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Title: Tales And Novels, Vol. 8

Author: Maria Edgeworth

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TALES AND NOVELS, VOLUME VIII

PATRONAGE, concluded; COMIC DRAMAS; LEONORA; AND LETTERS.

BY

MARIA EDGEWORTH.

IN TEN VOLUMES. WITH ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL.







PATRONAGE




CHAPTER XXXVI.


No less an event than Alfred's marriage, no event calling less imperatively
upon her feelings, could have recovered Lady Jane's sympathy for Caroline.
But Alfred Percy, who had been the restorer of her fortune, her friend in
adversity, what pain it would give him to find her, at the moment when he
might expect her congratulations, quarrelling with his sister--that sister,
too, who had left her home, where she was so happy, and Hungerford Castle,
where she was adored, on purpose to tend Lady Jane in sickness and
obscurity!

Without being put exactly into these words, or, perhaps, into any words,
thoughts such as these, with feelings of gratitude and affection, revived
for Caroline in Lady Jane's mind the moment she heard of Alfred's intended
marriage.

"Good young man!--Excellent friend!--Well, tell me all About it, _my
dear_."

It was the first time that her ladyship had said _my dear_ to Caroline
since the day of the fatal refusal.

Caroline was touched by this word of reconciliation--and the tears it
brought into her eyes completely overcame Lady Jane, who hastily wiped her
own.

"So, my dear Caroline--where were we? Tell me about your brother's
marriage--when is it to be?--How has it been brought about?--The last I
heard of the Leicesters was the good dean's death--I remember pitying them
very much--Were they not left in straitened circumstances, too? Will
Alfred have any fortune with Miss Leicester?--Tell me every thing--read me
his letters."

To go back to Dr. Leicester's death. For some months his preferments were
kept in abeyance. Many were named, or thought of, as likely to succeed him.
The deanery was in the gift of the crown, and as it was imagined that the
vicarage was also at the disposal of government, applications had poured
in, on all sides, for friends, and friends' friends, to the remotest link
of the supporters of ministry--But--to use their own elegant, phrase--the
hands of government were tied.

It seems that in consequence of some parliamentary interest, formerly given
opportunely, and in consideration of certain arrangements in his diocese,
to serve persons whom ministers were obliged to oblige, a promise had long
ago been given to Bishop Clay that his recommendation to the deanery should
be accepted on the next vacancy. The bishop, who had promised the living to
his sister's husband, now presented it to Mr. Buckhurst Falconer, with the
important addition of Dr. Leicester's deanery.

To become a dean was once the height of Buckhurst's ambition, that for
which in a moment of elation he prayed, scarcely hoping that his wishes
would ever be fulfilled: yet now that his wish was accomplished, and
that he had attained this height of his ambition, was he happy? No!--far
from it; farther than ever. How could he be happy--dissatisfied with his
conduct, and detesting his wife? In the very act of selling himself to this
beldam, he abhorred his own meanness; but he did not know how much reason
he should have to repent, till the deed was done. It was done in a hurry,
with all the precipitation of a man who hates himself for what he feels
forced to do. Unused to bargain and sale in any way, in marriage never
having thought of it before, Buckhurst did not take all precautions
necessary to make his sacrifice answer his own purpose. He could not
conceive the avaricious temper and habits of his lady, till he was hers
past redemption. Whatever accession of income he obtained from his
marriage, he lived up to; immediately, his establishment, his expenses,
surpassed his revenue. His wife would not pay or advance a shilling beyond
her stipulated quota to their domestic expenses. He could not hear the
parsimonious manner in which she would have had him live, or the shabby
style in which she received his friends. He was more profuse in proportion
as she was more niggardly; and whilst she scolded and grudged every penny
she paid, he ran in debt magnanimously for hundreds. When the living and
deanery came into his possession, the second year's fruits had been eaten
beforehand. Money he must have, and money his wife would not give--but
a litigious agent suggested to him a plan for raising it, by demanding
a considerable sum from the executors of the late Dr. Leicester, for
what is called _dilapidation_. The parsonage-house seemed to be in good
repair; but to make out charges of dilapidation was not difficult to
those who understood the business--and fifteen hundred pounds was the
charge presently made out against the executors of the late incumbent.
It was invidious, it was odious for the new vicar, in the face of his
parishioners, of all those who loved and respected his predecessor, to
begin by making such a demand--especially as it was well known that the
late dean had not saved any of the income of his preferment, but had
disposed of it amongst his parishioners as a steward for the poor. He had
left his family in narrow circumstances. They were proud of his virtues,
and not ashamed of the consequences. With dignity and ease they retrenched
their expenses; and after having lived as became the family of a dignitary
of the church, on quitting the parsonage, the widow and her niece retired
to a small habitation, suited to their altered circumstances, and lived
with respectable and respected economy. The charge brought against them by
the new dean was an unexpected blow. It was an extortion, to which Mrs.
Leicester would not submit--could not without injury to her niece, from
whose fortune the sum claimed, if yielded, must be deducted.

Alfred Percy, from the first moment of their distress, from the time of
good Dr. Leicester's death, had been assiduous in his attentions to Mrs.
Leicester; and by the most affectionate letters, and, whenever he could
get away from London, by his visits to her and to his Sophia, had proved
the warmth and constancy of his attachment Some months had now passed--he
urged his suit, and besought Sophia no longer to delay his happiness. Mrs.
Leicester wished that her niece should now give herself a protector and
friend, who might console her for the uncle she had lost. It was at this
period the _dilapidation charge_ was made. Mrs. Leicester laid the whole
statement before Alfred, declaring that for his sake, as well as for her
niece's, she was resolute to defend herself against injustice. Alfred could
scarcely bring himself to believe that Buckhurst Falconer had acted in the
manner represented, with a rapacity, harshness, and cruelty, so opposite to
his natural disposition. Faults, Alfred well knew that Buckhurst had; but
they were all, he thought, of quite a different sort from those of which he
now stood accused. What was to be done? Alfred was extremely averse from
going to law with a man who was his relation, for whom he had early felt,
and still retained, a considerable regard: yet he could not stand by, and
see the woman he loved, defrauded of nearly half the small fortune she
possessed. On the other hand, he was employed as a professional man, and
called upon to act. He determined, however, before he should, as a last
resource, expose the truth and maintain the right in a court of justice,
previously to try every means of conciliation in his power. To all his
letters the new dean answered evasively and unsatisfactorily, by referring
him to his attorney, into whose hands he said he had put the business, and
he knew and wished to hear nothing more about it. The attorney, Solicitor
Sharpe, was impracticable--Alfred resolved to see the dean himself; and
this, after much difficulty, he at length effected. He found the dean and
his lady tete-a-tete. Their raised voices suddenly stopped short as he
entered. The dean gave an angry look at his servant as Alfred came into the
room.

"Your servants," said Alfred, "told me that you were not at home, but I
told them that I knew the dean would be at home to an old friend."

"You are very good,--(said Buckhurst)--you do me a great deal of honour,"
said the dean.

Two different manners appeared in the same person: one natural--belonging
to his former, the other assumed, proper, as he thought, for his present
self, or rather for his present situation.

"Won't you be seated? I hope all our friends--" Mrs. Buckhurst, or, as she
was called, Mrs. Dean Falconer, made divers motions, with a very ugly chin,
and stood as if she thought there ought to be an introduction. The dean
knew it, but being ashamed to introduce her, determined against it. Alfred
stood in suspension, waiting their mutual pleasure.

"Won't you sit down, sir?" repeated the dean.

Down plumped Mrs. Falconer directly, and taking out her spectacles, as
if to shame her husband, by heightening the contrast of youth and age,
deliberately put them on; then drawing her table nearer, settled herself to
her work.

Alfred, who saw it to be necessary, determined to use his best address to
conciliate the lady.

"Mr. Dean, you have never yet done me the honour to introduce me to Mrs.
Falconer."

"I thought--I thought we had met before--since--Mrs. Falconer, Mr. Alfred
Percy."

The lady took off her spectacles, smiled, and adjusted herself, evidently
with an intention to be more agreeable. Alfred sat down by her work-table,
directed his conversation to her, and soon talked, or rather induced her to
talk herself into fine humour. Presently she retired to dress for dinner,
and "hoped Mr. Alfred Percy had no intention of running away--_she_ had a
well-aired bed to offer him."

The dean, though he cordially hated his lady, was glad, for his own sake,
to be relieved from her fits of crossness; and was pleased by Alfred's
paying attention to her, as this was a sort of respect to himself, and what
he seldom met with from those young men who had been his companions before
his marriage--they usually treated his lady with a neglect or ridicule
which reflected certainly upon her husband.

Alfred never yet had touched upon his business, and Buckhurst began to
think this was merely a friendly visit. Upon Alfred's observing some
alteration which had been lately made in the room in which they were
sitting, the dean took him to see other improvements in the house; in
pointing out these, and all the conveniences and elegancies about the
parsonage, Buckhurst totally forgot the _dilapidation suit_; and every
thing he showed and said tended unawares to prove that the house was in
the most perfect repair and best condition possible. Gradually, whatever
solemnity and beneficed pomp there had at first appeared in the dean's
manner, wore off, or was laid aside; and, except his being somewhat more
corpulent and rubicund than in early years, he appeared like the original
Buckhurst. His gaiety of heart, indeed, was gone, but some sparkles of his
former spirits remained.

"Here," said he, showing Alfred into his study, "here, as our good friend
Mr. _Blank_ said, when he showed us his study, '_Here_ is _where_ I read
all day long--quite snug--and nobody's a bit the wiser for it.'"

The dean seated himself in his comfortable arm-chair. "Try that chair,
Alfred, excellent for sleeping in at one's ease."

  "To rest the cushion and soft dean invite."

"Ah!" said Alfred, "often have I sat in this room with my excellent friend,
Dr. Leicester!"

The new dean's countenance suddenly changed: but endeavouring to pass
it off with a jest, he said, "Ay, poor good old Leicester, he sleeps
for ever,--that's one comfort--to me--if not to you." But perceiving
that Alfred continued to look serious, the dean added some more proper
reflections in a tone of ecclesiastical sentiment, and with a sigh of
decorum--then rose, for he smelt that the _dilapidation suit_ was coming.

"Would not you like, Mr. Percy, to wash your hands before dinner?"

"I thank you, Mr. Dean, I must detain you a moment to speak to you on
business."

Black as Erebus grew the face of the dean--he had no resource but to
listen, for he knew it would come after dinner, if it did not come now; and
it was as well to have it alone in the study, where nobody might be a bit
the wiser.

When Alfred had stated the whole of what he had to say, which he did in as
few and strong words as possible, appealing to the justice and feelings
of Buckhurst--to the fears which the dean must have of being exposed, and
ultimately defeated, in a court of justice--"Mrs. Leicester," concluded he,
"is determined to maintain the suit, and has employed me to carry it on for
her."

"I should very little have expected," said the dean, "that Mr. Alfred Percy
would have been employed in such a way against me."

"Still less should I have expected that I could be called upon in such a
way against you," replied Alfred. "No one can feel it more than I do. The
object of my present visit is to try whether some accommodation may not be
made, which will relieve us both from the necessity of going to law, and
may prevent me from being driven to the performance of this most painful
professional duty."

"Duty! professional duty!" repeated Buckhurst: "as if I did not understand
all those _cloak-words_, and know how easy it is to put them on and off at
pleasure!"

"To some it may be, but not to me," said Alfred, calmly.

Anger started into Buckhurst's countenance: but conscious how inefficacious
it would be, and how completely he had laid himself open, the dean
answered, "You are the best judge, sir. But I trust--though I don't pretend
to understand the honour of lawyers--I trust, as a gentleman, you will not
take advantage against me in this suit, of any thing my openness has shown
you about the parsonage."

"You trust rightly, Mr. Dean," replied Alfred, in his turn, with a look not
of anger, but of proud indignation; "you trust rightly, Mr. Dean, and as I
should have expected that one who has had opportunities of knowing me so
well ought to trust."

"That's a clear answer," said Buckhurst. "But how could I tell?--so much
_jockeying_ goes on in every profession--how could I tell that a lawyer
would be more conscientious than another man? But now you assure me of
it--I take it upon your word, and believe it in your case. About the
accommodation--_accommodation_ means money, does not it?--frankly, I have
not a shilling. But Mrs. Falconer is all _accommodation_. Try what you can
do with her--and by the way you began, I should hope you would do a great
deal," added he, laughing.

Alfred would not undertake to speak to his lady, unless the dean would, in
the first instance, make some sacrifice. He represented that he was not
asking for money, but for a relinquishment of a claim, which he apprehended
not to be justly due: "And the only use I shall ever make of what you have
shown me here, is to press upon your feelings, as I do at this moment,
the conviction of the injustice of that claim, which I am persuaded your
lawyers only instigated, and that you will abandon."

Buckhurst begged him not to be persuaded of any such thing. The instigation
of an attorney, he laughing said, was not in law counted the instigation of
the devil--at law no man talked of feelings. In matters of property judges
did not understand them, whatever figure they might make with a jury in
criminal cases--with an eloquent advocate's hand on his breast.

Alfred let Buckhurst go on with his vain wit and gay rhetoric till he had
nothing more to say, knowing that he was hiding consciousness of unhandsome
conduct. Sticking firmly to his point, Alfred showed that his client,
though gentle, was resolved, and that, unless Buckhurst yielded, law must
take its course--that though he should never give any hint, the premises
must be inspected, and disgrace and defeat must follow.

Forced to be serious, fretted and hurried, for the half-hour bell before
dinner had now rung, and the dean's stomach began to know canonical hours,
he exclaimed, "The upshot of the whole business is, that Mr. Alfred Percy
is in love, I understand, with Miss Sophia Leicester, and this fifteen
hundred pounds, which he pushes me to the bare wall to relinquish, is
eventually, as part of her fortune, to become his. Would it not have been
as fair to have stated this at once?"

"No--because it would not have been the truth."

"No!--You won't deny that you are in love with Miss Leicester?"

"I am as much in love as man can be with Miss Leicester; but her fortune is
nothing to me, for I shall never touch it."

"Never touch it! Does the aunt--the widow--the cunning widow, refuse
consent?"

"Far from it: the aunt is all the aunt of Miss Leicester should be--all the
widow of Dr. Leicester ought to be. But her circumstances are not what they
ought to be; and by the liberality of a friend, who lends me a house, rent
free, and by the resources of my profession, I am better able than Mrs.
Leicester is to spare fifteen hundred pounds: therefore, in the recovery of
this money I have no personal interest at present. I shall never receive it
from her."

"Noble! Noble!--just what I could have done myself--once! What a contrast!"

Buckhurst laid his head down upon his arms flat on the table, and remained
for some moments silent--then, starting upright, "I'll never claim a penny
from her--I'll give it all up to you! I will, if I sell my band for it, by
Jove!"

"Oh! what has your father to answer for, who forced you into the church!"
thought Alfred.

"My dear Buckhurst," said he, "my dear dean--"

"Call me Buckhurst, if you love me."

"I do love you, it is impossible to help it, in spite of--"

"All my faults--say it out--say it out--in spite of your conscience," added
Buckhurst, trying to laugh.

"Not in spite of my conscience, but in favour of yours," said Alfred,
"against whose better dictates you have been compelled all your life to
act."

"I have so, but that's over. What remains to be done at present? I am in
real distress for five hundred pounds. Apropos to your being engaged in
this dilapidation suit, you can speak to Mrs. Falconer about it. Tell her I
have given up the thing; and see what she will do."

Alfred promised he would speak to Mrs. Falconer. "And, Alfred, when you
see your sister Caroline, tell her that I am not in one sense such a
wretch--quite, as she thinks me. But tell her that I am yet a greater
wretch--infinitely more miserable than she, I hope, can conceive--beyond
redemption--beyond endurance miserable." He turned away hastily in an agony
of mind. Alfred shut the door and escaped, scarcely able to bear I his own
emotion.

When they met at dinner, Mrs. Dean Falconer was an altered person--her
unseemly morning costume and well-worn shawl being cast aside, she appeared
in bloom-coloured gossamer gauze, and primrose ribbons, a would-be young
lady. Nothing of that curmudgeon look, or old fairy cast of face and
figure, to which he had that morning been introduced, but in their place
smiles, and all the false brilliancy which rouge can give to the eyes,
proclaimed a determination to be charming.

The dean was silent, and scarcely ate any thing, though the dinner was
excellent, for his lady was skilled in the culinary department, and in
favour of Alfred had made a more hospitable display than she usually
condescended to make for her husband's friends. There were no other guests,
except a young lady, companion to Mrs. Falconer. Alfred was as agreeable
and entertaining as circumstances permitted; and Mrs. Buckhurst Falconer,
as soon as she got out of the dining-room, even before she reached the
drawing-room, pronounced him to be a most polite and accomplished young
man, very different indeed from the _common run_, or the usual style, of
Mr. Dean Falconer's dashing bachelor beaux, who in her opinion were little
better than brute bears.

At coffee, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room, as
Alfred was standing beside Mrs. Falconer, meditating how and when to speak
of the object of his visit, she cleared the ground by choosing the topic of
conversation, which, at last fairly drove her husband out of the room. She
judiciously, maliciously, or accidentally, began to talk of the proposal
which she had heard a near relation of hers had not long since made to a
near relation of Mr. Alfred Percy's--Mr. Clay, of Clay-hall, her nephew,
had proposed for Mr. Alfred's sister, Miss Caroline Percy. She was really
sorry the match was not to take place, for she had heard a very high
character of the young lady in every way, and her nephew was rich enough
to do without fortune--not but what that would be very acceptable to all
men--especially young men, who are now mostly all for money instead of all
for love--except in the case of very first rate extraordinary beauty, which
therefore making a woman a prey, just as much one as the other, might be
deemed a misfortune as great, though hardly _quite_, Mrs. Buckhurst said,
as she had found a great fortune in her own particular case. The involution
of meaning in these sentences rendering it not easy to be comprehended, the
dean stood it pretty well, only stirring his coffee, and observing that it
was cold; but when his lady went on to a string of interrogatories about
Miss Caroline Percy--on the colour of her eyes and hair--size of her mouth
and nose--requiring in short a complete full-length portrait of the young
lady, poor Buckhurst set down his cup, and pleading business in his study,
left the field open to Alfred.

"Near-sighted glasses! Do you never use them, Mr. Percy?" said Mrs. Dean
Falconer, as she thought Alfred's eyes fixed upon her spectacles, which lay
on the table.

No--he never used them, he thanked her: he was rather far-sighted than
short-sighted. She internally commended his politeness in not taking them
up to verify her assertion, and put them into her pocket to avoid all
future danger.

He saw it was a favourable moment, and entered at once into his
business--beginning by observing that the dean was much out of spirits. The
moment money was touched upon, the curmudgeon look returned upon the lady;
and for some time Alfred had great difficulty in making himself heard: she
poured forth such complaints against the extravagance of the dean, with
lists of the debts she had paid, the sums she had given, and the vow she
had made, never to go beyond the weekly allowance she had, at the last
settlement, agreed to give her husband.

Alfred pleaded strongly the expense of law, and the certainty, in his
opinion, of ultimate defeat, with the being obliged to pay all the
costs, which would fall upon the dean. The dean was willing to withdraw
his claim--he had promised to do so, in the most handsome manner; and
therefore, Alfred said, he felt particularly anxious that he should not be
distressed for five hundred pounds, a sum for which he knew Mr. Falconer
was immediately pressed. He appealed to Mrs. Falconer's generosity. He
had been desired by the dean to speak to her on the subject, otherwise he
should not have presumed--and it was as a professional man, and a near
relation, that he now took the liberty: this was the first transaction he
had ever had with her, and he hoped he should leave the vicarage impressed
with a sense of her generosity, and enabled to do her justice in the
opinion of those who did not know her.

That was very little to her, she bluntly said--she acted only up to her own
notions--she lived only for herself.

"And for her husband." Love, Alfred Percy said, he was assured, was
superior to money in her opinion. "And after all, my dear madam, you set me
the example of frankness, and permit me to speak to you without reserve.
What can you, who have no reason, you say, to be pleased with either of
your nephews, do better with your money, than spend it while you live and
for yourself, in securing happiness in the gratitude and affection of a
husband, who, generous himself, will be peculiarly touched and attached by
generosity?"

The words, _love, generosity, generous_, sounded upon the lady's ear,
and she was unwilling to lose that high opinion which she imagined
Alfred entertained of her sentiments and character. Besides, she was
conscious that he was in fact nearer the truth than all the world would
have believed. Avaricious in trifles, and parsimonious in those every-day
habits which brand the reputation immediately with the fault of avarice,
this woman was one of those misers who can be generous by fits and starts,
and who have been known to _give_ hundreds of pounds, but never without
reluctance would part with a shilling.

She presented the dean, her husband, with an order on her banker for the
money he wanted, and Alfred had the pleasure of leaving his unhappy friend
better, at least, than he found him. He rejoiced in having compromised this
business so successfully, and in thus having prevented the litigation,
ill-will, and disgraceful circumstances, which, without his interference,
must have ensued.

The gratitude of Mrs. Leicester and her niece was delightful. The aunt
urged him to accept what he had been the means of saving, as part of
her niece's fortune; but this he absolutely refused, and satisfied Mrs.
Leicester's delicacy, by explaining, that he could not, if he would, now
yield to her entreaties, as he had actually obtained the money from poor
Buckhurst's generous repentance, upon the express faith that he had no
private interest in the accommodation.

"You would not," said Alfred, "bring me under the act against raising money
upon false pretences?"

What Alfred lost in money he gained in love. His Sophia's eyes beamed upon
him with delight. The day was fixed for their marriage, and at Alfred's
suggestion, Mrs. Leicester consented, painful as it was, in some respects,
to her feelings, that they should be married by the dean in the parish
church.

Alfred brought his bride to town, and as soon as they were established in
their own house, or rather in that house which Mr. Gresham insisted upon
their calling their own, Lady Jane Granville was the first person to offer
her congratulations.--Alfred begged his sister Caroline from Lady Jane, as
he had already obtained his father's and mother's consent. Lady Jane was
really fond of Caroline's company, and had forgiven her, as well as she
could; yet her ladyship had no longer a hope of being _of use_ to her,
and felt that even if any other offer were to occur--and none such as
had been made could ever more be expected--it would lead only to fresh
disappointment and altercation; therefore she, with the less reluctance,
relinquished Caroline altogether.

Caroline's new sister had been, from the time they were first acquainted,
her friend, and she rejoiced in seeing all her hopes for her brother's
happiness accomplished by this marriage. His Sophia had those habits of
independent occupation which are essential to the wife of a professional
man, and which enable her to spend cheerfully many hours alone, or at least
without the company of her husband. On his return home every evening,
he was sure to find a smiling wife, a sympathizing friend, a cheerful
fireside.--She had musical talents--her husband was fond of music; and she
did not lay aside the accomplishments which had charmed the lover, but made
use of them to please him whom she had chosen as her companion for life.
Her voice, her harp, her utmost skill, were ready at any moment, and she
found far more delight in devoting her talents to him than she had ever
felt in exhibiting them to admiring auditors. This was the domestic use
of accomplishments to which Caroline had always been accustomed; so that
joining in her new sister's occupations and endeavours to make Alfred's
evenings pass pleasantly, she felt at once as much _at home_ as if she had
been in the country; for the mind is its own place, and domestic happiness
may be naturalized in a capital city.

At her brother's house, Caroline had an opportunity of seeing a society
that was new to her, that of the professional men of the first eminence
both in law and medicine, the men of science and of literature, with whom
Alfred and Erasmus had been for years assiduously cultivating acquaintance.
They were now happy to meet at Alfred's house, for they liked and esteemed
him, and they found his wife and sister sensible, well-informed women, to
whom their conversation was of real amusement and instruction; and who, in
return, knew how to enliven their leisure hours by female sprightliness
and elegance. Caroline now saw the literary and scientific world to the
best advantage: not the amateurs, or the mere _show_ people, but those who,
really excelling and feeling their own superiority, had too much pride and
too little time to waste upon idle flattery, or what to them were stupid,
uninteresting _parties_. Those who refused to go to Lady Spilsbury's, or to
Lady Angelica Headingham's, or who were seen there, perhaps, once or twice
in a season as a great favour and honour, would call three or four evenings
every week at Alfred's.

The first news, the first hints of discoveries, inventions, and literary
projects, she heard from time to time discussed. Those men of talent, whom
she had heard were to be seen at _conversaziones_, or of whom she had had
a glimpse in fine society, now appeared in a new point of view, and to the
best advantage; without those pretensions and rivalships with which they
sometimes are afflicted in public, or those affectations and singularities,
which they often are supposed to assume, to obtain notoriety among persons
inferior to them in intellect and superior in fashion. Instead of playing,
as they sometimes did, a false game to amuse the multitude, they were
obliged now to exert their real skill, and play fair with one another.

Sir James Harrington tells us, that in his days the courtiers who played at
divers games in public, had a way of exciting the admiration and amazement
of the commoner sort of spectators, by producing heaps of golden counters,
and seeming to stake immense sums, when all the time they had previously
agreed among one another, that each guinea should stand for a shilling, or
each hundred guineas for one: so that in fact two modes of calculation were
used for the initiated and uninitiated; and this exoteric practice goes on
continually to this hour, among literary performers in the intellectual, as
well as among courtiers in the fashionable world.

Besides the pleasure of studying celebrated characters, and persons of
eminent merit, at their ease and at her own, Caroline had now opportunities
of seeing most of those objects of rational curiosity, which with Lady Jane
Granville had been prohibited as _mauvais ton_. With men of sense she found
it was not _mauvais ton_ to use her eyes for the purposes of instruction or
entertainment.

With Mrs. Alfred Percy she saw every thing in the best manner; in the
company of well-informed guides, who were able to point out what was
essential to be observed; ready to explain and to illustrate; to procure
for them all those privileges and advantages as spectators, which common
gazers are denied, but which liberal and enlightened men are ever not only
ready to allow, but eager to procure for intelligent, unassuming females.

Among the gentlemen of learning, talents, and eminence in Alfred's own
profession, whom Caroline had the honour of seeing at her brother's, were
Mr. Friend, the _friend_ of his early years at the bar; and that great
luminary, who in a higher orbit had cheered and guided him in his ascent.
The chief justice was in a station, and of an age, where praise can be
conferred without impropriety, and without hurting the feelings of delicacy
or pride. He knew how to praise--a difficult art, but he excelled in it.
As Caroline once, in speaking of him, said, "Common compliments compared
to praise from him, are as common coin compared to a medal struck and
appropriated for the occasion."

About this time Mr. Temple came to tell Alfred, that a ship had been
actually ordered to be in readiness to carry him on his intended embassy;
that Mr. Shaw had recovered; that Cunningham Falconer had no more excuses
or pretences for delay; despatches, the last Lord Oldborough said he should
ever receive from him as envoy, had now arrived, and Temple was to have set
out immediately; but that the whole embassy bad been delayed, because Lord
Oldborough had received a letter from Count Altenberg, giving an account
of alarming revolutionary symptoms, which had appeared in the capital, and
in the provinces, in the dominions of his sovereign, Lord Oldborough had
shown Mr. Temple what related to public affairs, but had not put the whole
letter into his hands. All that he could judge from what he read was, that
the Count's mind was most seriously occupied with the dangerous state of
public affairs in his country. "I should have thought," added Mr. Temple,
"that the whole of this communication was entirely of a political nature,
but that in the last page which Lord Oldborough put into my hand, the
catch-words at the bottom were _Countess Christina_."

Alfred observed, "that, without the aid of Rosamond's imagination to
supply something more, nothing could be made of this. However, it was a
satisfaction to have had direct news of Count Altenberg."

The next day Mr. Temple came for Alfred. Lord Oldborough desired to see
him.

"Whatever his business may be, I am sure it is important and interesting,"
said Mr. Temple; "by this time I ought to be well acquainted with Lord
Oldborough--I know the signs of his suppressed emotion, and I have seldom
seen him put such force upon himself to appear calm, and to do the business
of the day, before he should yield his mind to what pressed on his secret
thoughts."




CHAPTER XXXVII.


When Alfred arrived, Lord Oldborough was engaged with some gentlemen
from the city about a loan. By the length of time which the negotiators
stayed, they tried Alfred's patience; but the minister sat with immoveable
composure, till they knew their own minds, and till they departed. Then,
the loan at once dismissed from his thoughts, he was ready for Alfred.

"You have married, I think, Mr. Alfred Percy, since I saw you last--I
congratulate you."

His lordship was not in the habit of noticing such common events; Alfred
was surprised and obliged by the interest in his private affairs which this
congratulation denoted.

"I congratulate you, sir, because I understand you have married a woman
of sense. To marry a fool--to form or to have any connexion with a fool,"
continued his lordship, his countenance changing remarkably as he spoke, "I
conceive to be the greatest evil, the greatest curse, that can be inflicted
on a man of sense."

He walked across the room with long, firm, indignant strides--then stopping
short, he exclaimed, "_Lettres de cachet_!--Dangerous instruments in bad
hands!--As what are not?--But one good purpose they answered--they put it
in the power of the head of every noble house to disown, and to deprive of
the liberty to disgrace his family, any member who should manifest the will
to commit desperate crime or desperate folly."

Alfred was by no means disposed to join in praise even of this use of a
_lettre de cachet_, but he did not think it a proper time to argue the
point, as he saw Lord Oldborough was under the influence of some strong
passion. He waited in silence till his lordship should explain himself
farther.

His lordship unlocked a desk, and produced a letter.

"Pray, Mr. Percy--Mr. Alfred Percy--have you heard any thing lately of the
Marchioness of Twickenham?"

"No, my lord."

Alfred, at this instant, recollected the whisper which he had once heard at
chapel, and he added, "Not of late, my lord."

"There," said Lord Oldborough, putting a letter into Alfred's hands--"there
is the sum of what I have heard."

The letter was from the Duke of Greenwich, informing Lord Oldborough
that an unfortunate discovery had been made of _an affair_ between the
Marchioness of Twickenham and a certain Captain Bellamy, which rendered an
immediate separation necessary.

"So!" thought Alfred, "my brother Godfrey had a fine escape of this fair
lady!"

"I have seen her once since I received that letter, and I never will see
her again," said Lord Oldborough: "that's past--all that concerns her is
past and irremediable. Now as to the future, and to what concerns myself. I
have been informed--how truly, I cannot say--that some time ago a rumour, a
suspicion of this intrigue was whispered in what they call the fashionable
world."

"I believe that your lordship has been truly informed," said Alfred; and he
then mentioned the whisper he had heard at the chapel.

"Ha!--Farther, it has been asserted to me, that a hint was given to the
Marquis of Twickenham of the danger of suffering that--what is the man's
name?--Bellamy, to be so near his wife; and that the hint was disregarded."

"The marquis did very weakly or very wickedly," said Alfred.

"All wickedness is weakness, sir, you know: but to our point. I have been
assured that the actual discovery of the intrigue was made to the marquis
some months previously to the birth of his child--and that he forbore to
take any notice of this, lest it might affect the legitimacy of that child.
After the birth of the infant--a boy--subsequent indiscretions on the part
of the marchioness, the marquis would make it appear, gave rise to his
first suspicions. Now, sir, these are the points, of which, as my friend,
and as a professional man, I desire you to ascertain the truth. If the
facts are as I have thus heard, I presume no divorce can be legally
obtained."

"Certainly not, my lord."

"Then I will direct you instantly to the proper channels for information."

Whilst Lord Oldborough wrote directions, Alfred assured him he would fulfil
his commission with all the discretion and celerity in his power.

"The next step," continued Lord Oldborough--"for, on such a subject, I
wish to say all that is necessary at once, that it may be banished from
my mind--your next step, supposing the facts to be ascertained, is to go
with this letter--my answer to the Duke of Greenwich. See him--and see
the marquis. In matters of consequence have nothing to do with secondary
people--deal with the principals. Show in the first place, as a lawyer,
that their divorce is unattainable--next, show the marquis that he destroys
his son and heir by attempting it. The duke, I believe, would be glad of a
pretext for dissolving the political connexion between me and the Greenwich
family. He fears me, and he fears the world: he dares not abandon me
without a pretence for the dissolution of friendship. He is a weak man, and
never dares to act without a pretext; but show him that a divorce is not
necessary for his purpose--a separation will do as well--Or without it, I
am ready to break with him at council, in the House of Lords, on a hundred
political points; and let him shield himself as he may from the reproach of
desertion, by leaving the blame of quarrel on my impracticability, or on
what he will, I care not--so that my family be saved from the ignominy of
divorce."

As he sealed his letter, Lord Oldborough went on in abrupt sentences.

"I never counted on a weak man's friendship--I can do without his
grace--Woman! Woman! The same--ever since the beginning of the world!"

Then turning to Alfred to deliver the letter into his hand, "Your brother,
Major Percy, sir--I think I recollect--He was better in the West Indies."

"I was just thinking so, my lord," said Alfred.

"Yes--better encounter the plague than a fool."

Lord Oldborough had never before distinctly adverted to his knowledge of
his niece's partiality for Godfrey, but his lordship now added, "Major
Percy's honourable conduct is not unknown: I trust honourable conduct never
was, and never will be, lost upon me.--This to the Duke of Greenwich--and
this to the marquis.--Since it was to be, I rejoice that this Captain
Bellamy is the gallant.--Had it been your brother, sir--could there have
been any love in the case--not, observe, that I believe in love, much less
am I subject to the weakness of remorse--but a twinge might have seized
my mind--I might possibly have been told that the marchioness was married
against her inclination.--But I am at ease on that point--my judgment of
her was right.--You will let me know, in one word, the result of your
negotiation without entering into particulars--divorce, or no divorce, is
all I wish to hear."

Alfred did not know all the circumstances of the Marchioness of
Twickenham's marriage, nor the peremptory manner in which it had been
insisted upon by her uncle, otherwise he would have felt still greater
surprise than that which he now felt, at the stern, unbending character of
the man. Possessed as Lord Oldborough was by the opinion, that he had at
the time judged and acted in the best manner possible, no after-events
could make him doubt the justice of his own decision, or could at all shake
him in his own estimation.

Alfred soon brought his report. "In one word--no divorce, my lord."

"That's well--I thank you, sir."

His lordship made no farther inquiries--not even whether there was to be a
_separation_.

Alfred was commissioned by the Duke of Greenwich to deliver a message,
which, like the messages of the gods in Homer, he delivered verbatim,
and without comment: "His grace of Greenwich trusts Lord Oldborough will
believe, that, notwithstanding the unfortunate circumstances, which
dissolved in some degree the family connexion, it was the farthest possible
from his grace's wish or thoughts to break with Lord Oldborough, as long
as private feelings, and public principles, could be rendered by any means
compatible."

Lord Oldborough smiled in scorn--and Alfred could scarcely command his
countenance.

Lord Oldborough prepared to give his grace the opportunity, which he knew
he desired, of differing with him on principle: his lordship thought his
favour and power were now sufficiently established to be able to do without
the Duke of Greenwich, and his pride prompted him to show this to his grace
and to the world. He carried it with a high hand for a short time; but even
whilst he felt most secure, and when all seemed to bend and bow before his
genius and his sway, many circumstances and many persons were combining to
work the downfall of his power.

One of the first slight circumstances which shook his favour, was a speech
he had made to some gentleman, about the presentation of the deanery to
Buckhurst Falconer. It had been supposed by many, who knew the court which
Commissioner Falconer paid to Lord Oldborough, that it was through his
lordship's interest, that this preferment was given to the son; but when
some person, taking this for granted, spoke of it to his lordship, he
indignantly disclaimed all part in the transaction, and it is said that
he added, "Sir, I know what is due to private regard as a man--and as a
minister what must be yielded to parliamentary influence; but I never could
have advised the bestowing ecclesiastical benefice and dignity upon any one
whose conduct was not his first recommendation."

This speech, made in a moment of proud and perhaps unguarded indignation,
was repeated with additions, suppressions, variations, and comments. Any
thing will at court serve the purpose of those who wish to injure, and it
is inconceivable what mischief was done to the minister by this slight
circumstance. In the first place, the nobleman high in office, and the
family connexions of the nobleman who had made the exchange of livings,
and given the promise of the deanery to Bishop Clay, were offended beyond
redemption--because they were in the wrong. Then, all who had done, or
wished to do wrong, in similar instances, were displeased by reflection
or by anticipation. But Lord Oldborough chiefly was injured by
misrepresentation in the quarter where it was of most consequence to him
to preserve his influence. It was construed by the highest authority into
disrespect, and an imperious desire to encroach on favour, to control
prerogative, and to subdue the mind of his sovereign. Insidious arts had
long been secretly employed to infuse these ideas; and when once the
jealousy of power was excited, every trifle confirmed the suspicion which
Lord Oldborough's uncourtier-like character was little calculated to
dispel. His popularity now gave umbrage, and it was hinted that he wished
to make himself the _independent_ minister of the people.

The affairs of the country prospered, however, under his administration;
there was trouble, there was hazard in change. It was argued, that it was
best to wait at least for some reverse of fortune in war, or some symptom
of domestic discontent, before an attempt should be made to displace
this minister, formidable by his talents, and by the awe his commanding
character inspired.

The habit of confidence and deference for his genius and integrity
remained, and to him no difference for some time appeared, in consequence
of the secret decay of favour.

Commissioner Falconer, timid, anxious, restless, was disposed by
circumstances and by nature, or by second nature, to the vigilance of a
dependent's life; accustomed to watch and consult daily the barometer
of court favour, he soon felt the coming storm; and the moment he saw
prognostics of the change, he trembled, and considered how he should best
provide for his own safety before the hour of danger arrived. Numerous
libels against the minister appeared, which Lord Oldborough never read, but
the commissioner, with his best spectacles, read them all; for he well knew
and believed what the sage Selden saith, that "though some make slight of
libels, yet you may see by them how the wind sets."

After determining by the throwing up of these straws which way the wind
set, the commissioner began with all possible skill and dexterity to trim
his boat. But dexterous trimmer though he was, and "prescient of change,"
he did yet not foresee from what quarter the storm would come.

Count Altenberg's letters had unveiled completely the envoy Cunningham
Falconer's treachery, as far as it related to his intrigues abroad, and
other friends detected some of his manoeuvres with politicians at home, to
whom he had endeavoured to pay court, by betraying confidence reposed in
him respecting the Tourville papers. Much of the mischief Cunningham had
done this great minister still operated, unknown to his unsuspicious mind:
but sufficient was revealed to determine Lord Oldborough to dismiss him
from all future hopes of his favour.

"Mr. Commissioner Falconer," he began one morning, the moment the
commissioner entered his cabinet, "Mr. Commissioner Falconer," in a tone
which instantly dispelled the smile at entrance from the commissioner's
countenance, and in the same moment changed his whole configurature.
"My confidence is withdrawn from your son, Mr. Cunningham Falconer--for
ever--and not without good reason--as you may--if you are not aware of it
already--see, by those papers."

Lord Oldborough turned away, and asked his secretaries for his red box, as
he was going to council.

Just as he left his cabinet, he looked back, and said, "Mr. Falconer, you
should know, if you be not already apprised of it, that your son Cunningham
is on his road to Denmark. You should be aware that the journey is not made
by my desire, or by his majesty's order, or by any official authority;
consequently he is travelling to the court of Denmark at his own expense
or yours--unless he can prevail upon his Grace of Greenwich to defray his
ambassadorial travelling charges, or can afford to wait for them till a
total change of administration--of which, sir, if I see any symptoms to-day
in council," added his lordship, in the tone of bitter irony; "I will give
you fair notice--for fair dealing is what I practise."

This said, the minister left the commissioner to digest his speech as he
might, and repaired to council, where he found every thing apparently
as smooth as usual, and where he was received by all, especially by the
highest, with perfect consideration.

Meantime Commissioner Falconer was wretched beyond expression--wretched
in the certainty that his son, that he himself, had probably lost,
irrecoverably, one excellent patron, before they had secured, even in case
of change, another. This premature discovery of Cunningham's intrigues
totally disconcerted and overwhelmed him; and, in the bitterness of his
heart, he cursed the duplicity which he had taught and encouraged, still
more by example, than by precept. But Cunningham's duplicity had more and
closer folds than his own. Cunningham, conceited of his diplomatic genius,
and fearful of the cautious timidity of his father, did not trust that
father with the knowledge of all he did, or half of what he intended; so
that the commissioner, who had thought himself at the bottom of every
thing, now found that he, too, had been cheated by his son with false
confidences; and was involved by him in the consequences of a scheme, of
which he had never been the adviser. Commissioner Falconer knew too well,
by the experience of Cumberland and others, the fate of those who suffer
themselves to be lured on by second-hand promises; and who venture, without
being publicly acknowledged by their employers, to undertake any diplomatic
mission. Nor would Cunningham, whose natural disposition to distrust was
greater than his father's, have sold himself to any political tempter,
without first signing and sealing the compact, had he been in possession
of his cool judgment, and had he been in any other than the desperate
circumstances in which he was placed. His secret conscience whispered that
his recall was in consequence of the detection of some of his intrigues,
and he dreaded to appear before the haughty, irritated minister. Deceived
also by news from England that Lord Oldborough's dismission or resignation
could not be distant, Cunningham had ventured upon this bold stroke for an
embassy.

On Lord Oldborough's return from council, the commissioner, finding, from
his secret informants, that every thing had gone on smoothly, and being
over-awed by the confident security of the minister, began to doubt his
former belief; and, in spite of all the symptoms of change, was now
inclined to think that none would take place. The sorrow and contrition
with which he next appeared before Lord Oldborough were, therefore, truly
sincere; and when he found himself alone once more with his lordship,
earnest was the vehemence with which he disclaimed his unworthy son, and
disavowed all knowledge of the transaction.

"If I had seen cause to believe that you had any part in this transaction,
sir, you would not be here at this moment: therefore your protestations are
superfluous--none would be accepted if any were necessary."

The very circumstance of the son's not having trusted the father
completely, saved the commissioner, for this time, from utter ruin: he took
breath; and presently--oh, weak man! doomed never to know how to deal with
a strong character--fancying that his intercession might avail for his
son, and that the pride of Lord Oldborough might be appeased, and might be
suddenly wrought to forgiveness, by that tone and posture of submission
and supplication used only by the subject to offended majesty, he actually
threw himself at the feet of the minister.

"My gracious lord--a pardon for my son!"

"I beseech you, sir!" cried Lord Oldborough, endeavouring to stop him from
kneeling--the commissioner sunk instantly on his knee.

"Never will the unhappy father rise till his son be restored to your
favour, my lord."

"Sir," said Lord Oldborough, "I have no favour for those who have no sense
of honour: rise, Mr. Falconer, and let not the father degrade himself for
the son--_unavailingly_."

The accent and look were decisive--the commissioner rose. Instead of being
gratified, his patron seemed shocked, if not disgusted: far from being
propitiated by this sacrifice of dignity, it rendered him still more
averse; and no consolatory omen appearing, the commissioner withdrew in
silence, repenting that he had abased himself. After this, some days and
nights passed with him in all the horrors of indecision--Could the minister
weather the storm or not?--should Mr. Falconer endeavour to reinstate
himself with Lord Oldborough, or secure in time favour with the Duke of
Greenwich?--Mrs. Falconer, to whom her husband's groans in the middle of
the night at last betrayed the sufferings of his mind, drew from him the
secret of his fears and meditations. She advised strongly the going over,
decidedly, and in time, but secretly, to the Greenwich faction.

The commissioner knew that this could not be done secretly. The attention
of the minister was now awake to all his motions, and the smallest movement
towards his grace of Greenwich must be observed and understood. On the
other hand, to abide by a falling minister was folly, especially when
he had positively withdrawn his favour from Cunningham, who had the
most to expect from his patronage. Between these opposite difficulties,
notwithstanding the urgent excitations of Mrs. Falconer, the poor
commissioner could not bring himself to decide, till the time for action
was past.

Another blow came upon him for which he was wholly unprepared--there
arrived from abroad accounts of the failure of a secret expedition; and the
general in his despatches named Colonel John Falconer as the officer to
whose neglect of orders he principally attributed the disappointment. It
appeared that orders had been sent to have his regiment at a certain place
at a given hour. At the moment these orders came, Colonel John Falconer was
out on a shooting party without leave. The troops, of course, on which the
general had relied, did not arrive in time, and all his other combinations
failed from this neglect of discipline and disobedience of orders. Colonel
Falconer was sent home to be tried by a court-martial.

"I pity you, sir," said Lord Oldborough, as Commissioner Falconer, white
as ashes, read in his presence these despatches--"I pity you, sir, from my
soul: here is no fault of yours--the fault is mine."

It was one of the few faults of this nature which Lord Oldborough had
ever committed. Except in the instance of the Falconer family, none could
name any whom his lordship had placed in situations, for which they
were inadequate or unfit. Of this single error he had not foreseen the
consequences; they were more important, more injurious to him and to the
public, than he could have calculated or conceived. It appeared now as if
the Falconer family were doomed to be his ruin. That the public knew, in
general, that John Falconer had been promoted by ministerial favour, Lord
Oldborough was aware; but he imagined that the peculiar circumstances of
that affair were known only to himself and to Commissioner Falconer's
family. To his astonishment he found, at this critical moment, that the
whole transaction had reached the ear of majesty, and that it was soon
publicly known. The commissioner, with protestations and oaths, declared
that the secret had never, by his means, transpired--it had been divulged
by the baseness of his son Cunningham, who betrayed it to the Greenwich
faction. They, skilled in all the arts of undermining a rival, employed the
means that were thus put into their power with great diligence and effect.

It was observed at the levee, that the sovereign looked coldly upon the
minister. Every courtier whispered that Lord Oldborough had been certainly
much to blame. Disdainful of their opinions, Lord Oldborough was sensibly
affected by the altered eye of his sovereign.

"What! After all my services!--At the first change of fortune!"

This sentiment swelled in his breast; but his countenance was rigidly calm,
his demeanour towards the courtiers and towards his colleagues more than
usually firm, if not haughty.

After the levee, he demanded a private audience.

Alone with the king, the habitual influence of this great minister's
superior genius operated. The cold manner was changed, or rather, it was
changed involuntarily. From one "not used to the language of apology," the
frank avowal of a fault has a striking effect. Lord Oldborough took upon
himself the whole blame of the disaster that had ensued, in consequence
of his error, an error frequent in other ministers, in him, almost
unprecedented.

He was answered with a smile of royal raillery, that the peculiar family
circumstances which had determined his lordship so rapidly to promote that
officer, must, to all fathers of families and heads of houses, if not to
statesmen and generals, be a sufficient and home apology.

Considering the peculiar talent which his sovereign possessed, and in which
he gloried, that of knowing the connexions and domestic affairs, not only
of the nobility near his person, but of private individuals remote from
his court, Lord Oldborough had little cause to be surprised that this
secret transaction should be known to his majesty. Something of this his
lordship, with all due respect, hinted in reply. At the termination of this
audience, he was soothed by the condescending assurance, that whilst the
circumstances of the late unfortunate reverse naturally created regret and
mortification, no dissatisfaction with his ministerial conduct mixed with
these feelings; on the contrary, he was assured that fear of the effect
a disappointment might have on the mind of the public, in diminishing
confidence in his lordship's efforts for the good of the country, was the
sentiment which had lowered the spirits and clouded the brow of majesty.

His lordship returned thanks for the gracious demonstration of these
sentiments--and, bowing respectfully, withdrew. In the faces and behaviour
of the courtiers, as in a glass, he saw reflected the truth. They all
pretended to be in the utmost consternation; and he heard of nothing but
"apprehensions for the effect on the public mind," and "fears for his
lordship's popularity." His secretary, Mr. Temple, heard, indeed, more of
this than could reach his lordship's ear directly; for, even now, when they
thought they foresaw his fall, few had sufficient courage to hazard the
tone of condolence with Lord Oldborough, or to expose the face of hypocrisy
to the severity of his penetrating eye. In secret, every means had been
taken to propagate in the city, the knowledge of all the circumstances that
were unfavourable to the minister, and to increase the dissatisfaction
which any check in the success of our armies naturally produces. The tide
of popularity, which had hitherto supported the minister, suddenly ebbed;
and he fell, in public opinion, with astonishing rapidity. For the moment
all was forgotten, but that he was the person who had promoted John
Falconer to be a colonel, against whom the cry of the populace was raised
with all the clamour of national indignation. The Greenwich faction
knew how to take advantage of this disposition. It happened to be some
festival, some holiday, when the common people, having nothing to do,
are more disposed than at any other time to intoxication and disorder.
The emissaries of designing partisans mixed with the populace, and a mob
gathered round the minister's carriage, as he was returning home late one
day--the same carriage, and the same man, whom, but a few short weeks
before, this populace had drawn with loud huzzas, and almost with tears of
affection. Unmoved of mind, as he had been when he heard their huzzas, Lord
Oldborough now listened to their execrations, till from abuse they began to
proceed to outrage. Stones were thrown at his carriage. One of his servants
narrowly escaped being struck. Lord Oldborough was alone--he threw open his
carriage-door, and sprang out on the step.

"Whose life is it you seek?" cried he, in a voice which obtained instant
silence. "Lord Oldborough's? Lord Oldborough stands before you. Take his
life who dares--a life spent in your service. Strike! but strike openly.
You are Englishmen, not assassins."

Then, turning to his servants, he added, in a calm voice, "Home--slowly.
Not a man here will touch you. Keep your master in sight. If I fall, mark
by what hand."

Then stepping down into the midst of the people, he crossed the street
to the flagged pathway, the crowd opening to make way for him. He walked
on with a deliberate firm step; the mob moving along with him, sometimes
huzzaing, sometimes uttering horrid execrations in horrid tones. Lord
Oldborough, preserving absolute silence, still walked on, never turned his
head, or quickened his pace, till he reached his own house. Then, facing
the mob, as he stood waiting till the door should be opened, the people,
struck with his intrepidity, with one accord joined in a shout of applause.

The next instant, and before the door was opened, they cried, "Hat
off!--Hat off!"

Lord Oldborough's hat never stirred. A man took up a stone.

"Mark that man!" cried Lord Oldborough.

The door opened. "Return to your homes, my countrymen, and bless God that
you have not any of you to answer this night for murder!"

Then entering his house, he took off his hat, and gave it to one of his
attendants. His secretary, Temple, had run down stairs to meet him,
inquiring what was the cause of the disturbance.

"Only," said Lord Oldborough, "that I have served the people, but never
bent to them."

"Curse them! they are not worth serving. Oh! I thought they'd have taken
my lord's life that minute," cried his faithful servant Rodney. "The sight
left my eyes. I thought he was gone for ever. Thank God! he's safe. Take
off my lord's coat--I can't--for the soul of me. Curse those ungrateful
people!"

"Do not curse them, my good Rodney," said Lord Oldborough, smiling. "Poor
people, they are not ungrateful, only mistaken. Those who mislead them are
to blame. The English are a fine people. Even an English mob, you see, is
generous, and just, as far as it knows."

Lord Oldborough was sound asleep this night, before any other individual in
the house had finished talking of the dangers he had escaped.

The civil and military courage shown by the minister in the sudden attack
upon his character and person were such as to raise him again at once to
his former height in public esteem. His enemies were obliged to affect
admiration. The Greenwich party, foiled in this attempt, now disavowed it.
News of a victory effaced the memory of the late disappointment. Stocks
rose--addresses for a change of ministry were quashed--addresses of thanks
and congratulation poured in--Lord Oldborough gave them to Mr. Temple to
answer, and kept the strength of his attention fixed upon the great objects
which were essential to the nation and the sovereign he served.

Mr. Falconer saw that the storm had blown over, the darkness was past--Lord
Oldborough, firm and superior, stood bright in power, and before him the
commissioner bent more obsequious, more anxious than ever. Anxious he might
well be--unhappy father! the life, perhaps, of one of his sons, his honour,
certainly, at stake--the fortune of another--his existence ruined! And what
hopes of propitiating him, who had so suffered by the favour he had already
shown, who had been betrayed by one of the family and disgraced by another.
The commissioner's only hope was in the recollection of the words, "I pity
you from my soul, sir," which burst from Lord Oldborough even at the moment
when he had most reason to be enraged against Colonel Falconer. Following
up this idea, and working on the generous compassion, of which, but for
this indication, he should not have supposed the stern Lord Oldborough to
be susceptible, the commissioner appeared before him every day the image
of a broken-hearted father. In silence Lord Oldborough from time to time
looked at him; and by these looks, more than by all the promises of all the
great men who had ever spoken to him, Mr. Falconer was reassured; and, as
he told Mrs. Falconer, who at this time was in dreadful anxiety, he felt
certain that Lord Oldborough would not punish him for the faults of his
sons--he was satisfied that his place and his pension would not he taken
from him--and that, at least in fortune, they should not be utterly ruined.
In this security the commissioner showed rather more than his customary
degree of strength of mind, and more knowledge of Lord Oldborough's
character than he had upon most other occasions evinced.

Things were in this state, when, one morning, after the minister had given
orders that no one should be admitted, as he was dictating some public
papers of consequence to Mr. Temple, the Duke of Greenwich was announced.
His grace sent in a note to signify that he waited upon Lord Oldborough by
order of his majesty; and that, if this hour were not convenient, he begged
to have the hour named at which his grace could be admitted. His grace was
admitted instantly. Mr. Temple retired--for it was evident this was to be a
secret conference. His grace of Greenwich entered with the most important
solemnity--infinitely more ceremonious than usual; he was at last seated,
and, after heavy and audible sighs, still hesitated to open his business.
Through the affected gloom and dejection of his countenance Lord Oldborough
saw a malicious pleasure lurking, whilst, in a studied exordium, he spoke
of the infinite reluctance with which he had been compelled, by his
majesty's express orders, to wait upon his lordship on a business the most
painful to his feelings. As being a public colleague--as a near and dear
connexion--as a friend in long habits of intimacy with his lordship, he had
prayed his majesty to be excused; but it was his majesty's pleasure: he had
only now to beg his lordship to believe that it was with infinite concern,
&c. Lord Oldborough, though suffering under this circumlocution, never
condescended to show any symptom of impatience; but allowing his grace
to run the changes on the words and forms of apology, when these were
exhausted, his lordship simply said, that "his majesty's pleasure of course
precluded all necessity for apology."

His grace was vexed to find Lord Oldborough still unmoved--he was sure
this tranquillity could not long endure: he continued, "A sad business, my
lord--a terrible discovery--I really can hardly bring myself to speak--"

Lord Oldborough gave his grace no assistance.

"My private regard," he repeated.

A smile of contempt on Lord Oldborough's countenance.

"Your lordship's hitherto invulnerable public integrity--"

A glance of indignation from Lord Oldborough.

"_Hitherto_ invulnerable!--your grace will explain."

"Let these--these fatal notes--letters--unfortunately got into the hands
of a leading, impracticable member of opposition, and by him laid--Would
that I had been apprised, or could have conceived it possible, time
enough to prevent that step; but it was done before I had the slightest
intimation--laid before his majesty--"

Lord Oldborough calmly received the letters from his grace.

"My own handwriting, and private seal, I perceive."

The duke sighed--and whilst Lord Oldborough drew out, opened, and read the
first letter in the parcel, his grace went on--"This affair has thrown us
all into the greatest consternation. It is to be brought before parliament
immediately--unless a resignation should take place--which we should all
deplore. The impudence, the inveteracy of that fellow, is astonishing--no
silencing him. We might hush up the affair if his majesty had not been
apprised; but where the interest of the service is concerned, his majesty
is warm."

"His majesty!" cried Lord Oldborough: "His majesty could not, I trust, for
a moment imagine these letters to be I mine?"

"But for the hand and seal which I understood your lordship to acknowledge,
I am persuaded his majesty could not have believed it."

"Believed! My king! did he believe it?" cried Lord Oldborough. His
agitation was for a moment excessive, uncontrollable. "No! that I will
never credit, till I have it from his own lips." Then commanding himself,
"Your grace will have the goodness to leave these letters with me till
to-morrow."

His grace, with infinite politeness and regret, was under the necessity
of refusing this request. His orders were only to show the letters to his
lordship, and then to restore them to the hands of the member of opposition
who had laid them before his majesty.

Lord Oldborough took off the cover of one of the letters, on which was
merely the address and seal. The address was written also at the bottom
of the letter enclosed, therefore the cover could not be of the least
importance. The duke could not, Lord Oldborough said, refuse to leave this
with him.

To this his grace agreed--protesting that he was far from wishing to make
difficulties. If there were any thing else he could do--any thing his
lordship would wish to have privately insinuated or publicly said--

His lordship, with proud thanks, assured the duke he did not wish to have
any thing privately insinuated; and whatever it was necessary to say or do
publicly, he should do himself, or give orders to have done. His lordship
entered into no farther explanation. The duke at last was obliged to take
his leave, earnestly hoping and trusting that this business would terminate
to his lordship's entire satisfaction.

No sooner was the duke gone than Lord Oldborough rang for his carriage.

"Immediately--and Mr. Temple, instantly."

Whilst his carriage was coming to the door, in the shortest manner possible
Lord Oldborough stated the facts to his secretary, that letters had been
forged in his lordship's name, promising to certain persons promotion
in the army--and navy--gratification--and pensions. Some were addressed
to persons who had actually obtained promotion, shortly after the time
of these letters; others contained reproaches for having been ill-used.
Even from the rapid glance Lord Oldborough had taken of these papers,
he had retained the names of several of the persons to whom they were
addressed--and the nature of the promotion obtained. They were persons who
could have had no claim upon an honest minister. His lordship left a list
of them with Mr. Temple--also the cover of the letter, on which was a
specimen of the forged writing and the private seal.

"I am going to the king. In my absence, Mr. Temple, think for me--I know
you feel for me. The object is to discover the authors of this forgery."

"My lord, may I consult with Mr. Alfred Percy?"

"Yes--with no other person."

It was not Lord Oldborough's day for doing business with the king. He was
late--the king was going out to ride. His majesty received the minister as
usual; but notwithstanding the condescension of his majesty's words and
manner, it was evident to Lord Oldborough's penetration, that there was a
coldness and formality in the king's countenance.

"I beg I may not detain your majesty--I see I am late," said Lord
Oldborough.

"Is the business urgent, my lord?"

"No, sir; for it concerns principally myself: it can, therefore, wait your
majesty's leisure at any hour your majesty may appoint."

The king dismounted instantly.

"This moment, my lord, I am at leisure for any business that concerns your
lordship."

The king returned to the palace--Lord Oldborough followed, and all the
spectators on foot and horseback were left full of curiosity.

Notwithstanding the condescension of his majesty's words and manner,
and the polite promptitude to attend to any business that concerned his
lordship, it was evident to Lord Oldborough's penetration that there was an
unusual coldness and formality in the king's countenance and deportment,
unlike the graciousness of his reception when satisfied and pleased. As
soon as the business of the day had been gone through, Lord Oldborough said
he must now beg his majesty's attention on a subject which principally
concerned himself. The king looked as one prepared to hear, but determined
to say as little as possible.

Lord Oldborough placed himself so as to give the king the advantage of the
light, which he did not fear to have full on his own countenance.

"Sir, certain letters, signed with my name, and sealed with my seal, have,
I am informed, been laid before your majesty."

"Your lordship has been rightly informed."

"I trust--I hope that your majesty--"

At the firm assertion, in the tone with which Lord Oldborough pronounced, I
_trust_--his majesty's eye changed--and moved away from Lord Oldborough's,
when he, with respectful interrogation of tone, added, "I _hope_ your
majesty could not believe those letters to be mine."

"Frankly, my lord," said the king, "the assertions, the insinuations of no
man, or set of men, of any rank or weight in my dominions, could by any
imaginable means have induced me to conceive it possible that such letters
had been written by your lordship. Not for one moment could my belief have
been compelled by any evidence less strong than your lordship's handwriting
and seal. I own, I thought I knew your lordship's seal and writing; but I
now see that I have been deceived, and I rejoice to see it."

"I thank your majesty. I cannot feel surprise that a forgery and a
counterfeit which, at first view, compelled my own belief of their being
genuine, should, for a moment, have deceived you, sir; but, I own, I had
flattered myself that my sovereign knew my heart and character, yet better
than my seal and signature."

"Undoubtedly, my lord."

"And I should have hoped that, if your majesty had perused those letters,
no assertions could have been necessary, on my part, to convince you, sir,
that they could not be mine. I have now only to rejoice that your majesty
is undeceived; and that I have not intruded unnecessarily with this
explanation. I am fully sensible, sir, of your goodness, in having thus
permitted me to make, as early as possible, this assertion of my innocence.
For the proofs of it, and for the detection of the guilty, I am preparing;
and I hope to make these as clear to you, sir, as your majesty's assurance
of the pleasure you feel in being undeceived is satisfactory--consolatory
to me," concluded Lord Oldborough, with a bow of profound yet proud
respect.

"My lord," said the king, "I have no doubt that this affair will redound to
your honour, and _terminate to your lordship's entire satisfaction_."

The very phrase used by the Duke of Greenwich.

"As to myself, your lordship can have no farther anxiety; but I wish your
lordship's endeavours to detect and bring proofs home to the guilty may
be promptly successful--for the gratification of your own feelings, and
the satisfaction of the public mind, before the matter should be brought
forward in parliament."

His majesty bowed, and as Lord Oldborough retired, he added some gracious
phrases, expressive of the high esteem he felt for the minister, and
the interest he had always, and should always take, in whatever could
contribute to his public and private--_satisfaction_--(again).

To an eye and ear less practised in courts than this minister's, all that
had been said would have been really satisfactory: but Lord Oldborough
discerned a secret embarrassment in the smile, a constraint in the manner,
a care, an effort to be gracious in the language, a caution, a rounding of
the periods, a recurrence to technical phrases of compliment and amity, a
want of the free fluent language of the heart; language which, as it flows,
whether from sovereign or subject, leaves a trace that the art of courtier
or of monarch cannot imitate. In all attempts at such imitation, there is a
want, of which vanity and even interest is not always sensible, but which
feeling perceives instantly. Lord Oldborough felt it--and twice, during
this audience, he was on the point of offering his resignation, and twice,
exerting strong power over himself, he refrained.

He saw plainly that he was not where he had been in the king's confidence;
that his enemies had been at work, and, in some measure, had succeeded;
that suspicions had been infused into the king's mind. That his king had
doubted him, his majesty had confessed--and Lord Oldborough discerned that
there was no genuine joy at the moment his majesty was undeceived, no real
anxiety for his honour, only the ostensible manifestation suitable to the
occasion--repeatable--or recordable.

Still there was nothing of which he could complain; every expression, if
written down or repeated, must have appeared proper and gracious from
the sovereign to his minister; and for that minister to resign at such a
moment, from pride or pique, would have been fatal to the dignity, perhaps
to the integrity, of his character.

Lord Oldborough reasoned thus as he stood in the presence of the king,
and compelled himself, during the whole audience, and to the last parting
moment, to preserve an air and tone of calm, respectful self-possession.




CHAPTER XXXVIII.


During Lord Oldborough's absence, his faithful secretary had been active in
his service. Mr. Temple went immediately to his friend Alfred Percy. Alfred
had just returned fatigued from the courts, and was resting himself, in
conversation with his wife and Caroline.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Alfred," said Mr. Temple, "but I must take you
away from these ladies to consult you on particular business."

"Oh! let the particular business wait till he has rested himself," said
Mrs. Percy, "unless it be a matter of life and death."

"Life and death!" cried Lady Frances Arlington, running in at the open
door--"Yes, it is a matter of life and death!--Stay, Mr. Temple! Mr. Percy!
going the moment I come into the room--Impossible!"

"Impossible it would be," said Mr. Temple, "in any other case; but--"

  "'When a lady's in the case,
    You know all other things give place,'"

cried Lady Frances. "So, positively, gentlemen, I stop the way. But, Mr.
Temple, to comfort you--for I never saw a man, gallant or ungallant, look
so impatient--I shall not be able to stay above a moment--Thank you, Mrs.
Percy, I can't sit down--Mrs. Crabstock, the crossest of Crabstocks and
stiffest of pattern-women, is in the carriage waiting for me. Give me
joy--I have accomplished my purpose, and without Lady Jane Granville's
assistance--obtained a permit to go with Lady Trant, and made her take me
to Lady Angelica's last night. Grand conversazione!--Saw the German baron!
Caught both the profiles--have 'em here--defy you not to smile. Look,"
cried her ladyship, drawing out of her _reticule_ a caricature, which she
put into Caroline's hand; and, whilst she was looking at it, Lady Frances
went on speaking rapidly. "Only a sketch, a scrawl in pencil, while they
thought I was copying a Sonnet to Wisdom--on the worst bit of paper, too,
in the world--old cover of a letter I stole from Lady Trant's _reticule_
while she was at cards. Mr. Temple, you shall see my _chef-d'oeuvre_ by and
by; don't look at the reverse of the medal, pray. Did not I tell you, you
were the most impatient man in the world?"

It was true that Mr. Temple was at this instant most impatient to get
possession of the paper, for on the back of that cover of the letter, on
which the caricature was drawn, the hand-writing of the direction appeared
to him--He dared scarcely believe his eyes--his hopes.

"Mrs. Crabstock, my lady," said the footman, "is waiting."

"I know, sir," said Lady Frances: "so, Caroline, you won't see the
likeness. Very well; if I can't get a compliment, I must be off. When you
draw a caricature, I won't praise it. Here! Mr. Temple, one look, since you
are dying for it."

"One look will not satisfy me," cried Mr. Temple, seizing the paper: "your
ladyship must leave the drawing with us till to-morrow."

"_Us--must_. Given at our court of St. James's. Lord Oldborough's own
imperative style."

"Imperative! no; humbly I beseech your ladyship, thus humbly," cried Mr.
Temple, kneeling in jest, but keeping in earnest fast hold of the paper.

"But why--why? Are you acquainted with Lady Angelica? I did not know you
knew her."

"It is excellent!--It is admirable!--I cannot let it go. This hand that
seized it long shall hold the prize."

"The man's mad! But don't think I'll give it to you--I would not give it to
my mother: but I'll lend it to you, if you'll tell me honestly why you want
it."

"Honestly--I want to show it to a particular friend, who will be delighted
with it."

"Tell me who, this minute, or you shall not have it."

"Mrs. Crabstock, my lady, bids me say, the duchess--"

"The duchess--the deuce!--if she's come to the duchess, I must go. I hope
your man, Mrs. Percy, won't tell Mrs. Crabstock he saw this gentleman
kneeling."

"Mrs. Crabstock's getting out, my lady," said the footman, returning.

"Mr. Temple, for mercy's sake, get up."

"Never, till your ladyship gives the drawing."

"There! there! let me go--audacious!"

"Good morning to you, Mrs. Percy--Good bye, Caroline--Be at Lady Jane's
to-night, for I'm to be there."

Her ladyship ran off, and met Mrs. Crabstock on the stairs, with whom we
leave her to make her peace as she pleases.

"My dear Temple, I believe you are out of your senses," said Alfred: "I
never saw any man so importunate about a drawing that is not worth a
straw--trembling with eagerness, and kneeling!--Caroline, what do you think
Rosamond would have thought of all this?"

"If she knew the whole, she would have thought I acted admirably," said Mr.
Temple. "But come, I have business."

Alfred took him into his study, and there the whole affair was explained.
Mr. Temple had brought with him the specimen of the forgery to show to
Alfred, and, upon comparing it with the handwriting on the cover of the
letter on which the caricature was drawn, the similarity appeared to
be strikingly exact. The cover, which had been stolen, as Lady Frances
Arlington said, from Lady Trant's _reticule_, was directed to Captain
Nuttall. He was one of the persons to whom forged letters had been written,
as appeared by the list which Lord Oldborough had left with Mr. Temple.
The secretary was almost certain that his lordship had never written with
his own hand to any Captain Nuttall; but this he could ask the moment he
should see Lord Oldborough again. It seemed as if this paper had never been
actually used as the cover of a letter, for it had no post-mark, seal, or
wafer. Upon farther inspection, it was perceived that a _t_ had been left
out in the name of _Nuttall_; and it appeared probable that the cover had
been thrown aside, and a new one written, in consequence of this omission.
But Alfred did not think it possible that Lady Trant could be the forger
of these letters, because he had seen some of her ladyship's notes of
invitation to Caroline, and they were written in a wretched cramped hand.

"But that cramped hand might be feigned to conceal the powers of
penmanship," said Mr. Temple.

"Well! granting her ladyship's talents were equal to the mere execution,"
Alfred persisted in thinking she had not abilities sufficient to invent or
combine all the parts of such a scheme. "She might be an accomplice, but
she must have had a principal--and who could that principal be?"

The same suspicion, the same person, came at the same moment into the heads
of both gentlemen, as they sat looking at each other.

"There is an intimacy between them," said Alfred. "Recollect all the pains
Lady Trant took for Mrs. Falconer about English Clay--they--"

"Mrs. Falconer! But how could she possibly get at Lord Oldborough's private
seal--a seal that is always locked up--a seal never used to any common
letter, never to any but those written by his own hand to some private
friend, and on some very particular occasion? Since I have been with him I
have not seen him use that seal three times."

"When and to whom, can you recollect?" said Alfred.

"I recollect!--I have it all!" exclaimed Mr. Temple, striking the table--"I
have it! But, Lady Frances Arlington--I am sorry she is gone."

"Why! what of her?--Lady Frances can have nothing more to do with the
business."

"She has a great deal more, I can assure you--but without knowing it."

"Of that I am certain, or all the world would have known it long ago: but
tell me how."

"I recollect, at the time when I was dangling after Lady Frances--there's
good in every thing--just before we went down to Falconer-court, her
ladyship, who, you know, has always some reigning fancy, was distracted
about what she called _bread-seals_. She took off the impression of seals
with bread--no matter how, but she did--and used to torment me--no, I
thought it a great pleasure at the time--to procure for her all the pretty
seals I could."

"But, surely, you did not give her Lord Oldborough's?"

"I!--not I!--how could you imagine such a thing?"

"You were in love, and might have forgotten consequences."

"A man in love may forget every thing, I grant--except his fidelity. No, I
never gave the seal; but I perfectly recollect Lady Frances showing it to
me in her collection, and my asking her how she came by it."

"And how did she?"

"From the cover of a note which the duke, her uncle, had received from Lord
Oldborough; and I, at the time, remembered his lordship's having written it
to the Duke of Greenwich on the birth of his grandson. Lord Oldborough had,
upon a former occasion, affronted his grace by sending him a note sealed
with a wafer--this time his lordship took special care, and sealed it with
his private _seal of honour_."

"Well! But how does this bring the matter home to Mrs. Falconer?" said
Alfred.

"Stay--I am bringing it as near home to her as possible. We all went
down to Falconer-court together; and there I remember Lady Frances had
her collection of bread-seals, and was daubing and colouring them with
vermilion--and Mrs. Falconer was so anxious about them--and Lady Frances
gave her several--I must see Lady Frances again directly, to inquire
whether she gave her, among the rest, Lord Oldborough's--I'll go to Lady
Jane Granville's this evening on purpose. But had I not better go this
moment to Lady Trant?"

Alfred advised, that having traced the matter thus far, they should not
hazard giving any alarm to Lady Trant or to Mrs. Talconer, but should
report to Lord Oldborough what progress had been made.

Mr. Temple accordingly went home, to be in readiness for his lordship's
return. In the mean time the first exaltation of indignant pride having
subsided, and his cool judgment reflecting upon what had passed, Lord
Oldborough considered that, however satisfactory to his own mind might he
the feeling of his innocence, the proofs of it were necessary to satisfy
the public; he saw that his character would be left doubtful, and at the
mercy of his enemies, if he were in pique and resentment hastily to resign,
before he had vindicated his integrity. "_If_ your proofs be produced, my
lord!"--these words recurred to him, and his anxiety to obtain these proofs
rose high; and high was his satisfaction the moment he saw his secretary,
for by the first glance at Mr. Temple's countenance he perceived that some
discovery had been made.

Alfred, that night, received through Mr. Temple his lordship's request,
that he would obtain what farther information he could relative to the
private seal, in whatever way he thought most prudent. His lordship trusted
entirely to his discretion--Mr. Temple was engaged with other business.

Alfred went with Caroline to Lady Jane Granville's, to meet Lady Frances
Arlington; he entered into conversation, and by degrees brought her to
his point, playing all the time with her curiosity, and humouring her
childishness, while he carried on his cross-examination.

At first she could not recollect any thing about making the seals he talked
of. "It was a fancy that had passed--and a past fancy," she said, "was
like a past love, or a past beauty, good for nothing but to be forgotten."
However, by proper leading of the witness, and suggesting time, place, and
circumstance, he did bring to the fair lady's mind all that he wanted her
to remember. She could not conceive what interest Mr. Percy could take in
the matter--it was some jest about Mr. Temple, she was sure. Yes, she did
recollect a seal with a Cupid riding a lion, that Mr. Temple gave her just
before they went to Falconer-court--was that what he meant?

"No--but a curious seal--" (Alfred described the device.)

"Lord Oldborough's! Yes, there was some such odd seal." But it was not
given to her by Mr. Temple--she took that from a note to her uncle, the
Duke of Greenwich.

Yes--that, Alfred said, he knew; but what did her ladyship do with it?

"You know how I got it! Bless me! you seem to know every thing I do and
say. You know my affairs vastly well--you act the conjuror admirably--pray,
can you tell me whom I am to marry?"

"That I will--when your ladyship has told me to whom you gave that seal."

"That I would, and welcome, if I could recollect--but I really can't. If
you think I gave it to Mr. Temple, I assure you, you are mistaken--you may
ask him."

"I know your ladyship did not give it to Mr. Temple--but to whom did you
give it?"

"I remember now--not to any gentleman, after all--you are positively out. I
gave it to Mrs. Falconer."

"You are certain of that, Lady Frances Arlington?"

"I am certain, Mr. Alfred Percy."

"And how can you prove it to me, Lady Frances?"

"The easiest way in the world--by asking Mrs. Falconer. Only I don't go
there now much, since Georgiana and I have quarrelled--but what can make
you so curious about it?"

"That's a secret."--At the word _secret_, her attention was fixed.--"May I
ask if your ladyship would know the seal again if you saw it?--Is this any
thing like the impression?" (showing her the seal on the forged cover.)

"The very same that I gave Mrs. Falconer, I'll swear to it--I'll tell you
how I know it particularly. There's a little outer rim here, with points to
it, which there is not to the other. I fastened my bread-seal into an old
setting of my own, from which I had lost the stone. Mrs. Falconer took a
fancy to it, among a number of others, so I let her have it. Now I have
answered all your questions--answer mine--Whom am I to marry?"

"Your ladyship will marry whomsoever--your ladyship _pleases_."

"That was an ambiguous answer," she observed; "for that she _pleased_
every body." Her ladyship was going to run on with some further questions,
but Alfred pretending that the oracle was not permitted to answer more
explicitly, left her completely in the dark as to what his meaning had been
in this whole conversation.

He reported progress to Lord Oldborough--and his lordship slept as soundly
this night as he did the night after he had been attacked by the mob.

The next morning the first person he desired to see was Mr. Falconer--his
lordship sent for him into his cabinet.

"Mr. Commissioner Falconer, I promised to give you notice, whenever I
should see any probability of my going out of power."

"Good Heaven! my lord," exclaimed the commissioner, starting back. The
surprise, the consternation were real--Lord Oldborough had his eye upon him
to determine that point.

"Impossible, surely!--I hope--"

His hope flitted at the moment to the Duke of Greenwich--but returned
instantly: he had made no terms--had missed his time. If Lord Oldborough
should go out of office--his place, his pension, gone--utter ruin.

Lord Oldborough marked the vacillation and confusion of his countenance,
and saw that he was quite unprepared.

"I hope--Merciful Powers! I trust--I thought your lordship had triumphed
over all your enemies, and was firmer in favour and power than ever. What
can have occurred?"

Without making any answer, Lord Oldborough beckoned to the commissioner
to approach nearer the window where his lordship was standing, and then
suddenly put into his hand the cover with the forged handwriting and seal.

"What am I to understand by this, my lord?" said the bewildered
commissioner, turning it backwards and forwards. "Captain Nuttall!--I never
saw the man in my life. May I ask, my lord, what I am to comprehend from
this?"

"I see, sir, that you know nothing of the business."

The whole was explained by Lord Oldborough succinctly. The astonishment
and horror in the poor commissioner's countenance and gestures, and still
more, the eagerness with which he begged to be permitted to try to discover
the authors of this forgery, were sufficient proofs that he had not the
slightest suspicion that the guilt could be traced to any of his own
family.

Lord Oldborough's look, fixed on the commissioner, expressed what it had
once before expressed--"Sir, from my soul, I pity you!"

The commissioner saw this look, and wondered why Lord Oldborough should
pity _him_ at a time when all his lordship's feelings should naturally be
for himself.

"My lord, I would engage we shall discover--we shall trace it."

"I believe that I have discovered--that I have traced it," said Lord
Oldborough; and he sighed.

Now that sigh was more incomprehensible to the commissioner than all the
rest, and he stood with his lips open for a moment before he could utter,
"Why then resign, my lord?"

"That is my affair," said Lord Oldborough. "Let us, if you please, sir,
think of yours; for, probably, this is the only time I shall ever more have
it in my power to be of the least service to you."

"Oh! my lord--my lord, don't say so!" said the commissioner quite
forgetting all his artificial manner, and speaking naturally: "the last
time you shall have it in your power!--Oh! my dear lord, don't say so!"

"My dear sir, I must--it gives me pain--you see it does."

"At such a time as this to think of me instead of yourself! My lord, I
never knew you till this moment--so well."

"Nor I you, sir," said Lord Oldborough. "It is the more unfortunate for us
both, that our connexion and intercourse must now for ever cease."

"Never, never, my lord, if you were to go out of power to-morrow--which
Heaven, in its mercy and justice, forbid! I could never forget the
goodness--I would never desert--in spite of all interest--I should
continue--I hope your lordship would permit me to pay my duty--all
intercourse could never cease."

Lord Oldborough saw, and almost smiled at the struggle between the courtier
and the man--the confusion in the commissioner's mind between his feelings
and his interest. Partly his lordship relieved, and partly he pained Mr.
Falconer, by saying, in his firm tone, "I thank you, Mr. Falconer; but all
intercourse must cease. After this hour, we meet no more. I beg you, sir,
to collect your spirits, and to listen to me calmly. Before this day is at
an end, you will understand why all farther intercourse between us would
be useless to your interest, and incompatible with my honour. Before many
hours are past, a blow will be struck which will go to your heart--for I
see you have one--and deprive you of the power of thought. It is my wish to
make that blow fall as lightly upon you as possible."

"Oh! my lord, your resignation would indeed be a blow I could never
recover. The bare apprehension deprives me at this moment of all power of
thought; but still I hope--"

"Hear me, sir, I beg, without interruption: it is my business to think
for you. Go immediately to the Duke of Greenwich, make what terms with
him you can--make what advantage you can of the secret of my approaching
resignation--a secret I now put in your power to communicate to his grace,
and which no one yet suspects--I having told it to no one living but to
yourself. Go quickly to the duke--time presses--I wish you success--and a
better patron than I have been, than my principles would permit me to be.
Farewell, Mr. Falconer."

The commissioner moved towards the door when Lord Oldborough said "_Time
presses_;" but the commissioner stopped--turned back--could not go: the
tears--real tears--rolled down his cheeks--Lord Oldborough went forward,
and held out his hand to him--the commissioner kissed it, with the
reverence with which he would have kissed his sovereign's hand; and bowing,
he involuntarily backed to the door, as if quitting the presence of
majesty.

"It is a pity that man was bred a mere courtier, and that he is cursed with
a family on none of whom there is any dependence," thought Lord Oldborough,
as the door closed upon the commissioner for ever.

Lord Oldborough delayed an hour purposely, to give Mr. Falconer advantage
of the day with the Duke of Greenwich: then ordered his carriage, and drove
to--Mrs. Falconer's.

Great was her surprise at the minister's entrance.--"Concerned the
commissioner was not at home."

"My business is with Mrs. Falconer."

"My lord--your lordship--the honour and the pleasure of a visit--Georgiana,
my dear."

Mrs. Falconer nodded to her daughter, who most unwillingly, and as if dying
with curiosity, retired.

The smile died away upon Mrs. Falconer's lips as she observed the stern
gravity of Lord Oldborough's countenance. She moved a chair towards his
lordship--he stood, and leaning on the back of the chair, paused, as he
looked at her.

"What is to come?--Cunningham, perhaps," thought Mrs. Falconer; "or perhaps
something about John. When will he speak?--I can't--I must--I am happy to
see your lordship looking so well."

"Is Mrs. Falconer acquainted with Lady Trant?"

"Lady Trant--yes, my lord."

"Mercy! Is it possible?--No, for her own sake she would not betray me,"
thought Mrs. Falconer.

"Intimately?" said Lord Oldborough.

"Intimately--that is, as one's intimate with every body of a certain
sort--one visits--but no farther--I can't say I have the honour--"

Mrs. Falconer was so distracted by seeing Lord Oldborough searching in his
pocket-book for a letter, that in spite of all her presence of mind, she
knew not what she said; and all her presence of countenance failed, when
Lord Oldborough placed before her eyes the cover directed to Captain
Nuttall.

Can you guess how this came into Lady Trant's possession, madam?"

"I protest, my lord," her voice trembling, in spite of her utmost efforts
to command it, "I don't know--nor can I conceive--"

"Nor can you conceive by whom it was written, madam?"

"It appears--it bears a resemblance--some likeness--as far as I
recollect--but it is so long since I have seen your lordship's own
hand--and hands are so like--sometimes--and I am so bad a judge--every
hand, all fashionable hands, are so like."

"And every seal like every seal?" said Lord Oldborough, placing the
counterfeit seal before Mrs. Falconer. "I recommend it to you, madam, to
waste no farther time in evasion; but to deliver to me the counterpart
of this seal, the impression of my private seal, which you had from Lady
Frances Arlington."

"A mere bread-seal! Her ladyship surely has not said--I really have lost
it--if I ever had it--I declare your lordship terrifies me so, by this
strange mode--"

"I recommend it to you once more, madam, and for the last time I earnestly
recommend it to you, to deliver up to me that seal, for I have sworn to
my belief that it is in your possession; a warrant will in consequence be
issued, to seize and search your papers. The purport of my present visit,
of which I should gladly have been spared the pain, is to save you, madam,
from the public disgrace of having a warrant executed. Do not faint, madam,
if you can avoid it, nor go into hysterics; for if you do, I must retire,
and the warrant must be executed. Your best course is to open that desk,
to give me up the seal, to make to me at this instant a full confession of
all you know of this transaction. If you do thus, for your husband's sake,
madam, I will, as far as I can consistently with what is due to myself,
spare you the shame of an arrest."

Mrs. Falconer, with trembling hands, unlocked the desk, and delivered the
seal.

"And a letter which I see in the same hand-writing, madam, if you please."

She gave it; and then, unable to support herself longer, sunk upon a sofa:
but she neither fainted nor screamed--she was aware of the consequences.
Lord Oldborough opened the window to give her air. She was relieved by a
burst of tears, and was silent--and nothing was heard but her sobs, which
she endeavoured to suppress in vain. She was more relieved on looking up
by one glance at Lord Oldborough's countenance, where she saw compassion
working strongly.

But before she could take any advantage of it, the expression was
changed, the feeling was controlled: he was conscious of its weakness--he
recollected what public justice, and justice to his own character,
required--he recollected all the treachery, the criminality, of which she
had been guilty.

"Madam, you are not now in a condition, I see, to explain yourself
farther--I will relieve you from my presence: my reproaches you will never
hear; but I shall expect from you, before one hour, such an avowal in
writing of this whole transaction, as may, with the written confession of
Lady Trant, afford the proofs which are due to my sovereign, and to the
public, of my integrity."

Mrs. Falconer bowed her head, covered her face, clasped her hands in agony:
as Lord Oldborough retired, she sprang up, followed to throw herself at his
feet, yet without knowing what she could say.

"The commissioner is innocent!--If you forsake him, he is undone--all, all
of us, utterly ruined! Oh! Georgiana! Georgiana! where are you? speak for
me!"

Georgiana was in an inner apartment, trying on a new robe _a la
Georgienne_.

"Whatever you may wish farther to say to me, madam," said Lord Oldborough,
disengaging himself from her, and passing decidedly on, before Georgiana
appeared, "you will put in writing, and let me have within this hour--or
never."

Within that hour, Commissioner Falconer brought, for Lord Oldborough, the
paper his wife had drawn up, but which he was obliged to deliver to Mr.
Temple; for Lord Oldborough had so ordered, and his lordship persevered in
refusing to see him more. Mrs. Falconer's paper was worded with all the
art and address of which she was mistress, and all the pathos she could
command--Lord Oldborough looked only for facts--these he marked with his
pencil, and observed where they corroborated and where they differed from
Lady Trant's confession, which Mr. Temple had been charged to obtain during
his lordship's visit to Mrs. Falconer. The greater part of the night Lord
Oldborough and Mr. Alfred Percy were employed arranging these documents, so
as to put the proofs in the clearest and shortest form, to be laid before
his majesty the succeeding day.

It appeared that Mrs. Falconer had been first tempted to these practices by
the distress for money into which extravagant entertainments, or, as she
stated, the expenses incident to her situation--expenses which far exceeded
her income--had led her. It was supposed, from her having kept open
house at times for the minister, that she and the commissioner had great
influence; she had been applied to--presents had been offered, and she had
long withstood. But at length, Lady Trant acting in concert with her, they
had been supplied with information by a clerk in one of the offices, a
relation of Lady Trant, who was a vain, incautious youth, and, it seems,
did not know the use made of his indiscretion: he told what promotions he
heard spoken of--what commissions were making out. The ladies prophesied,
and their prophecies being accomplished, they gained credit. For some time
they kept themselves behind the scenes--and many, applying to A.B., and
dealing with they did not know whom, paid for promotions which would have
come unpaid for; others paid, and were never promoted, and wrote letters
of reproach--Captain Nuttall was among these, and he it was, who, finding
himself duped, first stirred in the business; and by means of an active
member of opposition, to whom he made known his secret grievance, brought
the whole to light.

The proofs arranged (and Lord Oldborough never slept till they were
perfected), he reposed tranquilly. The next day, asking an audience of his
majesty, he simply laid the papers on his majesty's table, observing that
he had been so fortunate as to succeed in tracing the forgery, and that he
trusted these papers contained all the necessary proofs.

His lordship bowed and retired instantly, leaving his majesty to examine
the papers alone.

The resolution to resign his ministerial station had long been forming in
Lord Oldborough's mind. It was not a resolution taken suddenly in pride
or pique, but after reflection, and upon strong reasons. It was a measure
which he had long been revolving in his secret thoughts. During the
enthusiasm of political life, the proverbial warnings against the vanity
of ambition, and the danger of dependence on the favour of princes, had
passed on his ear but as a schoolboy's lesson: a phrase "to point a moral,
or adorn a tale." He was not a reading man, and the maxims of books he
disregarded or disbelieved; but in the observations he made for himself he
trusted: the lessons he drew from life were never lost upon him, and he
acted in consequence of that which he believed, with a decision, vigour,
and invariability, seldom found even among philosophers. Of late years he
had, in real life, seen striking instances of the treachery of courtiers,
and had felt some symptoms of insecurity in the smile of princes. Fortune
had been favourable to him--she was fickle--he determined to quit her
before she should change. Ambition, it is true, had tempted him--he had
risen to her highest pinnacle: he would not be hurled from high--he would
descend voluntarily, and with dignity. Lord Oldborough's habits of thought
were as different as possible from those of a metaphysician: he had
reflected less upon the course of his own mind than upon almost any other
subject; but he knew human nature practically; disquisitions on habit,
passion, or the sovereign good, were unread by him, nor, in the course of
his life, had he ever formed a system, moral or prudential; but the same
penetration, the same _longanimity_, which enabled him to govern the
affairs of a great nation, gave him, when his attention turned towards
himself, a foresight for his own happiness. In the meridian of life, he had
cherished ambition, as the only passion that could supply him with motive
strong enough to call great powers into great action. But of late years
he had felt something, not only of the waywardness of fortune, but of the
approaches of age--not in his mind, but in his health, which had suffered
by his exertions. The attacks of hereditary gout had become more violent
and more frequent. If he lived, these would, probably, at seasons, often
incapacitate him from his arduous ministerial duties: much, that he did
well, must be ill done by deputy. He had ever reprobated the practice of
leaving the business of the nation to be done by clerks and underlings
in office. Yet to this the minister, however able, however honest, must
come at last, if he persist in engrossing business and power beyond what
an individual can wield. Love for his country, a sense of his own honour,
integrity, and consistency, here combined to determine this great minister
to retire while it was yet time--to secure, at once, the dignity and
happiness of the evening of life. The day had been devoted to good and high
purposes--that was enough--he could now, self-satisfied and full of honour,
bid adieu to ambition. This resolution, once formed, was fixed. In vain
even his sovereign endeavoured to dissuade him from carrying it into
execution.

When the king had examined the papers which Lord Oldborough had laid before
him, his majesty sent for his lordship again, and the moment the minister
entered the cabinet, his majesty expressed his perfect satisfaction in
seeing that his lordship had, with so little trouble, and with his usual
ability, got to the bottom of this affair.

What was to be done next? The Duke of Greenwich was to be summoned. His
grace was in astonishment when he saw the papers which contained Lord
Oldborough's complete vindication, and the crimination of Mrs. Falconer.
Through the whole, as he read on, his grace had but one idea, viz.
"Commissioner Falconer has deceived me with false intelligence of the
intended resignation." Not one word was said by Lord Oldborough to give his
grace hope of that event--till the member of opposition by whom the forged
letters had been produced--till all those who knew or had heard any thing
of the transaction were clearly and fully apprised of the truth. After
this was established, and that all saw Lord Oldborough clear and bright in
honour, and, at least apparently, as firm in power as he had ever been, to
the astonishment of his sovereign his lordship begged permission to resign.

Whatever might have been the effect of misrepresentation, to lower Lord
Oldborough's favour, at the moment when he spoke of retiring, his king
recollected all his past services--all that must, in future, be hazarded
and lost in parting with such a minister--so eminent in abilities, of
such tried integrity, of such fidelity, such attachment to his person,
such a zealous supporter of royalty, such a favourite with his people, so
successful as well as so able a minister! Never was he so much valued as at
this moment. All his sovereign's early attachment returned in full strength
and warmth.

"No, my lord, you must not--you will not leave me."

These simple words, spoken with the warmth of the heart, touched Lord
Oldborough more than can be told. It was difficult to resist them,
especially when he saw tears in the eyes of the monarch whom he loved.

But his resolution was taken. He thanked his majesty, not with the
common-place thanks of courtiers, but with his whole heart and soul he
thanked his majesty for this gracious condescension--this testimony
of approbation--these proofs of sensibility to his attachment, which
paid--overpaid him, in a moment, for the labours of a life. The
recollection of them would be the glory, the solace of his age--could never
leave his memory while life lasted--would, he thought, be present to him,
if he should retain his senses, in his dying moment. But he was, in the
midst of this strong feeling, firm to the resolution his reason had taken.
He humbly represented, that he had waited for a favourable time when the
affairs of the country were in a prosperous train, when there were few
difficulties to embarrass those whom his majesty might name to succeed to
his place at the head of administration: there were many who were ambitious
of that station--zeal, talents, and the activity of youth were at his
majesty's command. For himself, he found it necessary for his health and
happiness to retire from public business; and to resign the arduous trust
with which he had been honoured.

"My lord, if I must accept of your resignation, I must--but I do it with
regret. Is there any thing your lordship wishes--any thing you will name
for yourself or your friends, that I can do, to show my sense of your
services and merit?"

"For myself, your majesty's bounty has left me nothing to wish."

"For your friends, then, my lord?--Let me have the satisfaction of obliging
you through them."

Nothing could be more gracious or more gratifying than the whole of this
parting audience. It was Lord Oldborough's last audience.

The news of his resignation, quickly whispered at court, was not that day
publicly known or announced. The next morning his lordship's door was
crowded beyond example in the memory of ministers. Mr. Temple, by his
lordship's order, announced as soon as possible the minister's having
resigned. All were in astonishment--many in sorrow: some few--a very few
of the most insignificant of the crowd, persons incapable of generous
sympathy, who thought they could follow their own paltry interests
unnoticed--left the room, without paying their farewell respects to this
great minister--minister now no more.

The moment he appeared, there was sudden silence. All eyes were fixed upon
him, every one pressing to get into the circle.

"Gentlemen, thank you for these marks of attention--of regard. Mr. Temple
has told you--you know, my friends, that I am a man without power."

"We know," answered a distinguished gentleman, "that you are Lord
Oldborough. With or without power, the same in the eyes of your friends,
and of the British nation."

Lord Oldborough bowed low, and looked gratified. His lordship then went
round the circle with an air more cheerful, more free from reserve, than
usual; with something in his manner more of sensibility, but nothing less
of dignity. All who merited distinction he distinguished by some few
appropriate words, which each remembered afterwards, and repeated to their
families and friends. He spoke or listened to each individual with the
attention of one who is courting, not quitting, popularity. Free from that
restraint and responsibility which his public and ministerial duties had
imposed upon him, he now entered into the private concerns of all, and gave
his parting assistance or counsel. He noted all grievances--registered
all promises that ought to be recommended to the care of his successor
in office. The wishes of many, to whom he had forborne to give any
encouragement, he now unexpectedly fulfilled and surpassed. When all were
satisfied, and had nothing more to ask or to hope from him, they yet
delayed, and parted from Lord Oldborough with difficulty and regret.

A proof that justice commands more than any other quality the respect and
gratitude of mankind. Take time and numbers into the calculation, and all
discover, in their turn, the advantage of this virtue. This minister, a few
regretted instances excepted, had shown no favour, but strict justice, in
his patronage.

All Lord Oldborough's requests for his friends were granted--all his
recommendations attended to: it was grateful to him to feel that his
influence lasted after his power had ceased. Though the sun had apparently
set, its parting rays continued to brighten and cheer the prospect.

Under a new minister, Mr. Temple declined accepting of the embassy which
had been offered to him. Remuneration suitable to his services, and to the
high terms in which Lord Oldborough had spoken of his merit, was promised;
and without waiting to see in what form, or manner, this promise would be
accomplished, the secretary asked and obtained permission to accompany his
revered master to his retirement. Alfred Percy, zealous and ardent in Lord
Oldborough's service, the more this great man's character had risen upon
his admiration, had already hastened to the country to prepare every thing
at Clermont-park for his reception. By his orders, that establishment had
been retrenched; by Alfred Percy's activity it was restored. Services,
which the richest nobleman in the land could not have purchased, or the
highest have commanded, Alfred was proud to pay as a voluntary tribute to a
noble character.

Lord Oldborough set out for the country at a very early hour in the
morning, and no one previously knew his intentions, except Mr. Temple. He
was desirous to avoid what it had been whispered was the design of the
people, to attend him in crowds through the streets of the metropolis.

As they drove out of town, Lord Oldborough recollected that in some
account, either of the Duke of Marlborough, or the Duke of Ormond's leaving
London, after his dismission from court, it is said, that of all those whom
the duke had served, all those who had courted and flattered him in the
time of his prosperity and power, none showed any gratitude or attachment,
excepting one page, who appeared at the coach-door as his master was
departing, and gave some signs of genuine sorrow and respect.

"I am fortunate," said Lord Oldborough, "in having few complaints to make
of ingratitude. I make none. The few I might make," continued his lordship,
who now rewarded Mr. Temple's approved fidelity, by speaking to him with
the openness and confidence of friendship, "the few I might make have been
chiefly caused by errors of my own in the choice of the persons I have
obliged. I thank Heaven, however, that upon the whole I leave public life
not only with a good conscience, but with a good opinion of human nature.
I speak not of courtiers--there is nothing of nature about them--they are
what circumstances make them. Were I to live my life over again, the hours
spent with courtiers are those which I should most wish to be spared; but
by a statesman, or a minister, these cannot be avoided. For myself, in
resigning my ministerial office, I might say, as Charles the Fifth, when he
abdicated, said to his successor, 'I leave you a heavy burthen; for since
my shoulders have borne it, I have not passed one day exempt from anxiety.'

"But from the first moment I started in the course of ambition, I was aware
that tranquillity must be sacrificed; and to the last moment I abided by
the sacrifice. The good I had in view, I have reached--the prize at which
I aimed, I have won. The glory of England was my object--her approbation
my reward. Generous people!--If ever I bore toil or peril in your cause,
I am rewarded, and never shall you hear me say that 'the unfruitful
glories please no more.' The esteem of my sovereign!--I possess it. It is
indefeasibly mine. His favour, his smiles, are his to give, or take away.
Never shall he hear from me the _wailings_ of disappointed ambition."




CHAPTER XXXIX.


Caroline took advantage of the opportunity of returning home with her
brother Alfred, when he went to the country, to prepare Clermont-park for
the reception of Lord Oldborough. And now she saw her home again with more
than wonted delight. Every thing animate and inanimate seemed to smile
upon her, every heart rejoiced at her return; and she enjoyed equally
the pleasure of loving, and of being beloved by, such friends. She
had been amused and admired during her residence in London; but a life
of dissipation she had always thought, and now she was convinced from
experience, could never suit her taste or character. She would immediately
have resumed her former occupations, if Rosamond would have permitted; but
Rosamond took entire possession of her at every moment when her father or
mother had not claimed their prior right to hear and to be heard.

"Caroline, my dear, don't natter yourself that you shall be left in
peace--See!--she is sitting down to write a letter, as if she had
not been away from us these six months--You must write to Lady Jane
Granville!--Well, finish your gratitude quickly--and no more writing,
reading, or drawing, this day; you must think of nothing but talking,
or listening to me."

Much as she loved talking in general, Rosamond now so far preferred the
pleasure of hearing, that, with her eyes fixed on Caroline, her countenance
varying with every variety of Caroline's expression, she sat perfectly
silent all the time her sister spoke. And scarcely was her voice heard,
even in exclamation. But, during the pauses of narrative, when the pause
lasted more than a minute, she would say, "Go on, my dear Caroline, go on.
Tell us something more."

The conversation was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr. Temple--and
Rosamond did not immediately find her fluency of speech increase. Mr.
Temple had seized the first moment that duty and gratitude to his master
and friend permitted to hasten to the Hills, nor had Lord Oldborough been
unmindful of his feelings. Little as his lordship was disposed to think
of love affairs, it seems he recollected those of his secretary; for,
the morning after their arrival at Clermont-park, when he proffered his
services, Lord Oldborough said, that he had only to trouble Mr. Temple to
pay a visit for him, if it would not be disagreeable, to his old friend Mr.
Percy.

"Tell him that I know his first wish will be to come to show me that it is
the man, not the minister, for whom he had a regard: tell him this proof of
his esteem is unnecessary. He will wish to see me for another reason: he is
a philosopher--and will have a philosophical curiosity to discover how I
exist without ambition. But of that he cannot yet form a judgment--nor can
I: therefore, if he pleases, let his visit be delayed till next week. I
have some papers to arrange, which I should wish to show him, and I cannot
have them sooner in readiness. If you, Mr. Temple, can contrive to pass
this week at Mr. Percy's, let me not detain you. There is no fear," added
he, smiling, that "in solitude I should be troubled by the spectre which
haunted the minister in Gil Blas in his retirement."

Never was man happier than Mr. Temple, when he found himself in the midst
of the family circle at the Hills, and seated beside Rosamond, free from
all cares, all business, all intrigues of courtiers, and restraints of
office; no longer in the horrors of, attendance and dependence, but with
the promise of a competent provision for life--with the consciousness of
its having been, honourably obtained; and to brighten all, the hope, the
delightful hope, of soon prevailing on the woman he loved, to become his
for ever.

Alfred Percy had been obliged to return directly to London, and for once in
his life Mr. Temple benefited by the absence of, his friend. In the small
house at the Hills, Alfred's was the only room that could have been spared
for him; and in this room, scarcely fourteen feet square, the ex-secretary
found himself lodged more entirely to his satisfaction than he had ever
been in the sumptuous apartments of the great. The happy are not fastidious
as to their accommodations; they never miss the painted ceiling, or the
long arcade, and their slumbers require no bed of down. The lover's only
fear was, that this happy week would pass too swiftly; and, indeed, time
flew unperceived by him, and by Rosamond. One fine day, after dinner, Mrs.
Percy proposed, that instead of sitting longer in the house, they should
have their dessert of strawberries in some pleasant place in the lawn or
wood. Rosamond eagerly seconded this proposal, and whispered, "Caroline's
bower."

Thither they went. This bower of Caroline, this favourite spot, Rosamond,
during her sister's absence, had taken delight in ornamenting, and it did
credit as much to her taste as to her kindness. She had opened a view on
one side to a waterfall among the rocks; on the other, to a winding path
descending through the glen. Honey-suckle, rose, and eglantine, near the
bower, were in rich and wild profusion; all these, the song of birds, and
even the smell of the new-mown grass, seemed peculiarly delightful to Mr.
Temple. Of late years he had been doomed to close confinement in a capital
city; but all his tastes were rural, and, as he said, he feared he should
expose himself to the ridicule Dr. Johnson throws on those "who talk of
sheep and goats, and who babble of green fields."

Mr. Percy thought Dr. Johnson was rather too intolerant of rural
description, and of the praises of a country life, but acknowledged that
he quite agreed with him in disliking, pastorals--excepting always that
beautiful drama, "The Gentle Shepherd." Mr. Percy said, that, in his
opinion, a life purely pastoral must, if it could be realized, prove as
insufferably tiresome in reality, as it usually is found to be in fiction.
He hated Delias and shepherdesses, and declared that he should soon grow
tired of any companion with whom he had no other occupation in common but
"_tending a few sheep_." There was a vast difference, he thought, between
pastoral and domestic life. His idea of domestic life comprised all the
varieties of literature, exercise, and amusement for the faculties, with
the delights of cultivated society.

The conversation turned from pastoral life and pastorals to Scotch and
English ballads and songs. Their various merits of simplicity, pathos, or
elegance, were compared and discussed. After the Reliques of Ancient Poetry
had been sufficiently admired, Rosamond and Caroline mentioned two modern
compositions, both by the same author, each exquisite in its different
style of poetry--one beautiful, the other sublime. Rosamond's favourite was
the Exile of Erin; Caroline's, the Mariners of England. To justify their
tastes, they repeated the poems. Caroline fixed the attention of the
company on the flag, which has

  "Braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze,"

when suddenly her own attention seemed to be distracted by some object
in the glen below. She endeavoured to go on, but her voice faltered--her
colour changed. Rosamond, whose quick eye followed her sister's, instantly
caught a glimpse of a gentleman coming up the path from the glen. Rosamond
started from her seat, and clasping her hands, exclaimed, "It is! It _is_
he!--It is Count Altenberg!"

They had not recovered from their astonishment when Count Altenberg stood
before them. To Mr. Percy, to Mrs. Percy, to Rosamond, to each he spoke,
before he said one word to Caroline. But one look had said all, had spoken,
and had been understood.

That he was not married she was certain--for that look said he loved
her--and her confidence in his honour was secure: Whatever had delayed his
return, or had been mysterious in his conduct, she felt convinced that he
had never been to blame.

And on his part did he read as distinctly the truth in her
countenance?--Was the high colour, the radiant pleasure in that countenance
unmarked? The joy was so veiled by feminine modesty, that he doubted,
trembled, and if at last the rapid feelings ended in hope, it was
respectful hope. With deference the most marked, mingled with dignity,
tenderness, and passion, he approached Caroline. He was too delicate, too
well-bred, to distress her by distinguishing her more particularly; but as
he took the seat, which she left for him beside her mother, the open and
serene expression of her eye, with the soft sound of her voice, in the few
words she answered to what he said, were enough to set his heart at ease.
The sight of Mr. Temple had at first alarmed the Count, but the alarm was
only momentary. One glance at Rosamond re-assured him.

Ideas, which it requires many words to tell, passed instantaneously with
the rapidity of light. After they were seated, some minutes were spent in
common-place questions and answers, such as those which Benjamin Franklin
would wisely put all together, into one formula, to satisfy curiosity.
Count Altenberg landed the preceding day--had not stopped to see any one in
England--had not even heard of Lord Oldborough's resignation--had proceeded
directly to the Hills--had left his equipage at a town a few miles
distant--thought he had been fully master of the well-known road, but the
approach having been lately changed, he had missed his way.

This settled, to make room for a more interesting explanation, Mr. Temple
had the politeness to withdraw. Rosamond had the humanity, and Caroline the
discretion, to accompany him in his walk.

Count Altenberg then said, addressing hims