"I will go to-night, Mr. Vere," said Sir Frederick, "and write you my intentions in this matter when I am at home."
"Ay," said Mareschal, "and send them by a troop of horse from Carlisle to make us prisoners? Look ye, Sir Frederick, I for one will neither be deserted nor betrayed; and if you leave Ellieslaw Castle to-night, it shall be by pa.s.sing over my dead body."
"For shame! Mareschal," said Mr. Vere, "how can you so hastily misinterpret our friend"s intentions? I am sure Sir Frederick can only be jesting with us; for, were he not too honourable to dream of deserting the cause, he cannot but remember the full proofs we have of his accession to it, and his eager activity in advancing it. He cannot but be conscious, besides, that the first information will be readily received by government, and that if the question be, which can first lodge intelligence of the affair, we can easily save a few hours on him."
"You should say you, and not we, when you talk of priorities in such a race of treachery; for my part, I won"t enter my horse for such a plate," said Mareschal; and added betwixit his teeth, "A pretty pair of fellows to trust a man"s neck with!"
"I am not to be intimidated from doing what I think proper," said Sir Frederick Langley; "and my first step shall be to leave Ellieslaw. I have no reason to keep faith with one" (looking at Vere) "who has kept none with me."
"In what respect," said Ellieslaw, silencing, with a motion of his hand, his impetuous kinsman--"how have I disappointed you, Sir Frederick?"
"In the nearest and most tender point--you have trifled with me concerning our proposed alliance, which you well knew was the gage of our political undertaking. This carrying off and this bringing back of Miss Vere,--the cold reception I have met with from her, and the excuses with which you cover it, I believe to be mere evasions, that you may yourself retain possession of the estates which are hers by right, and make me, in the meanwhile, a tool in your desperate enterprise, by holding out hopes and expectations which you are resolved never to realize."
"Sir Frederick, I protest, by all that is sacred--"
"I will listen to no protestations; I have been cheated with them too long," answered Sir Frederick.
"If you leave us," said Ellieslaw, "you cannot but know both your ruin and ours is certain; all depends on our adhering together."
"Leave me to take care of myself," returned the knight; "but were what you say true, I would rather perish than be fooled any farther."
"Can nothing--no surety convince you of my sincerity?" said Ellieslaw, anxiously; "this morning I should have repelled your unjust suspicions as an insult; but situated as we now are--"
"You feel yourself compelled to be sincere?" retorted Sir Frederick.
"If you would have me think so, there is but one way to convince me of it--let your daughter bestow her hand on me this evening."
"So soon?--impossible," answered Vere; "think of her late alarm--of our present undertaking."
"I will listen to nothing but to her consent, plighted at the altar.
You have a chapel in the castle--Doctor Hobbler is present among the company-this proof of your good faith to-night, and we are again joined in heart and hand. If you refuse me when it is so much for your advantage to consent, how shall I trust you to-morrow, when I shall stand committed in your undertaking, and unable to retract?"
"And I am to understand, that, if you can be made my son-in-law to-night, our friendship is renewed?" said Ellieslaw.
"Most infallibly, and most inviolably," replied Sir Frederick.
"Then," said Vere, "though what you ask is premature, indelicate, and unjust towards my character, yet, Sir Frederick, give me your hand--my daughter shall be your wife."
"This night?"
"This very night," replied Ellieslaw, "before the clock strikes twelve."
"With her own consent, I trust," said Mareschal; "for I promise you both, gentlemen, I will not stand tamely by, and see any violence put on the will of my pretty kinswoman."
"Another pest in this hot-headed fellow," muttered Ellieslaw; and then aloud, "With her own consent? For what do you take me, Mareschal, that you should suppose your interference necessary to protect my daughter against her father? Depend upon it, she has no repugnance to Sir Frederick Langley."
"Or rather to be called Lady Langley? faith, like enough--there are many women might be of her mind; and I beg your pardon, but these sudden demands and concessions alarmed me a little on her account."
"It is only the suddenness of the proposal that embarra.s.ses me," said Ellieslaw; "but perhaps if she is found intractable, Sir Frederick will consider--"
"I will consider nothing, Mr. Vere--your daughter"s hand to-night, or I depart, were it at midnight--there is my ultimatum."
"I embrace it," said Ellieslaw; "and I will leave you to talk upon our military preparations, while I go to prepare my daughter for so sudden a change of condition."
So saying, he left the company.
CHAPTER XIV.
He brings Earl Osmond to receive my vows.
O dreadful change! for Tancred, haughty Osmond.
--TANCRED AND SIGISMUNDA.
Mr. Vere, whom long practice of dissimulation had enabled to model his very gait and footsteps to aid the purposes of deception, walked along the stone pa.s.sage, and up the first flight of steps towards Miss Vere"s apartment, with the alert, firm, and steady pace of one who is bound, indeed, upon important business, but who entertains no doubt he can terminate his affairs satisfactorily. But when out of hearing of the gentlemen whom he had left, his step became so slow and irresolute, as to correspond with his doubts and his fears. At length he paused in an antechamber to collect his ideas, and form his plan of argument, before approaching his daughter.
"In what more hopeless and inextricable dilemma was ever an unfortunate man involved!" Such was the tenor of his reflections.--"If we now fall to pieces by disunion, there can be little doubt that the government will take my life as the prime agitator of the insurrection. Or, grant I could stoop to save myself by a hasty submission, am I not, even in that case, utterly ruined? I have broken irreconcilably with Ratcliffe, and can have nothing to expect from that quarter but insult and persecution.
I must wander forth an impoverished and dishonoured man, without even the means of sustaining life, far less wealth sufficient to counterbalance the infamy which my countrymen, both those whom I desert and those whom I join, will attach to the name of the political renegade. It is not to be thought of. And yet, what choice remains between this lot and the ignominious scaffold? Nothing can save me but reconciliation with these men; and, to accomplish this, I have promised to Langley that Isabella shall marry him ere midnight, and to Mareschal, that she shall do so without compulsion. I have but one remedy betwixt me and ruin--her consent to take a suitor whom she dislikes, upon such short notice as would disgust her, even were he a favoured lover--But I must trust to the romantic generosity of her disposition; and let me paint the necessity of her obedience ever so strongly, I cannot overcharge its reality."
Having finished this sad chain of reflections upon his perilous condition, he entered his daughter"s apartment with every nerve bent up to the support of the argument which he was about to sustain. Though a deceitful and ambitious man, he was not so devoid of natural affection but that he was shocked at the part he was about to act, in practising on the feelings of a dutiful and affectionate child; but the recollections, that, if he succeeded, his daughter would only be trepanned into an advantageous match, and that, if he failed, he himself was a lost man, were quite sufficient to drown all scruples.
He found Miss Vere seated by the window of her dressing-room, her head reclining on her hand, and either sunk in slumber, or so deeply engaged in meditation, that she did not hear the noise he made at his entrance.
He approached with his features composed to a deep expression of sorrow and sympathy, and, sitting down beside her, solicited her attention by quietly taking her hand, a motion which he did not fail to accompany with a deep sigh.
"My father!" said Isabella, with a sort of start, which expressed at least as much fear, as joy or affection.
"Yes, Isabella," said Vere, "your unhappy father, who comes now as a penitent to crave forgiveness of his daughter for an injury done to her in the excess of his affection, and then to take leave of her for ever."
"Sir? Offence to me take leave for ever? What does all this mean?" said Miss Vere.
"Yes, Isabella, I am serious. But first let me ask you, have you no suspicion that I may have been privy to the strange chance which befell you yesterday morning?"
"You, sir?" answered Isabella, stammering between a consciousness that he had guessed her thoughts justly, and the shame as well as fear which forbade her to acknowledge a suspicion so degrading and so unnatural.
"Yes!" he continued, "your hesitation confesses that you entertained such an opinion, and I have now the painful task of acknowledging that your suspicions have done me no injustice. But listen to my motives.
In an evil hour I countenanced the addresses of Sir Frederick Langley, conceiving it impossible that you could have any permanent objections to a match where the advantages were, in most respects, on your side. In a worse, I entered with him into measures calculated to restore our banished monarch, and the independence of my country. He has taken advantage of my unguarded confidence, and now has my life at his disposal."
"Your life, sir?" said Isabella, faintly.
"Yes, Isabella," continued her father, "the life of him who gave life to you. So soon as I foresaw the excesses into which his headlong pa.s.sion (for, to do him justice, I believe his unreasonable conduct arises from excess of attachment to you) was likely to hurry him, I endeavoured, by finding a plausible pretext for your absence for some weeks, to extricate myself from the dilemma in which I am placed. For this purpose I wished, in case your objections to the match continued insurmountable, to have sent you privately for a few months to the convent of your maternal aunt at Paris. By a series of mistakes you have been brought from the place of secrecy and security which I had destined for your temporary abode. Fate has baffled my last chance of escape, and I have only to give you my blessing, and send you from the castle with Mr.
Ratcliffe, who now leaves it; my own fate will soon be decided."
"Good Heaven, sir! can this be possible?" exclaimed Isabella. "O, why was I freed from the restraint in which you placed me? or why did you not impart your pleasure to me?"
"Think an instant, Isabella. Would you have had me prejudice in your opinion the friend I was most desirous of serving, by communicating to you the injurious eagerness with which he pursued his object? Could I do so honourably, having promised to a.s.sist his suit?--But it is all over, I and Mareschal have made up our minds to die like men; it only remains to send you from hence under a safe escort."
"Great powers! and is there no remedy?" said the terrified young woman.
"None, my child," answered Vere, gently, "unless one which you would not advise your father to adopt--to be the first to betray his friends."