CHAPTER XIV.
LORD SALTIRE'S VISIT, AND SOME OF HIS OPINIONS.
There followed on the events above narrated two or three quiet months--atime well remembered by Charles, as one of the quietest and mostpeaceful in his life, in all the times which followed. Every fine daythere was a ramble with his father through the kennels and stables, anddown through the wood, or over the farm. Charles, who at Oxford thoughtno day complete, after riding with the drag, or Drakes, or rowing toSandford; without banquier, vingt-et-un, or loo, till three oclock inthe morning, now found, greatly to his astonishment, that he got morepleasure by leaning over a gate with his father, and looking at fatbeasts and pigs, chewing a straw the while. A noisy wine-party, where hemet the same men he had met the night before, who sang the same songs,and told the same silly stories, was well enough; but he began to findthat supper in the oak dining-room, sitting between Mary and his father,and talking of the merest trifles, was a great deal pleasanter. Anothernoticeable fact was that Father Mackworth's sarcasms were turned offwith a good-natured laugh, and that battle was on all occasions refusedto the worthy priest. In short, Charles, away from company anddissipation, was himself. The good, worthy fellow, whom I learnt to likeyears ago. The man whose history I am proud to write.
Lord Saltire had arrived meanwhile; he had written to Densil, to saythat he was horribly bored; that he wished, as an ethical study, tosettle, once for all, the amount of boredom a man could stand withoutdying under it; that, having looked carefully about him, to select aspot and a society where that object could be obtained, he had selectedRavenshoe, as being the most eligible; that he should wish his room tohave a south aspect; and that his man would arrive with his things threedays after date. To this Densil had written an appropriate reply,begging his kind old friend to come and make his house his home; andLord Saltire had arrived one evening, when every one was out of the waybut Mary, who received him in the hall.
She was in some little trepidation. She had read and heard enough of"the wild prince and Poyns," and of Lord Saltire's powers of sarcasm, tobe thoroughly frightened at her awful position. She had pictured toherself a terrible old man, with overhanging eyebrows, and cruelgleaming eyes beneath them. Therefore she was astonished to see agentleman, old it is true, but upright as a young oak, of suchremarkable personal beauty, and such a pleasant expression ofcountenance, as she had never seen before.
She was astonished, I said; but, mind you, Mary was too much of a ladyto show too much of it. She sailed towards him through the gloom of theold hall with a frank smile, and just that amount of admiration in hersweet eyes which paid Lord Saltire the truest compliment he had had formany a day.
"Mr. Ravenshoe will be sorry to have missed receiving you, my lord," shesaid.
"If Mr. Ravenshoe is sorry," he said, "I certainly am not. Mr. Ravenshoehas done me the honour to show me the most beautiful thing in his housefirst. I rather think that is a pretty compliment, Miss Corby, unless Iam getting out of practice."
"That is a very pretty compliment, indeed," she answered, laughing. "Imost heartily thank you for it. I know nothing in life so pleasant asbeing flattered. May I introduce Father Mackworth?"
Lord Saltire would be delighted. Father Mackworth came forward, and Marysaw them look at one another. She saw at a glance that either they hadmet before, or there was some secret which both of them knew. She neverforgot Mackworth's defiant look, or Lord Saltire's calm considerateglance, which said as plain as words, "This fellow knows it."
This fellow knew it--had known it for years. The footman who had leftMackworth at the lodge of the French Lycee, the nameless domestic, whoformed the last link with his former life--this man had worn LordSaltire's livery, and he remembered it.
"I see," said Lord Saltire, "that Miss Corby is prepared for walking. Iguess that she is going to meet Mr. Ravenshoe, and, if my surmise iscorrect, I beg to be allowed to accompany her."
"You are wonderfully correct, my lord. Cuthbert and Charles are shootingpheasants in the wood, and Mr. Ravenshoe is with them on his pony. Ifyou will walk with me, we shall meet them."
So the grand old eagle and the pretty sweet-voiced robin passed out onto the terrace, and stood looking together, under the dull December sky,at the whispering surges. Right and left the misty headlands seemed tofloat on the quiet grey sea, which broke in sighs at their feet, as thelong majestic ground-swell rolled in from the ocean; and these two stoodthere for a minute or more without speaking.
"The new school of men," said Lord Saltire at last, looking out to sea,"have perhaps done wisely, in thinking more of scenery and the mereexternals of nature than we did. We lived the life of clubs and crowds,and we are going to our places one after another. There are but few leftnow. These Stephensons and Paxtons are fine men enough. _They_ arefighting inert matter, but _we_ fought the armies of the Philistine. Wehad no time for botany and that sort of thing; which was unfortunate.You young folks shouldn't laugh at us though."
"I laugh at you!" she said, suddenly and rapidly; "laugh at the giantswho warred with the gods. My lord, the men of our time has not shownthemselves equal to their fathers."
Lord Saltire laughed.
"No, not yet," she continued; "when the time comes they will. The timehas not come yet."
"Not yet, Miss Corby. It will come,--mind the words of a very old man;an old fellow who has seen a confounded deal of the world."
"Are we to have any more wars, Lord Saltire?"
"Wars such as we never dreamt of, young lady."
"Is all this new inauguration of peace to go for nothing?"
"Only as the inauguration of a new series of wars, more terrible thanthose which have gone before."
"France and England combined can give the law to Europe."
Lord Saltire turned upon her and laughed. "And so you actually believethat France and England can really combine for anything more importantthan a raid against Russia. Not that they will ever fight Russia, youknow. There will be no fight. If they threaten loud enough, Russia willyield. Nicholas knows his weakness, and will give way. If he is foolenough to fight the Western powers, it will end in another _duel al'outrance_ between France and England. They will never work togetherfor long. If they do, Europe is enslaved, and England lost."
"But why, Lord Saltire?"
"Well, well; I think so. Allow me to say that I was not prepared to finda deep-thinking, though misguided politician in such an innocent-lookingyoung lady. God defend the dear old land, for every fresh acre I see ofit confirms my belief that it is the first country in the world."
They were crossing the old terraced garden towards the wood, when theyheard the guns going rapidly, and both were silent for a minute or so.The leafless wood was before them, and the village at their feet. Thechurch spire rose aloft among the trees. Some fisherman patriarch hadgone to his well-earned rest that day, and the bell was tolling for him.Mary looked at the quiet village, at the calm winter sea, and then up atthe calm stern face of the man who walked beside her, and said--
"Tell me one thing, Lord Saltire; you have travelled in many countries.Is there any land, east or west, that can give us what this dear oldEngland does--settled order, in which each man knows his place and hisduties? It is so easy to be good in England."
"Well, no. It is the first country in the world. A few bad harvestswould make a hell of it, though. Has Ravenshoe got many pheasants downhere?"
And, so talking, this strange pair wandered on towards the wood, side byside.
Charles was not without news in his retirement, for a few friends kepthim pretty well _au fait_ with what was going on in the world. First,there was news from Oxford; one sort of which was communicated byCharles Marston, and another sort by one Marker of Brazenose, otherwiseknown as "Bodger," though why, I know not, nor ever could get any one totell me. He was purveyor of fashionable intelligence, while CharlesMarston dealt more in example and advice. About this time the latterwrote as follows:--
"How goes Issachar? Is the ass stronger
or weaker than formerly? Has mydearly-beloved ass profited, or otherwise, by his stay at Ranford? Howis the other ass, my Lord Welter? He is undoubtedly a fool, but I thinkan honest one, so long as you keep temptation out of his way. He isshamefully in debt; but I suppose, if their horse wins the Derby, hewill pay; otherwise I would sooner be my lord than his tradesmen. Howgoes the 'grand passion,'--has Chloe relented? She is a great fool ifshe does. Why, if she refuses you, she may marry Lord Welter, and he maysettle his debts on her. A word in your ear. I have an invitation toRanford. I must go, I suppose. The dear old woman, whose absurditiesyour honour is pleased to laugh at, has been always kind to me and mine;and I shall go. I shall pay my just tribute of flattery to the noblehonest old soul, who is struggling to save a falling house. Don't youlaugh at Lady Ascot, you impudent young rascal. I have no doubt thatshe offers some prominent points for the exercise of your excellency'swit, but she is unmeasurably superior to you, you young scapegrace.
"Bless your dear old face; how I long to see it again! I am coming tosee it. I shall come to you at the beginning of the Christmas vacation.I shall come to you a beaten man, Charley. I shall only get a second.Never mind; I would sooner come to you and yours and hide my shame, thanto any one else.
"Charles, old friend, if I get a third, I shall break my heart. Don'tshow this letter to any one. I have lost the trick of Greek prose. Oh,old Charley! believe this, that the day once lost can never, never comeback any more! They preach a future hell; but what hell could be worsethan the eternal contemplation of opportunities thrown away--ofturning-points in the affairs of a man's life, when, instead of rising,he has fallen--not by a bold stroke, like Satan, but by laziness andneglect?"
Charles was very sorry, very grieved and vexed, to find his shrewd oldfriend brought to this pass by over-reading, and over-anxiety about asubject which, to a non-university man, does not seem of such vitalimportance. He carried the letter to his father, in spite of theprohibition contained in it, and he found his father alone with thegood, honest Father Tiernay; to whom, not thinking that thereby he wasserving his friend ill, he read it aloud.
"Charley dear," said his father, half rising from his chair, "he mustcome to us, my boy; he must come here to us, and stay with us till heforgets his disappointment. He is a noble lad. He has been a good friendto my boy; and, by George, the house is his own."
"I don't think, dad," said Charles, looking from Densil to FatherTiernay, "that he is at all justified in the dark view he is taking ofmatters. The clever fellows used to say that he was safe of his first.You know he is going in for mathematics as well."
"He is a good young man, any way," said Father Tiernay; "his sentimentsdo honour to him; and none the worst of them is his admiration for myheretic young friend here, which does him most honour of all. Mr.Ravenshoe, I'll take three to one against his double first; pity heain't a Catholic. What the divvle do ye Prothestants mean by absorbing(to use no worse language) the rints and revenues left by Catholictestators for the good of the hooly Church, for the edication ofheretics? Tell me that, now."
The other letter from Oxford was of a very different tenor. Mr. Marker,of Brazenose, began by remarking that--
"He didn't know what was come over the place; it was gettingconfoundedly slow, somehow. They had had another Bloomer ball atAbingdon, but the thing was a dead failure, sir. Jemmy Dane, ofUniversity, had driven two of them home in a cart, by way of Nuneham. Hehad passed the Pro's at Magdalen turnpike, and they never thought ofstopping him, by George. Their weak intellects were not capable ofconceiving such glorious audacity. Both the Proctors were down atColdharbour turnpike, stopping every man who came from Abingdon way.Toreker, of Exeter, was coming home on George Simmond's Darius, and,seeing the Proctors in the light of the turnpike-gate, had put his horseat the fence (Charles would remember it, a stubbed hedge and a ditch),and got over the back water by the White House, and so home by theCastle. Above forty men had been rusticated over this business, and somegood fellows too." (Here followed a list of names, which I couldproduce, if necessary; but seeing that some names on the list are nowrising at the bar, or in the Church, think it better not.) "Pembroke hadwon the fours, very much in consequence of Exeter having gone round theflag, and, on being made to row again, of fouling them in the gut. Thewater was out heavily, and had spoilt the boating. The Christchurchgrind had been slow, but the best that year. L--n was going down, andthey said was going to take the Pychley. C--n was pretty safe of hisfirst--so reading men said. Martin, of Trinity, had got his testamur, atwhich event astonishment, not unmixed with awe, had fallen on theUniversity generally. That he himself was in for his _viva voce_ twodays after date, and he wished himself out of the hands of his enemies."
There was a postscript, which interested Charles as much as all the restof the letter put together. It ran thus:--
"By the by, Welter has muckered; you know that by this time. But, worsethan that, they say that Charles Marston's classical first is fishy. Theold cock has overworked himself, they say."
Lord Saltire never went to bed without having Charles up into hisdressing-room for a chat. "Not having," as his lordship most truly said,"any wig to take off, or any false teeth to come out, I cannot see why Ishould deny myself the pleasure of my young friend's company at night.Every evening, young gentleman, we are one day older, and one day wiser.I myself have got so confoundedly wise with my many years, that I havenothing left to learn. But it amuses me to hear your exceedingly_naive_ remarks on things in general, and it also flatters and soothesme to contrast my own consummate wisdom with your folly. Therefore, Iwill trouble you to come up to my dressing-room every night, and give meyour crude reflections on the events of the day."
So Charles came up one night with Mr. Marker's letter, which he read toLord Saltire, while his valet was brushing his hair; and then Charles,by way of an easily-answered question, asked Lord Saltire, What did hethink of his friend's chances?
"I must really remark," said Lord Saltire, "even if I useunparliamentary language, which I should be very sorry to do, that thatis one of the silliest questions I ever had put to me. When I heldcertain seals, I used to have some very foolish questions put to me(which, by the way, I never answered), but I don't know that I ever hadsuch a foolish question put to me as that. Why, how on earth can I haveany idea of what your friend's chances are? Do be reasonable."
"Dear Lord Saltire, don't be angry with me. Tell me, as far as yourexperience can, how far a man who knows his work, by George, as well asa man can know it, is likely to fail through nervousness. You have seenthe same thing in Parliament. You know how much mischief nervousness maydo. Now, do give me your opinion."
"Well, you are putting your question in a slightly more reasonable form;but it is a very silly one yet. I have seen a long sort of man, withblack hair, and a hook nose, like long Montague, for instance, who hasbeen devilishly nervous till he got on his legs, and then has astonishedevery one, and no one more than myself, not so much by his power ofdeclamation as by the extraordinary logical tenacity with which he clungto his subject. Yes, I don't know but what I have heard more telling andlogical speeches from unprepared men than I ever have from one of thelaw lords. But I am a bad man to ask. I never was in the Lower House.About your friend's chance;--well, I would not give twopence for it; inafter-life he may succeed. But from what you have told me, I shouldprepare myself for a disappointment."
Very shortly after this, good Lord Saltire had to retire for a time intothe upper chambers; he had a severe attack of gout.
There had been no more quarrelling between Father Mackworth and Charles;peace was proclaimed--an armed truce; and Charles was watching, watchingin silence. Never since he met her in the wood had he had an opportunityof speaking to Ellen. She always avoided him. William, being askedconfidentially by Charles what he thought was the matter, said thatEllen had been "carrin on" with some one, and he had been blowing herup; which was all the explanation he offered. In the meantime, Charleslived under the comforting assurance that there
was mischief brewing,and that Mackworth was at the bottom of it.