearied? He wasnever lighter-hearted or more contented in his life. Happy he could notallow himself to be styled, because the very cause which breathed thiscalm over his existence seemed to portend a storm which could not beavoided. It was the thought, the presence, the smile, the voice of MayDacre that imparted this new interest to existence: that being who nevercould be his. He shuddered to think that all this must end; but althoughhe never indulged again in the great hope, his sanguine temper allowedhim to thrust away the future, and to participate in all the joys of theflowing hour. 

At the end of February the Montingfords departed, and now the Duke wasthe only guest at Dacre; nor did he hear that any others were expected. He was alone with her again; often was he alone with her, and neverwithout a strange feeling coming over his frame, which made him tremble. Mr. Dacre, a man of active habits, always found occupation in his publicduties and in the various interests of a large estate, and usuallyrequested, or rather required, the Duke of St. James to be hiscompanion. He was desirous that the Duke should not be alone, and pondertoo much over the past; nor did he conceal his wishes from his daughter, who on all occasions, as the Duke observed with gratification, secondedthe benevolent intentions of her parent. Nor did our hero indeed wishto be alone, or to ponder over the past. He was quite contented withthe present; but he did not want to ride with papa, and took everyopportunity to shirk; all of which Mr. Dacre set down to the indolenceof exhaustion, and the inertness of a mind without an object. 

'I am going to ride over to Doncaster, George, ' said Mr. Dacre onemorning at breakfast. 'I think that you had better order your horse too. A good ride will rouse you, and you should show yourself there. '

'Oh! very well, sir; but, but I think that----'

'But what?' asked Mr. Dacre, smiling. 

The Duke looked to Miss Dacre, who seemed to take pity on his idleness. 

'You make him ride too much, papa. Leave him at home with me. I havea long round to-day, and want an escort. I will take him instead of myfriend Tom Carter. You must carry a basket though, ' said she, turning tothe Duke, 'and run for the doctor if he be wanted, and, in short, do anyodd message that turns up. '

So Mr. Dacre departed alone, and shortly after his daughter and the Dukeof St. James set out on their morning ramble. Many were the cottages atwhich they called; many the old dames after whose rheumatisms, and manythe young damsels after whose fortunes they enquired. Old Dame Rawdonwas worse or better; worse last night, but better this morning. She wasalways better when Miss called. Miss's face always did her good. AndFanny was very comfortable at Squire Wentworth's, and the housekeeperwas very kind to her, thanks to Miss saying a word to the great Lady. And old John Selby was quite about again. Miss's stuff had done him aworld of good, to say nothing of Mr. Dacre's generous old wine. 

'And is this your second son, Dame Rishworth?' 'No; that bees ourfourth, ' said the old woman, maternally arranging the urchin's thin, white, flat, straight, unmanageable hair. 'We are thinking what to dowith him, Miss. He wants to go out to service. Since Jem Eustace got onso, I don't know what the matter is with the lads; but I think we shallhave none of them in the fields soon. He can clean knives and shoes verywell, Miss. Mr. Bradford, at the Castle, was saying t'other day thatperhaps he might want a young hand. You haven't heard anything, Isuppose, Miss?'

'And what is your name, sir?' asked Miss Dacre. 'Bobby Rishworth, Miss!''Well, Bobby, I must consult Mr. Bradford. ' 'We be in great trouble, Miss, ' said the next cottager. 'We be in great trouble. Tom, poor Tom, was out last night, and the keepers will give him up. The good man hasdone all he can, we have all done all we can, Miss, and you see how itends. He is the first of the family that ever went out. I hope that willbe considered, Miss. Seventy years, our fathers before us, have webeen on the 'state, and nothing ever sworn agin us. I hope that willbe considered, Miss. I am sure if Tom had been an underkeeper, as Mr. Roberts once talked of, this would never have happened. I hope that willbe considered, Miss. We are in great trouble surely. Tom, you see, wasour first, Miss. '

'I never interfere about poaching, you know, Mrs. Jones. Mr. Dacre isthe best judge of such matters. But you can go to him, and say that Isent you. I am afraid, however, that he has heard of Tom before. '

'Only that night at Milwood, Miss; and then you see he had been drinkingwith Squire Ridge's people. I hope that will be considered, Miss. '

'Well, well, go up to the Castle. '

'Pray be seated, Miss, ' said a neat-looking mistress of a neat littlefarmhouse. 'Pray be seated, sir. Let me dust it first. Dust will geteverywhere, do what we can. And how's Pa, Miss? He has not given mea look-in for many a day, not since he was a-hunting: bless me, if itayn't a fortnight. This day fortnight he tasted our ale, sure enough. Will you take a glass, sir?'

'You are very good. No, I thank you; not today. '

'Yes, give him a glass, nurse. He is unwell, and it will do him good. '

She brought the sparkling amber fluid, and the Duke did justice by hisdraught. 

'I shall have fine honey for you, Miss, this year, ' said the old nurse. 'Are you fond of honey, sir? Our honey is well known about. I don't knowhow it is, but we do always contrive to manage the bees. How fond somepeople are of honey, good Lord! Now, when you were a little girl (I knewthis young lady, sir, before you did), you always used to be fond ofhoney. I remember one day: let me see, it must be, ay! truly, that itis, eighteen years ago next Martinmas: I was a-going down the nurserystairs, just to my poor mistress's room, and I had you in my arms (for Iknew this young lady, sir, before you did). Well! I was a-going down thestairs, as I just said, to my poor dear mistress's room with you, whowas then a little-un indeed (bless your smiling face! you cost me manya weary hour when you were weaned, Miss. That you did! Some thought youwould never get through it; but I always said, while there is life thereis hope; and so, you see I were right); but, as I was saying, I wasa-going down the stairs to my poor dear mistress, and I had a gallipotin my hand, a covered gallipot, with some leeches. And just as I hadgot to the bottom of the stairs, and was a-going into my poor dearmistress's room, said you (I never shall forget it), said you, "Honey, honey, nurse. " She thought it were honey, sir. So you see she werealways very fond of honey (for I knew this young lady long before youdid, sir). '

'Are you quite sure of that, nurse?' said Miss Dacre; 'I think this isan older friend than you imagine. You remember the little Duke; do notyou? This is the little Duke. Do you think he has grown?'

'Now! bless my life! is it so indeed? Well, be sure, he has grown. Ialways thought he would turn out well, Miss, though Dr. Pretyman werealways a-preaching, and talking his prophecycations. I always thought hewould turn out well at last. Bless me! how he has grown, indeed! Perhapshe grows too fast, and that makes him weak. Nothing better than a glassof ale for weak people. I remember when Dr. Pretyman ordered it for mypoor dear mistress. "Give her ale, " said the Doctor, "as strong as itcan be brewed;" and sure enough, my poor dear master had it brewed! Haveyou done growing, sir? You was ever a troublesome child. Often and oftenhave I called George, George, Georgy, Georgy Porgy, and he never wouldcome near me, though he heard all the time as plainly as he does now. Bless me! he has grown indeed!'

'But I have turned out well at last, nurse, eh?' asked the Duke. 

'Ay! sure enough; I always said so. Often and often have I said, he willturn out well at last. You be going, Miss? I thank you for looking in. My duty to my master. I was thinking of bringing up one of those cheeseshe likes so. '

'Ay! do, nurse. He can eat no cheese but yours. '

As they wandered home, they talked of Lady Caroline, to whom the Dukementioned that he must write. He had once intended distinctly to haveexplained his feelings to her in a letter from Dacre; but each day hepostponed the close of his destiny, although without hope. He lingeredand he lingered round May Dacre, as a bird flutters round the fruitwhich is already grasped by a boy. Circumstances, which we shallrelate, had already occurred, which confirmed the suspicion he had longentertained that Arundel Dacre was his favoured rival. Impressed withthe folly of again encouraging hope, yet unable to harden his heartagainst her continual fascination, the softness of his manner indicatedhis passion, and his calm and somewhat languid carriage also told her itwas hopeless. Perhaps, after all, there is no demeanour more calculatedto melt obdurate woman. The gratification he received from her societywas evident, yet he never indulged in that gallantry of which he wasonce so proud. When she approached him, a mild smile lit up his pensivecountenance; he adopted her suggestions, but made none; he listened toher remarks with interest, but no longer bandied repartee. Delicately heimpressed her with the absolute power which she might exercise over hismind. 

'I write myself to Caroline to-morrow, ' said Miss Dacre. 

'Ah! Then I need not write. I talked of going up sooner. Have thekindness to explain why I do not: peremptory orders from Mr. Dacre;fresh air, and----'

'Arithmetic. I understand you get on admirably. '

'My follies, ' said the Duke with a serious air, 'have at least beenproductive of one good end, they have amused you. '

'Nay! I have done too many foolish things myself any more to laugh atmy neighbours. As for yourself, you have only committed those which wereinseparable from your situation; and few, like the Duke of St. James, would so soon have opened their eyes to the truth of their conduct. '

'A compliment from you repays me for all. '

'Self-approbation does, which is much better than compliments fromanyone. See! there is papa, and Arundel too: let us run up!'

CHAPTER III. 

 _Again the Rival_

THE Duke of St. James had, on his arrival at Dacre, soon observed thata constant correspondence was maintained between Miss Dacre and hercousin. There was no attempt to conceal the fact from any of the guests, and, as that young gentleman was now engaged in an affair interesting toall his friends, every letter generally contained some paragraph almostas interesting to the Montingfords as to herself, which wasaccordingly read aloud. Mr. Arundel Dacre was candidate for the vacantrepresentation of a town in a distant county. He had been disappointedin his views on the borough, about which he had returned to England, buthad been nevertheless persuaded by his cousin to remain in his nativecountry. During this period, he had been a great deal at Castle Dacre, and had become much more intimate and unreserved with his uncle, whoobserved with great satisfaction this change in his character, and lostno opportunity of deserving and increasing the confidence for whichhe had so long unavailingly yearned, and which was now so unexpectedlyproffered. 

The borough for which Arundel Dacre was about to stand was in Sussex, acounty in which his family had no property, and very slight connection. Yet at the place, the Catholic interest was strong, and on that, andthe usual Whig influence, he ventured. His desire to be a member ofthe Legislature, at all and from early times extreme, was now greatlyheightened by the prospect of being present at the impending Catholicdebate. After an absence of three weeks, he had hurried to Yorkshire forfour-and-twenty hours, to give a report of the state of his canvass, and the probability of his success. In that success all were greatlyinterested, but none more so than Miss Dacre, whose thoughts indeedseemed to dwell on no other subject, and who expressed herself with awarmth which betrayed her secret feelings. Had the place only beenin Yorkshire, she was sure he must have succeeded. She was the bestcanvasser in the world, and everybody agreed that Harry Grey-stoke owedhis election merely to her insinuating tongue and unrivalled powersof scampering, by which she had completely baffled the tactics of LadyAmarantha. 

Germain, who thought that a canvass was only a long morning call, andmight be achieved in a cashmere and a britzska. 

The young Duke, who had seen little of his second since the eventfulday, greeted him with warmth, and was welcomed with a frankness whichhe had never before experienced from his friend. Excited by rapidtravel and his present course of life, and not damped by the unexpectedpresence of any strangers, Arundel Dacre seemed quite a changed man, andtalked immensely. 

'Come, May, I must have a kiss! I have been kissing as pretty girls asyou. There now! You all said I never should be a popular candidate. Iget regularly huzzaed every day, so they have been obliged to hire aband of butchers' boys to pelt me. Whereupon I compare myself to Cæsarset upon in the Senate House, and get immense cheering in "The CountyChronicle, " which I have bribed. If you knew the butts of wine, theHeidelberg tuns of ale, that I have drank during the last fortnight, you would stare indeed. As much as the lake: but then I have to talkso much, that the ardour of my eloquence, like the hot flannels of theHumane Society, save me from the injurious effects of all this liquid. '

'But will you get in; but will you get in?' exclaimed his cousin. 

''Tis not in mortals to command success; but---'

'Pooh! pooh! you must command it!' 'Well, then, I have an excellentchance; and the only thing against me is, that my committee are quitesure. But really I think that if the Protestant overseers, whom, by-the-bye, May, I cannot persuade that I am a heretic (it is very hardthat a man is not believed when he says he shall be damned), if theydo not empty the workhouse, we shall do. But let us go in, for I havetravelled all night, and must be off to-morrow morning. '

They entered the house, and the Duke quitted the family group. About anhour afterwards, he sauntered to the music-room. As he opened the door, his eyes lighted upon May Dacre and her cousin. They were standingbefore the fire, with their backs to the door. His arm was woundcarelessly round her waist, and with his other hand he supported, withher, a miniature, at which she was looking. 

The Duke could not catch her countenance, which was completely hid; buther companion was not gazing on the picture: his head, a little turned, indicated that there was a living countenance more interesting to himthan all the skill of the most cunning artist. Part of his cheek wasalone perceptible, and that was burning red. 

All this was the work of a moment. The Duke stared, turned pale, closedthe door without a sound, and retired unperceived. When he was sure thathe could no longer be observed, he gasped for breath, a cold dew coveredhis frame, his joints loosened, and his sinking heart gave him thatsickening sensation when life appears utterly worthless, and ourselvesutterly contemptible. Yet what had he witnessed? A confirmation of whathe had never doubted. What was this woman to him? Alas! how supreme wasthe power with which she ruled his spirit! And this Dacre, this ArundelDacre, how he hated him! Oh! that they were hand to hand, and sword tosword, in some fair field, and there decide it! He must conquer; he feltthat. Already his weapon pierced that craven heart, and ripped open thatbreast which was to be the pillow of---. Hell! hell! He rushed to hisroom, and began a letter to Caroline St. Maurice; but he could notwrite; and after scribbling over a quire of paper, he threw the sheetsto the flames, and determined to ride up to town to-morrow. 

The dinner bell sounded. Could he meet them? Ay! meet them! Defy them!Insult them! He descended to the dining-room. He heard her musicaland liquid voice; the scowl upon his brow melted away; but, gloomy andsilent, he took his seat, and gloomy and silent he remained. Little hespoke, and that little was scarcely courteous. But Arundel had enough tosay. He was the hero of the party. Well he might be. Story afterstory of old maids and young widows, sturdy butchers and corrupt coalmerchants, sparkled away; but a faint smile was all the tribute of theDuke, and a tribute that was seldom paid. 

'You are not well!' said Miss Dacre to him, in a low voice. 

'I believe I am, ' answered he shortly. 

'You do not seem quite so, ' she replied, with an air of surprise. 

'I believe I have got a headache, ' he retorted with little morecordiality. She did not again speak, but she was evidently annoyed. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 _Bitter is Jealousy_

THERE certainly is a dark delight in being miserable, a sort of strangesatisfaction in being savage, which is uncommonly fascinating. One ofthe greatest pests of philosophy is, that one can no longer be sullen, and most sincerely do I regret it. To brood over misery, to flatteryourself that there is not a single being who cares for your existence, and not a single circumstance to make that existence desirable: thereis wild witchery in it, which we doubt whether opium can reach, and aresure that wine cannot. 

And the Duke! He soon left the uncle and nephew to their miserablespeculations about the state of the poll, and took his sullen way, with the air of Ajax, to the terrace. Here he stalked along in a fiercereverie; asked why he had been born; why he did not die; why he shouldlive, and so on. His wounded pride, which had borne so much, fairlygot the mastery, and revenged itself for all insults on Love, whom itejected most scurvily. He blushed to think how he had humiliatedhimself before her. She was the cause of that humiliation, and of everydisagreeable sensation that he was experiencing. He began, therefore, toimprecate vengeance, walked himself into a fair, cold-hearted, maliciouspassion, and avowed most distinctly that he hated her. As for him, mostardently he hoped that, some day or other, they might again meet atsix o'clock in the morning in Kensington Gardens, but in a differentrelation to each other. 

It was dark when he entered the Castle. He was about ascending to hisown room, when he determined not to be cowed, and resolved to showhimself the regardless witness of their mutual loves: so he repaired tothe drawing-room. At one end of this very spacious apartment, Mr. Dacreand Arundel were walking in deep converse; at the other sat Miss Dacreat a table reading. The Duke seized a chair without looking at her, dragged it along to the fireplace, and there seating himself, with hisarms folded, his feet on the fender, and his chair tilting, he appearedto be lost in the abstracting contemplation of the consuming fuel. 

Some minutes had passed, when a slight sound, like a fluttering bird, made him look up: Miss Dacre was standing at his side. 

'Is your head better?' she asked him, in a soft voice. 

'Thank you, it is quite well, ' he replied, in a sullen one. 

There was a moment's pause, and then she again spoke. 

'I am sure you are not well. '

'Perfectly, thank you. '

'Something has happened, then, ' she said, rather imploringly. 

'What should have happened?' he rejoined, pettishly. 

'You are very strange; very unlike what you always are. '

'What I always am is of no consequence to myself, or to anyone else;and as for what I am now, I cannot always command my feelings, though Ishall take care that they are not again observed. '

'I have offended you?'

'Then you have shown your discretion, for you should always offend theforlorn. '

'I did not think before that you were bitter. '

'That has made me bitter which has made all others so. '

'What?'

'Disappointment. '

Another pause, yet she did not go. 

'I will not quarrel, and so you need not try. You are consigned to mycare, and I am to amuse you. What shall we do?'

'Do what you like, Miss Dacre; but spare, oh! spare me your pity!'

'You do indeed surprise me. Pity! I was not thinking of pity! But youare indeed serious, and I leave you. '

He turned; he seized her hand. 

'Nay! do not go. Forgive me, ' he said, 'forgive me, for I am mostmiserable. '

'Why, why are you?'

'Oh! do not ask; you agonise me. '

'Shall I sing? Shall I charm the evil spirit?'

'Anything?'

She tripped to the piano, and an air, bursting like the spring, and gayas a village feast, filled the room with its delight. He listened, andeach instant the chilly weight loosened from his heart. Her balmy voicenow came upon his ear, breathing joy and cheerfulness, content and love. Could love be the savage passion which lately subjugated his soul? Herose from his seat; he walked about the room; each minute his heartwas lighter, his brow more smooth. A thousand thoughts, beautiful andquivering like the twilight, glanced o'er his mind in indistinct butexquisite tumult, and hope, like the voice of an angel in a storm, washeard above all. He lifted a chair gently from the ground, and, stealingto the enchantress, seated himself at her side. So softly he reachedher, that for a moment he was unperceived. She turned her head, and hereyes met his. Even the ineffable incident was forgotten, as he markedthe strange gush of lovely light, that seemed to say---- what to thinkof was, after all, madness. 

CHAPTER V. 

 _Arundel's Disappointment_

THE storm was past. He vowed that a dark thought should not again crosshis mind. It was fated that she should not be his; but it was somemiserable satisfaction that he was only rejected in favour of anattachment which had grown with her years, and had strengthened with herstature, and in deference to an engagement hallowed by time as well asby affection. It was deadly indeed to remember that Fate seemed to havedestined him for that happy position, and that his folly had rejectedthe proffered draught of bliss. He blasphemed against the Fitz-pompeys. However, he did not leave Dacre at the same time as Arundel, butlingered on. His affairs were far from being arranged. The Irishbusiness gave great trouble, and he determined therefore to remain. 

It was ridiculous to talk of feeding a passion which was not susceptibleof increase. Her society was Heaven; and he resolved to enjoy it, although he was to be expelled. As for his loss of fortune, it gave himnot a moment's care. Without her, he felt he could not live in England, and, even ruined, he would be a match for an Italian prince. 

So he continued her companion, each day rising with purer feelings anda more benevolent heart; each day more convinced of the falseness of hispast existence, and of the possibility of happiness to a well-regulatedmind; each day more conscious that duty is nothing more thanself-knowledge, and the performance of it consequently the developmentof feelings which are the only true source of self-gratification. Hemourned over the opportunities which he had forfeited of conducing tothe happiness of others and himself. Sometimes he had resolved to remainin England and devote himself to his tenantry; but passion blinded him, and he felt that he had erred too far ever to regain the right road. 

The election for which Arundel Dacre was a candidate came on. Each daythe state of the poll arrived. It was nearly equal to the last. Theiragitation was terrible, but forgotten in the deep mortification whichthey experienced at the announcement of his defeat. He talked to thepublic boldly of petitioning, and his certainty of ultimate success; buthe let them know privately that he had no intention of the first, andno chance of the second. Even Mr. Dacre could mot conceal his deepdisappointment; but May was quite in despair. Even if her father couldfind means of securing him a seat another time, the present greatopportunity was lost. 

'Surely we can make some arrangement for next session, ' said the Duke, whispering hope to her. 

'Oh! no, no, no; so much depended upon this. It is not merely his takinga part in the debate, but--but Arundel is so odd, and everything wasstaked upon this. I cannot tell you what depended upon it. He will leaveEngland directly. '

She did not attempt to conceal her agitation. The Duke rose, and pacedthe room in a state scarcely less moved. A thought had suddenly flashedupon him. Their marriage doubtless depended upon this success. He knewsomething of Arundel Dacre, and had heard more. He was convinced of thetruth of his suspicion. Either the nephew would not claim her handuntil he had carved out his own fortunes, or perhaps the uncle made hisdistinction the condition of his consent. Yet this was odd. It was allodd. A thousand things had occurred which equally puzzled him. Yet hehad seen enough to weigh against a thousand thoughts. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 _A Generous Action_

ANOTHER fortnight glided away, and he was still at the Castle, still theconstant and almost sole companion of May Dacre. It is breakfast; theservant is delivering the letter-bag to Mr. Dacre. Interesting moment!when you extend your hand for the billet of a mistress, and receive yourtailor's bill! How provokingly slow are most domestic chieftains in thisanxious operation! They turn the letters over and over, and upside anddown; arrange, confuse, mistake, assort; pretend, like Champollion, todecipher illegible franks, and deliver with a slight remark, which isintended as a friendly admonition, the documents of the unlucky wightwho encourages unprivileged correspondents. 

A letter was delivered to Miss Dacre. She started, exclaimed, blushed, and tore it open. 

'Only you, only you, ' she said, extending her hand to the young Duke, 'only you were capable of this!'

It was a letter from Arundel Dacre, not only written but franked by him. 

It explained everything that the Duke of St. James might have told thembefore; but he preferred hearing all himself, from the delighted anddelightful lips of Miss Dacre, who read to her father her cousin'sletter. 

The Duke of St. James had returned him for one of his Cornish boroughs. It appeared that Lord St. Maurice was the previous member, who hadaccepted the Chiltern Hundreds in his favour. 

'You were determined to surprise, as well as delight us, ' said Mr. Dacre. 

'I am no admirer of mysteries, ' said the Duke; 'but the fact is, inthe present case, it was not in my power to give you any positiveinformation, and I had no desire to provide you, after your latedisappointment, with new sources of anxiety. The only person I couldtake the liberty with, at so short a notice, was St. Maurice. He, youknow, is a Liberal; but he cannot forget that he is the son of a Tory, and has no great ambition to take any active part in affairs at present. I anticipated less difficulty with him than with his father. St. Mauricecan command me again when it suits him; but, I confess to you, I havebeen surprised at my uncle's kindness in this affair. I really have notdone justice to his character before, and regret it. He has behavedin the most kind-hearted and the most liberal manner, and put me underobligations which I never shall forget. He seems as desirous of servingmy friend as myself; and I assure you, sir, it would give you pleasureto know in what terms of respect he speaks of your family, andparticularly of Arundel. '

'Arundel says he shall take his seat the morning of the debate. How verynear! how admirably managed! Oh! I never shall recover my surprise anddelight! How good you are!'

'He takes his seat, then, to-morrow, ' said Mr. Dacre, in a musing tone. 'My letters give a rather nervous account of affairs. We are to win it, they hope, but by two only. As for the Lords, the majority againstus will, it is said, be somewhat smaller than usual. We shall nevertriumph, George, till May is M. P. For the county. Cannot you return herfor Pen Bronnock too?'

They talked, as you may suppose, of nothing else. At last Mr. Dacreremembered an appointment with his bailiff, and proposed to the Duke tojoin him, who acceded. 

'And I to be left alone this morning, then!' said Miss Dacre. 'I amsure, as they say of children, I can set to nothing. '

'Come and ride with us, then!'

'An excellent idea! Let us canter over to Hauteville! I am just in thehumour for a gallop up the avenue, and feel half emancipated alreadywith a Dacre in the House! Oh! to-morrow, how nervous I shall be!'

'I will despatch Barrington, then, ' said Mr. Dacre, 'and join you in tenminutes. '

'How good you are!' said Miss Dacre to the Duke. 'How can we thank youenough? What can we do for you?'

'You have thanked me enough. What have I done after all? My opportunityto serve my friends is brief. Is it wonderful that I seize theopportunity?'

'Brief! brief! Why do you always say so? Why do you talk so of leavingus?'

'My visit to you has been already too long. It must soon end, and Iremain not in England when it ceases. '

'Come and live at Hauteville, and be near us?'

He faintly smiled as he said, 'No, no; my doom is fixed. Hauteville isthe last place that I should choose for my residence, even if I remainedin England. But I hear the horses. '

The important night at length arrived, or rather the importantmessenger, who brought down, express, a report of its proceedings toCastle Dacre. 

Nothing is more singular than the various success of men in the House ofCommons. Fellows who have been the oracles of coteries from theirbirth; who have gone through the regular process of gold medals, senior wranglerships, and double firsts, who have nightly sat downamid tumultuous cheering in debating societies, and can haranguewith unruffled foreheads and unfaltering voice, from one end of adinner-table to the other, who, on all occasions, have something to say, and can speak with fluency on what they know nothing about, no soonerrise in the House than their spells desert them. All their effronteryvanishes. Commonplace ideas are rendered even more uninteresting bymonotonous delivery; and keenly alive as even boobies are in thosesacred walls to the ridiculous, no one appears more thoroughly aware ofhis unexpected and astounding deficiencies than the orator himself. Heregains his seat hot and hard, sultry and stiff, with a burning cheekand an icy hand, repressing his breath lest it should give evidence ofan existence of which he is ashamed, and clenching his fist, thatthe pressure may secretly convince him that he has not as completelyannihilated his stupid body as his false reputation. 

On the other hand, persons whom the women have long deplored, and themen long pitied, as having 'no manner, ' who blush when you speak tothem, and blunder when they speak to you, suddenly jump up in the Housewith a self-confidence, which is only equalled by their consummateability. And so it was with Arundel Dacre. He rose the first nightthat he took his seat (a great disadvantage, of which no one was moresensible than himself), and for an hour and a half he addressed thefullest House that had long been assembled, with the self-possession ofan habitual debater. His clenching argument, and his luminous detail, might have been expected from one who had the reputation of having beena student. What was more surprising was, the withering sarcasm thatblasted like the simoom, the brilliant sallies of wit that flashed likea sabre, the gushing eddies of humour that drowned all opposition andoverwhelmed those ponderous and unwieldy arguments which the producersannounced as rocks, but which he proved to be porpoises. Never was theresuch a triumphant début; and a peroration of genuine eloquence, becauseof genuine feeling, concluded amid the long and renewed cheers of allparties. 

The truth is, Eloquence is the child of Knowledge. When a mind is full, like a wholesome river, it is also clear. Confusion and obscurity aremuch oftener the results of ignorance than of inefficiency. Few arethe men who cannot express their meaning, when the occasion demandsthe energy; as the lowest will defend their lives with acuteness, and sometimes even with eloquence. They are masters of their subject. Knowledge must be gained by ourselves. Mankind may supply us with facts;but the results, even if they agree with previous ones, must be the workof our own mind. To make others feel, we must feel ourselves; and tofeel ourselves, we must be natural. This we can never be, when weare vomiting forth the dogmas of the schools. Knowledge is not a merecollection of words; and it is a delusion to suppose that thought canbe obtained by the aid of any other intellect than our own. What isrepetition, by a curious mystery ceases to be truth, even if it weretruth when it was first heard; as the shadow in a mirror, though it moveand mimic all the actions of vitality, is not life. When a man is notspeaking, or writing, from his own mind, he is as insipid company as alooking-glass. 

Before a man can address a popular assembly with command, he must knowsomething of mankind; and he can know nothing of mankind without knowingsomething of himself. Self-knowledge is the property of that man whosepassions have their play, but who ponders over their results. Such a mansympathises by inspiration with his kind. He has a key to every heart. He can divine, in the flash of a single thought, all that they require, all that they wish. Such a man speaks to their very core. All feel thata master-hand tears off the veil of cant, with which, from necessity, they have enveloped their souls; for cant is nothing more thanthe sophistry which results from attempting to account for what isunintelligible, or to defend what is improper. 

Perhaps, although we use the term, we never have had oratory in England. There is an essential difference between oratory and debating. Oratoryseems an accomplishment confined to the ancients, unless the Frenchpreachers may put in their claim, and some of the Irish lawyers. Mr. Shiel's speech in Kent was a fine oration; and the boobies who tauntedhim for having got it by rote, were not aware that in doing so he onlywisely followed the example of Pericles, Demosthenes, Lysias, Isocrates, Hortensius, Cicero, Cæsar, and every great orator of antiquity. Oratoryis essentially the accomplishment of antiquity: it was their mostefficient mode of communicating thought; it was their substitute forprinting. 

I like a good debate; and, when a stripling, used sometimes to bestifled in the Gallery, or enjoy the easier privileges of a member'sson. I like, I say, a good debate, and have no objection to a duemixture of bores, which are a relief. I remember none of the giants offormer days; but I have heard Canning. He was a consummate rhetorician;but there seemed to me a dash of commonplace in all that he said, andfrequent indications of the absence of an original mind. To the last, he never got clear of 'Good God, sir!' and all the other hackneyedejaculations of his youthful debating clubs. The most commanding speakerthat I ever listened to is, I think, Sir Francis Burdett. I never heardhim in the House; but at an election. He was full of music, grace» anddignity, even amid all the vulgar tumult; and, unlike all mob orators, raised the taste of the populace to him, instead of lowering his own totheirs. His colleague, Mr. Hobhouse, seemed to me ill qualified for ademagogue, though he spoke with power. He is rather too elaborate, anda little heavy, but fluent, and never weak. His thoughtful andhighly-cultivated mind maintains him under all circumstances; and hisbreeding never deserts him. Sound sense comes recommended from his lipsby the language of a scholar and the urbanity of a gentleman. 

Mr. Brougham, at present, reigns paramount in the House of Commons. Ithink the lawyer has spoiled the statesman. He is said to have greatpowers of sarcasm. From what I have observed there, I should think verylittle ones would be quite sufficient. Many a sneer withers in thosewalls, which would scarcely, I think, blight a currant-bush out ofthem; and I have seen the House convulsed with raillery which, in othersociety, would infallibly settle the rallier to be a bore beyond alltolerance. Even an idiot can raise a smile. They are so good-natured, orfind it so dull. Mr. Canning's badinage was the most successful, thoughI confess I have listened to few things more calculated to make a mangloomy. But the House always ran riot, taking everything for granted, and cracked their universal sides before he opened his mouth. The faultof Mr. Brougham is, that he holds no intellect at present in greatdread, and, consequently, allows himself on all occasions to run wild. Few men hazard more unphilosophical observations; but he is safe, because there is no one to notice them. On all great occasions, Mr. Brougham has come up to the mark; an infallible test of a man of genius. 

I hear that Mr. Macaulay is to be returned. If he speaks half as well ashe writes, the House will be in fashion again. I fear that he is one ofthose who, like the individual whom he has most studied, will 'give upto party what was meant for mankind. '

At any rate, he must get rid of his rabidity. He writes now on allsubjects, as if he certainly intended to be a renegade, and wasdetermined to make the contrast complete. 

Mr. Peel is the model of a minister, and improves as a speaker; though, like most of the rest, he is fluent without the least style. He shouldnot get so often in a passion either, or, if he do, should not get outof one so easily. His sweet apologies are cloying. His candour--hewill do well to get rid of that. He can make a present of it to Mr. Huskisson, who is a memorable instance of the value of knowledge, whichmaintains a man under all circumstances and all disadvantages, and will. 

In the Lords, I admire the Duke. The readiness with which he has adoptedthe air of a debater, shows the man of genius. There is a gruff, huskysort of a downright Montaignish naïveté about him, which is quaint, unusual, and tells. You plainly perceive that he is determined to be acivilian; and he is as offended if you drop a hint that he occasionallywears an uniform, as a servant on a holiday if you mention the word_livery_. 

Lord Grey speaks with feeling, and is better to hear than to read, though ever strong and impressive. Lord Holland's speeches are like a_refacimento_ of all the suppressed passages in Clarendon, and thenotes in the new edition of Bishop Burnet's Memoirs: but taste throws adelicate hue over the curious medley, and the candour of a philosophicmind shows that in the library of Holland House he can sometimes ceaseto be a partisan. 

One thing is clear, that a man may speak very well in the House ofCommons, and fail very completely in the House of Lords. There are twodistinct styles requisite: I intend, in the course of my career, if Ihave time, to give a specimen of both. In the Lower House Don Juan mayperhaps be our model; in the Upper House, Paradise Lost. 

BOOK V [CONTINUED]

CHAPTER VII. 

 _'To See Ourselves as Others See Us. '_

NOTHING was talked of in Yorkshire but Mr. Arundel Dacre's speech. Allthe world flocked to Castle Dacre to compliment and to congratulate; andan universal hope was expressed that he might come in for the county, if indeed the success of his eloquence did not enable his uncle topre-occupy that honour. Even the calm Mr. Dacre shared the generalelation, and told the Duke of St. James regularly every day that it wasall owing to him. May Dacre was enthusiastic; but her gratitude to himwas synonymous with her love for Arundel, and valued accordingly. TheDuke, however, felt that he had acted at once magnanimously, generously, and wisely. The consciousness of a noble action is itself ennobling. His spirit expanded with the exciting effects which his conducthad produced; and he felt consolation under all his misery fromthe conviction that he had now claims to be remembered, and perhapsregarded, when he was no more among them. 

The Bill went swimmingly through the Commons, the majority of twogradually swelling into eleven; and the important night in the Lords wasat hand. 

'Lord Faulconcourt writes, ' said Mr. Dacre, 'that they expect onlythirty-eight against us. '

'Ah! that terrible House of Lords!' said Miss Dacre. 'Let us see: whendoes it come on, the day after to-morrow? Scarcely forty-eight hoursand all will be over, and we shall be just where we were. You and yourfriends manage very badly in your House, ' she added, addressing herselfto the Duke. 

'I do all I can, ' said his Grace, smiling. 'Burlington has my proxy. '

'That is exactly what I complain of. On such an occasion, there shouldbe no proxies. Personal attendance would indicate a keener interest inthe result. Ah! if I were Duke of St. James for one night!'

'Ah! that you would be Duchess of St. James!' thought the Duke; buta despairing lover has no heart for jokes, and so he did not giveutterance to the wish. He felt a little agitated, and caught May Dacre'seye. She smiled, and slightly blushed, as if she felt the awkwardness ofher remark, though too late. 

The Duke retired early, but not to sleep. His mind was busied on a greatdeed. It was past midnight before he could compose his agitated feelingsto repose, and by five o'clock he was again up. He dressed himself, andthen put on a rough travelling coat, which, with a shawl, effectuallydisguised his person; and putting in one pocket a shirt, and in theother a few articles from his dressing-case, the Duke of St. James stoleout of Castle Dacre, leaving a note for his host, accounting for hissudden departure by urgent business at Hauteville, and promising areturn in a day or two. 

The fresh morn had fully broke. He took his hurried way through the longdewy grass, and, crossing the Park, gained the road, which, however, wasnot the high one. He had yet another hour's rapid walk, before he couldreach his point of destination; and when that was accomplished, he foundhimself at a small public-house, bearing for a sign his own arms, andsituated in the high road opposite his own Park. He was confident thathis person was unknown to the host, or to any of the early idlers whowere lingering about the mail, then breakfasting. 

'Any room, guard, to London?'

'Room inside, sir: just going off. '

The door was opened, and the Duke of St. James took his seat in theEdinburgh and York Mail. He had two companions: the first, becauseapparently the most important, was a hard-featured, grey-headedgentleman, with a somewhat supercilious look, and a mingled air ofacuteness and conceit; the other was a humble-looking widow inher weeds, middle-aged, and sad. These persons had recently rousedthemselves from their nocturnal slumbers, and now, after their welcomemeal and hurried toilet, looked as fresh as birds. 

'Well! now we are off, ' said the gentleman. 'Very neat, cleanly littlehouse this, ma'am, ' continued he to his companion. 'What is the sign?''The Hauteville Arms. ' 'Oh! Hauteville; that is--that is, let me see!the St. James family. Ah! a pretty fool that young man has made ofhimself, by all accounts. Eh! sir?'

'I have reason to believe so, ' said the Duke. 

'I suppose this is his park, eh? Hem! going to London, sir?'

'I am. '

'Ah! hem! Hauteville Park, I suppose, this. Fine ground wasted. What theuse of parks is, I can't say. '

'The place seems well kept up, ' said the widow. 

'So much the worse; I wish it were in ruins. '

'Well, for my part, ' continued the widow in a low voice, 'I think a parknearly the most beautiful thing we have. Foreigners, you know, sir----'

'Ah! I know what you are going to say, ' observed the gentleman in acurt, gruffish voice. 'It is all nonsense. Foreigners are fools. Don'ttalk to me of beauty; a mere word. What is the use of all this? Itproduces about as much benefit to society as its owner does. '

'And do you think his existence, then, perfectly useless?' asked theDuke. 

'To be sure, I do. So the world will, some day or other. We areopening our eyes fast. Men begin to ask themselves what the use of anaristocracy is. That is the test, sir. '

'I think it not very difficult to demonstrate the use of anaristocracy, ' mildly observed the Duke. 

'Pooh! nonsense, sir! I know what you are going to say; but we havegot beyond all that. Have you read this, sir? This article on thearistocracy in "The Screw and Lever Review?"'

'I have not, sir. '

'Then I advise you to make yourself master of it, and you will talk nomore of the aristocracy. A few more articles like this, and a few morenoblemen like the man who has got this park, and people will open theireyes at last. '

'I should think, ' said his Grace, 'that the follies of the man who hadgot this park have been productive of evil only to himself. In fact, sir, according to your own system, a prodigal noble seems to be a verydesirable member of the commonwealth and a complete leveller. '

'We shall get rid of them all soon, sir, ' said his companion, with amalignant smile. 

'I have heard that he is very young, sir, ' remarked the widow. 

'What is that to you or me?'

'Ah! youth is a trying time. Let us hope the best! He may turn out wellyet, poor soul!'

'I hope not. Don't talk to me of poor souls. There is a poor soul, ' saidthe utilitarian, pointing to an old man breaking stones on the highway. 'That is what I call a poor soul, not a young prodigal, whose life hasbeen one long career of infamous debauchery. '

'You appear to have heard much of this young nobleman, ' said the Duke;'but it does not follow, sir, that you have heard truth. '

'Very true, sir, ' said the widow. 'The world is very foul-mouthed. Letus hope he is not so very bad. '

'I tell you what, my friends; you know nothing about what you aretalking of. I don't speak without foundation. You have not the leastidea, sir, how this fellow has lived. Now, what I am going to tell youis a fact: I know it to be a fact. A very intimate friend of mine, whoknows a person, who is a very intimate friend of an intimate friend of aperson, who knows the Duke of St. James, told me himself, that one nightthey had for supper--what do you think ma'am?--Venison cutlets, eachserved up in a hundred pound note!'

'Mercy!' exclaimed the widow. 

'And do you believe it?' asked the Duke. 

'Believe it! I know it!'

'He is very young, ' said the widow. 'Youth is a very trying time. '

'Nothing to do with his youth. It's the system, the infernal system. Ifthat man had to work for his bread, like everybody else, do you think hewould dine off bank notes? No! to be sure he wouldn't! It's the system. '

'Young people are very wild!' said the widow. 

'Pooh! ma'am. Nonsense! Don't talk cant. If a man be properly educated, he is as capable at one-and-twenty of managing anything, as at any timein his life; more capable. Look at the men who write "The Screw andLever;" the first men in the country. Look at them. Not one of age. Look at the man who wrote this article on the aristocracy: young DuncanMacmorrogh. Look at him, I say, the first man in the country by far. '

'I never heard his name before, ' calmly observed the Duke. 

'Not heard his name? Not heard of young Duncan Macmorrogh, the firstman of the day, by far; not heard of him? Go and ask the Marquess ofSheepshead what he thinks of him. Go and ask Lord Two and Two what hethinks of him. Duncan dines with Lord Two and Two every week. '

The Duke smiled, and his companion proceeded. 

'Well, again, look at his friends. There is young First Principles. What a «head that fellow has got! Here, this article on India is by him. He'll knock up their Charter. He is a clerk in the India House. Up tothe detail, you see. Let me read you this passage on monopolies. Thenthere is young Tribonian Quirk. By G--, what a mind that fellow has got!By G--, nothing but first principles will go down with thesefellows! They laugh at anything else. By G--, sir, they look upon theadministration of the present day as a parcel of sucking babes! When Iwas last in town, Quirk told me that he would not give that for all thepublic men that ever existed! He is keeping his terms at Gray's Inn. This article on a new Code is by him. Shows as plain as light, that, by sticking close to first principles, the laws of the country might becarried in every man's waistcoat pocket. '

The coach stopped, and a colloquy ensued. 

'Any room to Selby?'

'Outside or in?'

'Out, to be sure. '

'Room inside only. '

'Well! in then. '

The door opened, and a singularly quaint-looking personage presentedhimself. He was very stiff and prim in his appearance; dressed in a bluecoat and scarlet waistcoat, with a rich bandanna handkerchief tied veryneatly round his neck, and a very new hat, to which his head seemedlittle habituated. 

'Sorry to disturb you, ladies and gentlemen: not exactly the properplace for me. Don't be alarmed. I'm always respectful wherever I am. Myrule through life is to be respectful. '

'Well, now, in with you, ' said the guard. 

'Be respectful, my friend, and don't talk so to an old soldier who hasserved his king and his country. '

Off they went. 

'Majesty's service?' asked the stranger of the Duke. 

'I have not that honour. '

'Hum! Lawyer, perhaps?'

'Not a lawyer. '

'Hum! A gentleman, I suppose?'

The Duke was silent; and so the stranger addressed himself to theanti-aristocrat, who seemed vastly annoyed by the intrusion of so low apersonage. 

'Going to London, sir?'

'I tell you what, my friend, at once; I never answer impertinentquestions. '

'No offence, I hope, sir! Sorry to offend. I'm always respectful. Madam!I hope I don't inconvenience you; I should be sorry to do that. Wesailors, you know, are always ready to accommodate the ladies. '

'Sailor!' exclaimed the acute utilitarian, his curiosity stifling hishauteur. 'Why! just now, I thought you were a soldier. '

'Well! so I am. '

'Well, my friend, you are a conjuror then. '

'No, I ayn't; I'm a marine. '

'A very useless person, then. '

'What do you mean?'

'I mean to say, that if the sailors were properly educated, such anamphibious corps would never have been formed, and some of the mostatrocious sinecures ever tolerated would consequently not have existed. '

'Sinecures! I never heard of him. I served under Lord Combermere. Maybeyou have heard of him, ma'am? A nice man; a beautiful man. I have seenhim stand in a field like that, with the shot falling about him likehail, and caring no more for them than peas. '

'If that were for bravado, ' said the utilitarian, 'I think it a verysilly thing. '

'Bravado! I never heard of him. It was for his king and country. '

'Was it in India?' asked the widow. 

'In a manner, ma'am, ' said the marine, very courteously. 'At Bhurtpore, up by Pershy, and thereabouts; the lake of Cashmere, where all theshawls come from. Maybe you have heard of Cashmere, ma'am?'

'"Who has not heard of the vale of Cashmere!'" hummed the Duke tohimself. 

'Ah! I thought so, ' said the marine; 'all people know much the same; forsome have seen, and some have read. I can't read, but I have served myking and country for five-and-twenty years, and I have used my eyes. '

'Better than reading, ' said the Duke, humouring the character. 

'I'll tell you what, ' said the marine, with a knowing look. 'I suspectthere is a d--d lot of lies in your books. I landed in England lastseventh of June, and went to see St. Paul's. "This is the greatestbuilding in the world, " says the man. Thinks I, "You lie. " I did nottell him so, because I am always respectful. I tell you what, sir; maybeyou think St. Paul's the greatest building in the world, but I tell youwhat, it's a lie. I have seen one greater. Maybe, ma'am, you think I amtelling you a lie too; but I am not. Go and ask Captain Jones, of the58th. I went with him: I give you his name: go and ask Captain Jones, ofthe 58th, if I be telling you a lie. The building I mean is thepalace of the Sultan Acber; for I have served my king and countryfive-and-twenty years last seventh of June, and have seen strangethings; all built of precious stones, ma'am. What do you think of that?All built of precious stones; carnelian, of which you make your seals;as sure as I'm a sinner saved. If I ayn't speaking the truth, I am notgoing to Selby. Maybe you'd like to know why I am going to Selby? I'lltell you what. Five-and-twenty years have I served my king and countrylast seventh of June. Now I begin with the beginning. I ran away fromhome when I was eighteen, you see! and, after the siege of Bhurtpore, Iwas sitting on a bale of silk alone, and I said to myself, I'll go andsee my mother. Sure as I am going to Selby, that's the whole. I landedin England last seventh of June, absent five-and-twenty years, servingmy king and country. I sent them a letter last night. I put it in thepost myself. Maybe I shall be there before my letter now. '

'To be sure you will, ' said the utilitarian; 'what made you do such asilly thing? Why, your letter is in this coach. '

'Well! I shouldn't wonder. I shall be there before my letter now. Allnonsense, letters: my wife wrote it at Falmouth. '

'You are married, then?' said the widow. 

'Ayn't I, though? The sweetest cretur, madam, though I say it beforeyou, that ever lived. '

'Why did you not bring your wife with you?' asked the widow. 

'And wouldn't I be very glad to? but she wouldn't come among strangersat once; and so I have got a letter, which she wrote for me, to put inthe post, in case they are glad to see me, and then she will come on. '

'And you, I suppose, are not sorry to have a holiday?' said the Duke. 

'Ayn't I, though? Ayn't I as low about leaving her as ever I was in mylife; and so is the poor cretur. She won't eat a bit of victuals tillI come back, I'll be sworn; not a bit, I'll be bound to say that; andmyself, although I am an old soldier and served my king and country forfive-and-twenty years, and so got knocked about, and used to anything, as it were, I don't know how it is, but I always feel queer whenever Iam away from her. I shan't make a hearty meal till I see her. Somehow orother, when I am away from her, everything feels dry in the throat. '

'You are very fond of her, I see, ' said the Duke. 

'And ought I not to be? Didn't I ask her three times before she said_yes_? Those are the wives for wear, sir. None of the fruit that fallsat a shaking for me! Hasn't she stuck by me in every climate, andin every land I was in? Not a fellow in the company had such a wife. Wouldn't I throw myself off this coach this moment, to give her amoment's peace? That I would, though; d----me if I wouldn't. '

'Hush! hush!' said the widow; 'never swear. I am afraid you talk toomuch of your love, ' she added, with a faint smile. 

'Ah! you don't know my wife, ma'am. Are you married, sir?'

'I have not that happiness, ' said the Duke. 

'Well, there is nothing like it! but don't take the fruit that falls ata shake. But this, I suppose, is Selby?'

The marine took his departure, having stayed long enough to raise in theyoung Duke's mind curious feelings. 

As he was plunged into reverie, and as the widow was silent, conversation was not resumed until the coach stopped for dinner. 

'We stop here half-an-hour, gentlemen, ' said the guard. 'Mrs. Burnet, 'he continued, to the widow, 'let me hand you out. '

They entered the parlour of the inn. The Duke, who was ignorant of theetiquette of the road, did not proceed to the discharge of hisduties, as the youngest guest, with all the promptness desired by hisfellow-travellers. 

'Now, sir, ' said an outside, 'I will thank you for a slice of thatmutton, and will join you, if you have no objection in a bottle ofsherry. '

'What you please, sir. May I have the pleasure of helping you, ma'am?'

After dinner the Duke took advantage of a vacant outside place. 

Tom Rawlins was the model of a guard. Young, robust, and gay, he had aletter, a word, or a wink for all he met. All seasons were the same tohim; night or day he was ever awake, and ever alive to all the interestof the road; now joining in conversation with a passenger, shrewd, sensible, and respectful; now exchanging a little elegant badinage withthe coachman; now bowing to a pretty girl; now quizzing a passer-by; hewas off and on his seat in an instant, and, in the whiff of his cigar, would lock a wheel, or unlock a passenger. 

From him the young Duke learned that his fellow-inside was Mr. DuncanMacmorrogh, senior, a writer at Edinburgh, and, of course, the father ofthe first man of the day. Tom Rawlins could not tell his Grace as muchabout the principal writer in 'The Screw and Lever Review' as we can;for Tom was no patron of our periodical literature, farther than apolice report in the Publican's Journal. Young Duncan Macmorrogh was alimb of the law, who had just brought himself into notice by a seriesof articles in 'The Screw and Lever, ' in which he had subjected theuniverse piecemeal to his critical analysis. Duncan Macmorrogh cutup the creation, and got a name. His attack upon mountains was mostviolent, and proved, by its personality, that he had come from theLowlands. He demonstrated the inutility of all elevation, and declaredthat the Andes were the aristocracy of the globe. Rivers he ratherpatronised; but flowers he quite pulled to pieces, and proved them tobe the most useless of existences. Duncan Macmorrogh informed us that wewere quite wrong in supposing ourselves to be the miracle of creation. On the contrary, he avowed that already there were various pieces ofmachinery of far more importance than man; and he had no doubt, intime, that a superior race would arise, got by a steam-engine on aspinning-jenny. 

The other 'inside' was the widow of a former curate of a Northumbrianvillage. Some friend had obtained for her only child a clerkship ina public office, and for some time this idol of her heart had gone onprospering; but unfortunately, of late, Charles Burnet had got intoa bad set, was now involved in a terrible scrape, and, as Tom Rawlinsfeared, must lose his situation and go to ruin. 

'She was half distracted when she heard it first, poor creature! I haveknown her all my life, sir. Many the kind word and glass of ale I havehad at her house, and that's what makes me feel for her, you see. Ido what I can to make the journey easy to her, for it is a pull at heryears. God bless her! there is not a better body in this world; that Iwill, say for her. When I was a boy, I used to be the playfellow in amanner with Charley Burnet: a gay lad, sir, as ever you'd wish to seein a summer's day, and the devil among the girls always, and that's beenthe ruin of him; and as open-a-hearted fellow as ever lived. D----me!I'd walk to the land's end to save him, if it were only for his mother'ssake, to say nothing of himself. '

'And can nothing be done?' asked the Duke. 

'Why, you see, he is back in £ s. D. ; and, to make it up, the poor bodymust sell her all, and he won't let her do it, and wrote a letter like aprince (No room, sir), as fine a letter as ever you read (Hilloa, there!What! are you asleep?)--as ever you read on a summer's day. I didn'tsee it, but my mother told me it was as good as e'er a one of the oldgentleman's sermons. "Mother, " said he, "my sins be upon my own head. Ican bear disgrace (How do, Mr. Wilkins?), but I cannot bear to see you abeggar!"'

'Poor fellow!'

'Ay! sir, as good-a-hearted fellow as ever you'd wish to meet!'

'Is he involved to a great extent, think you?'

'Oh! a long figure, sir (I say, Betty, I've got a letter for you fromyour sweetheart), a very long figure, sir (Here, take it!); I should besorry (Don't blush; no message?)--I should be sorry to take two hundredpounds to pay it. No, I wouldn't take two hundred pounds, that Iwouldn't (I say, Jacob, stop at old Bag Smith's). '

Night came on, and the Duke resumed his inside place. Mr. Macmorroghwent to sleep over his son's article; and the Duke feigned slumber, though he was only indulging in reverie. He opened his eyes, and alight, which they passed, revealed the countenance of the widow. Tearswere stealing down her face. 

'I have no mother; I have no one to weep for me, ' thought the Duke; 'andyet, if I had been in this youth's station, my career probably wouldhave been as fatal. Let me assist her. Alas! how I have misused mypower, when, even to do this slight deed, I am obliged to hesitate, andconsider whether it be practicable. '

The coach again stopped for a quarter of an hour. The Duke had, inconsideration of the indefinite period of his visit, supplied himselfamply with money on repairing to Dacre. Besides his purse, which waswell stored for the road, he had somewhat more than three hundred poundsin his notebook. He took advantage of their tarrying, to inclose it andits contents in a sheet of paper with these lines:

'An unknown friend requests Mrs. Burnet to accept this token of hissympathy with suffering virtue. '

Determined to find some means to put this in her possession beforetheir parting, he resumed his place. The Scotchman now prepared for hisnight's repose. He produced a pillow for his back, a bag for his feet, and a cap for his head. These, and a glass of brandy-and-water, in timeproduced a due effect, and he was soon fast asleep. Even to the widow, night brought some solace. The Duke alone found no repose. Unused totravelling in public conveyances at night, and unprovided with any ofthe ingenious expedients of a mail coach adventurer, he felt all theinconveniences of an inexperienced traveller. The seat was unendurablyhard, his back ached, his head whirled, the confounded sherry, slight aswas his portion, had made him feverish, and he felt at once excitedand exhausted. He was sad, too; very depressed. Alone, and no longersurrounded with that splendour which had hitherto made solitudeprecious, life seemed stripped of all its ennobling spirit. His energyvanished. He repented his rashness; and the impulse of the previousnight, which had gathered fresh power from the dewy moon, vanished. Hefelt alone, and without a friend, and night passed without a moment'sslumber, watching the driving clouds. 

The last fifteen miles seemed longer than the whole journey. At St. Alban's he got out, took a cup of coffee with Tom Rawlins, and, althoughthe morning was raw, again seated himself by his side. In the firstgloomy little suburb Mrs. Burnet got out. The Duke sent Rawlins afterher with the parcel, with peremptory instructions to leave it. Hewatched the widow protesting it was not hers, his faithful emissaryappealing to the direction, and with delight he observed it left inher hands. They rattled into London, stopped in Lombard Street, reachedHolborn, entered an archway; the coachman threw the whip and reins fromhis now careless hands. The Duke bade farewell to Tom Rawlins, and wasshown to a bed. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 _The Duke Makes a Speech_

THE return of morning had in some degree dissipated the gloom that hadsettled on the young Duke during the night. Sound and light made himfeel less forlorn, and for a moment his soul again responded to his highpurpose. But now he was to seek necessary repose. In vain. His heatedframe and anxious mind were alike restless. He turned, he tossed in hisbed, but he could not banish from his ear the whirling sound of his lateconveyance, the snore of Mr. Macmorrogh, and the voice of Tom Rawlins. He kept dwelling on every petty incident of his journey, and repeatingin his mind every petty saying. His determination to slumber made himeven less sleepy. Conscious that repose was absolutely necessary tothe performance of his task, and dreading that the boon was nowunattainable, he became each moment more feverish and more nervous; acrowd of half-formed ideas and images flitted over his heated brain. Failure, misery, May Dacre, Tom Rawlins, boiled beef, Mrs. Burnet, thearistocracy, mountains and the marine, and the tower of St. Alban'scathedral, hurried along in infinite confusion. But there is nothinglike experience. In a state of distraction, he remembered the hopelessbut refreshing sleep he had gained after his fatal adventure atBrighton. He jumped out of bed, and threw himself on the floor, and ina few minutes, from the same cause, his excited senses subsided intoslumber. 

He awoke; the sun was shining through his rough shutter. It was noon. Hejumped up, rang the bell, and asked for a bath. The chambermaid did notseem exactly to comprehend his meaning, but said she would speak to thewaiter. He was the first gentleman who ever had asked for a bath at theDragon with Two Tails. The waiter informed him that he might get a bath, he believed, at the Hum-mums. The Duke dressed, and to the Hummums hethen took his way. As he was leaving the yard, he was followed by anostler, who, in a voice musically hoarse, thus addressed him:

'Have you seen missis, sir?'

'Do you mean me? No, I have not seen your missis;' and the Dukeproceeded. 

'Sir, sir, ' said the ostler, running after him, 'I think you said youhad not seen missis?'

'You think right, ' said the Duke, astonished; and again he walked on. 

'Sir, sir, ' said the pursuing ostler, 'I don't think you have got anyluggage?'

'Oh! I beg your pardon, ' said the Duke; 'I see it. I am in your debt;but I meant to return. '

'No doubt on't, sir; but when gemmen don't have no luggage, they seesmissis before they go, sir. '

'Well, what am I in your debt? I can pay you here. '

'Five shillings, sir. '

'Here!' said the Duke; 'and tell me when a coach leaves this placeto-morrow for Yorkshire. '

'Half-past six o'clock in the morning precisely, ' said the ostler. 

'Well, my good fellow, I depend upon your securing me a place; and thatis for yourself, ' added his Grace, throwing him a sovereign. 'Now, mind;I depend upon you. '

The man stared as if he had been suddenly taken into partnership withmissis; at length he found his tongue. 

'Your honour may depend upon me. Where would you like to sit? In or out?Back to your horses, or the front? Get you the box if you like. Where'syour great coat, sir? I'll brush it for you. '

The bath and the breakfast brought our hero round a good deal, andat half-past two he stole to a solitary part of St. James's Park, tostretch his legs and collect his senses. We must now let our readersinto a secret, which perhaps they have already unravelled. The Dukehad hurried to London with the determination, not only of attending thedebate, but of participating in it. His Grace was no politician; but thequestion at issue was one simple in its nature and so domestic in itsspirit, that few men could have arrived at his period of life withouthaving heard its merits, both too often and too amply discussed. He wasmaster of all the points of interest, and he had sufficient confidencein himself to believe that he could do them justice. He walked up anddown, conning over in his mind not only the remarks which he intendedto make, but the very language in which he meant to offer them. As heformed sentences, almost for the first time, his courage and his fancyalike warmed: his sanguine spirit sympathised with the nobility of theimaginary scene, and inspirited the intonations of his modulated voice. 

About four o'clock he repaired to the House. Walking up one of thepassages his progress was stopped by the back of an individual bowingwith great civility to a patronising peer, and my-lording him withpainful repetition. The nobleman was Lord Fitz-pompey; the bowinggentleman, Mr. Duncan Macmorrogh, the anti-aristocrat, and father of thefirst man of the day. 

'George! is it possible!' exclaimed Lord Fitz-pompey. 'I will speak toyou in the House, ' said the Duke, passing on, and bowing to Mr. DuncanMacmorrogh. 

He recalled his proxy from the Duke of Burlington, and accounted forhis presence to many astonished friends by being on his way to theContinent; and, passing through London, thought he might as wellbe present, particularly as he was about to reside for some time inCatholic countries. It was the last compliment that he could pay hisfuture host. 'Give me a pinch of snuff. '

The debate began. Don't be alarmed. I shall not describe it. Five or sixpeers had spoken, and one of the ministers had just sat down when theDuke of St. James rose. He was extremely nervous, but he repeated tohimself the name of May Dacre for the hundredth time, and proceeded. Hewas nearly commencing 'May Dacre' instead of 'My Lords, ' but he escapedthis blunder. For the first five or ten minutes he spoke in almost ascold and lifeless a style as when he echoed the King's speech; but hewas young and seldom troubled them, and was listened to therefore withindulgence. The Duke warmed, and a courteous 'hear, hear, ' frequentlysounded; the Duke became totally free from embarrassment, and spokewith eloquence and energy. A cheer, a stranger in the House of Lords, rewarded and encouraged him. As an Irish landlord, his sincerity couldnot be disbelieved when he expressed his conviction of the safety ofemancipation; but it was as an English proprietor and British noblethat it was evident that his Grace felt most keenly upon this importantmeasure. He described with power the peculiar injustice of the situationof the English Catholics. He professed to feel keenly upon this subject, because his native county had made him well acquainted with the temperof this class; he painted in glowing terms the loyalty, the wealth, theinfluence, the noble virtues of his Catholic neighbours; and he closed aspeech of an hour's duration, in which he had shown that a worn subjectwas susceptible of novel treatment, and novel interest, amid loudand general cheers. The Lords gathered round him, and many personallycongratulated him upon his distinguished success. The debate tookits course. At three o'clock the pro-Catholics found themselves ina minority, but a minority in which the prescient might have welldiscovered the herald of future justice. The speech of the Duke of St. James was the speech of the night. 

The Duke walked into White's. It was crowded. The first man who welcomedhim was Annesley. He congratulated the Duke with a warmth for which theworld did not give him credit. 

'I assure you, my dear St. James, that I am one of the few people whomthis display has not surprised. I have long observed that you wereformed for something better than mere frivolity. And between ourselvesI am sick of it. Don't be surprised if you hear that I go to Algiers. Depend upon it that I am on the point of doing something dreadful. ''Sup with me, St. James, ' said Lord Squib; 'I will ask O'Connell to meetyou. '

Lord Fitz-pompey and Lord Darrell were profuse in congratulations; buthe broke away from them to welcome the man who now advanced. He was oneof whom he never thought without a shudder, but whom, for all that, hegreatly liked. 

'My dear Duke of St. James, ' said Arundel Dacre, 'how ashamed I amthat this is the first time I have personally thanked you for all yourgoodness!'

'My dear Dacre, I have to thank you for proving for the first time tothe world that I was not without discrimination. '

'No, no, ' said Dacre, gaily and easily; 'all the congratulations and allthe compliments to-night shall be for you. Believe me, my dear friend, Ishare your triumph. '

They shook hands with earnestness. 

'May will read your speech with exultation, ' said Arundel. 'I think wemust thank her for making you an orator. '

The Duke faintly smiled and shook his head. 

'And how are all our Yorkshire friends?' continued Arundel. 'I amdisappointed again in getting down to them; but I hope in the course ofthe month to pay them a visit. '

'I shall see them in a day or two, ' said the Duke. 'I pay Mr. Dacre onemore visit before my departure form England. '

'Are you then indeed going?' asked Arundel, in a kind voice. 

'For ever. '

'Nay, nay, _ever_ is a strong word. '

'It becomes, then, my feelings. However, we will not talk of this. Can Ibear any letter for you?'

'I have just written, ' replied Arundel, in a gloomy voice, and with achanging countenance, 'and therefore will not trouble you. And yet----'

'What!'

'And yet the letter is an important letter: to me. The post, to be sure, never does miss; but if it were not troubling your Grace too much, Ialmost would ask you to be its bearer. '

'It will be there as soon, ' said the Duke, 'for I shall be off in anhour. '

'I will take it out of the box then, ' said Arundel; and he fetched it. 'Here is the letter, ' said he on his return: 'pardon me if I impressupon you its importance. Excuse this emotion, but, indeed, this letterdecides my fate. My happiness for life is dependent on its reception!'

He spoke with an air and voice of agitation. 

The Duke received the letter in a manner scarcely less disturbed; andwith a hope that they might meet before his departure, faintly murmuredby one party, and scarcely responded to by the other, they parted. 

'Well, now, ' said the Duke, 'the farce is complete; and I have come toLondon to be the bearer of his offered heart! I like this, now. Is therea more contemptible, a more ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous assthan myself? Fear not for its delivery, most religiously shall it beconsigned to the hand of its owner. The fellow has paid a compliment tomy honour or my simplicity: I fear the last, and really I feel ratherproud. But away with these feelings! Have I not seen her in his arms?Pah! Thank God! I spoke. At least, I die in a blaze. Even Annesley doesnot think me quite a fool. O, May Dacre, May Dacre! if you were butmine, I should be the happiest fellow that ever breathed!'

He breakfasted, and then took his way to the Dragon with Two Tails. Themorning was bright, and fresh, and beautiful, even in London. Joy cameupon his heart, in spite of all his loneliness, and he was glad andsanguine. He arrived just in time. The coach was about to start. Thefaithful ostler was there with his great-coat, and the Duke found thathe had three fellow-passengers. They were lawyers, and talked for thefirst two hours of nothing but the case respecting which they weregoing down into the country. At Woburn, a despatch arrived with thenewspapers. All purchased one, and the Duke among the rest. He waswell reported, and could now sympathise with, instead of smile at, theanxiety of Lord Darrell. 

'The young Duke of St. James seems to have distinguished himself verymuch, ' said the first lawyer. 

'So I observe, ' said the second one. 'The leading article calls ourattention to his speech as the most brilliant delivered. '

'I am surprised, ' said the third. 'I thought he was quite a differentsort of person. '

'By no means, ' said the first: 'I have always had a high opinion of him. I am not one of those who think the worse of a young man because he is alittle wild. '

'Nor I, ' said the second. 'Young blood, you know, is young blood. '

'A very intimate friend of mine, who knows the Duke of St. James well, once told me, ' rejoined the first, 'that I was quite mistaken about him;that he was a person of no common talents; well read, quite a man of theworld, and a good deal of wit, too; and let me tell you that in thesedays wit is no common thing. '

'Certainly not, ' said the third. 'We have no wit now. '

'And a kind-hearted, generous fellow, ' continued the first, 'and _very_unaffected. '

'I can't bear an affected man, ' said the second, without looking off hispaper. 'He seems to have made a very fine speech indeed. '

'I should not wonder at his turning out something great, ' said thethird. 

'I have no doubt of it, ' said the second. 

'Many of these wild fellows do. '

'He is not so wild as we think, ' said the first. 

'But he is done up, ' said the second. 

'Is he indeed?' said the third. 'Perhaps by making a speech he wants aplace?'

'People don't make speeches for nothing, ' said the third. 

'I shouldn't wonder if he is after a place in the Household, ' said thesecond. 

'Depend upon it, he looks to something more active, ' said the first. 

'Perhaps he would like to be head of the Admiralty?' said the second. 

'Or the Treasury?' said the third. 

'That is impossible!' said the first. 'He is too young. '

'He is as old as Pitt, ' said the third. 

'I hope he will resemble him in nothing but his age, then, ' said thefirst. 

'I look upon Pitt as the first man that ever lived, ' said the third. 

'What!' said the first. 'The man who worked up the national debt tonearly eight hundred millions!'

'What of that?' said the third. 'I look upon the national debt as thesource of all our prosperity. '

'The source of all our taxes, you mean. '

'What is the harm of taxes?'

'The harm is, that you will soon have no trade; and when you have notrade, you will have no duties; and when you have no duties, you willhave no dividends; and when you have no dividends, you will have no law;and then, where is your source of prosperity?' said the first. 

But here the coach stopped, and the Duke got out for an hour. 

By midnight they had reached a town not more than thirty miles fromDacre. The Duke was quite exhausted, and determined to stop. In half anhour he enjoyed that deep, dreamless slumber, with which no luxury cancompete. One must have passed restless nights for years, to be able toappreciate the value of sound sleep. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 _A Last Appeal_

HE ROSE early, and managed to reach Dacre at the breakfast hour of thefamily. He discharged his chaise at the Park gate, and entered the houseunseen. He took his way along a corridor lined with plants, which ledto the small and favourite room in which the morning meetings of May andhimself always took place when they were alone. As he lightly steppedalong, he heard a voice that he could not mistake, as it were inanimated converse. Agitated by sounds which ever created in him emotion, for a moment he paused. He starts, his eye sparkles with strangedelight, a flush comes over his panting features, half of modesty, halfof triumph. He listens to his own speech from the lips of the woman heloves. She is reading to her father with melodious energy the passagein which he describes the high qualities of his Catholic neighbours. Theintonations of the voice indicate the deep sympathy of the reader. Sheceases. He hears the admiring exclamation of his host. He rallies hisstrength, he advances, he stands before them. She utters almost a shriekof delightful surprise as she welcomes him. 

How much there was to say! how much to ask! how much to answer! Even Mr. Dacre poured forth questions like a boy. But May: she could notspeak, but leant forward in her chair with an eager ear, and a look ofcongratulation, that rewarded him for all his exertion. Everything wasto be told. How he went; whether he slept in the mail; where he went;what he did; whom he saw; what they said; what they thought; all must beanswered. Then fresh exclamations of wonder, delight, and triumph. The Duke forgot everything but his love, and for three hours felt thehappiest of men. 

At length Mr. Dacre rose and looked at his watch with a shaking head. 'Ihave a most important appointment, ' said he, 'and I must gallop to keepit. God bless you, my dear St. James! I could stay talking with you forever; but you must be utterly wearied. Now, my dear boy, go to bed. '

'To bed!' exclaimed the Duke. 'Why, Tom Rawlins would laugh at you!'

'And who is Tom Rawlins?'

'Ah! I cannot tell you everything; but assuredly I am not going to bed. '

'Well, May, I leave him to your care; but do not let him talk any more. '

'Oh! sir, ' said the Duke, 'I really had forgotten. I am the bearer toyou, sir, of a letter from Mr. Arundel Dacre. ' He gave it him. 

As Mr. Dacre read the communication, his countenance changed, andthe smile which before was on his face, vanished. But whether he weredispleased, or only serious, it was impossible to ascertain, althoughthe Duke watched him narrowly. At length he said, 'May! here is a letterfrom Arundel, in which you are much interested. '

'Give it me, then, papa!'

'No, my love; we must speak of this together. But I am pressed for time. When I come home. Remember. ' He quitted the room. 

They were alone: the Duke began again talking, and Miss Dacre put herfinger to her mouth, with a smile. 

'I assure you, ' said he, 'I am not wearied. I slept at----y, and theonly thing I now want is a good walk. Let me be your companion thismorning!'

'I was thinking of paying nurse a visit. What say you?'

'Oh! I am ready; anywhere. '

She ran for her bonnet, and he kissed her handkerchief, which she leftbehind, and, I believe, everything else in the room which bore theslightest relation to her. And then the recollection of Arundel's lettercame over him, and his joy fled. When she returned, he was standingbefore the fire, gloomy and dull. 

'I fear you are tired, ' she said. 

'Not in the least. '

'I shall never forgive myself if all this exertion make you ill. '

'Why not?'

'Because, although I will not tell papa, I am sure my nonsense is thecause of your having gone to London. '

'It is probable; for you are the cause of all that does not disgraceme. ' He advanced, and was about to seize her hand; but the accursedminiature occurred to him, and he repressed his feelings, almost witha groan. She, too, had turned away her head, and was busily engaged intending a flower. 

'Because she has explicitly declared her feelings to me, and, sincerein that declaration, honours me by a friendship of which alone I amunworthy, am I to persecute her with my dishonoured overtures--the twicerejected? No, no!'

They took their way through the park, and he soon succeeded inre-assuming the tone that befitted their situation. Traits of thedebate, and the debaters, which newspapers cannot convey, and whichhe had not yet recounted; anecdotes of Annesley and their friends, andother gossip, were offered for her amusement. But if she were amused, she was not lively, but singularly, unusually silent. There was only onepoint on which she seemed interested, and that was his speech. When hewas cheered, and who particularly cheered; who gathered round him, and what they said after the debate: on all these points she was mostinquisitive. 

They rambled on: nurse was quite forgotten; and at length they foundthemselves in the beautiful valley, rendered more lovely by the ruins ofthe abbey. It was a place that the Duke could never forget, and which heever avoided. He had never renewed his visit since he first gave vent, among its reverend ruins, to his overcharged and most tumultuous heart. 

They stood in silence before the holy pile with its vaulting arches andcrumbling walls, mellowed by the mild lustre of the declining sun. Nottwo years had fled since here he first staggered after the breakingglimpses of self-knowledge, and struggled to call order from out thechaos of his mind. Not two years, and yet what a change had come overhis existence! How diametrically opposite now were all his thoughts, andviews, and feelings, to those which then controlled his fatal soul! Howcapable, as he firmly believed, was he now of discharging his duty tohis Creator and his fellow-men! and yet the boon that ought to have beenthe reward for all this self-contest, the sweet seal that ought to haveratified this new contract of existence, was wanting. 

'Ah!' he exclaimed aloud, and in a voice of anguish, 'ah! if I ne'er hadleft the walls of Dacre, how different might have been my lot!'

A gentle but involuntary pressure reminded him of the companion whom, for once in his life, he had for a moment forgotten. 

'I feel it is madness; I feel it is worse than madness; but must I yieldwithout a struggle, and see my dark fate cover me without an effort? Oh!yes, here, even here, where I have wept over your contempt, even here, although I subject myself to renewed rejection, let--let me tell you, before we part, how I adore you!'

She was silent; a strange courage came over his spirit; and, witha reckless boldness, and rapid voice, a misty sight, and totalunconsciousness of all other existence, he resumed the words which hadbroken out, as if by inspiration. 

'I am not worthy of you. Who is? I was worthless. I did not know it. Have not I struggled to be pure? have not I sighed on my nightly pillowfor your blessing? Oh! could you read my heart (and sometimes, I think, you can read it, for indeed, with all its faults, it is without guile) Idare to hope that you would pity me. Since we first met, your imagehas not quitted my conscience for a second. When you thought me leastworthy; when you thought me vile, or mad, oh! by all that is sacred, I was the most miserable wretch that ever breathed, and flew todissipation only for distraction!

'Not--not for a moment have I ceased to think you the best, the mostbeautiful, the most enchanting and endearing creature that ever gracedour earth. Even when I first dared to whisper my insolent affection, believe me, even then, your presence controlled my spirit as no otherwoman had. I bent to you then in pride and power. The station that Icould then offer you was not utterly unworthy of your perfection. I amnow a beggar, or, worse, an insolvent noble, and dare I--dare I to askyou to share the fortunes that are broken, and the existence that isobscure?'

She turned; her arm fell over his shoulder; she buried her head in hisbreast. 

CHAPTER X. 

 _'Love is Like a Dizziness. '_

MR. DACRE returned home with an excellent appetite, and almost as keen adesire to renew his conversation with his guest; but dinner and the Dukewere neither to be commanded. Miss Dacre also could not be found. Noinformation could be obtained of them from any quarter. It was nearlyseven o'clock, the hour of dinner. That meal, somewhat to Mr. Dacre'sregret, was postponed for half an hour, servants were sent out, and thebell was rung, but no tidings. Mr. Dacre was a little annoyed and morealarmed; he was also hungry, and at half-past seven he sat down to asolitary meal. 

About a quarter-past eight a figure rapped at the dining-room window:it was the young Duke. The fat butler seemed astonished, not to sayshocked, at this violation of etiquette; nevertheless, he slowly openedthe window. 

'Anything the matter, George? Where is May?'

'Nothing. We lost our way. That is all. May--Miss Dacre desired me tosay, that she would not join us at dinner. '

'I am sure, something has happened. '

'I assure you, my dear sir, nothing, nothing at all the leastunpleasant, but we took the wrong turning. All my fault. '

'Shall I send for the soup?'

'No. I am not hungry, I will take some wine. ' So saying, his Gracepoured out a tumbler of claret. 

'Shall I take your Grace's hat?' asked the fat butler. 

'Dear me! have I my hat on?'

This was not the only evidence afforded by our hero's conduct that hispresence of mind had slightly deserted him. He was soon buried in a deepreverie, and sat with a full plate, but idle knife and fork before him, a perfect puzzle to the fat butler, who had hitherto considered hisGrace the very pink of propriety. 

'George, you have eaten no dinner, ' said Mr. Dacre. 

'Thank you, a very good one indeed, a remarkably good dinner. Give mesome red wine, if you please. '

At length they were left alone. 

'I have some good news for you, George. '

'Indeed. '

'I think I have let Rosemount. '

'So!'

'And exactly to the kind of person that you wanted, a man who will takea pride, although merely a tenant, in not permitting his poor neighboursto feel the _want_ of a landlord. You will never guess: Lord Mildmay!'

'What did you say of Lord Mildmay, sir?'

'My dear fellow, your wits are wool-gathering; I say I think I have letRosemount. '

'Oh! I have changed my mind about letting Rosemount. '

'My dear Duke, there is no trouble which I will grudge, to further yourinterests; but really I must beg, in future, that you will, at least, apprise me when you change your mind. There is nothing, as we have bothagreed, more desirable than to find an eligible tenant for Rosemount. You never can expect to have a more beneficial one than Lord Mildmay;and really, unless you have positively promised the place to anotherperson (which, excuse me for saying, you were not authorised to do) Imust insist, after what has passed, upon his having the preference. '

'My dear sir, I only changed my mind this afternoon: I couldn't tellyou before. I have promised it to no one; but I think of living theremyself. '

'Yourself! Oh! if that be the case, I shall be quite reconciled to thedisappointment of Lord Mildmay. But what in the name of goodness, mydear fellow, has produced this wonderful revolution in all your plans inthe course of a few hours? I thought you were going to mope away life onthe Lake of Geneva, or dawdle it away in Florence or Rome. '

'It is very odd, sir. I can hardly believe it myself: and yet it must betrue. I hear her voice even at this moment. Oh! my dear Mr. Dacre, I amthe happiest fellow that ever breathed!'

'What is all this?'

'Is it possible, my dear sir, that you have not long before detectedthe feelings I ventured to entertain for your daughter? In a word, sherequires only your sanction to my being the most fortunate of men. '

'My dear friend, my dear, dear boy!' cried Mr. Dacre, rising from hischair and embracing him, 'it is out of the power of man to impart to meany event which could afford me such exquisite pleasure! Indeed, indeed, it is to me most surprising! for I had been induced to suspect, George, that some explanation had passed between you and May, which, whileit accounted for your mutual esteem, gave little hope of a strongersentiment. '

'I believe, sir, ' said the young Duke, with a smile, 'I was obstinate. '

'Well, this changes all our plans. I have intended, for this fortnightpast, to speak to you finally on your affairs. No better time than thepresent; and, in the first place----'

But, really, this interview is confidential. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 _'Perfection in a Petticoat. '_

THEY come not: it is late. He is already telling all! She relapses intoher sweet reverie. Her thought fixes on no subject; her mind isintent on no idea; her soul is melted into dreamy delight; her onlyconsciousness is perfect bliss! Sweet sounds still echo in her ear, andstill her pure pulse beats, from the first embrace of passion. 

The door opens, and her father enters, leaning upon the arm of herbeloved. Yes, he has told all! Mr. Dacre approached, and, bending down, pressed the lips of his child. It was the seal to their plighted faith, and told, without speech, that the blessing of a parent mingled with thevows of a lover! No other intimation was at present necessary;' but she, the daughter, thought now only of her father, that friend of her longlife, whose love had ne'er been wanting: was she about to leave him? Shearose, she threw her arms around his neck and wept. 

The young Duke walked away, that his presence might not control the fullexpression of her hallowed soul. 'This jewel is mine, ' was his thought;'what, what have I done to be so blessed?'

In a few minutes he again joined them, and was seated by her side; andMr. Dacre considerately remembered that he wished to see his steward, and they were left alone. Their eyes meet, and their soft looks tellthat they were thinking of each other. His arm steals round the back ofher chair, and with his other hand he gently captures hers. 

First love, first love! how many a glowing bard has sung thy beauties!How many a poor devil of a prosing novelist, like myself, has echoedall our superiors, the poets, teach us! No doubt, thou rosy god of youngDesire, thou art a most bewitching little demon; and yet, for my part, give me last love. 

Ask a man which turned out best, the first horse he bought, or the onehe now canters on? Ask--but in short there is nothing in which knowledgeis more important and experience more valuable than in love. When wefirst love, we are enamoured of our own imaginations. Our thoughts arehigh, our feelings rise from out the deepest caves of the tumultuoustide of our full life. We look around for one to share our exquisiteexistence, and sanctify the beauties of our being. 

But those beauties are only in our thoughts. We feel like heroes, when we are but boys. Yet our mistress must bear a relation, not toourselves, but to our imagination. She must be a real heroine, while ourperfection is but ideal. And the quick and dangerous fancy of our racewill, at first, rise to the pitch. She is all we can conceive. Mild andpure as youthful priests, we bow down before our altar. But the idol towhich we breathe our warm and gushing vows, and bend our eager knees, all its power, does it not exist only in our idea; all its beauty, isit not the creation of our excited fancy? And then the sweetest ofsuperstitions ends. The long delusion bursts, and we are left likemen upon a heath when fairies vanish; cold and dreary, gloomy, bitter, harsh, existence seems a blunder. 

But just when we are most miserable, and curse the poet's cunning andour own conceits, there lights upon our path, just like a ray freshfrom the sun, some sparkling child of light, that makes us think we arepremature, at least, in our resolves. Yet we are determined not to betaken in, and try her well in all the points in which the others failed. One by one, her charms steal on our warming soul, as, one by one, thoseof the other beauty sadly stole away, and then we bless our stars, andfeel quite sure that we have found perfection in a petticoat. 

But our Duke--where are we? He had read woman thoroughly, andconsequently knew how to value the virgin pages on which his thoughtsnow fixed. He and May Dacre wandered in the woods, and nature seemed tothem more beautiful from their beautiful loves. They gazed upon thesky; a brighter light fell o'er the luminous earth. Sweeter to them thefragrance of the sweetest flowers, and a more balmy breath brought onthe universal promise of the opening year. 

They wandered in the woods, and there they breathed their mutualadoration. She to him was all in all, and he to her was like a newdivinity. She poured forth all that she long had felt, and scarcelycould suppress. From the moment he tore her from the insulter's arms, his image fixed in her heart, and the struggle which she experiencedto repel his renewed vows was great indeed. When she heard ofhis misfortunes, she had wept; but it was the strange delight sheexperienced when his letter arrived to her father that first convincedher how irrevocably her mind was his. 

And now she does not cease to blame herself for all her past obduracy;now she will not for a moment yield that he could have been everanything but all that was pure, and beautiful, and good. 

CHAPTER XII. 

 _Another Betrothal_

BUT although we are in love, business must not be utterly neglected, andMr. Dacre insisted that the young Duke should for one morning cease towander in his park, and listen to the result of his exertions during thelast three months. His Grace listened. Rents had not risen, but it washoped that they had seen their worst; the railroad had been successfullyopposed; and coals had improved. The London mansion and the Alhambra hadboth been disposed of, and well: the first to the new French Ambassador, and the second to a grey-headed stock-jobber, very rich, who, havingno society, determined to make solitude amusing. The proceeds of thesesales, together with sundry sums obtained by converting into cash thestud, the furniture, and the _bijouterie, _ produced a most respectablefund, which nearly paid off the annoying miscellaneous debts. For therest, Mr. Dacre, while he agreed that it was on the whole advisable thatthe buildings should be completed, determined that none of the estatesshould be sold, or even mortgaged. His plan was to procrastinate thetermination of these undertakings, and to allow each year itself toafford the necessary supplies. By annually setting aside one hundredthousand pounds, in seven or eight years he hoped to find everythingcompleted and all debts cleared. He did not think that the extravaganceof the Duke could justify any diminution in the sum which had hithertobeen apportioned for the maintenance of the Irish establishments; buthe was of opinion that the decreased portion which they, as well asthe western estates, now afforded to the total income, was a sufficientreason. Fourteen thousand a-year were consequently allotted to Ireland, and seven to Pen Bronnock. There remained to the Duke about thirtythousand per annum; but then Hauteville was to be kept up with this. Mr. Dacre proposed that the young people should reside at Rosemount, andthat consequently they might form their establishment from the Castle, without reducing their Yorkshire appointments, and avail themselves, without any obligation, or even the opportunity, of great expenses, ofall the advantages afforded by the necessary expenditure. Finally, Mr. Dacre presented his son with his town mansion and furniture; and asthe young Duke insisted that the settlements upon her Grace should beprepared in full reference to his inherited and future income, thisgenerous father at once made over to him the great bulk of his personalproperty amounting to upwards of a hundred thousand pounds, a littleready money, of which he knew the value. 

The Duke of St. James had duly informed his uncle, the Earl ofFitz-pompey, of the intended change in his condition, and in answerreceived the following letter:--

'Fitz-pompey Hall, May, 18--. 

'My dear George, --Your letter did not give us so much surprise as youexpected; but I assure you it gave us as much pleasure. You have shownyour wisdom and your taste in your choice; and I am free to confess thatI am acquainted with no one more worthy of the station which theDuchess of St. James must always fill in society, and more calculated tomaintain the dignity of your family, than the lady whom you are aboutto introduce to us as our niece. Believe me, my dear George, that thenotification of this agreeable event has occasioned even additionalgratification both to your aunt and to myself, from the reflection thatyou are about to ally yourself with a family in whose welfare we mustever take an especial interest, and whom we may in a manner look upon asour own relatives. For, my dear George, in answer to your flattering andmost pleasing communication, it is my truly agreeable duty to inform you(and, believe me, you are the first person out of our immediate familyto whom this intelligence is made known) that our Caroline, in whosehappiness we are well assured you take a lively interest, is about tobe united to one who may now be described as your near relative, namely, Mr. Arundel Dacre. 

'It has been a long attachment, though for a considerable time, Iconfess, unknown to us; and indeed at first sight, with Caroline's rankand other advantages, it may not appear, in a mere worldly point ofview, so desirable a connection as some perhaps might expect. And tobe quite confidential, both your aunt and myself were at first a littledisinclined (great as our esteem and regard have ever been for him), alittle disinclined, I say, to the union. But Dacre is certainly the mostrising man of the day. In point of family, he is second to none; and hisuncle has indeed behaved in the most truly liberal manner. I assure you, he considers him as a son; and even if there were no other inducement, the mere fact of your connection with the family would alone notonly reconcile, but, so to say, make us perfectly satisfied with thearrangement. It is unnecessary to speak to you of the antiquity of theDacres. Arundel will ultimately be one of the richest Commoners, and Ithink it is not too bold to anticipate, taking into consideration thefamily into which he marries, and above all, his connection with you, that we may finally succeed in having him called up to us. You are ofcourse aware that there was once a barony in the family. 

'Everybody talks of your speech. I assure you, although I ever gave youcredit for uncommon talents, I was astonished. So you are to have thevacant ribbon! Why did you not tell me? I learnt it to-day, fromLord Bobbleshim. But we must not quarrel with men in love for notcommunicating. 

'You ask me for news of all your old friends. You of course saw thedeath of old Annesley. The new Lord took his seat yesterday; he wasintroduced by Lord Bloomerly. I was not surprised to hear in the eveningthat he was about to be married to Lady Charlotte, though the worldaffect to be astonished. 

I should not forget to say that Lord Annesley asked most particularlyafter you. For him, quite warm, I assure you. 

'The oddest thing has happened to your friend, Lord Squib. Old ColonelCarlisle is dead, and has left his whole fortune, some say half amillion, to the oddest person, merely because she had the reputationof being his daughter. Quite an odd person, you understand me: Mrs. Montfort. St. Maurice says you know her; but we must not talk of thesethings now. Well, Squib is going to be married to her. He says that heknows all his old friends will cut him when they are married, and so heis determined to give them an excuse. I understand she is a fine woman. He talks of living at Rome and Florence for a year or two. 

'Lord Darrell is about to marry Harriet Wrekin; and between ourselves(but don't let this go any further at present) I have very little doubtthat young Pococurante will shortly be united to Isabel. Connected as weare with the Shropshires, these excellent alliances are gratifying. 

'I see very little of Lucius Grafton. He seems ill. 

I understand, for certain, that her Ladyship opposes the divorce. _Ondit_, she has got hold of some letters, through the treachery of hersoubrette, whom he supposed quite his creature, and that your friendis rather taken in. But I should not think this true. People talk veryloosely. There was a gay party at Mrs. Dallington's the other night, whoasked very kindly after you. 

'I think I have now written you a very long letter. I once morecongratulate you on your admirable selection, and with the unitedremembrance of our circle, particularly Caroline, who will writeperhaps by this post to Miss Dacre, believe me, dear George, your trulyaffectionate uncle, 'FITZ-POMPEY. 

'P. S. --Lord Marylebone is very unpopular, quite a brute. We all missyou. '

It is not to be supposed that this letter conveyed the first intimationto the Duke of St. James of the most interesting event of which itspoke. On the contrary, he had long been aware of the whole affair; butwe have been too much engaged with his own conduct to find time to letthe reader into the secret, which, like all secrets, it is to be hopedwas no secret. Next to gaining the affections of May Dacre, it wasimpossible for any event to occur more delightful to our hero thanthe present. His heart had often misgiven him when he had thought ofCaroline. Now she was happy, and not only happy, but connected withhim for life, just as he wished. Arundel Dacre, too, of all men he mostwished to like, and indeed most liked. One feeling alone had preventedthem from being bosom friends, and that feeling had long triumphantlyvanished. 

May had been almost from the beginning the _confidante_ of her cousin. In vain, however, had she beseeched him to entrust all to her father. Although he now repented his past feelings he could not be induced tochange; and not till he had entered Parliament and succeeded and gaineda name, which would reflect honour on the family with which he wished toidentify himself, would he impart to his uncle the secret of his heart, and gain that support without which his great object could never havebeen achieved. The Duke of St. James, by returning him to Parliament, had been the unconscious cause of all his happiness, and ardently didhe pray that his generous friend might succeed in what he was well awarewas his secret aspiration, and that his beloved cousin might yield herhand to the only man whom Arundel Dacre considered worthy of her. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

 _Joy's Beginning_

ANOTHER week brought another letter from the Earl of Fitz-pompey. 

The Earl of Fitz-pompey to the Duke of St. James. [Read this alone. ]

'My dear George, 'I beg you will not be alarmed by the above memorandum, which I thoughtit but prudent to prefix. A very disagreeable affair has just takenplace, and to a degree exceedingly alarming; but it might have turnedout much more distressing, and, on the whole, we may all congratulateourselves at the result. Not to keep you in fearful suspense, I beg torecall your recollection to the rumour which I noticed in my last, ofthe intention of Lady Aphrodite Grafton to oppose the divorce. Afew days back, her brother Lord Wariston, with whom I was previouslyunacquainted, called upon me by appointment, having previously requesteda private interview. The object of his seeing me was no less than tosubmit to my inspection the letters by aid of which it was anticipatedthat the divorce might be successfully opposed. You will be astoundedto hear that these consist of a long series of correspondence of Mrs. Dallington Vere's, developing, I am shocked to say, machinations of avery alarming nature, the effect of which, my dear George, was no lessthan very materially to control your fortunes in life, and those of thatcharming and truly admirable lady whom you have delighted us all so muchby declaring to be our future relative. 

'From the very delicate nature of the disclosures, Lord Wariston feltthe great importance of obtaining all necessary results without makingthem public; and, actuated by these feelings, he applied to me, bothas your nearest relative, and an acquaintance of Sir Lucius, and, as heexpressed it, and I may be permitted to repeat, as one whose experiencein the management of difficult and delicate negotiations was notaltogether unknown, in order that I might be put in possession of thefacts of the case, advise and perhaps interfere for the common good. 

'Under these circumstances, and taking into consideration the extremedifficulty attendant upon a satisfactory arrangement of the affair, I thought fit, in confidence, to apply to Arundel, whose talents Iconsider of the first order, and only equalled by his prudence and calmtemper. As a relation, too, of more than one of the parties concerned, it was perhaps only proper that the correspondence should be submittedto him. 

'I am sorry to say, my dear George, that Arundel behaved in a veryodd manner, and not at all with that discretion which might have beenexpected both from one of his remarkably sober and staid disposition, and one not a little experienced in diplomatic life. He exhibited themost unequivocal signs of his displeasure at the conduct of the partiesprincipally concerned, and expressed himself in so vindictive a manneragainst one of them, that I very much regretted my application, andrequested him to be cool. 

'He seemed to yield to my solicitations, but I regret to say hiscomposure was only feigned, and the next morning he and Sir LuciusGrafton met. Sir Lucius fired first, without effect, but Arundel's aimwas more fatal, and his ball was lodged in the thigh of his adversary. Sir Lucius has only been saved by amputation; and I need not remark toyou that to such a man life on such conditions is scarcely desirable. All idea of a divorce is quite given over. The letters in question werestolen from his cabinet by his valet, and given to a soubrette of hiswife, whom Sir Lucius considered in his interest, but who, as you see, betrayed him. 

'For me remained the not very agreeable office of seeing Mrs. DallingtonVere. I made known to her, in a manner as little offensive as possible, the object of my visit. The scene, my dear George, was trying; and Ithink it hard that the follies of a parcel of young people should reallyplace me in such a distressing position. She fainted, &c, and wishedthe letters to be given up, but Lord Wariston would not consent to this, though he promised to keep their contents secret provided she quittedthe country. She goes directly; and I am well assured, which is not theleast surprising part of this strange history, that her affairs are in astate of great distraction. The relatives of her late husband areabout again to try the will, and with prospect of success. She has beennegotiating with them for some time through the agency of Sir LuciusGrafton, and the late _exposé_ will not favour her interests. 

'If anything further happens, my dear George, depend upon my writing;but Arundel desires me to say that on Saturday he will run down to Dacrefor a few days, as he very much wishes to see you and all. With ourunited remembrance to Mr. And Miss Dacre, 'Ever, my dear George, 'Your very affectionate uncle, 'Fitz-pompey. '

The young Duke turned with trembling and disgust from these darkterminations of unprincipled careers; and these fatal evidences ofthe indulgence of unbridled passions. How nearly, too, had he beenshipwrecked in this moral whirlpool! With what gratitude did he notinvoke the beneficent Providence that had not permitted the innate seedsof human virtue to be blighted in his wild and neglected soul! Withwhat admiration did he not gaze upon the pure and beautiful being whosevirtue and whose loveliness were the causes of his regeneration, thesources of his present happiness, and the guarantees of his future joy!

Four years have now elapsed since the young Duke of St. James was unitedto May Dacre; and it would not be too bold to declare, that duringthat period he has never for an instant ceased to consider himselfthe happiest and the most fortunate of men. His life is passed in theagreeable discharge of all the important duties of his exalted station, and his present career is by far a better answer to the lucubrations ofyoung Duncan Macmorrogh than all the abstract arguments that ever yetwere offered in favour of the existence of an aristocracy. 

Hauteville House and Hauteville Castle proceed in regular course. Thesemagnificent dwellings will never erase simple and delightful Rosemountfrom the grateful memory of the Duchess of St. James. Parliament, andin a degree society, invite the Duke and Duchess each year to themetropolis, and Mr. Dacre is generally their guest. Their most intimateand beloved friends are Arundel and his wife, and as Lady Caroline nowheads the establishment of Castle Dacre, they are seldom separated. But among their most agreeable company is a young gentleman styled bycourtesy Dacre, Marquess of Hauteville, and his young sister, who hasnot yet escaped from her beautiful mother's arms, and who beareth theblooming title of the Lady May. 

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