Less than an hour after the arrival of Sybil at Mowbray Castle the scoutthat Mr Mountchesney had sent off to gather news returned, and withintelligence of the triumph of Gerard's eloquence, that all had endedhappily, and that the people were dispersing and returning to the town.
Kind as was the reception accorded to Sybil by Lady de Mowbray and herdaughter on her arrival, the remembrance of the perilous position of herfather had totally disqualified her from responding to their advances.Acquainted with the cause of her anxiety and depression and sympathisingwith womanly softness with her distress, nothing could be moreconsiderate than their behaviour. It touched Sybil much, and sheregretted the harsh thoughts that irresistible circumstances had forcedher to cherish respecting persons, who, now that she saw them intheir domestic and unaffected hour, had apparently many qualities toconciliate and to charm. When the good news arrived of her father'ssafety, and safety achieved in a manner so flattering to a daughter'spride, it came upon a heart predisposed to warmth and kindness and allher feelings opened. The tears stood in her beautiful eyes, and theywere tears not only of tenderness but gratitude. Fortunately Lordde Mowbray was at the moment absent, and as the question of thecontroverted inheritance was a secret to every member of the familyexcept himself, the name of Gerard excited no invidious sensation inthe circle. Sybil was willing to please and to be pleased: every onewas captivated by her beauty, her grace, her picturesque expression andsweet simplicity. Lady de Mowbray serenely smiled and frequently whenunobserved viewed her through her eyeglass. Lady Joan, much softened bymarriage, would show her the castle; Lady Maud was in ecstasies with allthat Sybil said or did: while Mr Mountchesney who had thought of littleelse but Sybil ever since Lady Maud's report of her seraphic singing,and who had not let four-and-twenty hours go by without discovering,with all the practised art of St James', the name and residence of theunknown fair, flattered himself he was making great play when Sybil,moved by his great kindness, distinguished him by frequent notice.They had viewed the castle, they were in the music-room, Sybil had beenprevailed upon, though with reluctance, to sing. Some Spanish churchmusic which she found there called forth all her powers: all washappiness, delight, rapture, Lady Maud in a frenzy of friendship, MrMountchesney convinced that the country in August might be delightful,and Lady Joan almost gay because Alfred was pleased. Lady de Mowbrayhad been left in her boudoir with the "Morning Post." Sybil had justfinished a ravishing air, there was a murmur of luncheon--when suddenlyHarold, who had persisted in following his mistress and whom MrMountchesney had gallantly introduced into the music-room, rose andcoming forward from the corner in which he reposed, barked violently.
"How now!" said Mr Mountchesney.
"Harold!" said Sybil in a tone of remonstrance and surprise.
But the dog not only continued to bark but even howled. At this momentthe groom of the chambers entered the room abruptly and with a faceof mystery said that he wished to speak with Mr Mountchesney. Thatgentleman immediately withdrew. He was absent some little time, thedog very agitated; Lady Joan becoming disquieted, when he returned. Hischanged air struck the vigilant eye of his wife.
"What has happened Alfred?" she said.
"Oh! don't be alarmed," he replied with an obvious affectation of ease."There are some troublesome people in the park; stragglers I supposefrom the rioters. The gate-keeper ought not to have let them pass.I have given directions to Bentley what to do, if they come to thecastle."
"Let us go to mama," said Lady Joan.
And they were all about leaving the music-room, when a servant camerunning in and called out "Mr Bentley told me to say, sir, they are insight."
"Very well," said Mr Mountchesney in a calm tone but changing colour."You had better go to your mama, Joan, and take Maud and our friendwith you. I will stay below for a while," and notwithstanding theremonstrances of his wife, Mr Mountchesney went to the hall.
"I don't know what to do, sir," said the house steward. "They are a verystrong party."
"Close all the windows, lock and bar all the doors," said MrMountchesney. "I am frightened," he continued, "about your lord. I fearhe may fall in with these people."
"My lord is at Mowbray," said Mr Bentley. "He must have heard of thismob there."
And now emerging from the plantations and entering on the lawns, theforce and description of the invading party were easier to distinguish.They were numerous, though consisting of only a section of the originalexpedition, for Gerard had collected a great portion of the Mowbray men,and they preferred being under his command to following a stranger whomthey did not much like on a somewhat licentious adventure of whichtheir natural leader disapproved. The invading section therefore wereprincipally composed of Hell-cats, though singular enough Morley of allmen in the world accompanied them, attended by Devilsdust, Dandy Mick,and others of that youthful class of which these last were the idolsand heroes. There were perhaps eighteen hundred or two thousand personsarmed with bars and bludgeons, in general a grimy crew, whose dress andappearance revealed the kind of labour to which they were accustomed.The difference between them and the minority of Mowbray operatives wasinstantly recognizable.
When they perceived the castle this dreadful band gave a ferociousshout. Lady de Mowbray showed blood; she was composed and courageous.She observed the mob from the window, and re-assuring her daughters andSybil she said she would go down and speak to them. She was on the pointof leaving the room with this object when Mr Mountchesney entered andhearing her purpose, dissuaded her from attempting it. "Leave all tome," he said; "and make yourselves quite easy; they will go away, I amcertain they will go away," and he again quitted them.
In the meantime Lady de Mowbray and her friends observed the proceedingsbelow. When the main body had advanced within a few hundred yards ofthe castle, they halted and seated themselves on the turf. This stepre-assured the garrison: it was generally held to indicate that theintentions of the invaders were not of a very settled or hostilecharacter; that they had visited the place probably in a spirit offrolic, and if met with tact and civility might ultimately be induced toretire from it without much annoyance. This was evidently the opinionof Mr Mountchesney from the first, and when an uncouth being on a whitemule, attended by twenty or thirty miners, advanced to the castle andasked for Lord de Mowbray, Mr Mountchesney met them with kindness,saying that he regretted his father-in-law was absent, expressed hisreadiness to represent him, and enquired their pleasure. His courteousbearing evidently had an influence on the Bishop, who dropping his usualbrutal tone mumbled something about his wish to drink Lord de Mowbray'shealth.
"You shall all drink his health," said Mr Mountchesney humouringhim, and he gave directions that a couple of barrels of ale should bebroached in the park before the castle. The Bishop was pleased, thepeople were in good humour, some men began dancing, it seemed that thecloud had blown over, and Mr Mountchesney sent up a bulletin to Lady deMowbray that all danger was past and that he hoped in ten minutes theywould all have disappeared.
The ten minutes had expired: the Bishop was still drinking ale, andMr Mountchesney still making civil speeches and keeping his immediateattendants in humour.
"I wish they would go," said Lady de Mowbray.
"How wonderfully Alfred has managed them," said Lady Joan. "After all,"said Lady Maud, "it must be confessed that the people--" Her sentencewas interrupted; Harold who had been shut out but who had laid downwithout quietly, though moaning at intervals, now sprang at the doorwith so much force that it trembled on its hinges, while the dog againbarked with renewed violence. Sybil went to him: he seized her dresswith his teeth and would have pulled her away. Suddenly uncouth andmysterious sounds were heard, there was a loud shriek, the gong in thehail thundered, the great alarum-bell of the tower sounded without, andthe housekeeper followed by the female domestics rushed into the room.
"O! my lady, my lady," they all exclaimed at the same time, "theHell-cats are breaking into the castle."
Before any one of the terrified compa
ny could reply, the voice of MrMountchesney was heard. He was approaching them; he was no longer calm.He hurried into the room; he was pale, evidently greatly alarmed. "Ihave come to you," he said; "these fellows have got in below. Whilethere is time and we can manage them, you must leave the place."
"I am ready for anything." said Lady de Mowbray.
Lady Joan and Lady Maud wrung their hands in frantic terror. Sybil verypale said "Let me go down; I may know some of these men."
"No, no," said Mr Mountchesney. "They are not Mowbray people. It wouldnot be safe."
Dreadful sounds were now heard; a blending of shouts and oaths andhideous merriment. Their hearts trembled.
"The mob are in the house, sir," called out Mr Bentley rushing up tothem. "They say they will see everything."
"Let them see everything," said Lady de Mowbray, "but make a conditionthat they first let us go. Try Alfred, try to manage them before theyare utterly ungovernable."
Mr Mountchesney again left them on this desperate mission. Lady deMowbray and all the women remained in the chamber. Not a word wasspoken: the silence was complete. Even the maid-servants had ceased tosigh and sob. A feeling something like desperation was stealing overthem.
The dreadful sounds continued increased. They seemed to approach nearer.It was impossible to distinguish a word, and yet their import wasfrightful and ferocious.
"Lord have mercy on us all!" exclaimed the housekeeper unable torestrain herself. The maids began to cry.
After an absence of about five minutes Mr Mountchesney again hurriedin and leading away Lady de Mowbray, he said, "You haven't a moment tolose. Follow us!"
There was a general rush, and following Mr Mountchesney they passedrapidly through several apartments, the fearful noises every momentincreasing, until they reached the library which opened on the terrace.The windows were broken, the terrace crowded with people, several of themob were in the room, even Lady de Mowbray cried out and fell back.
"Come on," said Mr Mountchesney. "The mob have possession of the castle.It is our only chance."
"But the mob are here," said Lady de Mowbray much terrified.
"I see some Mowbray faces," cried Sybil springing forward, with aflashing eye and glowing cheek. "Bamford and Samuel Carr: Bamford, ifyou be my father's friend, aid us now; and Samuel Carr, I was with yourmother this morning: did she think I should meet her son thus? No,you shall not enter," said Sybil advancing. They recognised her, theypaused. "I know you, Couchman; you told us once at the Convent thatwe might summon you in our need. I summon you now. O, men, men!" sheexclaimed, clasping her hands. "What is this? Are you led away bystrangers to such deeds? Why, I know you all! You came here to aid, Iam sure, and not to harm. Guard these ladies; save them from theseforeigners! There's Butler, he'll go with us, and Godfrey Wells.Shall it be said you let your neighbours be plundered and assailedby strangers and never tried to shield them? Now, my good friends, Ientreat, I adjure you, Butler, Wells, Couchman, what would Walter Gerardsay, your friend that you have so often followed, if he saw this?"
"Gerard forever!" shouted Couchman.
"Gerard forever!" exclaimed a hundred voices.
"'Tis his blessed daughter," said others; "'tis Sybil, our angel Sybil."
"Stand by Sybil Gerard."
Sybil had made her way upon the terrace, and had collected around hera knot of stout followers, who, whatever may have been their originalmotive, were now resolved to do her bidding. The object of MrMountchesney was to descend the side-step of the terrace and again theflower-garden, from whence there were means of escape. But the throngwas still too fierce to permit Lady de Mowbray and her companions toattempt the passage, and all that Sybil and her followers could atpresent do, was to keep the mob off from entering the library, and toexert themselves to obtain fresh recruits.
At this moment an unexpected aid arrived.
"Keep back there! I call upon you in the name of God to keep back!"exclaimed a voice of one struggling and communing with the rioters,a voice which all immediately recognised. It was that of Mr St Lys.Charles Gardner, "I have been your friend. The aid I gave you was oftensupplied to me by this house. Why are you here?"
"For no evil purpose, Mr St Lys. I came as others did, to see what wasgoing on."
"Then you see a deed of darkness. Struggle against it. Aid me and PhilipWarner in this work; it will support you at the judgment. Tressel,Tressel, stand by me and Warner. That's good, that's right! And you too,Daventry, and you, and you. I knew you would wash your hands of thisfell deed. It is not Mowbray men who would do this. That's right, that'sright! Form a band. Good again. There's not a man that joins us now whodoes not make a friend for life."
Mr St Lys had been in the neighbourhood when the news of the visitof the mob to the castle reached him. He anticipated the perilousconsequences. He hastened immediately to the scene of action. He hadmet Warner the handloom weaver in his way, and enlisted his powerfulinfluence with the people on his side.
The respective bands of Sybil and Mr St Lys in time contrived to join.Their numbers were no longer contemptible; they were animated by thewords and presence of their leaders: St Lys struggling in their midst;Sybil maintaining her position on the terrace, and inciting all aroundher to courage and energy.
The multitude were kept back, the passage to the side-steps of theterrace was clear.
"Now," said Sybil, and she encouraged Lady de Mowbray, her daughters,and followers to advance. It was a fearful struggle to maintain thecommunication, but it was a successful one. They proceeded breathlessand trembling, until they reached what was commonly called the Grotto,but which was in fact a subterranean way excavated through a hill andleading to the bank of a river where there were boats. The entrance ofthis tunnel was guarded by an iron gate, and Mr Mountchesney hadsecured the key. The gate was opened, Warner and his friends made almostsuperhuman efforts at this moment to keep back the multitude, Lady deMowbray and her daughters had passed through, when there came one ofthose violent undulations usual in mobs, and which was occasioned by asudden influx of persons attracted by what was occurring, and Sybil andthose who immediately surrounded her and were guarding the retreat werecarried far away. The gate was closed, the rest of the party had passed,but Sybil was left, and found herself entirely among strangers.
In the meantime the castle was in possession of the mob. The first greatrush was to the cellars: the Bishop himself headed this onset, nordid he rest until he was seated among the prime binns of the nobleproprietor. This was not a crisis of corkscrews; the heads of thebottles were knocked off with the same promptitude and dexterity as ifthey were shelling nuts or decapitating shrimps: the choicest wines ofChristendom were poured down the thirsty throats that ale and spiritshad hitherto only stimulated; Tummas was swallowing Burgundy; MasterNixon had got hold of a batch of tokay; while the Bishop himself seatedon the ground and leaning against an arch, the long perspective ofthe cellars full of rapacious figures brandishing bottles and torches,alternately quaffed some very old Port and some Madeira of many voyages,and was making up his mind as to their respective and relative merits.
While the cellars and offices were thus occupied, bands were paradingthe gorgeous saloons and gazing with wonderment on their decorationsand furniture. Some grimy ruffians had thrown themselves with disdainfuldelight on the satin couches and the state beds: others rifled thecabinets with an idea that they must be full of money, and findinglittle in their way, had strewn their contents--papers and books andworks of art over the floors of the apartments; sometimes a band who hadescaped from below with booty came up to consummate their orgies inthe magnificence of the dwelling rooms. Among these were Nixon and hisfriends, who stared at the pictures and stood before the tall mirrorswith still greater astonishment. Indeed many of them had never seen anordinary looking-glass in their lives.
"'Tis Natur!" said Master Nixon surveying himself, and turning toJuggins.
Many of these last grew frantic, and finished their debauch by thedestruction of everythi
ng around them.
But while these scenes of brutal riot were occurring there was oneselect but resolute band who shared in none of these excesses. Morley,followed by half a dozen Mowbray lads and two chosen Hell-cats, leavingall the confusion below, had ascended the great staircase, tracedhis way down a corridor to the winding steps of the Round Tower, andsupplied with the necessary instruments had forced his entrance into themuniment room of the castle. It was a circular chamber lined with tallfire-proof cases. These might have presented invincible obstacles to anyother than the pupils of Bishop Hatton as it was, in some instancesthe locks in others the hinges yielded in time, though after prolongedefforts, to the resources of their art; and while Dandy Mick and hisfriends kept watch at the entrance, Morley and Devilsdust proceeded toexamine the contents of the cases: piles of parchment deeds, bundles ofpapers arranged and docketed, many boxes of various size and materials:but the desired object was not visible. A baffled expression came overthe face of Morley; he paused for an instant in his labours. The thoughtof how much he had sacrificed for this, and only to fail, came uponhim--upon him, the votary of Moral Power in the midst of havoc which hehad organised and stimulated. He cursed Baptist Hatton in his heart.
"The knaves have destroyed them," said Devilsdust. "I thought how itwould be. They never would run the chance of a son of Labour being lordof all this."
Some of the cases were very deep, and they had hitherto in general, inorder to save time, proved their contents with an iron rod. Now Morleywith a desperate air mounting on some steps that were in the room,commenced formally rifling the cases and throwing their contents on thefloor; it was soon strewn with deeds and papers and boxes which he andDevilsdust the moment they had glanced at them hurled away. At lengthwhen all hope seemed to have vanished, clearing a case which at firstappeared only to contain papers, Morley struck something at its back;he sprang forward with outstretched arm, his body was half hid in thecabinet, and he pulled out with triumphant exultation the box, paintedblue and blazoned with the arms of Valence. It was neither large norheavy; he held it out to Devilsdust without saying a word, and Morleydescending the steps sate down for a moment on a pile of deeds andfolded his arms.
At this juncture the discharge of musketry was heard.
"Hilloa!" said Devilsdust with a queer expression. Morley started fromhis seat. Dandy Mick rushed into the room. "Troops, troops! there aretroops here!" he exclaimed.
"Let us descend," said Morley. "In the confusion we may escape. I willtake the box," and they left the muniment room.
One of their party whom Mick had sent forward to reconnoitre fell backupon them. "They are not troops," he said; "they are yeomanry; they arefiring away and cutting every one down. They have cleared the groundfloor of the castle and are in complete possession below. We cannotescape this way."
"Those accursed locks!" said Morley clenching the box. "Time has beatus. Let us see, let us see." He ran back into the mumment room andexamined the egress from the window. It was just possible for any onevery lithe and nimble to vault upon the roof of the less elevatedpart of the castle. Revolving this, another scout rushed in and said,"Comrades, they are here! they are ascending the stairs."
Morley stamped on the ground with rage and despair. Then seizing Mick bythe hand he said, "You see this window; can you by any means reach thatroof?"
"One may as well lose one's neck that way," said Mick. "I'll try."
"Off! If you land I will throw this box after you. Now mind; take it tothe convent at Mowbray and deliver it yourself from me to Sybil Gerard.It is light; there are only papers in it; but they will give her her ownagain, and she will not forget you."
"Never mind that," said Mick. "I only wish I may live to see her."
The tramp of the ascending troopers was heard.
"Good bye my hearties," said Mick, and he made the spring. He seemedstunned, but he might recover. Morley watched him and flung the box.
"And now," he said drawing a pistol, "we may fight our way yet. I'llshoot the first man who enters, and then you must rush on them with yourbludgeons."
The force that had so unexpectedly arrived at this scene of devastationwas a troop of the yeomanry regiment of Lord Marney. The strike inLancashire and the revolt in the mining districts had so completelydrained this county of military, that the lord lieutenant had insistedon Lord Marney quitting his agricultural neighbourhood and quarteringhimself in the region of factories. Within the last two days he hadfixed his headquarters at a large manufacturing town within ten milesof Mowbray, and a despatch on Sunday evening from the mayor of thattown having reached him, apprising him of the invasion of the miners,Egremont had received orders to march with his troop there on thefollowing morning.
Egremont had not departed more than two hours when the horsemen whomSybil had met arrived at Lord Marney's headquarters, bringing a mostalarming and exaggerated report of the insurrection and of thehavoc that was probably impending. Lord Marney being of opinion thatEgremont's forces were by no means equal to the occasion resolvedtherefore at once to set out for Mowbray with his own troop. CrossingMowbray Moor he encountered a great multitude, now headed for purposesof peace by Walter Gerard. His mind inflamed by the accounts he hadreceived, and hating at all times any popular demonstration, hislordship resolved without inquiry or preparation immediately to dispersethem. The Riot Act was read with the rapidity with which grace issometimes said at the head of a public table--a ceremony of which nonebut the performer and his immediate friends are conscious. The peoplewere fired on and sabred. The indignant spirit of Gerard resisted; hestruck down a trooper to the earth, and incited those about him not toyield. The father of Sybil was picked out--the real friend and championof the People--and shot dead. Instantly arose a groan which almostquelled the spirit of Lord Marney, though armed and at the head of armedmen. The people who before this were in general scared and dispersing,ready indeed to fly in all directions, no sooner saw their belovedleader fall than a feeling of frenzy came over them. They defied thetroopers, though themselves armed only with stones and bludgeons; theyrushed at the horsemen and tore them from their saddles, while a showerof stones rattled on the helmet of Lord Marney and seemed never tocease. In vain the men around him charged the infuriated throng; thepeople returned to their prey, nor did they rest until Lord Marney felllifeless on Mowbray Moor, literally stoned to death.
These disastrous events of course occurred at a subsequent period of theday to that on which half-a-dozen troopers were ascending the staircaseof the Round Tower of Mowbray Castle. The distracted house-steward ofLord de Mowbray had met and impressed upon them, now that the Castlewas once more in their possession, of securing the muniment room, for MrBentley had witnessed the ominous ascent of Morley and his companions tothat important chamber.
Morley and his companions had taken up an advantageous position at thehead of the staircase.
"Surrender," said the commander of the yeomanry. "Resistance isuseless."
Morley presented his pistol, but before he could pull the trigger a shotfrom a trooper in the rear, and who from his position could well observethe intention of Morley, struck Stephen in the breast; still he fired,but aimless and without effect. The troopers pushed on Morley faintingfell back with his friends who were frightened, except Devilsdust, whohad struck hard and well, and who in turn had been slightly sabred.The yeomanry entered the muniment room almost at the same time as theirfoes, leaving Devilsdust behind them, who had fallen, and who cursingthe Capitalist who had wounded him managed to escape. Morley fell whenhe had regained the room. The rest surrendered.
"Morley! Stephen Morley!" exclaimed the commander of the yeomanry. "You,you here!"
"Yes. I am sped," he said in a faint voice. "No, no succour. It isuseless and I desire none. Why I am here is a mystery; let it remainso. The world will misjudge me; the man of peace they will say was ahypocrite. The world will be wrong, as it always is. Death is bitter,"he said with a deep sigh, and speaking with great difficulty, "morebitter from you; bu
t just. We have struggled together before, Egremont.I thought I had scotched you then, but you escaped. Our lives have beena struggle since we first met. Your star has controlled mine; and nowI feel I have sacrificed life and fame--dying men prophecy--for yourprofit and honour. O Sybil!" and with this name half sighed upon hislips the votary of Moral Power and the Apostle of Community ceased toexist.
Meanwhile Sybil, separated from her friends who had made their escapethrough the grotto, was left with only Harold for her protector, for shehad lost even Warner in the crush. She looked around in vain forsome Mowbray face that she could recognise, but after some fruitlessresearch, a loud shouting in the distance, followed by the firing ofmusketry, so terrified all around her, that the mob in her immediateneighbourhood dispersed as if by magic, and she remained alone crouchingin a corner of the flower-garden, while dreadful shouts and shrieksand yells resounded from the distance, occasionally firing, thesmoke floating to her retreat. She could see from where she stood themultitude flying about the park in all directions, and therefore shethought it best to remain in her present position and await the terribleevents. She concluded that some military force had arrived, and that ifshe could maintain her present post, she hoped that the extreme dangermight pass. But while she indulged in these hopes, a dark cloud of smokecame descending in the garden. It could not be produced by musket orcarbine: its volume was too heavy even for ordnance: and in a momentthere were sparks mingled with its black form; and then the shouting andshrieking which had in some degree subsided, suddenly broke out againwith increased force and wildness. The Castle was on fire.
Whether from heedlessness or from insane intention, for the deed sealedtheir own doom, the drunken Hell-cats brandishing their torches, whilethey rifled the cellars and examined every closet and corner of theoffices, had set fire to the lower part of the building, and the flamesthat had for some time burnt unseen, had now gained the principalchambers. The Bishop was lying senseless in the main cellar, surroundedby his chief officers in the same state: indeed the whole of thebasement was covered with the recumbent figures of Hell-cats, as blackand thick as torpid flies during the last days of their career. Thefuneral pile of the children of Woden was a sumptuous one; it wasprepared and lighted by themselves; and the flame that, rising from thekeep of Mowbray, announced to the startled country that in a short hourthe splendid mimickry of Norman rule would cease to exist, told also thepitiless fate of the ruthless savage, who, with analogous pretension,had presumed to style himself the Liberator of the People.
The clouds of smoke, the tongues of flame, that now began to mingle withthem, the multitude whom this new incident and impending catastrophesummoned hack to the scene, forced Sybil to leave the garden andenter the park. It was in vain she endeavoured to gain some part lessfrequented than the rest, and to make her way unobserved. Suddenly aband of drunken ruffians, with shouts and oaths, surrounded her; sheshrieked in frantic terror; Harold sprung at the throat of the foremost;another advanced, Harold left his present prey and attacked the newassailant. The brave dog did wonders, but the odds were fearful; andthe men had bludgeons, were enraged, and had already wounded him. Oneruffian had grasped the arm of Sybil, another had clenched her garments,when an officer covered with dust and gore, sabre in hand, jumped fromthe terrace, and hurried to the rescue. He cut down one man, thrust awayanother, and placing his left arm round Sybil, he defended her withhis sword, while Harold now become furious, flew from man to man, andprotected her on the other side. Her assailants were routed, they madea staggering flight; the officer turned round and pressed Sybil to hisheart.
"We will never part again," said Egremont.
"Never," murmured Sybil.
Book 6 Chapter 13
It was the Spring of last year, and Lady Bardolf was making a morningvisit to Lady St Julians.
"I heard they were to be at Lady Palmerston's last night," said Lady StJulians.
"No," said Lady Bardolf shaking his head, "they make their firstappearance at Deloraine House. We meet there on Thursday I know."
"Well, I must say," said Lady St Julians, "that I am curious to seeher."
"Lord Valentine met them last year at Naples."
"And what does he say of her."
"Oh! he raves!"
"What a romantic history! And what a fortunate man is Lord Marney. Ifone could only have foreseen events!" exclaimed Lady St Julians. "He wasalways a favourite of mine though. But still I thought his brother wasthe very last person who ever would die. He was so very hard!"
"I fear Lord Marney is entirely lost to us," said Lady Bardolf lookingvery solemn.
"Ah! he always had a twist," said Lady St Julians, "and used tobreakfast with that horrid Mr Trenchard, and do those sort of things.But still with his immense fortune, I should think he would becomerational."
"You may well say immense," said Lady Bardolf. "Mr Ormsby, and there isno better judge of another man's income, says there are not three peersin the kingdom who have so much a year clear."
"They say the Mowbray estate is forty thousand a year," said Lady StJulians. "Poor Lady de Mowbray! I understand that Mr Mountchesney hasresolved not to appeal against the verdict."
"You know he has not a shadow of a chance," said Lady Bardolf. "Ah! whatchanges we have seen in that family! They say the writ of right killedpoor Lord de Mowbray, but to my mind he never recovered the burning ofthe Castle. We went over to them directly, and I never saw a man so cutup. We wanted them to come to us at Firebrace, but he said he shouldleave the county immediately. I remember Lord Bardolf mentioning to me,that he looked like a dying man."
"Well I must say," said Lady St Julians rallying as it were from a fitof abstraction, "that I am most curious to see Lady Marney."
The reader will infer from this conversation that Dandy Mick, in spiteof his stunning fall, and all dangers which awaited him on his recovery,had contrived in spite of fire and flame, sabre and carbine, tramplingtroopers and plundering mobs, to reach the Convent of Mowbray with thebox of papers. There he enquired for Sybil, in whose hands, and whosehands alone he was enjoined to deposit them. She was still absent, butfaithful to his instructions, Mick would deliver his charge to noneother, and exhausted by the fatigues of the terrible day, he remainedin the court-yard of the Convent, lying down with the box for his pillowuntil Sybil under the protection of Egremont herself returned. Then hefulfilled his mission. Sybil was too agitated at the moment to perceiveall its import, but she delivered the box into the custody of Egremont,who desiring Mick to follow him to his hotel bade farewell to Sybil,who equally with himself, was then ignorant of the fatal encounter onMowbray Moor.
We must drop a veil over the anguish which its inevitable and speedyrevelation brought to the daughter of Gerard. Her love for her fatherwas one of those profound emotions which seemed to form a constituentpart of her existence. She remained for a long period in helpless woe,soothed only by the sacred cares of Ursula. There was another mournerin this season of sorrow who must not be forgotten; and that was LadyMarney. All that tenderness and the most considerate thought coulddevise to soften sorrow and reconcile her to a change of life which atthe first has in it something depressing were extended by Egremont toArabella. He supplied in an instant every arrangement which had beenneglected by his brother, but which could secure her convenience andtend to her happiness. Between Marney Abbey where he insisted for thepresent that Arabella should reside and Mowbray, Egremont passed hislife for many months, until by some management which we need not traceor analyse, Lady Marney came over one day to the Convent at Mowbray andcarried back Sybil to Marney Abbey, never again to quit it until onher bridal day, when the Earl and Countess of Marney departed for Italywhere they passed nearly a year, and from which they had just returnedat the commencement of this chapter.
During the previous period however many important events had occurred.Lord Marney had placed himself in communication with Mr Hatton, who hadsoon become acquainted with all that had occurred in the muniment roomof Mowbray Castle. The
result was not what he had once anticipated;but for him it was not without some compensatory circumstances. Trueanother, and an unexpected rival, had stepped on the stage with whomit was vain to cope, but the idea that he had deprived Sybil of herinheritance, had ever, since he had became acquainted with her, been theplague-spot of Hatton's life, and there was nothing that he desired moreardently than to see her restored to her rights, and to be instrumentalin that restoration. How successful he was in pursuing her claim, thereader has already learnt.
Dandy Mick was rewarded for all the dangers he had encountered in theservice of Sybil, and what he conceived was the vindication ofpopular rights. Lord Marney established him in business, and Mick tookDevilsdust for a partner. Devilsdust having thus obtained a positionin society and become a capitalist, thought it but a due homage to thesocial decencies to assume a decorous appellation, and he called himselfby the name of the town where he was born. The firm of Radley, Mowbray,and Co., is a rising one; and will probably furnish in time a cropof members of Parliament and Peers of the realm. Devilsdust marriedCaroline, and Mrs Mowbray became a great favorite. She was alwaysperhaps a little too fond of junketting but she had a sweet temper anda gay spirit, and sustained her husband in the agonies of a greatspeculation, or the despair of glutted markets. Julia became Mrs Radley,and was much esteemed: no one could behave better. She was more orderlythan Caroline, and exactly suited Mick, who wanted a person near himof decision and method. As for Harriet, she is not yet married. Thoughpretty and clever, she is selfish and a screw. She has saved a good dealand has a considerable sum in the Savings' Bank, but like many heiressesshe cannot bring her mind to share her money with another. The greatmeasures of Sir Robert Peel, which produced three good harvests,have entirely revived trade at Mowbray. The Temple is again open.newly-painted, and re-burnished, and Chaffing Jack has of course"rallied" while good Mrs Carey still gossips with her neighboursround her well-stored stall, and tells wonderful stories of the greatstick-out and riots of '42.
And thus I conclude the last page of a work, which though its form belight and unpretending, would yet aspire to suggest to its readers someconsiderations of a very opposite character. A year ago. I presumed tooffer to the public some volumes that aimed to call their attention tothe state of our political parties; their origin, their history, theirpresent position. In an age of political infidelity, of mean passionsand petty thoughts, I would have impressed upon the rising race not todespair, but to seek in a right understanding of the history of theircountry and in the energies of heroic youth--the elements of nationalwelfare. The present work advances another step in the same emprise.From the state of Parties it now would draw public thought to the stateof the People whom those parties for two centuries have governed. Thecomprehension and the cure of this greater theme depend upon thesame agencies as the first: it is the past alone that can explain thepresent, and it is youth that alone can mould the remedial future. Thewritten history of our country for the last ten reigns has been a merephantasma; giving to the origin and consequence of public transactions acharacter and colour in every respect dissimilar with their natural formand hue. In this mighty mystery all thoughts and things have assumed anaspect and title contrary to their real quality and style: Oligarchyhas been called Liberty; an exclusive Priesthood has been christened aNational Church; Sovereignty has been the title of something that hashad no dominion, while absolute power has been wielded by those whoprofess themselves the servants of the People. In the selfish strife offactions two great existences have been blotted out of the history ofEngland--the Monarch and the Multitude; as the power of the Crown hasdiminished, the privileges of the People have disappeared; till atlength the sceptre has become a pageant, and its subject has degeneratedagain into a serf.
It is nearly fourteen years ago, in the popular frenzy of a mean andselfish revolution which neither emancipated the Crown nor the People,that I first took the occasion to intimate and then to develop to thefirst assembly of my countrymen that I ever had the honour to address,these convictions. They have been misunderstood as is ever for a seasonthe fate of Truth, and they have obtained for their promulgator muchmisrepresentation as must ever be the lot of those who will not followthe beaten track of a fallacious custom. But Time that brings all thingshas brought also to the mind of England some suspicion that the idolsthey have so long worshipped and the oracles that have so long deludedthem are not the true ones. There is a whisper rising in this countrythat Loyalty is not a phrase. Faith not a delusion, and Popular Libertysomething more diffusive and substantial than the profane exercise ofthe sacred rights of sovereignty by political classes.
That we may live to see England once more possess a free Monarchy anda privileged and prosperous People, is my prayer; that these greatconsequences can only be brought about by the energy and devotion of ourYouth is my persuasion. We live in an age when to be young and to beindifferent can be no longer synonymous. We must prepare for the cominghour. The claims of the Future are represented by suffering millions;and the Youth of a Nation are the trustees of Posterity.
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