CHAPTER XIII.
_A Mind Distraught_
THE world talked of nothing but the duel between the Duke of St. Jamesand Sir Lucius Grafton.
It was a thunderbolt; and the phenomenon was accounted for by everycause but the right one. Yet even those who most confidently solved theriddle were the most eagerly employed in investigating its true meaning.The seconds were of course applied to. Arundel Dacre was proverbiallyunpumpable; but Peacock Piggott, whose communicative temper was anadage, how came he on a sudden so diplomatic? Not a syllable oozed froma mouth which was ever open; not a hint from a countenance which nevercould conceal its mind. He was not even mysterious, but really lookedjust as astonished and was just as curious as themselves. Fine timesthese for 'The Universe' and 'The New World!' All came out about LadyAfy; and they made up for their long and previous ignorance, or, as theynow boldly blustered, their long and considerate forbearance. Sheetsgiven away gratis, edition on Saturday night for the country, andwoodcuts of the Pavilion fete: the when, the how, and the wherefore.A. The summer-house, and Lady Aphrodite meeting the young Duke. B.The hedge behind which Sir Lucius Grafton was concealed. C. KensingtonGardens, and a cloudy morning; and so on. Cruikshank did wonders.
But let us endeavour to ascertain the feelings of the principal agentsin this odd affair. Sir Lucius now was cool, and, the mischief beingdone, took a calm review of the late mad hours. As was his custom, hebegan to enquire whether any good could be elicited from all thisevil. He owed his late adversary sundry moneys, which he had nevercontemplated the possibility of repaying to the person who had elopedwith his wife. Had he shot his creditor the account would equally havebeen cleared; and this consideration, although it did not prompt, hadnot dissuaded, the late desperate deed. As it was, he now appeared stillto enjoy the possession both of his wife and his debts, and had losthis friend. Bad generalship, Sir Lucy! Reconciliation was out of thequestion. The Duke's position was a good one. Strongly entrenched with aflesh wound, he had all the sympathy of society on his side; and, afterhaving been confined for a few weeks, he could go to Paris for a fewmonths, and then return, as if the Graftons had never crossed his eye,rid of a troublesome mistress and a troublesome friend. His position wascertainly a good one; but Sir Lucius was astute, and he determined toturn this Shumla of his Grace. The quarrel must have been about herLadyship. Who could assign any other cause for it? And the Duke must nowbe weak with loss of blood and anxiety, and totally unable to resistany appeal, particularly a personal one, to his feelings. He determined,therefore, to drive Lady Afy into his Grace's arms. If he could only gether into the house for an hour, the business would be settled.
These cunning plans were, however, nearly being crossed by a very simpleincident. Annoyed at finding that her feelings could be consulted onlyby sacrificing those of another woman, Miss Dacre, quite confident that,as Lady Aphrodite was innocent in the present instance, she must beimmaculate, told everything to her father, and, stifling her tears,begged him to make all public; but Mr. Dacre, after due consideration,enjoined silence.
In the meantime the young Duke was not in so calm a mood as Sir Lucius.Rapidly the late extraordinary events dashed through his mind, andalready those feelings which had prompted his soliloquy in the gardenwere no longer his. All forms, all images, all ideas, all memory, meltedinto Miss Dacre. He felt that he loved her with a perfect love: that shewas to him what no other woman had been, even in the factitious deliriumof early passion. A thought of her seemed to bring an entirely noveltrain of feelings, impressions, wishes, hopes. The world with her mustbe a totally different system, and his existence in her society a newand another life. Her very purity refined the passion which raged evenin his exhausted mind. Gleams of virtue, morning streaks of duty, brokeupon the horizon of his hitherto clouded soul; an obscure suspicionof the utter worthlessness of his life whispered in his hollow ear;he darkly felt that happiness was too philosophical a system to be theresult or the reward of impulse, however unbounded, and that principlealone could create and could support that bliss which is our being's endand aim.
But when he turned to himself, he viewed his situation with horror,and yielded almost to despair. What, what could she think of the impurelibertine who dared to adore her? If ever time could bleach his own souland conciliate hers, what, what was to become of Aphrodite? Was his newcareer to commence by a new crime? Was he to desert this creature of hisaffections, and break a heart which beat only for him? It seemed thatthe only compensation he could offer for a life which had achievedno good would be to establish the felicity of the only being whosehappiness seemed in his power. Yet what a prospect! If before he hadtrembled, now----
But his harrowed mind and exhausted body no longer allowed him evenanxiety. Weak, yet excited, his senses fled; and when Arundel Dacrereturned in the evening he found his friend delirious. He sat by his bedfor hours. Suddenly the Duke speaks. Arundel Dacre rises: he leans overthe sufferer's couch.
Ah! why turns the face of the listener so pale, and why gleam those eyeswith terrible fire? The perspiration courses down his clear but sallowcheek: he throws his dark and clustering curls aside, and passes hishand over his damp brow, as if to ask whether he, too, had lost hissenses from this fray.
The Duke is agitated. He waves his arm in the air, and calls out in atone of defiance and of hate. His voice sinks: it seems that he breathesa milder language, and speaks to some softer being. There is no sound,save the long-drawn breath of one on whose countenance is stampedinfinite amazement. Arundel Dacre walks the room disturbed; often hepauses, plunged in deep thought. 'Tis an hour past midnight, and hequits the bedside of the young Duke.
He pauses at the threshold, and seems to respire even the noisome airof the metropolis as if it were Eden. As he proceeds down Hill Street hestops, and gazes for a moment on the opposite house. What passes inhis mind we know not. Perhaps he is reminded that in that mansion dwellbeauty, wealth, and influence, and that all might be his. Perhaps loveprompts that gaze, perhaps ambition. Is it passion, or is it power? ordoes one struggle with the other?
As he gazes the door opens, but without servants; and a man, deeplyshrouded in his cloak, comes out. It was night, and the individualwas disguised; but there are eyes which can pierce at all seasons andthrough all concealments, and Arundel Dacre marked with astonishment SirLucius Grafton.