The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2

“You received my letter, did you not?” said he, hurriedly. “You know the result of the trial?”

Helen nodded assent, while a secret emotion covered her face with crimson, as Daly resumed, —

“There was ill-luck everywhere: the case badly stated; Lionel absent; I myself detained in Dublin, by an unavoidable necessity, – everything unfortunate even to the last incident. Had I been there, matters would have taken another course. Still, Helen, Forester was right; and, depend upon it, there is no scanty store of generous warmth in a heart that can throb so strongly beneath the aiguiletted coat of an aide-de-camp. The holiday habits of that tinsel life teach few lessons of self-devotion, and the poor fellow has paid the penalty heavily.”

“What has happened?” said Helen, in a voice scarcely audible.

“He is disinherited, I hear. All his prospects depended on his mother; she has cast him off, and, as the story goes, is about to marry. Marriage is always the last vengeance of a widow.”

“Here is the letter,” said Lady Eleanor, entering; “let us hope you can read its intentions better than we have.”

“Flattering, certainly,” muttered Daly, as he conned over the lines to himself. “It’s quite plain they mean to do something generous. I trust I may learn it before I sail.”

“Sail! you are not about to travel, are you?” asked Lady Eleanor, in a voice that betrayed her dread of being deprived of such support.

“Oh! I forgot I had n’t told you. Yes, madam, another of those strange riddles which have beset my life compels me to take a long voyage – to America.”

“To America!” echoed Helen; and her eye glanced as she spoke to the Indian war-cloak and the weapons that lay beside his chair.

“Not so, Helen,” said Daly, smiling, as if replying to the insinuated remark; “I am too old for such follies now. Not in heart, indeed, but in limb,” added he, sternly; “for I own I could ask nothing better than the prairie or the pine-forest. I know of no cruelty in savage life that has not its counterpart amid our civilization; and for the rude virtues that are nurtured there, they are never warmed into existence by the hotbed of selfishness.”

“But why leave your friends, – your sister?”

“My sister!” He paused, and a tinge of red came to his cheek as he remembered how she had failed in all attention to the Darcys. “My sister, madam, is self-willed and headstrong as myself. She acknowledges none of the restraints or influence by which the social world consents to be bound and regulated; her path has ever been wild and erratic as my own. We sometimes cross, we never contradict, each other.” He paused, and then muttered to himself, “Poor Molly! how different I knew you once! And so,” added he, aloud, “I must leave without seeing Darcy! and there stands Sandy, admonishing me that my time is already up. Good-bye, Lady Eleanor; good-bye, Helen.” He turned his head away for a second, and then, in a voice of unusual feeling, said: “Farewell is always a sad word, and doubly sad when spoken by one old as I am; but if my heart is heavy at this moment, it is the selfish sorrow of him who parts from those so near. As for you, madam, and your fortunes, I am full of good hope. When people talk of suffering virtue, believe me, the element of courage must be wanting; but where the stout heart unites with the good cause, success will come at last.”

He pressed his lips to the hands he held within his own, and hurried, before they could reply, from the room.

“Our last friend gone!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, as she sank into a chair.

Helen’s heart was too full for utterance, and she sat down silently, and watched the retiring figure of Daly and his servant till they disappeared in the distance.

CHAPTER XI. THE DUKE OF YORK’S LEVEE

When Darcy arrived in London, he found a degree of political excitement for which he was little prepared. In Ireland the Union had absorbed all interest and anxiety, and with the fate of that measure were extinguished the hopes of those who had speculated on national independence. Not so in England; the real importance of the annexation was never thoroughly considered till the fact was accomplished, nor, until then, were the great advantages and the possible evils well and maturely weighed. Then, for the first time, came the anxious question, What next? Was the Union to be the compensation for large concessions to the Irish people, or was it rather the seal of their incorporation with a more powerful nation, who by this great stroke of policy would annihilate forever all dream of self-existence? Mr. Pitt inclined to the former opinion, and believed the moment propitious to award the Roman Catholic claims, and to a general remission of those laws which pressed so heavily upon them. To this opinion the King was firmly and, as it proved, insurmountably opposed; he regarded the Act of Union as the final settlement of all possible disagreements between the two countries, as the means of uniting the two Churches, and, finally, of excluding at once and forever the admission of Roman Catholics to Parliament. This wide difference led to the retirement of Mr. Pitt, and subsequently to the return of the dangerous indisposition of the King, an attack brought on by the anxiety and agitation this question induced.

The hopes of the Whig party stood high; the Prince’s friends, as they were styled, again rallied around Carlton House, where, already, the possibility of a long Regency was discussed. Besides these causes of excitement were others of not less powerful interest, – the growing power of Bonaparte, the war in Egypt, and the possibility of open hostilities with Russia, who had now thrown herself so avowedly into the alliance of France.

Such were the stirring themes Darcy found agitating the public mind, and he could not help contrasting the mighty interests they involved with the narrow circle of consequences a purely local legislature could discuss or decide upon. He felt at once that he trod the soil of a more powerful and more ambitious people, and he remembered with a sigh his own anticipations, that in the English Parliament the Irish members would be but the camp-followers of the Crown or the Opposition.

If he was English in his pride of government and his sense of national power and greatness, he was Irish in his tastes, his habits, and his affections. If he gloried in the name of Briton as the type of national honor and truth throughout the globe, he was still more ardently attached to that land where, under the reflected grandeur of the monarchy, grew up the social affections of a poorer people. There is a sense of freedom and independence in the habits of semi-civilization very fascinating to certain minds, and all the advantages of more polished communities are deemed shallow compensation for the ready compliance and cordial impulses of the less cultivated.

With all his own high acquirements the Knight was of this mind; and if he did not love England less, he loved Ireland more.

Meditating on the great changes of fortune Ireland had undergone even within his own memory, he moved along through the crowded thoroughfares of the mighty city, when he heard his name called out, and at the same instant a carriage drew up close by him.

“How do you do, Knight?” said a friendly voice, as a hand was stretched forth to greet him. It was Lord Castle-reagh, who had only a few weeks previous exchanged his office of Irish Secretary for a post at the Board of Trade. The meeting was a cordial one on both sides, and ended in an invitation to dine on the following day, which Darcy accepted with willingness, as a gage of mutual good feeling and esteem.

“I was talking about you to Lord Netherby only yesterday,” said Lord Castlereagh, “and, from some hints he dropped, I suspect the time is come that I may offer you any little influence I possess, without it taking the odious shape of a bargain; if so, pray remember that I have as much pride as yourself on such a score, and will be offended if you accept from another what might come equally well through me.”

The Knight acknowledged this kind speech with a grateful smile and a pressure of the hand, and was about to move on, when Lord Castlereagh asked if he could not drop him in his carriage at his destination, and thus enjoy, a few moments longer, his society.

“I scarcely can tell you, my Lord,” said Darcy, laughing, “which way I was bent on following. I came up to town to present myself at the Duke of York’s levée, and it is only a few moments since I remembered that I was not provided with a uniform.”

“Oh, step in then,” cried Lord Castlereagh, hastily; “I think I can manage that difficulty for you. There is a levée this very morning; some pressing intelligence has arrived from Egypt, and his Royal Highness has issued a notice for a reception for eleven o’clock. You are not afraid,” said Lord Castlereagh, laughing, as Darcy took his seat beside him, – “you are not afraid of being seen in such company now.”

“If I am not, my Lord, set my courage down to my principle; for I never felt your kindness so dangerous,” said the Knight, with something of emotion.

A few moments of rapid driving brought them in front of the Duke’s residence, where several carriages and led horses were now standing, and officers in full dress were seen to pass in and out, with signs of haste and eagerness.

“I told you we should find them astir here,” said Lord Castlereagh. “Holloa, Fane, have you heard anything new to-day?”

The officer thus addressed touched his hat respectfully, and approaching the window of the carriage, whispered a few words in Lord Castlereagh’s ear.

“Is the news confirmed?” said his Lordship, calmly.

“I believe so, my Lord; at least, Edgecumbe says he heard it from Dundas, who got it from Pitt himself.”

“Bad tidings these, Knight,” said Lord Castlereagh, as the aide-de-camp moved away; “Pulteney’s expedition against Ferrol has failed. These conjoint movements of army and navy seem to have a most unlucky fortune.”

“What can you expect, my Lord, from an ill-assorted ‘Union’?” said Darcy, slyly.

“They ‘ll work better after a time,” said Lord Castlereagh, smiling good-humoredly at the hit; “for the present, I acknowledge the success is not flattering. The general always discovers that the land batteries can only be attacked in the very spot where the admiral pronounces the anchorage impossible; each feels compromised by the other; hence envy and every manner of uncharitableness.”

“And what has been the result here? Is it a repulse?”

“You can scarcely call it that, since they never attacked. They looked at the place, sailed round it, and, like the King of France in the story, they marched away again. But here we are at length at the door; let us try if we cannot accomplish a landing better than Lord Keith and General Moore.”

Through a crowd of anxious faces, whose troubled looks tallied with the evil tidings, Lord Castlereagh and Darcy ascended the stairs and reached the antechamber, now densely thronged by officers of every grade of the service. His Lordship was immediately recognized and surrounded by many of the company, eager to hear his opinion.

“You don’t appear to credit the report, my Lord,” said Darcy, who had watched with some interest the air of quiet incredulity which he assumed.

“It is all true, notwithstanding,” said he, in a whisper; “I heard it early this morning at the Council, and came here to see how it would be received. They say that war will be soon as unpopular with the red-coats as with the no-coats; and really, to look at these sombre faces, one would say there was some truth in the rumor. But here comes Taylor.” And so saying, Lord Castlereagh moved forward, and laid his hand on the arm of an officer in a staff uniform.

“I don’t think so, my Lord,” said he, in reply to some question from Lord Castlereagh; “I ‘ll endeavor to manage it, but I ‘m afraid I shall not succeed. Have you heard of Elliot’s death? The news has just arrived.”

“Indeed! So then the government of Chelsea is to give away. Oh, that fact explains the presence of so many veteran generals! I really was puzzled to conceive what martial ardor stirred them.”

“You are severe, my Lord,” said Darcy; “I hope you are unjust.”

“One is rarely so in attributing a selfish motive anywhere,” said the young nobleman, sarcastically. “But, Taylor, can’t you arrange this affair? Let me present my friend meanwhile: The Knight of Gwynne – Colonel Taylor.”

Before Taylor could more than return the Knight’s salutation he was summoned to attend his Royal Highness; and at the same moment the folding-doors at the end of the apartment were thrown open, and the reception began.

Whether the sarcasm of Lord Castlereagh was correct, or that a nobler motive was in operation, the number of officers was very great; and although the Duke rarely addressed more than a word or two to each, a considerable time elapsed before Lord Castlereagh, with the Knight following, had entered the room.

“It is against a positive order of his Royal Highness, my Lord,” said an aide-de-camp, barring the passage; “none but field-officers, and in full uniform, are received by his Royal Highness.”

Lord Castlereagh whispered something, and endeavored to move on; but again the other interposed, saying, “Indeed, my Lord, I’m deeply grieved at it, but I cannot – I dare not transgress my orders.”

The Duke, who had been up to this moment engaged in conversing with a group, suddenly turned, and perceiving that the presentations were not followed up, said, “Well, gentlemen, I am waiting.” Then recognizing Lord Castlereagh, he added, “Another time, my Lord, another time: this morning belongs to the service, and the color of your coat excludes you.”

“I ask your Royal Highness’s pardon,” said Lord Castlereagh, in a tone of great deference, while he made the apology an excuse for advancing a step into the room. “I have but just left the Council, and was anxious to inform you that your Royal Highness’s suggestions have been fully adopted.”

“Indeed! is that the case?” said the Duke, with an elated look, while he drew his Lordship into the recess of a window. The intelligence, to judge from the Duke’s expression, must have been both important and satisfactory, for he looked intensely eager and pleased by turns.

“And so,” said he, aloud, “they really have determined on Egypt? Well, my Lord, you have brought me the best tidings I ‘ve heard for many a day.”

“And like all bearers of good despatches,” said Lord Castlereagh, catching up the tone of the Duke, “I prefer a claim to your Royal Highness’s patronage.”

“If you look for Chelsea, my Lord, you are just five minutes too late. Old Sir Harry Belmore has this instant got it.”

“I could have named as old and perhaps a not less distinguished soldier to your Royal Highness, with this additional claim, – a claim I must say, your Royal Highness never disregards” —

“That he has been unfortunate with the unlucky,” said the Duke, laughing, and good-naturedly alluding to his own failure in the expedition to the Netherlands; “but who is your friend?”

“The Knight of Gwynne, – an Irish gentleman.”

“One of your late supporters, eh, Castlereagh?” said the Duke, laughing. “How came he to be forgotten till this hour? Or did you pass him a bill of gratitude payable at nine months after date?”

“No, my Lord, he was an opponent; he was a man that I never could buy, when his influence and power were such as to make the price of his own dictating. Since that day, fortune has changed with him.”

“And what do you want with him now?” said the Duke, while his eyes twinkled with a sly malice; “are you imitating the man that bowed down before statues of Hercules and Apollo at Rome, not knowing when the time of those fellows might come up again? Is that your game?”

“Not exactly, your Royal Highness; but I really feel some scruples of conscience that, having assisted so many unworthy candidates to pensions and peerages, I should have done nothing for the most upright man I met in Ireland.”

“If we could make him a Commissary-General,” said the Duke, laughing, “the qualities you speak of would be of service now: there never was such a set of rascals as we have got in that department! But come, what can we do with him? What ‘s his rank in the army? Where did he serve?”

“If I dare present him to your Royal Highness without a uniform,” said Lord Castlereagh, hesitatingly, “he could answer these queries better than I can.”

“Oh, by Jove! it is too late for scruples now, – introduce him at once.”

Lord Castlereagh waited for no more formal permission, but, hastening to the antechamber, took Darcy’s hand, and led him forward.

“If I don’t mistake, sir,” said the Duke, as the old man raised his head after a deep and courteous salutation, “this is not the first time we have met. Am I correct in calling you Colonel Darcy?”

The Knight bowed low in acquiescence.

“The same officer who raised the Twenty-eighth Light Dragoons, known as Darcy’s Light Horse?”

The Knight bowed once more.

“A very proud officer in command,” said the Duke, turning to Lord Castlereagh with a stern expression on his features; “a colonel who threatened a prince of the blood with arrest for breach of duty.”

“He had good reason, your Royal Highness, to be proud,” said the Knight, firmly; “first, to have a prince to serve under his command; and, secondly, to have held that station and character in the service to have rendered so unbecoming a threat pardonable.”

“And who said it was?” replied the Duke, hastily.

“Your Royal Highness has just done so.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, my Lord Duke,” said Darcy, with a calm and unmoved look, “that your Royal Highness would never have recurred to the theme to one humbled as I am, if you had not forgiven it.”

“As freely as I trust you forgive me, Colonel Darcy,” said the Duke, grasping his hand and shaking it with warmth. “Now for my part: what can I do for you? – what do you wish?”

“I can scarcely ask your Royal Highness; I find that some kind friend has already applied on my behalf. I could not have presumed, old and useless as I am, to prefer a claim myself.”

“There’s your own regiment vacant,” said the Duke, musing. “No, by Jove! I remember Lord Netherby asking me for it the other day for some relative of his own. Taylor, is the colonelcy of the Twenty-eighth promised?”

“Your Royal Highness signed it yesterday.”

“I feared as much. Who is it? – perhaps he’d exchange.”

“Colonel Maurice Darcy, your Royal Highness, unattached.”

“What! have I been doing good by stealth? Is this really so?”

“If it be, your Royal Highness,” said Darcy, smiling, “I can only assure you that the officer promoted will not exchange.”

“The depot is at Gosport, your Royal Highness,” said Taylor, in reply to a question from the Duke.

“Well, station it in Ireland, Colonel Darcy may prefer it,” said the duke; “for, as the regiment forms part of the expedition to Egypt, the depot need not be moved for some time to come.”

“Your Royal Highness can increase the favor by only one concession – dare I ask it? – to permit me to take the command on service.”

The Duke gazed with astonishment at the old man, and gradually his expression became one of deep interest, as he said, —

“Colonel Darcy could claim as a right what I feel so proud to accord him as a favor. Make a note of that, Taylor,” said the Duke, raising his voice so as to be heard through the room: “‘Colonel Darcy to take the command on service at his own special request.’ Yes, gentlemen,” added he, louder, “these are times when the exigencies of the service demand alike the energy of youth and the experience of age; it is, indeed, a happy conjuncture that finds them united. My Lord Castlereagh and Colonel Darcy, are you disengaged for Wednesday?”

They both bowed respectfully.

“Then on Wednesday I’ll have some of your brother officers to meet you, Colonel. Now, Taylor, let us get through our list.”

So saying, the Duke bowed graciously; and Lord Castlereagh and the Knight retired, each too full of pleasure to utter a word as he went.

CHAPTER XII. THE TWO SIDES OF A MEDAL

Although the Knight lost not an hour in writing to Lady Eleanor, informing her of his appointment, the letter, hastily written, and intrusted to a waiter to be posted, was never forwarded, and the first intelligence of the event reached her in a letter from her courtly relative, Lord Netherby.

So much depends upon the peculiar tact and skill of the writer, and so much upon our own frame of mind at the time of reading, that it is difficult to say whether we do not bear up better under the announcement of any sudden and sorrowful event from the hand of one less cared for than from those nearest and dearest to our hearts. The consolations that look like the special pleadings of affection become, as it were, the mere expressions of impartiality. The points of view, being so different, give a different aspect to the picture, and gleams of light fall where, seen from another quarter, all was shadow and gloom. So it was here. What, if the tidings had come from her husband, had been regarded in the one painful light of separation and long absence, assumed, under Lord Netherby’s style, the semblance of a most gratifying event, with, of course, that alloy of discomfort from which no human felicity is altogether free: so very artfully was this done, that Lady Eleanor half felt as if, in indulging in her own sorrow, she were merely giving way to a selfish regret; and as Helen, the better to sustain her mother’s courage, affected a degree of pleasure she was really far from feeling, this added to the conviction that she ought, if she could, to regard her husband’s appointment as a happy event.

“Truly, mamma,” said Helen, as she sat with the letter before her, “Me style c’est l’homme.’ His Lordship is quite heroic when describing all the fêtes and dinners of London; all the honors showered on papa in visiting-cards and invitations; how excellencies called, and royal highnesses shook hands: he even chronicles the distinguishing favor of the gracious Prince, who took wine with him. But listen to him when the theme is really one that might evoke some trait, if not of enthusiasm, at least of national pride: ‘As for the expedition, my dear cousin, though nobody knows exactly for what place it is destined, everybody is aware that it is not intended to be a fighting one. Demonstrations are now the vogue, and it is become just as bad taste for our army to shed blood as it would be for a well-bred man to mention a certain ill-conducted individual before ears polite. Modern war is like a game at whist between first-rate players; when either party has four by honors, he shows his hand, and saves the trouble of a contest. The Naval Service is, I grieve to say, rooted to its ancient prejudices, and continues its abominable pastime of broadsides and boardings; hence its mob popularity at this moment! The army will, however, always be the gentlemanlike cloth, and I thank my stars I don’t believe we have a single relative afloat. Guy Herries was the last; he was shot or piked, I forget which, in boarding a Spanish galliot off Cape Verde. “Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?” Rest satisfied, therefore, if the gallant Knight has little glory, he will have no dangers; our expeditions never land. Jekyll says they are only intended to give the service an appetite for fresh meat and soft bread, after four months’ biscuit and salt beef. At all events, my dear cousin, reckon on seeing my friend the Knight gazetted as major-general on the very next promotions. The Prince is delighted with him; and I carried a message from his Royal Highness yesterday to the War Office in his behalf. You would not come to see me, despite all the seductions I threw out, and now the season is nigh over. May I hope better things for the next year, when perhaps I can promise an inducement the more, and make your welcome more graceful by dividing its cares with one far more competent than myself to fulfil them.’ – What does he mean, mamma?”

“Read on, my dear; I believe I can guess the riddle.”

“‘The person I allude to was, in former days, if not actually a friend, a favored intimate of yours; indeed, I say that this fact is but another claim to my regard.’ – Is it possible, mamma, his Lordship thinks of marrying?”

“Even so, Helen,” said Lady Eleanor, sighing, for she remembered how, in his very last interview with her at Gwynne Abbey, he spoke of his resolve on making Lionel his heir; but then, those were the days of their prosperous fortune, the time when, to all seeming, they needed no increase of wealth.