"I gave them two years," said Mr. Ormsby. "Lord Monmouth lived with his first wife two years. And afterwards with the Mirandola at Milan, at least nearly two years; it was a year and ten months. I must know, for he called me in to settle affairs. I took the lady to the baths at Lucca, on the pretence that Monmouth would meet us there. He went to Paris. All his great affairs have been two years. I remember I wanted to bet Ca.s.silis, at White"s, on it when he married; but I thought, being his intimate friend; the oldest friend he has, indeed, and one of his trustees; it was perhaps as well not to do it."
"You should have made the bet with himself," said Lord Eskdale, "and then there never would have been a separation."
"Hah, hah, hah! Do you know, I feel the wind?"
About an hour after this, Coningsby, who had just quitted the d.u.c.h.ess, met, on a terrace by the river, Lady Wallinger, walking with Mrs. Guy Flouncey and a Russian Prince, whom that lady was enchanting. Coningsby was about to pa.s.s with some slight courtesy, but Lady Wallinger stopped and would speak to him, on slight subjects, the weather and the fete, but yet adroitly enough managed to make him turn and join her. Mrs.
Guy Flouncey walked on a little before with her Russian admirer. Lady Wallinger followed with Coningsby.
"The match that has been proclaimed to-day has greatly surprised me,"
said Lady Wallinger.
"Indeed!" said Coningsby: "I confess I was long prepared for it. And it seems to me the most natural alliance conceivable, and one that every one must approve."
"Lady Everingham seems much surprised at it."
"Ah! Lady Everingham is a brilliant personage, and cannot deign to observe obvious circ.u.mstances."
"Do you know, Mr. Coningsby, that I always thought you were engaged to Lady Theresa?"
"I!"
"Indeed, we were informed more than a month ago that you were positively going to be married to her."
"I am not one of those who can shift their affections with such rapidity, Lady Wallinger."
Lady Wallinger looked distressed. "You remember our meeting you on the stairs at ---- House, Mr. Coningsby?"
"Painfully. It is deeply graven on my brain."
"Edith had just been informed that you were going to be married to Lady Theresa."
"Not surely by him to whom she is herself going to be married?" said Coningsby, reddening.
"I am not aware that she is going to be married to any one. Lord Beaumanoir admires her, has always admired her. But Edith has given him no encouragement, at least gave him no encouragement as long as she believed; but why dwell on such an unhappy subject, Mr. Coningsby? I am to blame; I have been to blame perhaps before, but indeed I think it cruel, very cruel, that Edith and you are kept asunder."
"You have always been my best, my dearest friend, and are the most amiable and admirable of women. But tell me, is it indeed true that Edith is not going to be married?"
At this moment Mrs. Guy Flouncey turned round, and a.s.suring Lady Wallinger that the Prince and herself had agreed to refer some point to her about the most transcendental ethics of flirtation, this deeply interesting conversation was arrested, and Lady Wallinger, with becoming suavity, was obliged to listen to the lady"s lively appeal of exaggerated nonsense and the Prince"s affected protests, while Coningsby walked by her side, pale and agitated, and then offered his arm to Lady Wallinger, which she accepted with an affectionate pressure. At the end of the terrace they met some other guests, and soon were immersed in the mult.i.tude that thronged the lawn.
"There is Sir Joseph," said Lady Wallinger, and Coningsby looked up, and saw Edith on his arm. They were unconsciously approaching them. Lord Beaumanoir was there, but he seemed to shrink into nothing to-day before Buckhurst, who was captivated for the moment by Edith, and hearing that no knight was resolute enough to try a fall with the Marquess, was impelled by his talent for action to enter the lists. He had talked down everybody, unhorsed every cavalier. n.o.body had a chance against him: he answered all your questions before you asked them; contradicted everybody with the intrepidity of a Rigby; annihilated your anecdotes by historiettes infinitely more piquant; and if anybody chanced to make a joke which he could not excel, declared immediately that it was a Joe Miller. He was absurd, extravagant, grotesque, noisy; but he was young, rattling, and interesting, from his health and spirits. Edith was extremely amused by him, and was encouraging by her smile his spiritual excesses, when they all suddenly met Lady Wallinger and Coningsby.
The eyes of Edith and Coningsby met for the first time since they so cruelly encountered on the staircase of ---- House. A deep, quick blush suffused her face, her eyes gleamed with a sudden coruscation; suddenly and quickly she put forth her hand.
Yes! he presses once more that hand which permanently to retain is the pa.s.sion of his life, yet which may never be his! It seemed that for the ravishing delight of that moment he could have borne with cheerfulness all the dark and harrowing misery of the year that had pa.s.sed away since he embraced her in the woods of h.e.l.lingsley, and pledged his faith by the waters of the rushing Darl.
He seized the occasion which offered itself, a moment to walk by her side, and to s.n.a.t.c.h some brief instants of unreserved communion.
"Forgive me!" she said.
"Ah! how could you ever doubt me?" said Coningsby.
"I was unhappy."
"And now we are to each other as before?"
"And will be, come what come may."
END OF BOOK VIII.
BOOK IX.
CHAPTER I.
It was merry Christmas at St. Genevieve. There was a yule log blazing on every hearth in that wide domain, from the hall of the squire to the peasant"s roof. The b.u.t.tery Hatch was open for the whole week from noon to sunset; all comers might take their fill, and each carry away as much bold beef, white bread, and jolly ale as a strong man could bear in a basket with one hand. For every woman a red cloak, and a coat of broadcloth for every man. All day long, carts laden with fuel and warm raiment were traversing the various districts, distributing comfort and dispensing cheer. For a Christian gentleman of high degree was Eustace Lyle.
Within his hall, too, he holds his revel, and his beauteous bride welcomes their guests, from her n.o.ble parents to the faithful tenants of the house. All cla.s.ses are mingled in the joyous equality that becomes the season, at once sacred and merry. There are carols for the eventful eve, and mummers for the festive day.
The Duke and d.u.c.h.ess, and every member of the family, had consented this year to keep their Christmas with the newly-married couple. Coningsby, too, was there, and all his friends. The party was numerous, gay, hearty, and happy; for they were all united by sympathy.
They were planning that Henry Sydney should be appointed Lord of Misrule, or ordained Abbot of Unreason at the least, so successful had been his revival of the Mummers, the Hobby-horse not forgotten.
Their host had entrusted to Lord Henry the restoration of many old observances; and the joyous feeling which this celebration of Christmas had diffused throughout an extensive district was a fresh argument in favour of Lord Henry"s principle, that a mere mechanical mitigation of the material necessities of the humbler cla.s.ses, a mitigation which must inevitably be limited, can never alone avail sufficiently to ameliorate their condition; that their condition is not merely "a knife and fork question," to use the coa.r.s.e and shallow phrase of the Utilitarian school; that a simple satisfaction of the grosser necessities of our nature will not make a happy people; that you must cultivate the heart as well as seek to content the belly; and that the surest means to elevate the character of the people is to appeal to their affections.
There is nothing more interesting than to trace predisposition. An indefinite, yet strong sympathy with the peasantry of the realm had been one of the characteristic sensibilities of Lord Henry at Eton. Yet a schoolboy, he had busied himself with their pastimes and the details of their cottage economy. As he advanced in life the horizon of his views expanded with his intelligence and his experience; and the son of one of the n.o.blest of our houses, to whom the delights of life are offered with fatal facility, on the very threshold of his career he devoted his time and thought, labour and life, to one vast and n.o.ble purpose, the elevation of the condition of the great body of the people.
"I vote for Buckhurst being Lord of Misrule," said Lord Henry: "I will be content with being his gentleman usher."
"It shall be put to the vote," said Lord Vere.
"No one has a chance against Buckhurst," said Coningsby.
"Now, Sir Charles," said Lady Everingham, "your absolute sway is about to commence. And what is your will?"
"The first thing must be my formal installation," said Buckhurst. "I vote the Boar"s head be carried in procession thrice round the hall, and Beau shall be the champion to challenge all who may question my right.
Duke, you shall be my chief butler, the d.u.c.h.ess my herb-woman. She is to walk before me, and scatter rosemary. Coningsby shall carry the Boar"s head; Lady Theresa and Lady Everingham shall sing the canticle; Lord Everingham shall be marshal of the lists, and put all in the stocks who are found sober and decorous; Lyle shall be the palmer from the Holy Land, and Vere shall ride the Hobby-horse. Some must carry cups of Hippocras, some lighted tapers; all must join in chorus."
He ceased his instructions, and all hurried away to carry them into effect. Some hastily arrayed themselves in fanciful dresses, the ladies in robes of white, with garlands of flowers; some drew pieces of armour from the wall, and decked themselves with helm and hauberk; others waved ancient banners. They brought in the Boar"s head on a large silver dish, and Coningsby raised it aloft. They formed into procession, the d.u.c.h.ess distributing rosemary; Buckhurst swaggering with all the majesty of Tamerlane, his mock court irresistibly humorous with their servility; and the sweet voice of Lady Everingham chanting the first verse of the canticle, followed in the second by the rich tones of Lady Theresa:
I.
Caput Apri defero Reddens laudes Domino.
The Boar"s heade in hande bring I, With garlandes gay and rosemary: I pray you all singe merrily, Qui estis in convivio.
II.
Caput Apri defero Reddens laudes Domino.