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Convict

<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> There was a small party assembled at a large country house not above three miles, by the high road, from the spot where the last events which I have recorded took place. It was a very extensive and very old-fashioned brick building. Old-fashioned! It is a curious term. The house was little more than a century old; a father might have seen it built, and a son might have heard it called old-fashioned, for the savour of earthly things passes away so rapidly, that what our parents considered the perfection of skill and convenience, we hold to be but a rude effort towards our own excellence. Yet they were very convenient buildings, those old houses of the reigns of George the First and George the Second; solid in their walls, large and yet secure in their windows, high in their ceilings, broad and low in their staircases, many in their rooms, and strong in their partitions. There was little lath and plaster about them, little tinsel and bright colouring; but there was a sober and a solid grandeur, a looking for comfort rather than finery, of durability rather than cheapness, which made them pleasant to live in, and makes them so even to the present day. Nothing that tended to comfort was wanting in that house; its solidity seemed to set at defiance wind, and storm, and time; and its wide grates laughed in the face of frost and cold, and bade them get forth, for they could have no abiding there. Turkey carpets covered most of the floors, even of those rooms which, by a law of the Draco-like dictator, Fashion, are condemned to bear that sort of carpet called Brussels, although the town which has given it name probably never in the world's history produced a rood thereof. The Turks, when they made them, must have marvelled much at what the Christian dogs could want with such large carpets; for the one in the room where the party was assembled--which was called the drawing-room, although it was lined with books--could not have been less than forty feet in length, by thirty in breadth, and yet there was a margin between it and the book-cases. There were four windows on one side of the room, as one looked towards which there was a door on the right hand leading into the library, a door on the left leading into the dining-room, and opposite the windows was another door, which opened into a large vestibule, separated from a stone hall by a screen filled up with glass. In one of the two fire-places which the room contained was a large blazing fire of wood, and near it was seated in an arm-chair, reading a book, a very gentlemanly and well-dressed man, a good deal past the middle age, with his feet, warming themselves at the blaze, crossed and elevated upon a low stool. The other fire-place was not so well attended to, but, nevertheless, it was glowing with a tolerable degree of brightness, and near it were seated two young people, amusing themselves, as best they might, during an evening which expectation had rendered somewhat tedious. Sometimes they played at chess together, and laughed and wrangled good-humouredly enough; sometimes the one read and the other wrote; sometimes the one drew and the other read; sometimes they talked in low tones, and laughed gaily as they conversed. They were very nearly of an age, that is to say, there was not quite two years' difference between them, but those two years had been so allotted, as, considering their sexes, to make the difference of five or six. The lady was the elder of the two. She was very nearly approaching one-and-twenty, while the young man was a few months beyond nineteen. They seemed fond of each other, but it was with a fraternal sort of fondness, although they were not brother and sister; and yet, for the young man at least, their near propinquity, and constant communication, had it not been for other circumstances, might have proved dangerous, for certainly a lovelier or more engaging creature has seldom been seen than her with whom he then sat in the unchecked familiarity of near relationship. She was the very opposite, in personal appearance at least, of the girl we have lately spoken of. Her hair could hardly be called black, for in certain lights there was a gleam of rich brown in it, but her eyebrows and eyelashes were as dark as night, and her complexion, though by no means brown in itself, and tinged in the cheeks with the rose, was of that shade which usually accompanies black hair; but her blue eyes were blue; deep blue, it is true; so much so, that what with the jetty fringe that surrounded them, and their own depth of hue, many a person thought that they were black. Yet they were blue--very blue; of the colour of an Italian sky when the sun has just gone down beyond the highest hill, and left it full of depth and lustre. In height she was certainly taller than the Venus de Medici; but yet she did not strike one as tall, whether it was from the great symmetry of her figure or some peculiarity in the proportions. But that which most attracted an observer, and especially those who knew her well, was a sparkling variety in the expression of her countenance, and a similar variety in the grace of her movements. When she was reading, or thinking, or writing, or singing, there was an earnestness, a deep tranquillity in her aspect, which would have made one suppose her a being of a very meditative and almost grave disposition; but in conversation, and on all ordinary occasions, the look was quite different; gay, sparkling, flashing with cheerfulness and spirit. When she sat still, the lines of her form fell with such easy grace, and seemed so full of tranquil beauty, that any one might have thought that the predominant character was calm repose; but when she moved, especially under any immediate excitement, the light elasticity of every motion changed her at once into a different creature. Her young companion was very different in every respect. Of a fair and almost feminine complexion, his light hair waved gracefully over a fine high brow, his blue eyes were soft and kindly-looking, and his lips and nose, chiselled with the utmost delicacy, would have suited a woman's face better than a man's. No beard or whiskers as yet gave anything masculine to his countenance, and his slight figure and soft satiny skin made him look still younger than he really was. To look upon him, one would not have supposed that he had seen more than sixteen years of age; and yet under that fair and delicate form there were many strong and generous impulses, firm and resolute purposes, and even a daring spirit, mingled strangely enough with a tenderness and devotedness seldom found in the grown and experienced man, and a degree of simplicity not at all approaching weakness, but depending upon youth and inexperience. "I care nothing about it, Edgar," said the lady, in a low tone, in answer to something which the other had said; "he may come and go whenever he pleases, without my ever giving the matter two thoughts. You cannot tease me, cousin, for it is a matter of no interest to me, I can assure you." "I know better, little heretic," replied her young companion; "you would fain have me believe, Eda, that you are as cold as ice, but I know better. We shall see the fire kindled some day." "Very likely," said the lady, with a smile; "but you know, Edgar, that even that curious black stone, which seems to have been especially given to England for the purpose of drying and warming our damp, cold climate, smoking our ceilings and dirtying our hands, is as cold as ice, too, till it is kindled." "But there may be such things as concealed fires, fair cousin," retorted the young man, with a laugh. The lady's cheek coloured a little, but she instantly changed the defence into an attack, saying, almost in a whisper, and with a glance to the gentleman reading by the fire, "I know there are, Edgar. Take care, you bold boy, take care; for if you make war upon me, I shall carry it into your own country." The young man glanced hastily round him, in the same direction which her eyes had before taken, and his cheek blushed like that of a young girl at the first kiss of love. The lady saw that she had not missed her mark, and maliciously sent another shaft after the first. "Where were you this morning at eight o'clock?" she said, in the same subdued tone; "and yesterday, and the morning before? Ah, Master Edgar! do not jest with edged tools, or at least, learn how to use them better, or you will cut your fingers, dear boy!" "Hush, hush!" said the young man, in a low voice, and evidently a good deal agitated; "let us make peace, Eda." "You began hostilities," replied the lady, satisfied that she had got that command of her young companion which ladies do not at all dislike, and by that very means which they are fondest of employing--the possession of a secret. Almost at the same moment in which she spoke, the older gentleman by the fire laid his book upon his knee, and pulled his watch out of his pocket. "Very extraordinary!" he said, turning round his head; "it is nearly ten o'clock; I am glad we dined. You see, Eda, there is no counting upon the motions of young men." "Especially, my dear uncle," replied the lady, "when combined with bad roads, bad horses, and high hills. I will answer for it, when Lord Hadley does come, you will have long tales of broken-down hacks, together with abuse of lazy postillions and slow ostlers. But hark! here he comes, or some carriage, at least, for carts are quiet at this time of night." "And don't dash along the avenue at such a rate," said her cousin Edgar; "it is certainly the ship in sight, and we shall soon see the freight." The two gentlemen looked towards the door and listened, the lady calmly pursued the task which occupied her, copying some music from a sheet of embossed and pink-edged paper; and one of those little intervals succeeded which take place between the arrival at the door and the appearance in the drawing-room of an expected guest. It lasted a minute, or a minute and a half, for there seemed to be some orders to be given in the passage, and some questions to be asked; and then the door of the room opened, and a servant, in a well-laced jacket, announced "Lord Hadley," and "Mr. Dudley." Had any eye watched the lady's countenance, they would certainly have thought that some strong emotion was busy in her heart at that moment, for her cheek first turned very pale, and then glowed warmly; but it might also have been remarked that it was not at the first name that the varying hue became apparent. The second name produced the change, and, at the same time, the pen in her hand dropped upon the music-paper, and blotted out the note she had just been tracing. At the name of Mr. Dudley, too, an alteration of aspect took place in her uncle, but it was momentary; his brow contracted, his face turned pale, but immediately a placable look returned, and with a courteous smile he advanced to meet the two gentlemen who entered. They were the same whom we have seen upon the road, and in the house of Mr. Clive. The second of the two, also, I must remark, not to give the reader the trouble of turning back, was the student to whose room at Cambridge I first introduced him. Lord Hadley, a young, slight, fashionable man, with a good deal of light hair always in high gloss and beautiful order, and a profusion of whisker nicely curled, advanced at once towards the elder gentleman, and shook him heartily by the hand, calling him Sir Arthur Adelon. He then extended his hand to the young gentleman, whom he seemed to know well also, giving as he did so, a glance, but not one of recognition, towards the face of the lady. Sir Arthur instantly touched his arm gently, and led him up to her, saying, "Eda, my dear, let me introduce to you my friend, Lord Hadley--Lord Hadley, my niece, Miss Brandon." Lord Hadley bowed, and the lady curtsied gravely; but there was evidently no emotion upon her part, at the introduction. In the mean time, Mr. Dudley had remained in the most unpleasant occupation in the world, that of doing nothing while other people are taken notice of. A moment after, however, Sir Arthur Adelon turned towards him, and with a courteous though somewhat formal how, said, "I am very happy to see you, Mr. Dudley; allow me to introduce you to my son and my niece." "I have already the pleasure of Miss Brandon's acquaintance," said the tutor; and advancing towards her, he shook hands with her warmly. If she really felt any strong emotions at that moment, she concealed them well; and Mr. Dudley, turning again towards the baronet, finished with graceful ease what he had been saying. "I was not at all aware, Sir Arthur, that Miss Brandon was your niece, or it would have added greatly to the pleasure I had in accompanying Lord Hadley, which pleasure is more than perhaps you know, for it affords me the opportunity of expressing my gratitude to an old friend and benefactor of my poor father." The gentleman to whom he spoke was evidently embarrassed from some cause, though what that was did not fully appear. His face again turned somewhat pale, and he hesitated in his reply. "Oh! really!" he said; "then you are the son of Mr. Dudley of St. Austin's? Well, I am very happy, indeed, to see you;" and he shook hands with him, but it was not warmly, adding, as he did so, "but you are late, gentlemen. We waited dinner for you an hour, and had even given up the hope of seeing you to-night." "I am really very sorry we detained you," replied Lord Hadley; "but we have had two adventures, or rather, one impediment and one adventure. First, at Dorchester, we found all the post-horses gone to some review, or races, or archery-meeting, or one of those many tiresome things, I don't well know what, which take post-horses away from the places where they ought to be; and then, not far from this place, we found a young lady who had contrived to get herself nearly crushed to death under a wall, which had fallen, and carried a whole bank of earth along with it." Instant exclamations of surprise and interest followed; and the young nobleman, who did not dislike attracting a little attention, proceeded with his tale. After describing the spot where they discovered the poor girl, he proceeded, in a frank, dashing way, to say, "She owes her life, in truth, to my friend Dudley; for I, with my usual thoughtlessness, was going to draw her from under the rubbish that had fallen upon her as fast as I could; but he stopped me, showing me that if I attempted it, I should bring down the whole of the rest of the stones; and then he set to work, as if he had been bred an engineer, and secured her against any fresh accident in the first place. She was not so much hurt as might have been expected, though, I am sorry to say, her poor little arm was broken." On the old gentleman the tale had produced little impression; in Eda Brandon it had excited feelings of compassion and interest; but it had affected young Edgar Adelon very much more perceptibly. Luckily, no one was looking at him; and he had not voice to attract any attention towards himself by asking even a single question, though there was one he would have given worlds to put. "But what did you do with her?" demanded Eda Brandon, eagerly. "You should have brought her on here, if the place was not far distant; we could easily have sent for a surgeon, and we would have taken good care of her." "We knew neither the way nor the distance, Miss Brandon," said Mr. Dudley; "but we did what was probably the best under any circumstances. We took her to her father's house, and Lord Hadley kindly sent on one of the post-boys to seek for some one to set her arm." "It is doubtless Helen Clive he speaks of," said a voice just behind Mr. Dudley; so peculiar in its tones, so low, so distinct, so silvery, that no one who heard it once could ever forget it. Dudley turned quickly round, and beheld a middle-aged man, dressed in a long, straight-cut black coat, with a black handkerchief round his neck, and no shirt-collar apparent. His beard was closely shaved, and looked blue through the pale skin. His eyes were fine, the brow large and fully developed, but the mouth small and pinched, as if that feature, which, together with the eyebrow, is more treacherous in its expression of the passions than any other, was under strong and habitual command. He stooped a little from the shoulders, either from weakness or custom, and indeed he seemed by no means a strong man in frame; but yet there was something firm and resolute in his aspect; a look of conscious power, as if he had been seldom frustrated in life. The gray eyebrow, too, hanging over the dark eye, and seeming to veil its fire, gave an expression of inquiring perspicacity to the whole face, which impressed one more with the idea of intelligence than of sincerity. No one had seen or heard him enter, except, indeed, Sir Arthur Adelon, whose face was towards the door, but yet he had been standing close to the rest of the party for two or three minutes before attention was attracted to himself by the words he uttered. Lord Hadley turned, as well as his tutor, and looked at the new-comer with some curiosity. "Yes," he replied, "her name was Clive, and I think the old gentleman called her Helen." "If her name was Clive," rejoined the man whom he had addressed, "it was assuredly Helen Clive; for there is but one Mr. Clive in this neighbourhood, and he has but one child." "Really, sir, I am delighted to find you know so much about him," said Lord Hadley; "for both he and his daughter, to tell you the truth, have excited in me a good deal of interest and curiosity." "Why?" was the stranger's brief question; and it was put in a somewhat dry and unpleasant tone. "Oh! simply because we found that she had been out upon the high road at nine o'clock at night, sitting under an uncemented stone wall, watching for something or somebody," was the first part of Lord Hadley's reply, for he thought the stranger's tone rather impertinent. "So much for my curiosity," he continued. "Then, as for my interest: in the first place, my dear sir, she was exceedingly pretty; in the next place, wonderfully ladylike, considering the circumstances in which we found her; then, she had broken her arm, which, though perhaps not as poetical as some other accidents, was enough to create some sympathy, surely; and moreover, Dudley found her father sitting upon the top of the cliff, looking over the sea, with a cocked pistol in his hand." "As to her beauty," replied the stranger, "with that I have nothing to do. The interest you feel is undoubtedly worthy and well-deserved; and as to the wonder, sir, you may depend upon it, that whatever Helen Clive was doing, she had good reason for doing, and motives which, if she chose to explain them, would quiet your surprise very speedily." Mr. Dudley, who had taken no part in the conversation, smiled slightly to hear a perfect stranger to Lord Hadley assume at once that tone of calm superiority which he knew was likely to be most impressive with his pupil. The young nobleman was about to reply, however, when Sir Arthur Adelon interposed, saying, "My lord, I should have introduced to you before now our friend, the Reverend Mr. Filmer--Mr. Filmer, Lord Hadley." The young lord bowed, and the other gentleman advanced a step, when, as he passed, Mr. Dudley perceived that a small spot, about the size of a crown piece, on the top of his head, was shaved, and recognising at once the Roman Catholic priest, he gained with rapid combination some insight into several things which had before been obscure. The priest's manner softened. In a few moments he, with Lord Hadley and their host, were in full conversation. With timid hesitation young Edgar Adelon drew near and joined them; and Dudley, approaching the table near which Miss Brandon was still standing, spoke a few words with her in perhaps a lower tone than is quite customary on ordinary occasions. They neither of them knew that they were speaking low; but the emotions of the heart have immense mastery over the tones of the voice; and though the words that they uttered were little more than commonplace sentences of surprise and pleasure at their unexpected meeting, of question and explanation of what had occurred to each since they had last seen each other, they were certainly both a good deal moved by the unspoken eloquence of the heart. In a short time, just as Lord Hadley was about to retire to his room to put his dress in order, supper was announced, and postponing his toilet, he offered his arm to Miss Brandon, and led her into the adjacent room. Sir Arthur Adelon and Mr. Dudley followed, and the priest lingered for a moment or two behind, speaking to the baronet's son, and then entered the supper-room with a quick step. He then blessed the meal with every appearance of devotion; and Dudley's eye, which was marking much, perceived that Sir Arthur and his son made the sign of the cross, but that Eda Brandon forbore; and he was glad to see it. The meal became very cheerful: as it went on, the first strangeness of new arrival wore off with the two guests. Jest and gaiety succeeded to more serious discourse, and topic after topic was brought forward and cast away again with that easy lightness which gives a great charm to conversation. The master of the house was somewhat stiff and stately, it is true; but the three young men did not suffer his dignified air to chill them. The priest was a man of great and very various information, had seen, studied, and penetrated not only all the ordinary aspects of society, but the hearts and spirits of thousands of individuals. There was not a subject that he could not talk upon, whether gay or grave; from the green-room of the theatre or opera-house, to the cabinets of statesmen and the saloons of monarchs. His conversation was graceful, easy, flowing, and becoming; and although there was a point of sarcastic wit in it which gave it, in the opinion of Dudley, almost too great a piquancy, yet when that gentleman recollected what had been said, he could not find one word that was unfitted to the character of a well-bred man and a priest. It was all so quietly done too: the stinging gibe, the light and flashing jest, that the young tutor sometimes thought the whole must have received point and peculiar application from the manner; but yet he could not recollect emphasis laid upon any word; and he carried away from that table, when he retired to rest at night, much matter for thought upon all that he had seen, and many a deep feeling re-awakened in his heart, which he had hoped and trusted had been laid asleep by the power of reason, and the struggle of a strong mind against a warm and enthusiastic heart. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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