CHAPTER XII.
_Kindly Words_
THE Duke had passed a stormy morning with his solicitor, who wished himto sell the Pen Bronnock property, which, being parliamentary, wouldcommand a price infinitely greater than might be expected from itsrelative income. The very idea of stripping his coronet of thisbrightest jewel, and thus sacrificing for wealth the ends of riches,greatly disordered him, and he more and more felt the want of acounsellor who could sympathise with his feelings as well as arrange hisfortunes. In this mood he suddenly seized a pen, and wrote the followingletter:--
'----House, Feb. 5, 182--.
'My dear Mr. Dacre,
'I keenly feel that you are the last person to whom I should apply forthe counsels or the consolation of friendship. I have long ago forfeitedall claims to your regard, and your esteem I never possessed. Yet,if only because my career ought to end by my being an unsuccessfulsuppliant to the individual whom both virtue and nature pointed out tome as my best friend, and whose proffered and parental support I have sowantonly, however thoughtlessly, rejected, I do not regret that this iswritten. No feeling of false delicacy can prevent me from applying toone to whom I have long ago incurred incalculable obligations, and nofeeling of false delicacy will, I hope, for a moment, prevent you fromrefusing the application of one who has acknowledged those obligationsonly by incalculable ingratitude.
'In a word, my affairs, are, I fear, inextricably involved. I will notdwell upon the madness of my life; suffice that its consequences appallme. I have really endeavoured to examine into all details, and amprepared to meet the evil as becomes me; but, indeed, my head turns withthe complicated interests which solicit my consideration, and I tremblelest, in the distraction of my mind, I may adopt measures which maybaffle the very results I would attain. For myself, I am ready to paythe penalty of my silly profligacy; and if exile, or any other personalinfliction, can redeem the fortunes of the House that I have betrayed, Ishall cheerfully submit to my destiny. My career has been productive oftoo little happiness to make me regret its termination.
'But I want advice: I want the counsel of one who can sympathise withmy distracted feelings, who will look as much, or rather more, to thehonour of my family than to the convenience of myself. I cannot obtainthis from what are called men of business, and, with a blush I confess,I have no friend. In this situation my thoughts recur to one on whom,believe me, they have often dwelt; and although I have no right toappeal to your heart, for my father's sake you will perhaps pardon thisaddress. Whatever you may resolve, my dearest sir, rest assured that youand your family will always command the liveliest gratitude of one whoregrets he may not subscribe himself
'Your obliged and devoted friend,
'St. James.
'I beg that you will not answer this, if your determination be what Ianticipate and what I deserve. 'Dacre Dacre, Esq., &c, &c, &c.'
It was signed, sealed, and sent. He repented its transmission when itwas gone. He almost resolved to send a courier to stop the post. Hecontinued walking up and down his room for the rest of the day; hecould not eat, or read, or talk. He was plunged in a nervous reverie.He passed the next day in the same state. Unable to leave his house, andunseen by visitors, he retired to his bed feverish and dispirited. Themorning came, and he woke from his hot and broken sleep at an earlyhour; yet he had not energy to rise. At last the post arrived, and hisletters were brought up to him. With a trembling hand and sinking breathhe read these lines:--
'Castle Dacre, February 6, 182--.
'My dear young Friend,
'Not only for your father's sake, but your own, are my services ever atyour command. I have long been sensible of your amiable disposition, andthere are circumstances which will ever make me your debtor.
'The announcement of the embarrassed state of your affairs fills me withsorrow and anxiety, yet I will hope the best. Young men, unconsciously,exaggerate adversity as well as prosperity. If you are not an habitualgamester, and I hope you have not been even an occasional one, unboundedextravagance could scarcely in two years have permanently injured yourresources. However, bring down with you all papers, and be careful tomake no arrangement, even of the slightest nature, until we meet.
'We expect you hourly. May desires her kindest regards, and begs me toexpress the great pleasure which she will feel at again finding you ourguest. It is unnecessary for me to repeat how very sincerely
'I am your friend,
'Dacre Dacre.'
He read the letter three times to be sure he did not mistake thedelightful import. Then he rang the bell with a vivacity which had notcharacterised him for many a month.
'Luigi! prepare to leave town to-morrow morning for an indefiniteperiod. I shall only take you. I must dress immediately, and orderbreakfast and my horses.'
The Duke of St. James had communicated the state of his affairs to LordFitz-pompey, who was very shocked, offered his best services, and alsoasked him to dinner, to meet the Marquess of Marylebone. The youngDuke had also announced to his relatives, and to some of his particularfriends, that he intended to travel for some time, and he well knew thattheir charitable experience would understand the rest. They understoodeverything. The Marquess's party daily increased, and 'The Universe' and'The New World' announced that the young Duke was 'done up.'
There was one person to whom our hero would pay a farewell visit beforehe left London. This was Lady Caroline St. Maurice. He had called atFitz-pompey House one or two mornings in the hope of finding her alone,and to-day he determined to be more successful. As he stopped his horsefor the last time before his uncle's mansion, he could not help callingto mind the first visit which he had paid after his arrival. But thedoor opens, he enters, he is announced, and finds Lady Caroline alone.
Ten minutes passed away, as if the morning ride or evening ball wereagain to bring them together. The young Duke was still gay and stillamusing. At last he said with a smile,
'Do you know, Caroline, this is a farewell visit, and to you?'
She did not speak, but bent her head as if she were intent upon somework, and so seated herself that her countenance was almost hid.
'You have heard from my uncle,' continued he, laughing; 'and if youhave not heard from him, you have heard from somebody else, of my littlescrape. A fool and his money, you know, Caroline, and a short reign anda merry one. When we get prudent we are wondrous fond of proverbs. Myreign has certainly been brief enough; with regard to the merriment,that is not quite so certain. I have little to regret except yoursociety, sweet coz!'
'Dear George, how can you talk so of such serious affairs! If you knewhow unhappy, how miserable I am, when I hear the cold, callous worldspeak of such things with indifference, you would at least not imitatetheir heartlessness.'
'Dear Caroline!' said he, seating himself at her side.
'I cannot help thinking,' she continued, 'that you have not sufficientlyexerted yourself about these embarrassments. You are, of course, tooharassed, too much annoyed, too little accustomed to the energy and thedetail of business, to interfere with any effect; but surely a friendmight. You will not speak to my father, and perhaps you have yourreasons; but is there no one else? St. Maurice, I know, has no head. Ah!George, I often feel that if your relations had been different people,your fate might have been different. We are the fault.'
He kissed her hand.
'Among all your intimates,' she continued, 'is there no one fit to beyour counsellor, no one worthy of your confidence?'
'None,' said the Duke, bitterly, 'none, none. I have no friend amongthose intimates: there is not a man of them who cares to serve or iscapable of serving me.'
'You have well considered?' asked Lady Caroline.
'Well, dear, well. I know them all by rote, head and heart. Ah! my dear,dear Carry, if you were a man, what a nice little friend you would be!'
'You will always laugh, George. But I--I have no heart to laugh. Thisbreaking up of your affairs, this exile, this losing you whom we alllove, love so dearl
y, makes me quite miserable.'
He kissed her hand again.
'I dare say,' she continued, 'you have thought me as heartless as therest, because I never spoke. But I knew; that is, I feared; or, rather,hoped that a great part of what I heard was false; and so I thoughtnotice was unnecessary, and might be painful. Yet, heaven knows, thereare few subjects that have been oftener in my thoughts, or cost me moreanxiety. Are you sure you have no friend?'
'I have you, Caroline. I did not say I had no friends: I said I had noneamong those intimates you talked of; that there was no man among themcapable of the necessary interference, even if he were willing toundertake it. But I am not friendless, not quite forlorn, dear! My fatehas given me a friend that I but little deserve: one whom, if I hadprized better, I should not perhaps have been obliged to put hisfriendship to so severe a trial. To-morrow, Caroline, I depart forCastle Dacre; there is my friend. Alas! how little have I deserved sucha boon!'
'Dacre!' exclaimed Lady Caroline, 'Mr. Dacre! Oh! you have made me sohappy, George! Mr. Dacre is the very, very person; that is, the verybest person you could possibly have applied to.'
'Good-bye, Caroline,' said his Grace, rising.
She burst into tears.
Never, never had she looked so lovely: never, never had he loved herso entirely! Tears! tears shed for him! Oh! what, what is grief whena lovely woman remains to weep over our misfortunes! Could he bemiserable, could his career indeed be unfortunate, when this wasreserved for him? He was on the point of pledging his affection, but toleave her under such circumstances was impossible: to neglect Mr. Dacrewas equally so. He determined to arrange his affairs with all possiblepromptitude, and then to hasten up, and entreat her to share hisdiminished fortunes. But he would not go without whispering hope,without leaving some soft thought to lighten her lonely hours. He caughther in his arms; he covered her sweet small mouth with kisses, andwhispered, in the midst of their pure embrace,
'Dearest Carry! I shall soon return, and we will yet be happy.'
BOOK V.