Title: The Loves of the Lady Arabella
Author: Seawell, Molly Elliot
Language: English
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ARABELLA ***



The Loves of the Lady Arabella

[Illustration: Arabella]



  _The_ LOVES
  OF _the_ LADY
  ARABELLA

  _by_
  MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL

  _Author of_ The Fortunes Of Fifi
  Children Of Destiny, _etc._

  _With Illustrations by_
  Clarence F. Underwood
  Decorations by Franklin Booth

  INDIANAPOLIS
  THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
  PUBLISHERS



  COPYRIGHT 1898
  MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL

  COPYRIGHT 1906
  THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

  OCTOBER


  PRESS OF
  BRAUNWORTH & CO.
  BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
  BROOKLYN, N. Y.



The Loves of the Lady Arabella



I


’Tis not in my nature to be cowed by any woman whatever. Therefore,
when I found myself in the presence of my Lady Hawkshaw, in her Chinese
drawing-room, with her great black eyes glaring at me, and her huge
black plume of feathers nodding at me, as she sat, enveloped in a vast
black velvet robe like a pall, I said to myself, “After all, she is
but a woman.” So I stared back at her with all the coolness in the
world--and I was a seeker after favor, too--and but fourteen years of
age, and had only seven and sixpence in my pocket. The tall footman
who stood behind Lady Hawkshaw’s chair made a grimace at me; and I
responded by a fierce look, as if I were about to run him through the
body.

“Jeames,” said her ladyship, “go and make my compliments to Sir
Peter Hawkshaw, and say to him that his roistering kept me awake half
the night, and consequently I feel very ill this morning; and that
his great-nephew, Master Richard Glyn from America, is come after a
midshipman’s warrant in his Majesty’s navy,--and I desire Sir Peter to
attend me in my _bowdwor_ immediately.”

Her ladyship’s French was the queerest imaginable,--yet in her youth
she had the French tutor who had taught the daughters of the Regent of
France.

There was a silence after the tall footman left, during which my lady
and I eyed each other closely. I remembered having heard that she had
defied her father, Lord Bosanquet, and one of the greatest family
connections in the kingdom, in order to marry Sir Peter, who was then a
penniless lieutenant in his Majesty’s navy and the son of a drysalter
in the city. This same drysalter was my great-grandfather; but I had an
infusion of another blood through my mother, God bless her!--who was
of a high family and a baronet’s daughter. The drysalter strain was
honest, but plebeian, while the baronet strain was rather more lofty
than honest, I fancy.

[Illustration: “Here is your nephew Tom’s brat.” _Page 3_]

Having heard, as I say, of the desperate struggle it cost Lady Hawkshaw
to marry her lieutenant, I somewhat expected to find her and Admiral
Sir Peter Hawkshaw living like doves in a cage, and was disconcerted
at the message her ladyship sent her lord. But I was still more
disconcerted when Sir Peter, a short, stout man, with a choleric eye,
presently bounced into the room.

“Sir Peter,” said her ladyship, “here is your nephew Tom’s brat, who
wants a midshipman’s warrant.”

Sir Peter stopped short, looked me over,--I was tall for my age,--and
grinned savagely. I thought it was all up with me and was almost ready
to haul down my flag.

“And Sir Peter,” screamed her ladyship, “he must have it!”

“Hang me, my lady!” snapped Sir Peter, “but when did you take such an
interest in my nephew Tom’s brat?”

“This very hour,” replied Lady Hawkshaw tartly, and tossing her black
plumes haughtily. “You behaved like a wretch to the boy after the
death of his father and mother in America; and God has given you the
chance to make amends, and I say he shall have his warrant.”

“Zounds, Madam!” bawled Sir Peter; “since you take the liberty of
disposing of my warrants, I presume you are the holder of my commission
as Vice-Admiral of the White in his Majesty’s service. Let me know it
if you are--let me know it, I say!”

“Stuff!” responded my lady, to which Sir Peter answered something that
sounded like “Damme!” and then my attention was distracted from this
matrimonial engagement by the silent entrance of two young girls. One
of them was about twelve years of age. She had dove-like eyes, and her
dark lashes kissed her cheek. She came and stood familiarly by Lady
Hawkshaw’s chair; and the gentle affectionateness of her manner toward
that redoubtable person amazed me at the time. This was my first sight
of Daphne Carmichael; and when she fixed her soft, childish glance
upon me, it was like the sight of stars on a cloudy night. But the
other one, a tall girl of sixteen or thereabouts, dazzled me so that
I am obliged to confess I had no more eyes for Daphne. This older girl
was the Lady Arabella Stormont, and was then and always by far the
handsomest creature I ever beheld. I shall not attempt to describe her.
I will only say that her brilliant face, with such a complexion as I
never saw before or since, showed a haughty indifference toward the
shabby boy over whom Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw were squabbling, and
the sense of my shabbiness and helplessness pierced my heart under Lady
Arabella’s calmly scornful gaze.

Both of these young girls were the great-nieces of Sir Peter Hawkshaw,
but not on the drysalter’s side, so they were no blood-relation to me.
Sir Peter was their guardian, and Lady Hawkshaw had charge of them, and
was most kind and devoted to them in her way. I soon found out that
every one of Sir Peter’s family had a good friend in Lady Hawkshaw; and
I may as well say here that for true devotion and incessant wrangling,
I never saw a married pair that equaled Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw.

The discussion between them concerning me grew hotter, and I grew as
hot as the discussion, in thinking what a figure I was making before
that divinely beautiful Lady Arabella. I had clean forgotten Daphne.
Lady Hawkshaw lugged in a great variety of extraneous matter, reminding
Sir Peter of certain awful predictions concerning his future which had
been made by the last chaplain who sailed with him. Sir Peter denounced
the chaplain as a sniveling dog. Lady Hawkshaw indulged in some French,
at which Lady Arabella laughed behind her hand.

The battle royal lasted some time longer, but Lady Hawkshaw’s metal was
plainly heavier than Sir Peter’s; and it ended by Sir Peter’s saying to
me angrily:

“Very well, sir, to oblige my lady I will give you the remaining
midshipman’s berth on the _Ajax_, seventy-four. You may go home now,
but show yourself aboard the _Ajax_ at Portsmouth, before twelve
o’clock on this day week, and be very careful to mind your eye.”

I had nerved myself to hear with coolness the refusal of this fiery
admiral; but his real kindness, disguised under so much of choler,
overcame me. I stammered something and stopped,--that hound of a
footman was grinning at me, because my eyes were full of tears,
and also, perhaps, because my coat was of cheap make, and my shoes
needed attention. But at that moment little Daphne, with the greatest
artlessness, came up and slipped her little hand into mine, saying:

“He means he is very much obliged to you, uncle, and to you, dear aunt.”

I do not know how I got out of the house, but the next thing I knew I
was standing on the street outside. I had been told to go home. I had
no home now unless the Bull-in-the-Bush tavern be one. But I did not
return to the Bull-in-the-Bush, whose tawdry splendors revolted me
now, after I had seen Sir Peter Hawkshaw’s imposing house, as much as
they had before attracted me. I was tingling with the sense of beauty
newly developed in me. I could not forget that exquisite vision of
Lady Arabella Stormont, who seemed to my boyish mind more like a white
rose-bush in full flower than anything I could call to memory. I made
my way instead to the plain, though clean lodgings, where I had spent
the years since my parents’ death, with good Betty Green, the widow of
Corporal Green, late of my father’s regiment.

These two excellent but humble creatures had brought me, an orphan,
home from my birthplace, America, consigned to Sir Peter and Lady
Hawkshaw. This woman, Betty Green, had been my mother’s devoted
servant, as her husband had been my father’s, and it was thought
perfectly safe to send me home with them. But there was a danger
which no one foresaw. Betty was one of those strange women who love
like a lioness. This lioness’ love she felt for me; and for that
reason, I believe, she deliberately planned to prevent my family
from ever getting hold of me. It is true, on landing in England, her
husband’s regiment being ordered to Winchester, she went to see Sir
Peter Hawkshaw and, I suspect, purposely made him so angry that, Lady
Hawkshaw being absent, he almost kicked Betty Green out of the house.
That is what I fancy my lady meant when she reproached Sir Peter with
cruelty to me. I well remember the air of triumph with which Betty
returned and told the corporal of her ill success; then, clasping
me in her arms, she burst out with a cry that no admiral nor ladies
nor lords neither should take her darling boy away from her. Green,
her husband, being a steady, cool-headed fellow, waited until the
paroxysm was over, when he told her plainly that she must carry out
my parents’ instructions, and he himself would go to see Sir Peter as
soon as he could. But Fate disposed of this plan by cutting short the
corporal’s life the next week, most unexpectedly. Then this woman,
Betty Green,--illiterate, a stranger in England, and supporting us both
by her daily labor,--managed to foil all of the efforts of Admiral Sir
Peter Hawkshaw to find me; for he had done all he could to discover the
whereabouts of his nephew’s orphan. ’Tis not for me to say one word
against Betty Green, for she slaved for me as only a woman can slave,
and, besides, brought me up in the habits and manners of a gentleman,
albeit she did little for my education, and to this day I am prone to
be embarrassed when I have a pen in my hand. I can not say that I was
happy in the devoted, though savage love she lavished upon me. She
would not allow me to play with the boys of her own class, and those
of my class I never saw. All my clamorings to know something about my
family on either side were met by her declaring that she had forgotten
where my mother’s people lived; and as for Sir Peter, she gave me
such a horrifying account of him that I never dreamed it possible to
receive any kindness from him. At last, though, on her death-bed,
she acknowledged a part of the deception her desperate affection had
impelled her to play upon me. The poor soul had actually forgotten
about my mother’s family, and had destroyed everything relating to
them, but directed me to go to Sir Peter; and thus it was that, on
the day after I saw Betty Green, my only friend on earth, laid in a
pauper’s grave, I went to the house of my father’s uncle, with the
result narrated. When I got back to the humble lodgings where I had
lived before Betty’s death, I looked up a small box of trinkets of
little value which had belonged to my mother, and from the sale of them
I got enough to live upon for a week, and to make my way to Portsmouth
at the end of it. Either Sir Peter had forgotten to tell me anything
about my outfit, or else I had slipped out so quickly--galled by the
fear of weeping before that rascally footman--that he had no chance. At
all events, I arrived at Portsmouth by the mail-coach, with all of my
belongings in one shabby portmanteau.

I shall not describe my feelings during that journey toward the new
life that awaited me. In fact, I scarcely recall them coherently; all
was a maze, a jumble, and an uproar in my mind.

We got down in the inn yard,--a coach full of passengers,--I the only
one who seemed adrift and alone among them. I stood looking about
me--at a pert chambermaid who impudently ogled the hostlers and got a
kiss in return; at the pretentious entrance to the inn; at all of the
bustle and confusion of the arrival of the coach. Presently I saw a
young gentleman somewhat older than myself, and wearing the uniform
of his Majesty’s sea-service, come out of the inn door. He had a very
elegant figure, but his face was rather plain. Within five minutes of
my first meeting with Giles Vernon, I had an example of what was one
of his most striking traits--every woman in sight immediately fixed
her attention on him and smiled at him. One was the chambermaid, who
left off ogling the hostlers and gaped at this young officer with
her coarse, handsome face all aflame; another was the landlady, who
followed him to the door, smirking and fanning herself; and the third
was a venerable Quakeress, who was about entering the inn, and who
beamed benevolently on him as he bowed gallantly in passing. I know not
why this should have made such an impression on me; but being young and
a fool, I thought beauty was as highly prized by women as by men, and
it surprised me that a fellow with a mouth so wide and with something
dangerously near a squint should be such a lady-killer. It was common
enough for young gentlemen holding midshipmen’s warrants to come down
by the coach, and as soon as he saw me this young officer called out:

“Halloo, my hearty! Is it a ship of the line or a frigate you are
booked for? Or is it one of those damned gun-brigs which are unfit for
a gentleman to serve in?”

Now, the peculiar circumstances of my bringing-up had given me a
ridiculous haughtiness,--for Betty Green had never ceased to implore me
to remember my quality,--so I replied to this offhand speech in kind.

“A ship of the line,” said I. “Damme, do you think I’d serve in a
gun-brig?”

He came up a little closer to me, looked at me attentively, and said,--

“It’s an infant Rodney, sure. Was not Americus Vespucius your
grandfather? And was not your grandmother in love with Noah when he was
oakum boy at the Portsmouth docks?”

I considered this very offensive and, drawing myself up, said,--

“My grandfather was a baronet, and my grand-uncle is Admiral Sir Peter
Hawkshaw, whose flagship, as you may know, is the _Ajax_, seventy-four.”

“I know him well,” responded my new acquaintance. “We were drunk
together this night week. He bears for arms Lot’s wife after she was
turned into a pillar of salt, with the device, ‘I thirst’.”

This was an allusion to the drysalter. For I soon found that the young
gentlemen in the cockpit were intimately acquainted with all of the
antecedents, glorious or otherwise, of their superior officers.

The lie in the early part of this sentence was patent to me, but so
great was the power to charm of this squinting, wide-mouthed fellow,
that I felt myself drawn to him irresistibly, and something in my
countenance showed it, for he linked his arm through mine and began
again,--

“I know your great-aunt, too, Polly Hawkshaw. Dreadful old girl. I hear
she can tack ship as well as the admiral; knows to a shilling what his
mess bill is, and teaches him trigonometry when he is on leave.”

This was, of course, a vilification, and Lady Hawkshaw’s name was
not Polly, but Apollonia; but I blush to say I spoke not one word in
defense of either her or her name. It occurred to me that my new friend
was a person who could give me much information about my outfit and
uniforms, and I candidly stated my case to him.

“Come on,” he cried. “There’s a rascal of a haberdasher here who lives
off his Majesty’s officers, and I’ll take you there and fit you out;
for Sir Peter’s the man to have his young officers smart. A friend of
mine--poor fellow!--happened to be caught in mufti in the _Ajax_ the
other day, and Sir Peter had all hands turned up for an execution. My
unhappy friend begged that he might be shot instead of hanged, and Sir
Peter, I’ll admit, granted him the favor. The poor fellow tied the
handkerchief over his eyes himself, forgave all his enemies, and asked
his friends to pay his debts. Zounds, ’twas the most affecting scene I
ever witnessed.”

I plainly perceived that my companion was talking to frighten me, and
showed it by thrusting my tongue into my cheek, which caused him to
burst out laughing. He presently became grave, however, and assured me
solemnly that a sea-officer had his choice of dressing handsomely, or
being court-martialed and shot. “For,” said he, “the one hundred and
forty-fourth regulation of the service reads, ‘All of his Majesty’s
sea-officers are commanded to marry heiresses, and in these cases, the
usual penalties for the abduction of heiresses are remitted’. Now, how
can we abduct heiresses, or even get them to look at us, without fine
clothes? Women, my boy, are caught by the eye alone--and I know ’em, by
Gad!”

This trifling speech remained in my memory, and the day came when I
recalled the idle talk of us two laughing midshipmen as prophetic.

We went together to a shop, where, under his direction and that of
an oily-tongued shopman, I ordered one of the handsomest outfits any
midshipman could possibly have, including two dozen of silk stockings,
as my new-found friend informed me that every man on board his
Majesty’s ships, from the admiral down to the jack-o’-the-dust, always
wore silk stockings, because in the event of being struck by a ball or
a pike or a cutlass in action, the danger from inflammation was much
less with silk than with cotton or wool.

All went swimmingly, until it was time to pay for the things. Then, I
acknowledge, I was at a loss. The shopman, suddenly changing his tone,
cried out to my companion,--

“Mr. Giles Vernon, I remember the last reefer you brought here bought
near a boatload and paid with the foresail, as you gentlemen of the sea
call it. I will not be done this time, I assure you.”

At this, Giles Vernon promptly drew his sword, which did not disturb
the shopman in the least, as I found out afterward; young gentlemen of
Giles’ age and rank, in Portsmouth, drew their swords whenever they
could not draw their purses. But I was very unhappy, not on Giles’
account, but on that of the poor shopman, whom I expected to see
weltering in his blood. After a wordy war, Giles left the shop, taking
me with him, and menacing the shopman, in case the purchases I had
ordered did not come aboard the _Ajax_ that night.

I thought it wise to suggest that I should now go aboard, as it was
well on to three o’clock. Giles agreed with me. I had forgotten to ask
him what ship he was attached to, but it suddenly occurred to me that
he, too, might be in the _Ajax_, and I asked him. Imagine my delight
when he said yes.

“But if the admiral does not behave himself better,” he added, “and
if the captain does not ask me to dinner oftener than he has been
doing lately, I shall prefer charges against both of them. I have been
assured by the lords in admiralty that any request of mine will be
regarded as an order by them, and I shall request that Admiral Hawkshaw
and Captain Guilford be relieved of their commands.”

By that time we had reached the water and there, stepping into a
splendid, eight-oared barge, I saw Sir Peter Hawkshaw. He caught sight
of us at the same moment, and the change in Giles Vernon’s manner was
what might have been expected. He was even more modest and deferential
than I, as we advanced.

“Here you are!” pleasantly cried the admiral to me. “You ran away so
fast t’other day, that I had no chance to give you any directions, and
I scarcely expected you to turn up to-day. However, I shall now take
you to the ship. Mr. Vernon, I have room for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” responded Giles very gratefully, “but I have a
pressing engagement on shore--a matter of important business--” at
which I saw the suspicion of a grin on the admiral’s homely old face.
He said little to me until we were in the great cabin of the _Ajax_.
For myself, I can only say that I was so awed by the beauty, the
majesty, the splendor of one of the finest ships of the line in the
world, that I was dumb with delight and amazement. Once in the cabin,
the admiral asked me about my means and my outfit. I burst out with the
whole story of what occurred in the haberdasher’s shop, at which Sir
Peter looked very solemn, and lectured me upon the recklessness of my
conduct in ordering things with no money to pay for them, and followed
it up with an offer to fit me out handsomely. This I accepted with the
utmost gratitude, and in a day or two I found myself established as one
of his Majesty’s midshipmen in the cockpit of the _Ajax_, and I began
to see life.



II


My introduction into the cockpit of the _Ajax_ was pretty much that
of every other reefer in his Majesty’s navy. I was, of course, told
that I showed the most brazen presumption in daring to wish to enter
the naval service; that I ought to be a choir boy at St. Paul’s; that
haymaking was my profession by nature, to say nothing of an exchange
of black eyes and bloody noses with every midshipman of my size in the
cockpit. Through all this Giles Vernon was my chief tormentor and best
friend. He proclaimed the fact of my drysalting ancestry, and when I
imprudently reminded him that I was the grandson of a baronet, he gave
me one kick for the drysalter and two for the baronet. He showed me a
battered old cocked hat hung up on a nail in the steerage country.

“Do you see that hat, you young rapscallion?” he asked.

I replied that I did, and a shocking bad hat it was, too.

“That hat was once the property of that old pirate and buccaneer,
Sir Peter Hawkshaw, Vice-Admiral of the White. It is named after
him, and whenever his conduct displeases the junior officers on this
ship,--which it generally does,--that hat, dear boy, is kicked and
cursed as a proxy for your respected great-uncle. Now understand: your
position in the cockpit is that of this hat. In fact, you will take the
hat’s place,”--which I found to be true, and I was called to account
every day for some part of the conduct of Admiral Hawkshaw, although I
did not see him twice in the week.

Mr. Buxton, our first lieutenant, was a fine officer, and celebrated
for licking midshipmen into shape; and if I learned my duty quickly,
he, rather than I, deserves the credit.

My experience of other ships convinces me that the juniors in the
_Ajax_ were clever fellows; but Giles Vernon was undoubtedly the
smartest officer among them and cock of the walk between decks. He had
innumerable good qualities, but the beggarly virtue of prudence was
not among them. He had, however, another virtue in a high degree,--a
daring and invincible courage. That, and his smartness as an officer,
made Mr. Buxton his friend, and caused many of his peccadilloes to be
overlooked.

The fact that at nineteen Giles Vernon was still only a midshipman
made me think that he was without fortune or influence; but I was soon
enlightened on the subject, though not by him. He was the distant
cousin and heir of Sir Thomas Vernon of Vernon Court, near York, and
of Grosvenor Square, London. This man was generally spoken of as the
wicked Sir Thomas, and a mortal hatred subsisted between him and his
heir. Giles had been caught trying to induce the money sharks to take
his post-obits; but as Sir Thomas was not yet fifty years of age, and
it was quite possible that he should marry, the only result was to
fan the flame of animosity between him and his heir, without Giles’
getting a shilling. The next heir to Giles was another cousin, remote
from both him and Sir Thomas, one Captain Philip Overton of the Guards,
who was as much disliked by Sir Thomas as was Giles. Giles, who had
been at sea since his twelfth year, knew little or nothing of Captain
Overton, although he swore many times in a month that he meant to marry
the first woman who would take him, for the purpose of cutting off
Overton’s hopes; but it occurred to me, young as I was, that Giles was
not the man to give up his liberty to the first woman who was willing
to accept of it.

We were fitting for the Mediterranean, and the ship lay in the inner
harbor at Portsmouth, waiting her turn to go in dry dock to be
coppered. There was plenty for the seniors to do, but not much for the
midshipmen at that particular time; and we had more runs on shore than
usual. The rest of us were satisfied with Portsmouth, but Giles was
always raving of London and the London playhouses.

Knowing how long I had lived in London, he said to me one day,--

“Were you ever at Drury Lane Theater, my lad?”

I said no, I had never been to the playhouse; and I blushed as I said
it, not desiring my messmates to know that I had been brought up by
Betty Green, a corporal’s widow.

“Then, child,” he cried, whacking me on the back, “you have yet to
live. Have you not seen Mistress Trenchard--the divine Sylvia--as
_Roxana_, as _Lady Percy_, as _Violetta_? Oh, what a galaxy of parts!
Oh, the divine creature!”

He threw himself across the mess-table at that, for we were in the
cockpit at the time. I laughed, boylike, at his raptures, and he
groaned loudly.

“Such a face and figure! Such a foot and ankle! Such a melting eye!
Such a luscious voice!”

I own that this outburst did more to make me realize that Giles, after
all, was but nineteen than anything that had gone before; for I knew
that older men did not so rave.

“And,” he cried wildly, “I can not see her before we sail. By Heaven, I
_will_ see her! ’Tis seventy-four miles between me and her angel face.
It can be done in seven hours and twenty minutes. I can get twenty-four
hours’ leave--but not a word of this, you haymaking son of a farmer.”

No sooner had Giles said this than with the determination to be known
as a man of spirit (I was, as I said, but fourteen), I concluded
I would go to London, too. On the day that Giles Vernon got his
twenty-four hours’ leave, I also got the same. Mr. Buxton looked a
little queer when I asked him for it, and said something about not
allowing the midshipmen to leave Portsmouth; but I answered readily
enough that I wished very much to go on a little expedition with Giles
Vernon, which would last overnight. As the other midshipmen had been
allowed similar liberty, I got my request; and next morning, as the
Phœbus coach for London rolled out of the stables into the inner yard,
I appeared. Giles Vernon was also on hand. His surprise was great when
he saw me.

“You take a risk, my lad,” he said.

“No more than you do,” I replied stoutly. “And I, too, love a roguish
eye and a blushing cheek, and mean to go to the playhouse with you to
see Mistress Trenchard.” At which Giles roared out one of his rich
laughs, and cried,--

“Come along then, my infant Don Juan.”

We got inside the coach, because it was far from unlikely that we might
meet some of our own officers on the road, or even Sir Peter Hawkshaw
himself, who traveled much between Portsmouth and the Admiralty. And
had we been caught, there is little doubt that we should have been
forced to right about face, in spite of the leave each one of us had
in his pocket. So we made ourselves extremely small in a corner of the
coach, and only ventured to peep out once, when we caught sight of Sir
Peter Hawkshaw’s traveling chaise going Londonwards, and Sir Peter
himself lying back in it, reading a newspaper. After that, you may be
sure we were very circumspect.

I noticed, however, the same thing in the coach that I had observed
the first hour I set eyes on Giles Vernon--that every woman he met was
his friend. There were some tradesmen’s wives, a French hairdresser,
and the usual assortment of women to be found in a public coach; and
in half an hour Giles Vernon had said a pleasant word to every one of
them, and basked in their smiles.

The day was in April, and was bright throughout; and the relays
of horses were so excellent that we reached London at four in the
afternoon, having left Portsmouth at nine in the morning. We went
straight to a chop-house, for we were ravenously hungry.

“And now, Dicky boy,” said Giles to me, “keep a bright lookout for any
of our men; and if you see one, cut your cable and run for it, and if
we are separated, meet me at the White Horse Cellar at twelve o’clock
to-night to take the midnight coach.”

By the time we had got our dinner, it was time to go to the play. We
marched off, and made our way through the mob of footmen, and got seats
for the pit: and when we went in, and I saw the playhouse lighted
up and the boxes filled with beautiful creatures, I was near beside
myself. Giles laughed at me, but that I did not mind.

I gaped about me until suddenly Giles gripped my arm, and whispered to
me,--

“Don’t look to the left. There is a box with Peter Hawkshaw in it,
and Polly, and two girls--one of them the greatest beauty I ever saw,
though but a slip of a girl. If Peter or Polly sees us, Lord help us!”

I did not look around immediately, but the desire to have a glimpse of
the adorable Lady Arabella made me steal a glance that way. She was
very beautifully dressed, and though but little more than sixteen, such
a vision of loveliness as fairly to rival reigning beauties of several
seasons’ standing. I own that I saw little Daphne sitting by Lady
Arabella, but I noted her scarcely at all.

Nor could Giles keep his eyes off Lady Arabella; and I noticed that
even when the divine Sylvia, as he called her, was on the stage, he was
not strictly attentive to her, but rather sought that fateful box where
so much beauty was enthroned.

The divine Sylvia was a delightful actress, I must admit, and in spite
of being forty if she was a day, and though raddled with paint, she
had something winning in her air and face, and I could understand her
tremendous popularity with the young bloods.

Neither Sir Peter nor Polly, as Giles called her, showed any signs
whatever of having recognized us in the large crowd in the pit, and
we began to congratulate ourselves heartily. There was a seat next
to us held by a gentleman’s servant, and presently he gave way to a
remarkably handsome young man of six or seven and twenty.

A few words passed between master and man, and then we knew that the
handsome gentleman was Captain Philip Overton, of the Second Life
Guards. Giles exchanged significant looks with me.

Captain Overton seated himself quietly, and, after a careless glance
at the house, seemed to retire into his own thoughts, quite unmindful
of the stage and what was going on upon it. I wondered why a man who
seemed so little in harmony with his surroundings should take the
trouble to come to the play.

But if Captain Overton were indifferent to all about him, one person,
the young beauty in Lady Hawkshaw’s box, was far from indifferent to
him. Lady Arabella saw his entrance, and from that moment she was
occupied in trying to obtain his attention. When at last he recognized
her and bowed slightly, she flamed all over with color, and gave him
as good an invitation as any man might want to come to her box. But
Overton made no sign of any intention to go to her, and, when she
finally seemed to realize this, she became as indifferent to all about
her as he was. Other persons came to the box and went during the play,
but they got little heed from Lady Arabella. Little Daphne, although
but a child, not yet in her teens, showed a lively interest in all that
passed and behaved in a most young-ladyish way, much to my diversion.
(I was all of two years older than she.)

As the play progressed, I saw that Giles was becoming more and more
infatuated with the fledgling beauty, and he even whispered to me a
suggestion that we present ourselves boldly at the door of the box.
This I received with horror, fearing both Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw.
Indeed, I had not been able to shake off this fear of my great-uncle
and aunt for a moment.

One’s first night at the play is usually a magic dream, but mine was
tempered with the dread of being caught on the spot, of being delayed
in our return to Portsmouth, and the torment of seeing the adored of my
heart quite absorbed in another man.

[Illustration: There was nothing for me to do but to walk along beside
him. _Page 31_]

When the play was over, we sat still until the Hawkshaw party had
passed out, and then, more for the sake of bravado, I think, than
inclination, Giles ran pell-mell to the stage door, where he made one
of a mob of gentlemen to see the divine Sylvia to her chair. And,
to my alarm, as soon as the lady was within and the curtain drawn,
he tipped the wink to one of the chairmen, who silently gave up his
place, and Giles, taking up the pole, trudged off, assisting to carry
his portly mistress. There was nothing for me to do but to walk along
beside him amid the rattle and roar of coaches, the shouting of the
hackney coachmen, the pushing and jostling of chairmen and linkboys,
and all the confusion that attends the emptying of a London playhouse.
Mrs. Trenchard’s door was not far away, and when she was put down, and
Giles sneaked off, I observed the handsome Captain Overton standing at
the turn of the street laughing at him. Giles, who was so timid in his
love, was bold enough in his wrath, and stepping up to Overton said
coolly:

“Sir, I perceive you are smiling. Who is the harlequin that amuses you,
may I ask?”

“You, sir,” promptly answered Overton.

“You are too good,” responded Giles, “and I have before pinked my man
in beauty’s quarrel,”--and then he slapped Overton in the mouth. The
next thing I knew their two swords were flashing in the moonlight. I
stood paralyzed with fear. Not so a couple of burly watchmen, who,
running forward, clutched the offenders and dragged them apart.

But the two late enemies, making common cause against the watchmen,
fought them off; and when the watchmen desisted from the fight to
spring their rattles for assistance, both Giles and the officer ran
down a dark alley, followed by me as fast as my short legs would carry
me, and soon all three of us were huddled together in the porch of a
church, some distance away from the scene of the fracas.

“Neatly done,” remarked Overton with a smile, to Giles. “I should have
been in that brawny fellow’s clutches now, but for the clip over the
head you gave him.”

“You did your share, sir,” politely responded Giles.

“But time presses and our affairs must be settled,” said Overton;
“here is my card. It is too dark to read it, but I am Captain Philip
Overton, of the Second Life Guards.”

“And I,” replied Giles, “am Midshipman Giles Vernon, of the _Ajax_,
ship of the line, now at Portsmouth.”

By the dim light of a lantern in the church porch, I saw the expression
of astonishment upon Overton’s face.

“Then,” he stammered, “we are related.”

“Yes,” replied Giles, smiling, “and if you pierce me through with sword
or pistol, it will be worth one of the finest estates in the kingdom
to you, provided always that old villain, Sir Thomas Vernon, does not
marry and have children to spite us.”

Overton reflected, half laughing and half frowning.

“If only you had not passed a blow! Anything else, there could be an
accommodation for. It was most unfortunate.”

“Yes, as it turns out,” responded Giles; “but the question is, now,
when and where can we meet?”

Just then the great bell of St. Paul’s tolled out the half-hour before
midnight, and I, who had been an almost unobserved listener, spoke,
out of the fullness of my heart.

“Giles,” said I, “the coach leaves at twelve. If we do not get to
Portsmouth in time, we are deserters. Let Captain Overton write to you
and fight afterward.”

“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings comes wisdom,” replied
Overton, smiling; and so in two minutes it was settled, Overton
agreeing to come to Portsmouth to fight, if Giles could not get leave
to meet him half-way between Portsmouth and London. We then bade him
good-by, and ran off as fast as our legs could carry us, and barely
made the coach.

We traveled all night, Giles sleeping soundly and snoring very loud, in
one corner. I felt great uneasiness about the coming meeting between
him and Overton, although I believed there was no hostile feeling
between them. But when two men face each other with arms in their
hands, there is always the possibility of awful catastrophe.

The roseate morning broke when we were still some distance from
Portsmouth. The sight of the blooming hedge-rows, the bird-songs, and
all the fair beauty of the morning made me long to be outside, and
at the last stage--my companion still sleeping--I got out, and with
a shilling to the coachman, got the box seat. There were only two or
three persons, besides the guard, on the coach.

Once up there, I could not rest satisfied without handling the ribbons.
I had never even driven a donkey in my life, but, nevertheless, I
aspired to drive four fresh roadsters. The coachman, a good-natured,
foolish fellow, gave me the reins, down a perfectly smooth lane. I
seized the whip, too, and brought it down across the wheelers’ backs,
and, the next thing I knew, the coach was lying on its side on the
road, and I was on the ground.

It was over in a wink, and it seemed scarcely longer before it had been
righted; for the load was extremely light, and no one was hurt except
Giles. He scrambled out of the coach window, his arm hanging down, not
broken, but out of joint. I pointed to it.

“Your sword arm,” I said.

There was nothing for it but to make for Portsmouth as fast as
possible. Giles was in extreme pain; he said nothing, but great drops
came out upon his forehead. When we reached the town, I at once put off
in search of a surgeon, while Giles remained at the inn. I soon fetched
the surgeon, who got the arm into place. When the man had finished,
Giles asked when he could use his arm for pistol shooting.

“In a week, perhaps; possibly not for two weeks.” And the surgeon
departed.

As soon as he was out of the room, Giles sent for pen and paper, and
with the most painful effort, guiding his right hand by his left,
managed to indite the following epistle to Captain Overton:

          PHEENIX INN, PORTSMOUTH, _Friday_.

 “DEAR SIR:

 “This is to inform you that I met with a most unfortnit axerdent while
 coming down on the coach. My friend and messmate, the infant admiral
 which you saw with me, had read the story of Gehu in the Bible or
 Homar, I forget which, and aspired to drive four horses. Which he did,
 with the result that my right arm was rentched out of place, and the
 rascally doctor who sett it says I cannot use it for some days. This
 is most unfortnit, as it delays the pleasure we antissipated in our
 meeting. You will here from me as soon as I am recovered. The only
 thing witch disturbs me is that if we both go to Davy Jones’s, twil
 please that old curmudgin, Sir Thomas Vernon, bad luck to him. Believe
 me sir,

                                        “Your very obliged, and
                                         “Most obedient servant,
                                                  “GILES VERNON,
                                           “Mid. on H. M. S. _Ajax_.”

Giles gave me this to read, and I pointed out several mistakes he had
made in spelling, although the tone of the letter was gentlemanlike, as
everything was that Giles did. With great vexation and some difficulty,
he added a postscript.

 “P. S.--Please excuse speling as my arm is very paneful. G. V.”

At that moment a marine from the _Ajax_ bounced, breathless and in
great excitement, into the room.

“We are to sail with the tide, to-night, sir!” he said. “The admiral
passed the messenger on the road; the jib is loose, and the blue peter
flying,”--and out he ran, to notify the other absentees.

Giles seized the paper, and added laboriously:

 “P. S. No 2.--I am just informed that the Blue Peter is flying from
 the _Ajax_, and that, my dear sir, signifies that we are about to
 sail. Our meeting must be postponed, for god knose when we will eat
 fresh butter again. _But you shall hear from me._ G. V.”

And that night we sailed with the tide.



III


We were ordered to join Sir John Jervis’ fleet in the Mediterranean
without the loss of a day, and, when the tide served at nine o’clock
that night, Sir Peter Hawkshaw was ready for it. The officers, who
knew Sir Peter’s capacity for picking up his anchors at short notice,
were generally prepared, and were but little surprised at the sudden
departure of the ship. The men, however, are never prepared to go, and
the ship was besieged, from the time she showed the blue peter until
she set her topsails, by the usual crowd of bumboat women, sailors’
wives, tavern-keepers, shop-dealers, and all the people with whom
Jack trades, and who are loath to part with him for reasons of love
or money. Although all of the stores were on board, there were market
supplies to get, and the midshipmen were in the boats constantly until
the last boat was hoisted in, just as the music called the men to
the capstan bars. It was a brilliant moonlight night, a good breeze
was blowing, and the _Ajax_ got under way with an unusual spread
of sail. As we passed out the narrow entrance into the roads, the
wind freshened and the great ship took her majestic way through the
fleet, a mountain of canvas showing from rail to truck. The first few
days I was overcome, as it were, with my new life and its duties.
Two other midshipmen, junior to myself, had joined, so I was no
longer the exclusive butt of the cockpit. We spent most of our spare
time expressing the greatest longing for a meeting with the French,
although for my own part, even while I was bragging the most, I felt
a sickness at the heart when I imagined a round shot entering my
vitals. Giles Vernon was still the dearest object of my admiration and
affections--always excepting that divinely beautiful Lady Arabella. But
this was rather the admiration of a glowworm for a star. I had no one
else to love except Giles, and even a midshipman must love something.

I did not much trouble myself about that meeting, so far in the future,
between Giles and Overton. Youth has no future, as it has no past.

Naturally, I did not see much of my great-uncle, the admiral. He was a
very strict disciplinarian, probably because he was used to discipline
at home, and busied himself more with the conduct of the ship than the
captain liked. The other midshipmen alleged that there was no love
lost between Captain Guilford and the admiral, and the captain had
been heard to say that having an admiral on board was like having a
mother-in-law in the house. Nevertheless, Sir Peter was a fine seaman,
and the gun-room joke was that he knew how to command, from having
learned how to obey under Lady Hawkshaw’s iron rule.

One day the admiral’s steward brought me a message. The admiral’s
compliments, and would I dine in the great cabin at five o’clock that
day?

I was frightened out of a year’s growth by the invitation, but of
course I responded that I should be most happy. This, like my professed
anxiety to meet the French, was a great lie. At five o’clock I
presented myself, trembling in every limb. The first thing I noted in
the cabin was a large portrait of Lady Hawkshaw as a young woman. She
must have been very handsome.

Sir Peter gave me two fingers, and turning to the steward, said, “Soup.”

Soup was brought. We were mostly out of fresh vegetables then, and
it was pea-soup, such as we had in the cockpit. Sir Peter grumbled a
little at it, and it was soon removed and a leg of pork brought on; a
pig had been killed that day.

“Aha!” sniffed Sir Peter delightedly. “This is fine. Nephew, you have
no pig in the gun-room to-day.”

Which was true; and Sir Peter helped me liberally, and proceeded to do
the same by himself. The steward, however, said respectfully,--

“Excuse me, Sir Peter, but in the interview I had the honor to have
with Lady Hawkshaw before sailing, sir, she particularly desired me to
request you not to eat pork, as it always disagreed with you.”

“Wh-wh-what!” roared Sir Peter.

“I am only repeating Lady Hawkshaw’s message, sir,” humbly responded
the man; but I thought I saw, under all his humility, a sly kind
of defiance. Sir Peter had no fear of either round, grape, or
double-headed shot, and was indifferent to musketry fire. Likewise,
it was commonly said of him in the service that if he were ordered
to attack hell itself, he would stand on until his jib caught fire;
but neither time nor distance weakened the authority over him of Lady
Hawkshaw.

Sir Peter glared at the steward and then at the leg of pork, and,
suddenly jumping up, seized the dish and threw it, pork and all, out of
the stern window. As I had secured my portion, I could view this with
equanimity.

The next dish was spareribs. The steward said nothing, but Sir Peter
let it pass with a groan. It seemed to me that everything appetizing
in the dinner was passed by Sir Peter, in response to a peculiar kind
of warning glance from the steward. This man, I heard afterward, had
sailed with him many years, and was understood to be an emissary of
Lady Hawkshaw’s.

We had, besides the pea-soup and roast pork, spareribs, potatoes,
turnips, anchovy with sauce, and a custard. Sir Peter, however, dined
off pea-soup and potatoes; but I observed that he was his own master as
far as the decanters were concerned, and it occurred to me that he had
made a trade with the steward, by which he was allowed this indulgence,
as I noticed the man turned his back every time Sir Peter filled his
glass.

Dinner being over, the cloth removed, and the steward gone, Sir Peter
appeared to be in a somewhat better humor. His first remark was,--

“So you are fond of the play, sir?”

I replied that I had been but once.

“The time you went with Giles Vernon. If the coach had broken down
between London and Portsmouth, we should have sailed without either one
of you.”

I did not mention that the coach had upset, but merely said that we
thought there was no danger of any detention, and that Giles Vernon was
in no way responsible for my going to London, as he knew nothing about
it until we met at the coach door.

[Illustration: He turned his back every time Sir Peter filled his
glass. _Page 44_]

I was revolving in my mind whether I could venture to ask of the
welfare of the divine Arabella, and suddenly a direct inspiration came
to me. I remarked--with blushes and tremors, I must admit,--

“How very like Lady Arabella Stormont must Lady Hawkshaw have been at
her age! And Lady Arabella is a very beautiful young lady.”

Sir Peter grinned like a rat-trap at this awkward compliment, and
remarked,--

“Yes, yes, Arabella is like my lady, except not half so handsome. Egad,
when I married Lady Hawkshaw, I had to cut my way, literally with my
sword, through the body-guard of gentlemen who wanted her. And as for
her relations--well, she defied ’em, that’s all.”

I tried, with all the little art I possessed, to get some information
concerning Arabella out of Sir Peter; but beyond telling me what I knew
before,--that she was his great-niece on the other side of the house
and first cousin to Daphne, and that her father, now dead, was a scamp
and a pauper, in spite of being an earl,--he told me nothing. But even
that seemed to show the great gulf between us. Would she, with her
beauty and her title, condescend to a midshipman somewhat younger than
herself, and penniless? I doubted it, though I was, in general, of a
sanguine nature.

I found Sir Peter unbent as the decanters grew empty, although I would
not for a moment imply that he was excessive in his drinking. Only, the
mellow glow which pervades an English gentleman after a few glasses of
good port enveloped him. He asked me if I was glad I had joined the
service,--to which I could say yes with great sincerity; impressed upon
me my good fortune in getting in a ship of the line in the beginning,
and gave me some admirable advice. I left him with a feeling that I
had a friend in that excellent seaman, honest gentleman, and odd fish,
Admiral Sir Peter Hawkshaw.

When I went below, I told my messmates all that had occurred, rather
exaggerating Sir Peter’s attentions to me, as midshipmen will. Then
privately I confided to Giles Vernon. I told what little I had found
out concerning the star of my soul, as I called Arabella, to which
Giles responded by a long-drawn-out “Ph-ew!”

I implored him, if he knew any officer in the ship who would be
likely to be acquainted with Lady Arabella, to pump him for me. This
he promised; and the very next day, as I sat on a locker, studying my
theorems, Giles came up.

“Dicky,” said he, “Mr. Buxton knows the divine Arabella. She has a
fortune of thirty thousand pounds, and so has the dove-eyed little
Daphne, all inherited from their granddad, a rich Bombay merchant. It
seems that Lady Arabella’s mother bought a coronet with her money,
and it turned out a poor bargain. However, the earl did not live long
enough to ruin his father-in-law; and little Daphne’s parents, too,
died young, so the old Bombay man left the girls his fortune, and
made Sir Peter their guardian, and that means, of course, that Polly
Hawkshaw is their guardian. Mr. Buxton says he would like to see the
fortune-hunter who can rob Polly of those two damsels. For Polly says
rank and lineage are not everything. She herself, you know, dates back
to the Saxon Heptarchy, though she did marry the son of your drysalting
great-grandfather. And she wants those girls to marry _men_; and what
Polly says on that score is to be respected, considering that she
married into a drysalting family to please herself, or to displease
her relations, I don’t know which. I should say, though, if you are
honest and deserving, and mind your book, and get a good word from the
chaplain, you will probably one day be the husband of little Daphne,
but not of Lady Arabella; no man shall marry her while I live, that
you may be sure of; but when I marry her, you may be side-boy at my
wedding.”

I thought this speech very cruel of Giles Vernon, and believed that he
did not know what true love was, else he could not so trifle with my
feelings, although there was an echo of earnestness in his intimation
that he would kill any man who aspired to marry Lady Arabella.

We were three weeks in the Bay of Biscay, thrashing to windward under
topgallant-sails, and expecting daily and hourly to run across a
Frenchman. We were hoping for it, because we found the _Ajax_ to be a
very weatherly ship and fast for her class; and both Captain Guilford
and Sir Peter, who had sailed in her before, knew exactly how to handle
her. And we were to have our wish. For, one evening toward sunset, we
sighted a French ship of the line off our beam; and by the time we had
made her out, a light French frigate was coming down the wind, and in
an hour we were at it hammer and tongs with both of them.

The Frenchmen thought they had us. We heard afterward that a prize crew
was already told off to take us into Corunna, but no man or boy on the
_Ajax_ dreamed of giving up the ship.

The _Ajax_ was cleared for action in eleven minutes; and, with four
ensigns flying, we headed for the ship of the line, which was waiting
for us, with her topsails shivering. The _Ajax_ had been lately
coppered, and, with all sail to royals set, legged it at a lively gait,
in spite of the heavy sea, which occasionally caused our lower-deck
guns to roll their noses in the water. As we wallowed toward the ship
of the line, which was the _Indomptable_, the frigate, the _Xantippe_,
was manœuvering for a position on our starboard quarter to rake us.
Seeing this, the _Ajax_ came up a little into the wind, which brought
our broadside to bear directly on the _Xantippe_, and she hedged off a
little.

The steadiness, coolness, and precision with which the ship was
handled astonished my young mind. I knew very well that if we were
defeated, Sir Peter Hawkshaw would stand no show of leniency, for
there was no doubt that, owing to our new copper, we could easily have
outsailed the Frenchmen; but Sir Peter preferred to outfight them, even
against desperate odds.

The officers and men had entire confidence in Sir Peter and in the
ship, and went into action with the heartiest good-will imaginable.
The people were amused by two powder monkeys coming to blows in the
magazine passage over which one would be entitled to the larger share
of prize-money. The gaiety of the men was contagious. Every man’s
face wore a grin; and when the word was given to take in the royals,
and send down the yards, furl all staysails and the flying jib, they
literally rushed into the rigging with an “Aye, aye, sir,” that seemed
to shake the deck.

The admiral, who had been on the bridge, left it and went below.
Presently he came up. He was in his best uniform, with a gold-hilted
sword, his order of the Bath on his breast, and he wore a cocked hat.
As he passed me, Mr. Buxton, who was stepping along briskly, said,--

“Pardon me, Sir Peter, but a French musket wants no better target than
a cocked hat.”

“Sir,” replied Sir Peter, “I have always fought in a cocked hat and
silk stockings, as becomes a gentleman; and I shall always fight in a
cocked hat and silk stockings, damme!”

Mr. Buxton passed on, laughing.

Now, I had taken the opportunity, after we had sighted the Frenchman,
to run below and put on my newest uniform, with silk stockings, and to
get out several cambric pocket handkerchiefs; and I had also scented
myself liberally with some attar of rose, which I had bought in
Portsmouth. Sir Peter, putting his fingers to his nose, sniffed the
attar of rose, and, speedily identifying me, he surveyed me calmly all
over, while I blushed and found myself unable to stand still under his
searching gaze. When he spoke, however, it was in words of praise.

“Nephew, you have the right idea. It is a holiday when we meet the
enemy, and officers should dress accordingly.”

Mr. Buxton, who was standing near, sneaked off a little. He had on
an old coat, such as I had never seen him wear, and had removed his
stock and tied a red silk handkerchief around his neck. He certainly
did not look quite the gentleman. The _Indomptable_, being then about
half a mile distant, bore up and fired a shot to windward, which was an
invitation to come on and take a licking or give one. The _Ajax_ was
not misled into the rashness of coming on, with the _Xantippe_ hanging
on her quarter, but, luffing up suddenly,--for she answered her helm
beautifully,--she brought the frigate directly under her guns; and that
fetched the _Indomptable_ as fast as she could trot. The _Ajax_ opened
the ball with one of her long twenty-fours, Sir Peter himself sighting
and pointing the gun; and immediately after the whole broadside roared
out. Had it struck the frigate full, it would have sent her to the
bottom; but by hauling quickly by the wind, she only received about
half the discharge. That, however, was terrible. Her mizzenmast was cut
off, and hung over her side in a mass of torn rigging; her mainmast was
wounded; and it was plain that our broadside had killed and wounded
many men, and had dismounted several guns. Her wheel, however, was
uninjured, and in an inconceivably short time the wreck of the mast had
been cut away; and wearing, with the wind in her favor, she got into a
raking position on our port quarter, and gave us a broadside that raked
us from stern to stem.

The savage which dwells in man had made me perfectly indifferent to
the loss of life on the French ship; but when a man dropped dead at my
side, I fell into a passion of rage, and, I must honestly admit, of
fear. My station was amidships, and I recalled, with a dreadful sinking
of the heart, that it was commonly known as the slaughter-house, from
the execution generally done there.

I looked down and saw the man’s blood soaking into the sand, with which
the deck was plentifully strewed, and I, Richard Glyn, longed to desert
my station and run below. But as I turned, I caught sight of Giles
Vernon, a little distance away from me. He was smiling and waving his
hat, and he cried out,--

“See, boys! the big ’un is coming to take her punishment! Huzza!”

The _Indomptable_ had then approached to within a quarter of a mile,
and as a heavy sea was kicked up by the wind, and all three of the
ships were rolling extremely, she luffed up to deliver her broadside;
and at that moment three thundering cheers broke from the nine hundred
throats on the _Ajax_, and they were instantly answered by a cheer as
great from the Frenchman. Owing to the sharp roll, most of the French
shot went a little too high, just above the heads of the marines, who
were drawn up in the waist of the ship. My paroxysm of fear still held
me, but when I saw these men, with the one proud word “Gibraltar”
written on their hats, standing steadily, as if at parade, in the
midst of the hurricane of fire, the men as cool as their officers,
shame seized me for my cowardice; from that on, I gradually mastered
my alarms. I here mention a strange thing; as long as I was a coward
at heart, I was also a villain; for if one single shot could have sent
the Frenchman’s body to the sea and his soul to hell, I would have
fired that shot. But when I was released from the nightmare of fear,
a feeling of mercy stole into my soul. I began to feel for our brave
enemy and to wish that we might capture him with as little loss as
possible.

The cannonade now increased; but the wind, which is usually deadened,
continued to rise, and both the heavy ships were almost rolling their
yard-arms in the water. The _Indomptable’s_ fire was exceedingly
steady, but not well directed, while, after ten minutes of a close
fire, it was seen that we were fast shooting her spars out of her.
The frigate, much disabled by the loss of her mast, had fallen off to
leeward, and never got close enough again to be of any assistance to
her consort.

The _Ajax’s_ people began to clamor to get alongside, and alongside we
got. As we neared the _Indomptable_, occasionally yawing to prevent
being raked, his metal began to tell, and we were much cut up aloft,
besides having been hulled repeatedly; but we came on steadily. The man
at the wheel had nearly all his clothes torn off him by a splinter, but
with the spirit of a true seaman, he stood at his post unflinchingly,
never letting go of the spokes for one moment. When we were within a
couple of pistol-shot, the Frenchman opened a smart musketry fire. Sir
Peter had left the bridge for a moment and was crossing the deck, when
a ball went through his hat, knocking it off and tearing it to pieces.
He stooped down, picked it up, and then called out to a powder boy who
was passing.

“Go to my cabin, and in the upper drawer of the locker to the left of
my bed-place, you will see two cocked hats; bring me the newest one.
Hanged if I’ll not wear a decent hat, in spite of the Frenchman!”

And this man was ruled by his wife!

We hove to about a cable’s length from the Frenchman, and then the
fight began in earnest. We were so near that every shot told. The
Frenchman made great play with his main-deck battery, and our sails
and rigging soon were so cut up, that when we came foul, a few minutes
later, we were jammed fast; but nobody on either ship wished it
otherwise. The Frenchman’s main-yard swung directly over our poop,
and Captain Guilford himself made it fast to our mizzen rigging. The
Frenchman, however, was not yet beaten at the guns, and the firing was
so heavy on both sides that a pall of smoke enveloped both ships. This
was to our advantage, for the frigate, having got some sail on the
stump of her mizzenmast, now approached; but the wind drifted the smoke
so between her and the two fighting ships, that she could not in the
dim twilight plainly discern friend from foe, especially as both were
painted black, and we swung together with the sea and wind. When the
smoke drifted off, the gallant but unfortunate _Xantippe_ found herself
directly under our broadside. We gave her one round from our main
battery, and she troubled us no more.

Of my own feelings, I can only say that I welcomed the return of my
courage so rapturously, I felt capable of heroic things. Occasionally
I recognized Sir Peter as he flitted past; he seemed everywhere at
once, and I perceived that although Captain Guilford was technically
fighting the ship, Sir Peter was by no means an idle spectator. My gun
was on the engaged side all the time, and several of the guns on that
side became disabled, and officers were wounded or killed; it brought
Giles Vernon quite close to me. Through the smoke and the fast-falling
darkness, lighted only by the red flash of the guns and the glare of
the battle lanterns, I could see his face. He never lost his smile, and
his ringing voice always led the cheering.

Presently, the Frenchman’s fire slackened, and then a dull, rumbling
sound was heard in the depths of the _Indomptable_, followed by a roar
and streams of light from the fore-hatch. The forward magazine had
exploded, and it seemed in the awful crash and blaze as if all the
masts and spars went skyward, with the rags of the sails, and a solemn
hush and silence followed the explosion.

In another instant I heard Sir Peter’s sharp voice shouting,--

“Call all hands to board! Boatswain, cheer the men up with the pipe!”

And then the clear notes of the boatswain’s pipe floated out into the
darkness, and with a yell the men gathered at the bulwarks. On the
French ship they appeared to be dazed by the explosion, and we could
see only a few officers running about and trying to collect the men.

In another instant I saw Mr. Buxton leap upon the hammock-netting, and
about to spring, when a figure behind him seized him by the coattails,
and, dragging him backward, he measured his length on the deck. The
figure was Giles Vernon.

“After me,” he cried to the first lieutenant; and the next moment he
made his spring, and landed, the first man on the _Indomptable’s_ deck.

As soon as the ship was given up, we hauled up our courses and ran
off a little, rove new braces, and made ready to capture the frigate,
which, although badly cut up, showed no disposition to surrender, and
stood gallantly by her consort. In half an hour we were ready to go
into action again, if necessary, with another ship of the line.

We got within range,--the sea had gone down much,--and giving the
_Xantippe_ our broadside, brought down the tricolor which the Frenchmen
had nailed to the stump of the mizzenmast. She proved to have on board
near a million sterling, which, with the _Indomptable_, was the richest
prize taken in for years preceding.

The admiral and captain got eleven thousand pounds sterling each. The
senior officers received two thousand five hundred pounds sterling
each. The juniors got two thousand pounds sterling, the midshipmen
and petty officers one thousand five hundred pounds sterling, and
every seaman got seven hundred pounds sterling, and the landsmen and
boys four hundred pounds sterling in prize-money. And I say it with
diffidence, we got much more in glory; for the two French ships were
not only beaten, but beaten in the most seamanlike manner. Sir Peter
ever after kept the anniversary as his day of glory, putting on the
same uniform and cocked hat he had worn, and going to church, if on
shore, with Lady Hawkshaw on his arm, and giving thanks in a loud
voice.



IV


We took the _Xantippe_ home--the _Indomptable_ went to the bottom of
the Bay of Biscay--but before our prize-money was settled up, we were
off again; Sir Peter dearly loved cruising in blue water. It was near
two years before we got back to England to spend that prize-money; for,
except the captain and Mr. Buxton and some of the married officers, I
know of no one who saved any. Sir Peter, I understood afterward, spent
much of his in a diamond necklace and tiara for Lady Hawkshaw, in which
he was most egregiously cheated by a Portuguese money-lender, and the
balance he put into a scheme for acclimating elephants in England,
which was to make him as rich as Crœsus; but he lost a thousand pounds
on the venture, besides his prize-money. In those two years I grew
more and more fond of Giles Vernon. We generally contrived to have
our watch together, and we were intimate as only shipmates could be.
He talked much of what he meant to do when he got ashore with money
to spend, and assured me he had never had above twenty pounds of his
own in his life. In the course of many nights spent in standing watch
together, when the old _Ajax_ was sailing like a witch,--for she was a
capital sailer at that time,--he told me much about his early youth,
and I confided to him the story of Betty Green. Giles’ career had been
the common one of the younger branches of a good family. His father
had been a clergyman, and, dying, left several daughters, who married
respectably, and this one son, who was put in the sea-service very
young. At that time, several lives stood between Giles and the title
and estates of Sir Thomas Vernon, and other lives stood between Giles
and Overton; but those had passed away, leaving these two distant
kinsmen as heirs to a man that seemed rightfully to have earned his
title of “wicked Sir Thomas.” I asked Giles if he knew why Sir Thomas,
who so cordially hated his heirs, had never married. Giles replied that
Sir Thomas showed no inclination to marry until he was near forty. Then
his reputation was so well established that he was generally looked
askant upon; his character for truth was bad and at cards was worse.
But he had induced a lady of rank and wealth to become engaged to be
married to him. His treatment of her was so infamous that her whole
family had declared war against him, and had succeeded in breaking off
several very desirable alliances he would have liked to make. Of course
a man of his rank and wealth could find some woman--alas!--to take him;
but Sir Thomas was bent on money, with an inclination toward rank,
and was the last man on earth to marry unless he had a substantial
inducement; and several more years had passed without his being able
to effect the sort of marriage he desired. Meanwhile, his health had
broken down, and he was now a shattered man and prey for the doctors.
All this was very interesting to me, especially as Sir Thomas’ two
heirs would one day have the experience of shooting at each other, and
possibly deciding the matter of heirship by the elimination of one or
the other from the question.

We both got promotion, of course, and that brought us into the
gun-room; but we were as intimate there as in our reefer days in the
cockpit. On a glorious October morning in 1799, our anchor kissed the
ground in Portsmouth harbor.

When we reached Portsmouth, the news of our good fortune had
preceded us, and we were welcomed with open arms by men, women, and
children--especially the women. All the prize-money brought back by any
single ship during the war was insignificant compared with ours. The
men were seized with a kind of madness for spending their money. The
spectacle of an ordinary seaman parading the streets of Portsmouth with
a gold-laced hat, a gold-headed stick, and watches and jewelry hung all
over him was common enough, and he was sure to be an _Ajax_ man. Sad to
say, the pimps, and the worst class of men and women soon got the money
away from our poor fellows.

The officers, in their way, were but little behind the men in their
lavishness. Champagne was their common drink, and several of them
invested in coaches!--the last thing they would ever have a chance of
using.

Giles Vernon, although the most wasteful and profuse man I ever saw,
desired to spend his money in London, Portsmouth being too small a
theater for him. But the pressing affair of the satisfaction he owed
Captain Overton had to be settled. After much hard thinking, Giles came
to me on the day after we reached Portsmouth, and said,--

“Dicky boy, read this letter and give me your opinion of it.”

This was the letter,--

          “H.M.S. _Ajax_, May 17, 1799.

  “CAPTAIN PHILIP OVERTON:

 “_Dear Sir_,--This is to inform you that I have reached Portsmouth,
 after a very successful cruise in the _Ajax_, when we took the
 _Indomptable_ and the _Xantippe_ and a large sum in specie. My shair
 is considerable--more money in short than I ever saw, much less
 handled, in my life. I would like a month in London to spend this
 money before offering my carkass to be made full of holes by you. Dear
 sir, consider. If I escape your marksmanship, the month more or less
 will be of little account; and if I fall, I shall miss the finest
 chance of seeing the world I ever had in my life. I think, sir, with
 difidence I say it, that my record in the _Ajax_ is enough to make
 plain I am not shurking the satisfaction I owe you, but I would take
 it as a personal favor if you would put it off to this day month,
 when I will be in London. And as I shall eat and drink of the best,
 ’tis ten to one I will be much fater and therefore be a much better
 mark for you. I am, dear sir,

                                        “Your obliged and
                                         “Obedient servant,
                                             “GILES VERNON.”

I pointed out to Giles that, although the tone of the letter was quite
correct, the writing and spelling were scarce up to standard--I was
more bookish than Giles. But he replied with some heat,--

“Who, while reading the communication of a gentleman, will be so base
as to sneer at the grammar or spelling?” So the letter went as it
was, and in reply came a very handsome, well-expressed letter from
Captain Overton, not only agreeing to postpone it a month, but for six
weeks, which pleased Giles mightily. I wish to say, although Giles was
inexpert with the pen, he had no lack of either polish or ideas, and
was as fine an officer as ever walked the deck.

The matter with Overton finally settled, and the ship being paid off,
Giles and I started for London, as happy as two youngsters could
be, with liberty and two thousand pounds apiece to spend, for I
acknowledge that I had no more thought of saving than Giles. We took a
chaise and four to London--no stage-coach for us!--and reached there
in a day. We had planned to take the finest rooms at Mivart’s Hotel,
but fate and Lady Hawkshaw prevented me from enjoying them except for
the first night of our arrival. Next morning on presenting myself at
the Admiralty to ask for letters,--never dreaming I should have any,--I
received one from Sir Peter Hawkshaw, which read--

 “GRAND-NEPHEW.--My Lady Hawkshaw desires that you will come and bring
 your money with you to our house in Berkeley Square, and remain there.

                                        “Yours, etc.,
                                             “P. HAWKSHAW, C.B.”

Great was my distress when I got this letter, as I foresaw there would
not be much chance under Lady Hawkshaw’s eagle eye of seeing the kind
of life I wished to see. And I was obliged to go, for Sir Peter was the
only person on earth likely to interest himself at the Admiralty for
me; and I might stay and wither on shore while others more fortunate
got ships, if I antagonized him. And when Lady Hawkshaw commanded,
there was but one thing to do, and that was to obey.

So, with a heavy heart, I took myself and my portmanteau and, in a
canvas bag, my two thousand guineas to the admiral’s great fine house
in Berkeley Square. My parting with Giles was melancholy enough; for,
with the womanish jealousy of a boy, I was unhappy to think he would be
enjoying himself with some one else, while I was suffering the hardship
of having my money taken care of for me.

Giles had no more forgotten the Lady Arabella than I had, and, on
reading this note, exclaimed,--

“Zounds! I wish Peter and Polly had sent for me to stay in Berkeley
Square, with that divine creature under the same roof. Do you think,
Dicky, we could exchange identities, so to speak?” But on my reminding
him that Lady Hawkshaw had demanded my prize-money, and would certainly
get it, his ardor to stand in my shoes somewhat abated.

[Illustration: With her were Daphne and the glorious Lady Arabella.
_Page 69_]

When I reached Sir Peter’s house about noon, the same tall and
insolent footman that I had seen on my first visit opened the door for
me. Lady Hawkshaw, wearing the same black velvet gown and the identical
feathers, received me, and sitting with her were Daphne Carmichael and
the glorious, the beautiful, the enchanting Lady Arabella Stormont.

If I had fallen madly in love with her when I was but fourteen, and
had only seven and sixpence, one may imagine where I found myself
when I was near seventeen, and had two thousand pounds in a bag in my
hands. Lady Hawkshaw’s greeting was stiff, but far from unkind; and she
introduced me to the young ladies, who curtsied most beautifully to me,
and, I may say, looked at me not unkindly.

“Is that your prize-money in that bag, Richard?” asked Lady Hawkshaw
immediately.

I replied it was.

“Jeames,” she said, “go and make my compliments to Sir Peter, and say
to him that if he has nothing better to do, I would be glad to see him
at once. And order the coach.”

Jeames departed.

I sat in adoring silence, oblivious of Daphne, but gazing at Lady
Arabella until she exclaimed pettishly,--

“La! Have I got a cross-eye or a crooked nose, Mr. Richard, that you
can’t take your eyes off me?”

“You have neither,” I replied gallantly. “And my name is not Mr.
Richard, but Mr. Glyn, at your ladyship’s service.”

“Arabella,” said Lady Hawkshaw in a voice of thunder, “be more
particular in your address to young gentlemen.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am!” pertly replied Lady Arabella. “But such _very_ young
gentlemen, like Mr. Glyn, or Mr. Thin, or whatever his name may be, are
always difficult to please in the way of address. If you are familiar,
they are affronted; and if you are reserved, they think you are making
game of them.”

By this speech I discovered that although Lady Hawkshaw might rule her
world, terrorize Sir Peter, and make the Lords of the Admiralty her
humble servitors, she had one rebel in the camp, and that was Lady
Arabella Stormont. I saw that her remarks displeased Lady Hawkshaw, but
she endured them in silence. Who, though, would not endure anything
from that cherub mouth and those dazzling eyes?

Sir Peter now appeared and greeted me.

“Sir Peter,” said Lady Hawkshaw in her usual authoritative manner, “you
will go in the coach with me to the bank, with Richard Glyn, to deposit
his money. You will be ready in ten minutes, when the coach will be at
the door.”

“I will go with you, Madam,” replied Sir Peter; “but I shall order
my horse, and ride a-horseback, because I do not like riding in that
damned stuffy coach. And besides, when you and your feathers get in,
there is no room for me.”

“You ride a-horseback!” sniffed Lady Hawkshaw. “Even the grooms and
stable boys laugh at you. You are always talking some sea nonsense
about keeping the horse’s head to the wind, and yawing and luffing and
bowsing at the bowline, and what not; and besides, I am afraid to trust
you since Brown Jane threw you in the Park.”

It ended by Sir Peter’s going in the coach, where the little man lay
back in the corner, nearly smothered by Lady Hawkshaw’s voluminous
robe, and pishing and pshawing the whole way.

But I was quite happy,--albeit I was the victim of Lady Hawkshaw in
having my money kept for me,--for on the seat beside me was Lady
Arabella, who chose to go with us. She made much game of me, but I
had the spirit to answer her back. After placing the money, we took
an airing in the park, and then returned to dinner at five o’clock. I
neither knew nor cared what became of Daphne; for was I not with the
adored Lady Arabella?

That night Lady Hawkshaw was at home, and I had my first experience
of a London rout. The card-tables were set on the lower floor, for
although Lady Hawkshaw hated cards, yet it was commonly said that no
one could entertain company in London without them.

And that night I made a strange and terrible discovery. Lady Arabella
was a gamester of the most desperate character, in ready money, as far
as her allowance as a minor permitted, and in promises to pay, when she
came into her fortune, as far as such promises would be accepted. But
they were not much favored by the gentlemen and ladies who played with
her; for the chances of her marrying before her majority were so great,
that her I O U’s were not considered of much value, and found few
takers, even when accompanied by Lady Arabella’s most brilliant smiles;
for your true gamester is impervious to smiles or frowns, insensible to
beauty--in short, all his faculties are concentrated on the odd trick.

A great mob of fine people came and there was a supper, and many wax
lights, and all the accessories of a fashionable rout. I wandered
about, knowing no one, but observant of all. I noticed that a very
clever device was hit upon by Lady Arabella and others who liked
high play, which Lady Hawkshaw disliked very much. The stakes were
nominally very small, but in reality they were very large, shillings
actually signifying pounds. All of the people who practised this were
in one of the lower rooms, while Sir Peter, who was allowed to play
six-penny whist, and those who in good faith observed Lady Hawkshaw’s
wishes, were in a room to themselves. I must not forget to mention,
among the notable things at this rout, Lady Hawkshaw’s turban. It was
a construction of feathers, flowers, beads, and every other species
of ornament, the whole capped with the celebrated tiara which had
been bought from the Portuguese, and the diamond necklace beamed upon
her black velvet bosom. Sir Peter seemed quite enchanted with her
appearance, as she loomed a head taller than any woman in the rooms,
and evidently considered her a combination of Venus and Minerva--not
that the pair ceased squabbling on that account. I think they disagreed
violently on every detail of the party, and Sir Peter was routed at
every point.

Among those who did not play was Daphne, then quite as tall as I and
well on into her sixteenth year. I could not but acknowledge her to
be a pretty slip of a girl, and we sat in a corner and I told her
about our bloody doings on the _Ajax_, until she stopped her ears and
begged me to desist. I regarded Daphne with condescension, then; but I
perceived that she was sharp of wit and nimble of tongue, much more so
than her cousin, Lady Arabella.

After a while I left Daphne and went back to watch Lady Arabella. I
soon saw that she was a very poor player, and lost continually; but
that only whetted her appetite for the game. Presently a gentleman
entered, and, walking about listlessly, although he seemed to be
known to everybody present, approached me. It was Captain Overton, as
handsome, as _distrait_, as on the first and only time I had seen him.

Much to my surprise, he recognized me and came up and spoke to me,
making me a very handsome compliment upon the performances of the
_Ajax_.

“And is my cousin, Mr. Vernon, here to-night?” he asked, smiling.

I replied I supposed not; he had received no card when we had parted
that morning, and I knew of none since.

“I shall be very glad to meet him,” said Overton. “I think him a fine
fellow, in spite of our disagreement. I see you are not playing.”

“I have no taste for play, strange to say.”

“Do not try to acquire it,” he said; “it is wrong, you may depend upon
it; but indulgence in it makes many believe it to be right. Every time
you look at a sin, it gets better looking.”

I was surprised to hear sin mentioned in the society of such elegant
and well-bred sinners as I saw around me, who never alluded to it,
except officially, as it were, on Sunday, when they all declared
themselves miserable sinners--for that occasion only. Overton then
sauntered over toward Lady Arabella, who seemed to recognize his
approach by instinct. She turned to him, her cards in her hands, and
flushed deeply; he gazed at her sternly as if in reproof, and, after a
slight remark or two, moved off, to her evident chagrin.

Daphne being near me then, I said to her with a forced laugh,--

“What is the meaning, I beg you to tell me, of the pantomime between
Lady Arabella and Captain Overton?”

Daphne hesitated, and then said,--

“Captain Overton was one of the gayest men about London until a year or
two ago. Since then, it is said, he has turned Methody. It is believed
he goes to Mr. Wesley’s meetings, although he has never been actually
caught there. He lives plainly, and, some say, he gives his means to
the poor; he will not go to the races any more, nor play, and he does
not like to see Arabella play.”

“What has he to do with Arabella?”

“Nothing that I know of, except that she likes him. He does not like to
see any one play now, although he gamed very high himself at one time.”

I had seen no particular marks of interest on Overton’s part toward
Lady Arabella; but, watching her, I saw, in a very little while, the
deepest sort of interest on her part toward him. She even left the
card-table for him, and kept fast hold of him. I recalled the way she
had striven to attract his attention at the play that night, more
than two years before, and my jealous soul was illuminated with the
knowledge that she was infatuated with Overton--and I was right.

Some time afterward, whom should I see walking in but Giles Vernon!
Lady Hawkshaw received him most graciously. I went up to him and asked,
“How came you here?”

“Did you think, Dicky, that I meant to let you keep up a close blockade
of the lovely Arabella? No, indeed; I got a card at seven o’clock this
evening, by working all day for it, and I mean to reconnoiter the
ground as well as you.”

I thought when he saw Lady Arabella with Overton that even Giles
Vernon’s assurance would scarcely be equal to accosting her. He marched
himself up with all the coolness in the world, claiming kinship boldly
with Overton, who couldn’t forbear smiling, and immediately began to
try for favor in Arabella’s eyes.

But here I saw what I never did before or since with Giles Vernon--a
woman who was utterly indifferent to him, and actually seemed to
dislike him. She scarcely noticed him at first, and, when he would not
be rebuffed, was so saucy to him that I wondered he stood it for a
minute. But stand it he did, with the evident determination to conquer
her indifference or dislike, whichever it might be.

Overton seized the excuse of Giles’ approach to escape, and left the
house, which did not cause Lady Arabella to like Giles any better. She
returned to the card-table, Giles with her, and, by the exercise of the
most exquisite ingenuity, he managed to lose some money to her, which
somewhat restored her good humor.

At last the rout was over, and, soon after midnight, all had gone. I
was shown to a bedroom, with only a partition wall between me and Sir
Peter and Lady Hawkshaw; so I had the benefit of the nightly lecture
Lady Hawkshaw gave Sir Peter, with the most unfailing regularity. On
this particular night, they came nearer agreeing than usual, both of
them discussing anxiously Lady Arabella’s marked fondness for play.
And Lady Hawkshaw told of a late escapade of Lady Arabella’s in which
a certain ace of clubs was played by her; the said ace of clubs
being fashioned out of black court-plaster and white cardboard. When
detected, Lady Arabella professed to think the whole thing a joke, but
as her adversary at the time was a very old lady whose eyesight was
notoriously defective, it took all of Lady Arabella’s wit and youth
to carry it off successfully, which, however, she did. As for her
trinkets, Lady Arabella was always buying them, and always taking a
distaste to them, so she alleged, and Lady Hawkshaw suspected they took
the place of shillings at the card-table. Sir Peter groaned at this,
and remarked that the earl, her father, was the worst gamester he
ever knew, except her grandfather. I do not remember any more. I tried
to avoid hearing what they were saying, but every word was distinctly
audible to me, until, at this point, I fell asleep and dreamed that
Lady Hawkshaw was appointed to command the _Ajax_, and I was to report
on board next day.



V


I spent several weeks in Sir Peter’s house, and strange weeks they
were in many respects. I never had the least complaint to make of the
kindness of Sir Peter or Lady Hawkshaw, except that Lady Hawkshaw
insisted on investing my money, all except ten pounds which she gave
me, charging me to be careful with it; but Sir Peter secretly lent me a
considerable sum, to be repaid at my majority.

Sir Peter was actively at war with all the women-folk in the household,
from his lady down, except little Daphne. He assumed to conduct
everything in a large town house in Berkeley Square exactly as if he
were on the _Ajax_, seventy-four. He desired to have the lazy London
servants called promptly at two bells, five o’clock in the morning, and
to put them to holystoning, squilgeeing, and swabbing off the decks, as
he called it. Of course the servants rebelled, and Sir Peter denounced
them as mutineers, and would have dearly liked to put them all in
double irons. He divided the scullions and chambermaids into watches,
and when they laughed in his face, threatened them with the articles
of war. He wished everything in the house stowed away in the least
compass possible, and when Lady Hawkshaw had her routs, Sir Peter,
watch in hand, superintended the removal of the furniture from the
reception-rooms, which he called clearing for action, and discharged
any servant who was not smart at his duty. He had a room, which he
called his study, fitted up with all the odds and ends he had collected
during forty years in the navy, and here he held what might be called
drumhead courts-martial, and disrated the domestic staff, fined them,
swore at them, and bitterly regretted that the land law did not admit
of any proper discipline whatever.

It may be imagined what a scene of discord this created, although Sir
Peter was of so kind and generous a nature that the servants took
more from him than from most masters, and, indeed, rather diverted
themselves with his fines and punishments, and, when dismissed,
declined to leave his service, much to his wrath and chagrin. The acme
was reached when he attempted to put the cook in the brig, as he called
a dank cellar which he determined to utilize for mutineers, as on
board ship. The cook, a huge creature three times as big as Sir Peter,
boarded him in his own particular den, and, brandishing a rolling-pin
that was quite as dangerous as a cutlass, announced that she would no
longer submit to be governed by the articles of war, as administered
by Sir Peter. She was sustained by a vociferous chorus of housemaids
and kitchen girls who flocked behind her, the men rather choosing to
remain in the background and grinning. Sad to say, Admiral Sir Peter
Hawkshaw, C.B., was conquered by the virago with the rolling-pin, and
was forced to surrender to the mutineers, which he did with a very
bad grace. At that juncture Lady Hawkshaw hove in sight, and, bearing
down upon the company from below stairs, dispersed them all with one
wave of her hand. Sir Peter complained bitterly, and Lady Hawkshaw
promised to bring them to summary punishment. But she warned Sir Peter
that his methods were becoming as intolerable to her as to the rest of
the family, and Sir Peter, after a round or two for the honor of his
flag, hauled down his colors. This became especially necessary, as his
retirement was at hand, consequent more upon an obstinate rheumatism
that fixed itself upon him than his age. There was doubt whether
he would get the K.C.B., which he certainly well deserved, on his
retirement; there was some sort of hitch about it, although, after the
capture of the two French ships, he had been promoted to the office of
admiral. Lady Hawkshaw, however, went down to the Admiralty in a coach
with six horses and three footmen and four outriders, and, marching in
upon the First Lord, opened fire on him, with the result that Sir Peter
was gazetted K.C.B. the very next week.

Little Daphne, who had always submitted to Sir Peter’s whims, did so
more than ever after he had been vanquished by the cook; and Sir Peter
swore, twenty times a week, that Daphne had the stuff in her to make a
sea-officer of the first order.

My infatuation for Lady Arabella continued: but I can not say she ever
showed me the least mark of favor. But that she did to no one except
Overton, and I soon knew what everybody in the town knew, that she
was desperately smitten with him, and would have bestowed herself and
her fortune upon him at any moment, if he would but accept it. As for
Giles Vernon, she showed him what no other woman ever did,--a coolness
at first, that deepened into something like active hatred. She knew he
stood between Overton and the heirship to the Vernon estates, and that
was enough to make her dislike him. She often remarked upon his want of
good looks, and she was the only woman I ever knew to do it. Yet Giles
was undeniably hard-featured, and, except a good figure, had nothing in
his person to recommend him. I had thought that pride would have kept
Giles from paying court to a person so inimical to him; but pride was
the excuse he gave for still pursuing her. He declared he had never,
no, never, been flouted by a woman, and that Lady Arabella should yet
come at his call. This I believed at the time to be mere bravado. He
was enchanted by her, that was the truth, and could no more leave her
than the moth can leave the candle.

I saw much of Daphne in those days, chiefly because I could see so
little of Lady Arabella, who led a life of singular independence,
little restrained by the authority of Lady Hawkshaw, and none at all
by Sir Peter. Daphne was fond of books, and commonly went about with
one under her arm. I, too, was inclined to be bookish; and so there was
something in common between us. She was keener of wit than any one in
that house; and I soon learned to take delight in her conversation, in
Lady Arabella’s absence. My love for the Lady Arabella was, I admit,
the fond fancy of a boy; while Giles Vernon’s was the mad infatuation
of a man.

Giles was much with us at that time; and I acknowledge I had great
benefit from the spending of his prize-money--or rather, I should
say, much enjoyment. He laid it out right royally, asked the price
of nothing, and, for the time he was in London, footed it with the
best of them. His lineage and his heirship to Sir Thomas Vernon gave
him entrance anywhere; and his wit and courage made his place secure.
Shortly after we arrived, Sir Thomas Vernon also arrived at his house
in Grosvenor Square. We were bound to meet him, for Giles went much
into gay society, as I did, in the train of Lady Hawkshaw. The first
time this occurred was at a drum at her Grace of Auchester’s, where
all of London was assembled. Even Overton, who was rarely seen in
drawing-rooms, was there. Giles, of course, was there; her Grace had
fallen in love with him, as women usually did, the first time she met
him.

It was a great house for play; and when we arrived, we found the whole
suite of splendid apartments on the lower floor prepared for cards.

There was the usual crush and clamor of a fine London party; and I,
being young and unsophisticated, enjoyed it, as did Daphne. Names were
bawled out at the head of the stairs, but could not be distinguished
over the roar of voices. I happened to be near the door, with Giles,
Lady Arabella being near by, when I heard the name of Sir Thomas Vernon
shouted out, as he entered.

He was a man of middle size, and was between forty and fifty years
of age. He might once have been handsome; but the ravages of an
evil nature and a broken constitution were plainly visible in his
countenance. I observed that, as he stood, glancing about him before
making his _devoirs_ to the Duchess of Auchester, no one spoke to him,
or seemed disposed to recognize him. This only brought a sardonic grin
to his countenance. He advanced, and was civilly, though not cordially,
received by her Grace. At that moment, Giles approached, and spoke to
her, and the change in the great lady’s manner showed the favor in
which she held him. Sir Thomas scowled upon Giles, but bowed slightly;
and Giles returned the look by a steady glance, and this stinging
remark:

“Good evening, Sir Thomas. You look very ill. Is your health as
desperate as I heard it was two years ago?”

A titter went around at this, and Giles moved off, smiling. Sir Thomas
was unpopular, there could be no doubt about that.

Presently Sir Thomas caught sight of Lady Arabella, and, as usual, he
was instantly struck by her exquisite beauty. He succeeded in being
presented to her, and I noted that she received him with affability.

About midnight the company broke up, and our party made a move to go,
but Lady Arabella announced that she had been invited by her Grace
of Auchester to stay the night, and she wished to do so. Neither Sir
Peter nor Lady Hawkshaw perfectly approved; but Lady Arabella carried
her point, with the assistance of the duchess. At the last moment, her
Grace--a fine woman--approached me, and said confidentially,--

“Mr. Wynne,--Glyn, I mean,--will you not remain, and share a game with
a choice collection of players?”

I was flattered at being asked; and besides, I wanted to see how these
great London ladies acted at such play, so I accepted. But it was
another thing to get away from Lady Hawkshaw. However, I managed to
elude her, by giving a shilling to a footman, who shoved me into a
little closet, and then went and told Lady Hawkshaw I had gone home in
a coach with a gentleman who had been taken ill, and had left word for
them to go without me. This pacified her, and she and Sir Peter and
Daphne went away with the crowd. There were left about twenty persons,
who, after a little supper, and general expressions of relief at the
departure of the other guests, sat down to play, at one in the morning.
There was a cabinet minister, also a political parson, two peers of the
realm, several officers of the Guards, Giles Vernon, and your humble
servant. The ladies were mostly old,--Lady Arabella was the youngest of
them all,--but all very great in rank.

I had wanted to see London ladies play--and I saw them. Jack, with his
greasy cards, in the forecastle, laying his month’s wages, was a child
to them. And how they watched one another, and quarreled and fought!

No one among them played so eagerly as Lady Arabella; and very badly,
as usual, so that she managed to lose all her money. She was ever a bad
player, with all her passion for play. Her last guinea went; and then,
determined not to be balked, she rose and said, laughing,--

“I have on a new white satin petticoat, with lace that cost three
guineas the yard. It is very fit for waistcoats. No gentleman will be
so ungallant as to refuse my petticoat as a stake.”

Of course, they all applauded; and Lady Arabella, retiring behind
a screen, emerged with her satin petticoat--how it shone and
shimmered!--in her hand. And in five minutes, she had lost it to Giles
Vernon!

There was much laughter, but Giles, gravely folding it up, laid it
aside; and when we departed, in the gray light of dawn, he carried it
off under his arm.

As for me, I had lost all the money I had with me, and had given my I O
U for three hundred pounds.

Next day Lady Arabella was dropped in Berkeley Square by her Grace of
Auchester. It was in the afternoon, and I was sitting in the Chinese
room with Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne when Lady Arabella appeared.

“Well, Dicky,” she said,--a very offensive mode of addressing me,--“how
do you stand your losses at play?” And, as I am a sinner, she plumped
out the whole story of my play to Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne. As an
officer and a gentleman, I scorned to retaliate by telling of the white
satin petticoat. But vengeance was at hand. Just as she had finished,
when Lady Hawkshaw was swelling with rage, like a toad, before opening
her main batteries on me, and Daphne’s fair eyes were full of contempt
for me, we heard a commotion outside. None of us could keep from going
to the window, and the sight we saw threw Lady Arabella into a perfect
tempest of angry tears.

A fife and drum were advancing up the street, playing with great vigor
the old tune known as “Petticoats Loose.” Behind them marched, with the
deepest gravity, a couple of marines, bearing aloft on their muskets
a glittering shimmering thing that fluttered whitely in the air. It
was Lady Arabella’s satin petticoat; and, halting before the door,
the drum, with a great flourish, pounded the knocker. On the porter’s
responding, the two marines handed the petticoat in with ceremony to
him, directing him to convey it to the Lady Arabella Stormont, with the
compliments of Lieutenant Giles Vernon of his Majesty’s service. This
the man did, and was almost torn to pieces by her for doing so, though
in what way he had offended, I know not to this day. It was a trifling
thing, and made laughter for us all (including Lady Hawkshaw), except
Arabella. She seemed to hate Giles with a more virulent hatred after
that, and tried very hard to induce Lady Hawkshaw to forbid him the
house, which, however, Lady Hawkshaw refused to do.

[Illustration: It was Lady Arabella’s satin petticoat. _Page 92_]

Neither Giles nor I had by any means forgotten our appointment to meet
Captain Overton on the field of honor; and as the time approached for
the meeting, Giles sent a very civil note to Overton, asking him to
name a gentleman who would see me to arrange the preliminaries, for I
would never have forgiven Giles had he chosen any one else. Overton
responded, naming our old first lieutenant, Mr. Buxton, who happened
to be in London then, and was an acquaintance of his. I believe
Overton’s object in asking Mr. Buxton to act for him was the hope that
the affair might be arranged; for from what I had heard of the deeply
religious turn Overton had taken, I concluded the meeting was somewhat
against his conscience. But the indignity of a blow in the face to an
officer could not be easily wiped out without an exchange of shots. My
principal was much disgusted when Mr. Buxton was named.

“I know how it will be, Dicky,” he growled. “You will sit like a great
gaby, with your mouth open, imagining the tavern parlor to be the
cockpit of the _Ajax_. Mr. Buxton will talk to you in his quarter-deck
voice, and you will be so frightened that you will agree to use
bird-shot at forty paces, provided Mr. Buxton proposes it.”

This I indignantly denied, and swore I would meet Mr. Buxton as man to
man. Nevertheless, when we were sitting at the table in Mr. Buxton’s
lodgings, I did very much as Giles had predicted. I forgot several
things that I had wished to say, and said several things I wished I had
forgotten. Mr. Buxton did not let me forget, however, that he had been
my first lieutenant, and I was but a midshipman. He called my principal
a hot-headed jackanapes before my very face, adding angrily,--

“But for him I should have been first on the _Indomptable’s_ deck.” To
all this I made but a feeble protest; and finally it was arranged that
the meeting should take place at a spot very near Richmond, at eight
o’clock, on the morning of June the twenty-ninth.

When the date was set, and the arrangements made, I began to feel very
much frightened. Not so Giles. There was to be a great ball at Almack’s
on the night of the twenty-eighth and Giles announced that he was
going. It was a very special occasion for him, because the Trenchard,
whom he still called the divine Sylvia, and professed to admire as
much as ever, was to go that night. She was then the rage, and had a
carriage, diamonds, and a fine establishment, yet I believe her conduct
to have been irreproachable. She had long been consumed with a desire
to go to Almack’s, but up to that time no actress had ever yet enjoyed
the privilege. It seemed grotesque enough that a young midshipman,
of no more consequence than Giles Vernon, should succeed in carrying
this through. But such was actually the case; and Giles accomplished
it by that singular power he possessed, by which no woman could say
him nay. He worked with much art upon those great ladies, her Grace of
Auchester and Lady Conyngham, and got them pledged to it. Of course,
the most violent opposition was developed; but Giles, who had a perfect
knowledge of the feminine heart, managed to inspire these two ladies
with the wish to exercise their sovereignty over Almack’s, by doing
what was never done before. Having led them into the fight, they had no
thought of running away; and the result was innumerable heartburnings
and jealousies, and meanwhile a card for Mrs. Trenchard.

The noise of the controversy was heard all over town, and it was
discussed in Berkeley Square as elsewhere. Lady Hawkshaw was no longer
a subscriber to Almack’s. Not being able to rule it, she had retired,
the assembly rooms not being large enough to hold herself and a certain
other lady.

Giles had told me that on the evening of the ball he and other
gentlemen interested in the victory for Mrs. Trenchard would escort
her to the ball. So at eight o’clock I proceeded to the lady’s house
in Jermyn Street, and saw her set forth in state in her chair. She
was blazing with diamonds, and looked like a stage duchess. A long
company of gentlemen with their swords attended her, and Giles and
my Lord Winstanley led the procession. Mrs. Trenchard was the best
imitation of a lady I ever saw, as she sat in her chair, smiling and
fanning herself, with the linkboys gaping and grinning at her; and the
gentlemen especially, such as had had a little more wine than usual,
shouting, “Way for Mrs. Trenchard! Make way there!”

Yet it seemed to me as if she were only an imitation, after all, and
that Lady Hawkshaw, with her turban and her outlandish French, had
much more the genuine air of a great lady. Mrs. Trenchard would go to
Almack’s on any terms, but Lady Hawkshaw would not go, except she ruled
the roost, and fought gallantly with the duchesses and countesses, only
retiring from the field because she was one against many.

I followed the merry procession until we got to King Street, St.
James’s, where the coaches were four deep, and footmen, in regiments,
blockaded the street. Giles and Lord Winstanley were to take Mrs.
Trenchard in, and very grand the party looked as they entered. By that
time, though, I was very miserable. I remembered that at the same time
the next night, I might not have my friend. I hung around among the
footmen and idlers, watching the lights and listening to the crash of
the music, quite unconscious of the flight of time, and was astonished
when the ball was over and the people began pouring out. Then, afraid
to be caught by Giles, I ran home as fast as my legs could carry me.

When I reached Berkeley Square, it was altogether dark, and I realized
that I was locked out.

I looked all over the front of the house, and my heart sank. There
was a blind alley at one side, and I remembered that in it opened the
window of Sir Peter’s study, as he called it, although, as I have said,
it was more like the cubby-hole of the _Ajax_ than any other place I
can call to mind. The window was at least twenty feet from the ground,
but a waterspout ran up the wall beside it, and to a midshipman, used
to going out on the topsail-yard, it was a trifle to get up to the
window. I climbed up, softly tried the window, and to my joy found it
open. In another minute I was standing inside the room. I had my flint
and steel in my pocket, and I groped about until I found a candle,
which I lighted.

I had often been in the room before, but its grotesque appearance
struck me afresh, and I could not forbear laughing, although I was in
no laughing mood. There was a regular ship’s transom running around
the wall. The whole room was full of the useless odds and ends that
accumulate on board a ship, all arranged with the greatest neatness and
economy of space, and there was not one single object in the room which
could possibly be of the slightest use on shore.

I looked around to see how I could make myself comfortable for the
night, and, opening a locker in the wall, I found a collection of old
boat-cloaks of Sir Peter’s, in every stage of dilapidation, but all
laid away with the greatest care. Taking one for my pillow and two more
for my coverlet, I lay down on the transom and, blowing out the candle,
was soon in a sound sleep.

I was awakened at five o’clock in the morning by the chiming of a
neighboring church bell, and at the same moment, I saw the door to the
room noiselessly open, and Lady Arabella Stormont enter, carrying a
candle which she shaded with her hand. I involuntarily covered my head
up, thinking she had probably come in search of something, and would be
alarmed if a man suddenly jumped from the pile of boat-cloaks. But she
went to a glass door which led out upon a balcony, with stairs into the
garden, and unlocked the door. I had completely forgotten about these
stairs, not being familiar with the room, when I climbed up and got in
through the window.

Presently I heard a step upon the stairs, and before the person who was
coming had time to knock, Lady Arabella opened the door. The rosy dawn
of a clear June morning made it light outside, but inside the room it
was quite dark, except for the candle carried by Lady Arabella.

A man entered, and as soon as he was in the room, she noiselessly
locked the door, and, unseen by him, put the key in her pocket.

As he turned, and the candlelight fell upon his face, I saw it was
Philip Overton. Amazement was pictured in his face, and in his voice,
too, when he spoke.

“I was sent for in haste, by Sir Peter, just now,” he said, with some
confusion.

At which Lady Arabella laughed, as if it were a very good joke that
he should find her instead of Sir Peter. Meanwhile, my own chaos of
mind prevented me from understanding fully what they were saying; but
I gathered that Lady Arabella had devised some trick, in which she
had freely used Sir Peter Hawkshaw’s name to get Overton there in
that manner and in that room. Sir Peter was such a very odd fish that
no one was surprised at what he did. It was no use striving not to
listen,--they were not five feet from me,--and I lay there in terror,
realizing that I was in a very dangerous position. I soon discovered
that Overton’s reputation for lately-acquired Methodistical piety had
not done away with a very hot temper. He was enraged, as only a man can
be who is entrapped, and demanded at once of Lady Arabella to be let
out of the glass door, when he found it locked. She refused to tell him
where the key was, and he threatened to break the glass and escape that
way.

“Do it then, if you wish,” she cried, “and rouse the house and the
neighborhood, and ruin me if you will. But before you do it, read this,
and then know what Arabella Stormont can do for the man she loves!”

She thrust a letter into his hand, and, slipping out of the door to
the corridor, as swiftly and silently as a swallow in its flight, she
locked it after her; Overton was a prisoner in Sir Peter’s room. He
tore the letter open, read the few lines it contained, and then threw
it down with an oath. The next minute he caught sight of me; in my
surprise I had forgotten all my precautions, and had half arisen.

“You hound!” he said. “Are you in this infernal plot?” And he kicked
the boat-cloaks off me.

“I am not,” said I coolly, recalled to myself by the term he had used
toward me; “and neither am I a hound. You will kindly remember to
account to me for that expression, Captain Overton.”

“Read that,” he cried, throwing Lady Arabella’s letter toward me. I
think he meant not to do a dishonorable thing in giving me the letter
to read, but it was an act of involuntary rage.

It read thus:--

 “I know that you were to fight Mr. Vernon at eight o’clock this
 morning, therefore I beguiled you here; for your life is dearer to me
 than anything in heaven and earth; and I will not let you out until
 that very hour, when it will be too late for you to get to Twickenham.
 You will not dare to raise a commotion in the house at this hour,
 which would ruin us both. But by the jeopardy in which I placed myself
 this night, you will know how true is the love of

                                        “_Arabella Stormont_.”

I confess that the reading of this letter made me a partizan of
Overton; for surely no more unhandsome trick was ever played upon a
gentleman.

There was nothing for it but to sit down and wait for eight o’clock.
Sir Peter’s family were late risers, and there was little danger of
detection at that hour. So we sat, and gazed at each other, mute before
the mystery of the good and evil in a woman’s love. I confess the
experience was new to me.

“You will bear me witness, Mr. Glyn,” said Overton, “that I am detained
here against my will; but I think it a piece of good fortune that you
are detained with me.”

“I will bear witness to nothing, sir,” I replied, “until you have
given me satisfaction for calling me a hound, just now.”

“Dear sir, pray forget that hasty expression. In my rage and amazement,
just now, I would have called the commander-in-chief of the forces a
hound. Pray accept every apology that a gentleman can make. I was quite
beside myself, as you must have seen.”

I saw that he was very anxious to conciliate me; for upon my
testimony alone would rest the question of whether he voluntarily
or involuntarily failed to appear at the meeting arranged for eight
o’clock.

I also perceived the strength of my position, and a dazzling idea
presented itself to my mind.

“I will agree,” said I, “to testify to everything in your favor, if you
will but promise me not to--not to--” I hesitated, ashamed to express
my womanish fears for Giles Vernon’s life; but he seemed to read my
thoughts.

“Do you mean, not to do Mr. Vernon any harm in the meeting which will,
of course, take place, the instant it can be arranged? That I promise
you; for I never had any personal animosity toward Mr. Vernon. His
blow, like my words just now, was the outburst of passion, and not a
deliberate insult.”

I was overjoyed at this; and as I sat, grinning in my delight, I must
have been in strong contrast to Overton, in the very blackness of rage.

The minutes dragged slowly on, and we heard the clock strike six and
seven. The dim light of a foggy morning stole in at the windows. Not
a soul was stirring in the house; but on the stroke of eight, a light
step fluttered near the outer door. It was softly unlocked, and Lady
Arabella entered, carefully locking the door on the inside, after her,
this time. In the ghostly half-light, Overton rose, and saluted her
with much ceremony.

“Lady Arabella Stormont,” he said, “you have delayed the meeting
between Mr. Vernon and myself just twenty-four hours. To do it, you
have put my honor in jeopardy, and that I shall not soon forget. I beg
you to open the glass door, and allow me to bid you farewell.”

She stopped, as if paralyzed for a moment, when I, knowing the key
to be in her pocket, deftly fished it out, and opened the door, and
Overton walked out. She could not stop me,--I was too quick for
her,--but she ran after me, and fetched me a box on the ear, which did
more than sting my cheek and my pride. It killed, in one single instant
of time, the boyish love I had had for her, ever since the first hour I
had seen her. I own I was afraid to retaliate as a gentleman should, by
kissing her violently; but dashing on, I sped down the steps outside,
after Overton, not caring to remain alone with the Lady Arabella. I saw
her no more that day, nor until the afternoon of the next day.



VI


As Overton had said, the meeting was delayed exactly twenty-four hours.

My courage always has an odd way of disappearing when I am expecting to
use it, although I must say, when I have had actual occasion for it,
I have always found it easily at hand. I can not deny that I was very
much frightened for Giles on the morning of the meeting, and, to add to
my misery, I heard that Overton was considered one of the best shots in
England.

The dreary breakfast gulped down; the post-chaise rattling up to
the door--I had hoped until the last moment that it would not come;
the bumping along the road in the cool, bright summer morning; the
gruesome, long, narrow box that lay on the front seat of the chaise;
the packet of letters which Giles had given me and which seemed to
weigh a hundred tons in my pocket,--all these were so many horrors to
haunt the memory for ever. But I must say that, apparently, the misery
was all mine; for I never saw Giles Vernon show so much as by the
flicker of an eyelash that he was disturbed in any way.

About half-way from the meeting-ground we left the highway and turned
into a by-road; and scarcely had we gone half a mile when we almost
drove into a broken-down chaise, and standing on the roadside among the
furze bushes were the coachman, the surgeon,--a most bloody-minded man
I always believed him,--Mr. Buxton, and Overton.

Our chaise stopped, and Giles, putting his head out of the window, said
pleasantly, “Good morning, gentlemen; you have had an accident, I see.”

“A bad one,” replied Mr. Buxton, who saw that their chaise was beyond
help, and who, as he said afterward, was playing for a place in our
chaise, not liking to walk the rest of the distance.

Giles jumped out and so did I, and the most courteous greetings were
exchanged.

The two drivers, as experts, examined the broken chaise, and agreed
there was no patching it up for service; one wheel was splintered.

Mr. Buxton looked at Giles meaningly, and then at me, and Giles
whispered to me,--

“Offer to take ’em up. By Jupiter, they shall see we are no shirkers.”

Which I did, and, to my amazement, in a few moments we were all
lumbering along the road; Overton and Mr. Buxton on the back seat,
and Giles and I with our backs to the horses, while the surgeon was
alongside the coachman on the box.

Nothing could exceed the politeness between the two principals, about
the seats as about everything else. Overton was with difficulty
persuaded to take the back seat. Mr. Buxton seated himself there
without any introduction. (I hope it will never again be my fortune to
negotiate so delicate an affair as a meeting between gentlemen, with
one so much my superior in rank as Mr. Buxton.)

“May I ask, Mr. Overton, if you prefer the window down or up?” asked
Giles, with great deference.

“Either, dear sir,” responded Overton. “I believe it was up when you
kindly invited us to enter.”

“True; but you may be sensitive to the air, and may catch cold.”

At which Mr. Buxton grinned in a heartless manner. The window remained
up.

We were much crowded with the two pistol-cases and the surgeon’s box of
instruments, which to me appeared more appalling than the pistols.

At last we reached the spot,--a small, flat place under a
sweetly-blooming hawthorn hedge, with some verdant oaks at either end.

Giles and Overton were so scrupulous about taking precedence of each
other in getting out of the chaise, that I had strong hopes the day
would pass before they came to a decision; but Mr. Buxton finally got
out himself and pulled his man after him, and then we were soon marking
off the ground, and I was feeling that mortal sickness which had
attacked me the first time I was under fire in the _Ajax_.

Overton won the toss for position, and at that I could have lain down
and wept.

Our men were placed twenty paces apart, with their backs to each
other. At the word “one,” they were to turn, advance and fire between
the words “two” and “three.” This seemed to me the most murderous
arrangement I had ever heard of.

The stories I had so lately heard about Overton’s proficiency with the
pistol made me think, even if he did not kill Giles intentionally,
he would attempt some expert trick with the pistol, which would do
the business equally well. I knew Giles to be a very poor shot, and
concluded that he, through awkwardness, would probably put an end to
Overton, and I regarded them both as doomed men.

I shall never forget my feelings as we were placing our men, or after
Mr. Buxton and I had retired to a place under the hedge. Just as we
had selected our places, Giles, looking over his shoulder, said in his
usual cool, soft voice,--

“Don’t you think, gentlemen, you had better move two or three furlongs
off? Mr. Overton may grow excited and fire wild.”

I thought this a most dangerous as well as foolish speech, and
calculated to irritate Overton; and for the first time I saw a gleam
of anger in his eye, which had hitherto been mild, and even sad. For
I believed then, and knew afterward, that his mind was far from easy
on the subject of dueling. I wish to say here that I also believe, had
he been fully convinced that dueling was wrong, he would have declined
to fight, no matter what the consequences had been; for I never knew a
man with more moral courage. But at the time, although his views were
changing on the subject, they were not wholly changed.

Mr. Buxton, without noticing Giles’ speech, coughed once or twice, and
then waited two or three minutes before giving the word.

The summer sun shone brilliantly, turning the distant river to a silver
ribbon. A thrush rioted musically in the hawthorn hedge. All things
spoke of life and hope, but to my sinking heart insensate Nature only
mocked us. I heard, as in a dream, the words “One, two, three” slowly
uttered by Mr. Buxton, and saw, still as in a dream, both men turn and
raise their pistols.

Overton’s was discharged first; then, as he stood like a man in marble
waiting for his adversary’s fire, Giles raised his pistol and, taking
deliberate aim at the bird still singing in the hedge, brought it
down. It was a mere lucky shot, but Overton took off his hat and bowed
to the ground, and Giles responded by taking off his hat and showing a
hole through the brim.

[Illustration: Overton took off his hat and bowed. _Page 113_]

“You see, Mr. Glyn,” said Overton, “I have done according to my
promise. It was not my intention to kill Mr. Vernon, but only to
frighten him,”--which speech Mr. Buxton and I considered as a set-off
to Giles’ speech just before shots were exchanged.

The two principals remained where they were, while Mr. Buxton and I
retired behind the hedge to confer--or rather for Mr. Buxton to say to
me,--

“Another shot would be damned nonsense. My man is satisfied, or shall
be, else I am a Dutch trooper. Certainly you have nothing to complain
of.”

I was only too happy to accept this solution, but more out of objection
to being browbeaten by Mr. Buxton than anything else, I said,--

“We shall require an explanation of your principal’s observation just
now, sir.”

“Shall you?” angrily asked Mr. Buxton, exactly in the tone he used
when the carpenter’s mate complained that the jack-o’-the-dust had
cribbed his best saw. “Then I shall call your man to account in regard
to his late observation, and we can keep them popping away at each
other all day. But this is no slaughter-pen, Mr. Glyn, nor am I the
ship’s butcher, and I shall take my man back to town and give him a
glass of spirits and some breakfast, and I advise you to do the same.
You are very young, Mr. Glyn, and you still need to know a thing or
two.” Then, advancing from behind the hedge, he said in the dulcet tone
he used when the admiral asked him to have wine,--

“Gentlemen, Mr. Glyn and myself, after conferring, have agreed that the
honor of our principals is fully established, and that the controversy
is completely at an end. Allow me to congratulate you both,”--and there
was a general hand-shaking all around. I noticed that the coachman, who
was attentively watching the performance, looked slightly disappointed
at the turn of affairs.

Straightway, we all climbed into the chaise, and I think I shall be
believed when I say that our return to town was more cheerful than our
departure had been.

We all agreed to dine together at Mivart’s the next night, and I saw no
reason to believe that there was any remnant of ill feeling between the
two late combatants.

I returned to Berkeley Square that afternoon, with much uneasiness
concerning my meeting and future intercourse with Lady Arabella; for I
had not seen her since the occurrence in Sir Peter’s study. Although
my affection for her was for ever killed by that box on the ear she
gave me, yet no man can see a woman shamed before him without pain, and
the anticipation of Lady Arabella’s feelings when she saw me troubled
me. But this was what actually happened when we met. Lady Arabella
was sitting in the Chinese drawing-room, her lap-dog in her arms,
surrounded by half a dozen fops. Lady Hawkshaw had left the room for
a moment, and Arabella had taken the opportunity of showing her trick
of holding out her dog’s paws and kissing his nose, which she called
measuring love-ribbon. This performance never failed to throw gentlemen
into ecstasies. Daphne sat near, with her work in her lap and a book
on the table by her, smiling rather disdainfully. I do not think the
cousins loved each other.

On my appearance in the drawing-room, I scarcely dared look toward Lady
Arabella; but she called out familiarly,--

“Come here, Dicky!” (her habit of calling me Dicky annoyed me very
much), “and let me show you how I kiss Fido’s nose; and if you are
a good boy, and will tell me all about the meeting this morning,
perhaps I may hold your paws out and kiss your nose,”--at which all
the gentlemen present laughed loudly. I never was so embarrassed in my
life, and my chagrin was increased when, suddenly dropping the dog,
she rushed at me, seized my hands, and, holding them off at full arm’s
length, imprinted a sounding smack upon my nose, and laughingly cried
out, “One yard!” ( Smack on my nose again.) “Two yards!” (Smack.)
“Three yards!” (Smack.)

At this juncture I recovered my presence of mind enough to seize her
around the waist, and return her smacks with interest full in the
mouth. And at this stage of the proceedings Lady Hawkshaw appeared
upon the scene.

In an instant an awful hush fell upon us. For my part I felt my knees
sinking under me, and I had that feeling of mortal sickness which I had
felt in my first sea-fight, and at the instant I thought my friend’s
life in jeopardy. Lady Arabella stood up, for once, confused. The
gentlemen all retired gracefully to the wall, in order not to interrupt
the proceedings, and Daphne fixed her eyes upon me, sparkling with
indignation.

Lady Hawkshaw’s voice, when she spoke, seemed to come from the tombs of
the Pharaohs.

“What is this _countrytom_ I see?” she asked. And nobody answered a
word.

Jeames, the tall footman, stood behind her; and to him she turned,
saying in a tone like thunder,--

“Jeames, go and tell Sir Peter Hawkshaw that I desire his presence
immediately upon a matter of the greatest importance.”

The footman literally ran down stairs, and presently Sir Peter came
puffing up from the lower regions. Lady Arabella had recovered herself
then enough to hum a little tune and to pat the floor with her satin
slipper.

Sir Peter walked in, surveyed us all, and turned pale. I verily believe
he thought Arabella had been caught cheating at cards.

“Sir Peter,” said Lady Hawkshaw, in the same awful voice, “I
unexpectedly entered this room a few moments ago, and the sight that
met my eyes was Arabella struggling in the arms of this young ruffian,
Richard Glyn, who was kissing her with the greatest fury imaginable.”

Sir Peter looked at me very hard, and after a moment said,--

“Have you nothing to say for yourself, young gentleman?”

“Sir,” I replied, trying to assume a firm tone, “I will only say
that Lady Arabella, meaning to treat me like her lap-dog, kissed me
on the nose, as she does that beast of hers; and as an officer and a
gentleman, I felt called upon to pay her back; and for every smack she
gave me on my nose, I gave her two back in the mouth, to show her that
an officer in his Majesty’s sea-service is a man, and not a lap-dog.”

“Do you hear that, Sir Peter?” asked Lady Hawkshaw, with terrible
earnestness. “He does not deny his guilt. What think you of his
conduct?”

“Think, ma’am!” shouted Sir Peter, “I think if he had done anything
else, it would have been clean against the articles of war, and I
myself would have seen that he was kicked out of his Majesty’s service.
I shall send for my solicitor, to-morrow morning, to put a codicil to
my will, giving Richard Glyn a thousand pounds at my decease.”

At this the gentlemen roared, and Lady Arabella, seizing the lap-dog,
hid her face in his long hair, while even Daphne smiled and blushed.
As for Lady Hawkshaw, for once she was disconcerted and walked out,
glaring over her shoulder at Sir Peter.

There was much laughter, Sir Peter joining in; but after a while the
gentlemen left, and Sir Peter went out, and Daphne, who I saw was
disgusted with my conduct, walked haughtily away, in spite of Lady
Arabella’s playful protests that she was afraid to remain alone in the
room with me.

One thing had puzzled me extremely, and that was her calmness, and even
gaiety, when she had no means of knowing how Overton had come off in
the meeting, and I said to her,--

“How did you know, or do you know, whether Philip Overton and Giles
Vernon are alive at this moment?”

“By your face, Dicky,” she answered, trying to give me a fillip on the
nose, which I successfully resisted. “I was in agony until I saw your
face. Then I gave one great breath of joy and relief, and my play with
my lap-dog, which had been torture to me, became delight. But tell me
the particulars.”

“No, Madam,” said I; “I tell you nothing.”

This angered her, and she said, after a moment,--

“I presume you will take an early opportunity of telling Sir Peter and
Lady Hawkshaw that I saw Philip Overton alone in this house, at five
o’clock yesterday morning?”

“I am quite unaware, Madam,” replied I, stung by this, “of anything in
my character or conduct which could induce you to think such a thing of
me.”

“You made me no promise not to tell,” she said.

“Certainly not. But some things are considered universally binding
among gentlemen, and one is to tell nothing to the disadvantage of a
woman. I neither made, nor will make, a promise about that affair; but
if it is ever known, it will be you or Overton who tells it, not I.”

And I walked out of the room.

I speedily found, after that, my life in Berkeley Square uncomfortable.
I felt constrained before Lady Arabella, and, what seemed strange to
me, little Daphne, who had hitherto treated me with greatest kindness,
seemed to take a spite at me, and her gibes and cuts were hard to bear.
Neither Sir Peter nor Lady Hawkshaw noted these things, but they were
strong enough to impel me to ask Sir Peter to look out for a ship for
me at the Admiralty.

I saw Giles Vernon every day, and he continued to come, with unabated
assurance, to Berkeley Square. We were not anxious that the fact of
the duel should leak out, and Overton was especially desirous to keep
it quiet. Of course, he came no more to Berkeley Square, and withdrew
more and more from his former associates. He began to consort much with
persons of the John Wesley persuasion, spending much of his time, when
not on duty, at Oxford, where the Wesleyans were numerous at the time.
I noticed that Lady Arabella treated Giles, and me, also, with more
civility than she had hitherto shown. I could not think it sincere,
but attributed it to a natural desire to conciliate those who knew so
much to her disadvantage. But that she made no effort to overcome her
infatuation for Overton, I very soon had proof. Sir Thomas Vernon, soon
after this, had the assurance to present himself in Berkeley Square,
and rare sport it was. Lady Hawkshaw, Lady Arabella, Daphne, myself,
and one or two other persons were in the Chinese drawing-room when he
was ushered in.

Lady Hawkshaw and Sir Thomas were old acquaintances, and had been
at feud for more than thirty years, neither side asking or giving
quarter. Sir Thomas had a shrewd wit of his own, and was more nearly
a match for Lady Hawkshaw than any one I had yet seen. He opened the
ball by remarking on Lady Hawkshaw’s improved appearance, partly due,
he thought, to her triumph in getting the K. C. B. for Sir Peter. This
nettled Lady Hawkshaw extremely, and she retaliated by telling Sir
Thomas that he looked younger than he did when she first knew him,
thirty years ago. As Sir Thomas hated any allusion to his age, this
shot told.

“And allow me to congratulate you, Sir Thomas,” added Lady Hawkshaw,
“upon your very promising cousin, Mr. Giles Vernon. Sir Peter has the
highest opinion of him, and he has won the favor of the _bong-tong_ to
an extraordinary degree.”

“He may have won the favor of the _bong-tong_,” replied Sir Thomas,
impudently mimicking Lady Hawkshaw’s French, “but he has not yet
succeeded in winning _my_ favor.”

“That’s a pity,” said Lady Hawkshaw; “but it doesn’t signify, I dare
say. It will not keep you alive a day longer. And there is your other
cousin--Captain Overton of the Guards. He is what so few of our young
men are, pious and God-fearing.”

“And a sniveling, John Wesley Methodist besides,” snarled Sir Thomas,
much exasperated.

“Bless me, Sir Thomas,” cried Lady Hawkshaw, “don’t be so hard on those
worthy people, the Methodists.”

I own this surprised me, for if there was anything on earth upon
which Lady Hawkshaw was uncompromising, it was Church and State; and,
excellent woman though she was, I believe she would have been rather
glad to make one big bonfire of all the dissenters in England.

Sir Thomas was far from insensible to Lady Arabella’s charms, and,
after a further exchange of hostilities with Lady Hawkshaw, turned to
Arabella. She smiled upon him, and seemed anxious to conciliate him;
and in a little while I caught enough of their conversation to know
that she was telling him of the meeting between Giles and Overton, and
representing that it had been forced upon Overton by the insults of
Giles Vernon. Sir Thomas’ response to her tale was that he did not give
a damn for either of them, and if both had bit the dust he should not
have been sorry.

When Sir Thomas left, Lady Hawkshaw called the tall footman.

“Jeames,” she said, “when that--person calls again, the ladies are not
at home. Do you understand?”

Jeames understood perfectly, in spite of Lady Arabella’s scowls.

It is not to be supposed that a young man of Giles Vernon’s spirit
had not been able to go through with his prize-money and run pretty
considerably in debt in five or six weeks in London, and one morning,
some days after this, when I went to see Giles at his lodgings, I found
the bailiffs in possession. Giles, however, was as merry as a grig,
because that very morning he had got an appointment to the _Belvidera_
frigate.

It was not much after having served in the _Ajax_, but it meant leaving
that uncertain and trying element, dry land, for another element on
which Giles was much more at home, to wit, the blue sea. So he sent out
for a pot of porter, and he and I, together with the bailiffs, drank
to the _Belvidera_; and I swore, then and there, that go with him I
would. For, in the excess of my affection for Giles, I would have taken
almost any service to be with him. The frigates, too, were more in the
way of activity, as the enemy was wary of meeting our ships of the
line, but the frigates could go hunting after him. So, when I returned
to Berkeley Square that day, I begged Sir Peter to get me a berth in
the _Belvidera_. He was pleased with my spirit, and the very next day
he went to the Admiralty for me. The complement was full, but, luckily
for me, one of the juniors got a billet more to his liking, and Sir
Peter, being on the spot, got me the vacancy, and I was ordered to
report at once at Plymouth.

It took me but a day or two to get my outfit and make ready to start.
Lady Hawkshaw showed me great kindness then, and actually allowed me to
have a considerable sum of my own money. Lady Arabella treated me with
her usual indifference, and, on the day I was to go, bade me a careless
adieu.

When the post-chaise was at the door and I went to the Chinese
drawing-room to tell Lady Hawkshaw and Sir Peter good-by, Daphne
was there with them, and she looked as if she had been weeping. Sir
Peter gave me a letter to my new captain, Vere, and some words of
encouragement. Lady Hawkshaw delivered a homily to me on my duty, which
I received out of respect for her real excellence of heart, and thanked
her in a manner which made Sir Peter my friend for life. Daphne said
not a word when I took her hand, but handing me a little parcel ran out
of the room. I afterward found it to be a little housewife made by her
own hands.

I went down to the chaise, puzzled at her conduct, but, looking up for
the last time to the windows, I saw her peering from behind a curtain.
I raised the parcel to my lips, and, as she saw it, a smile broke over
her face. My last glimpse of her was like an April day,--she was all
smiles and tears,--and it was destined to remain in my memory.

Giles Vernon was waiting for me at the corner of the street. We were to
make the journey to Plymouth together.

“Well,” he cried, when we found ourselves rolling along to meet the
coach, “I have had my cake and eaten it.”

“How I envy you!” I said bitterly. “I have not had my cake. Every
shilling of my prize-money is in bank, except about two hundred pounds.”

“Poor chap!” answered Giles feelingly. “How much more of life have I
seen in London than you! I have seen everything, including that queen
of hearts, Lady Arabella Stormont. She has treated me cruelly, the
jade! But I will bring her to my hand at last, that I swear to you.”

I longed that he might know of that episode with Overton in Sir Peter
Hawkshaw’s cubby-hole at five o’clock in the morning.

We had a pleasant journey to Plymouth, and were troubled with few
regrets at leaving London. We expected, in the foolishness of youth,
to capture many more such prizes as the _Indomptable_ and _Xantippe_.
The _Belvidera_ was nearly ready, and in a few weeks we sailed on our
second cruise. I shall not give the particulars of that cruise. It was
such an one as all the officers of his Majesty’s service were engaged
in, during those eventful years. We were constantly at sea; we kept
a tireless lookout for our enemies, and hunted and pursued them into
their own harbors. We never slept for more than four hours at a time,
in all our cruising. We lived on beef and biscuit for months at a time;
sometimes we had scurvy in the ship, and sometimes we did not. We
struggled with mighty gales, that blew us hundreds and even thousands
of miles out of our course; and we sweltered in calms that tried men’s
souls. In all that time, we watched night and day for the enemy, and,
when found, chased him, and never failed to get alongside when it was
possible; and we fought him with the greatest good-will. We had good
and ill fortune with the ship, but her colors were never lowered. And
it was five years before we set foot in London town again.

Only a year of that time was Giles Vernon with me. He then got
promotion which took him out of the ship. I had the extreme good
fortune to be with Nelson at the Nile. On that great day, as
sailing-master of the _Belvidera_, I took the frigate around the head
of Admiral Villeneuve’s line,--she was the leading ship,--and placed
her where she was enabled to fire the first raking broadside of the
battle. I got a wound in the forehead which left a scar that remains to
this day; but I also received the personal thanks of my Lord Nelson,
which I shall ever esteem as the greatest honor of my life. I had heard
nothing of Giles for nearly a year, when, among Admiral Villeneuve’s
officers, I found one, a young lieutenant like myself, who told me that
Giles had been captured, while on a boat expedition, and was then in
prison at Dunkerque.

I wrote him a dozen letters at least, by officers who were paroled; and
when the ship was paid off, the following spring, I lost no time in
getting to London, and using what little power I had in trying to have
him exchanged. Sir Peter was in great favor at the Admiralty. As soon
as I reached London, I went immediately to call in Berkeley Square.
My Lady Hawkshaw was at home, and received me in great state, black
feathers and all; and with her sat Daphne Carmichael.

I believe Lady Hawkshaw was really glad to see me; but Daphne, after
speaking to me, remained with her eyes fixed on her embroidery, I
noted, however, that she was a very charming girl, and her eyes,
under her long, dark lashes, were full of fire and sweetness. But she
had not, and never could have, the glorious beauty of Lady Arabella
Stormont. Lady Hawkshaw demanded of me a particular account of my whole
cruise, and everything that had happened at the battle of the Nile.
This I gave, to the best of my ability. She then invited, or, rather,
commanded me to take up my quarters in Berkeley Square, and told me
that I had three thousand and ten pounds, nineteen shillings and
seven-pence to my credit in bank.

After this, she was called upon to leave the room for a moment, and I
civilly inquired of Daphne how Lady Arabella was.

“She is well,” responded Daphne, rather tartly, I thought; “and as
devoted to Captain Overton as ever. You know Arabella ever liked him
rather more than he liked her.” At which ungenerous speech, I said
one word, “Fie!” and Daphne, coloring to the roots of her hair, yet
attempted to defend herself.

“I only tell you what all the world says, and so say my uncle and aunt.
Arabella could have married a dozen times,--she is all of twenty-one,
you know,--and married very splendidly, but she will not. Sir Peter
rages, and swears that he will marry her off in spite of herself; but
Arabella is her own mistress now, and laughs at Sir Peter.”

“And does she still play cards?”

Daphne raised her eyes. It seemed to give that otherwise sweet girl
positive pleasure to call over Lady Arabella’s faults.

“Yes,” she said. “Loo, lansquenet--anything by which money can be lost
or won. Three times a week she goes to the Duchess of Auchester’s,
where play is high. We go there to-night; but I do not play.”

I had not thought there was so much malice in Daphne, until that
conversation.

I left my adieux for Lady Hawkshaw, and repaired to the Admiralty,
where Sir Peter happened to be, that day. I explained that I should
have come to him at once, but for my inordinate wish to see Lady
Hawkshaw; and that I found her looking at least twenty years younger
since we met last. At which Sir Peter beamed on me with delight, and, I
believe, mentally determined to give me a thousand pounds additional,
in his will.

I then stated my real business, which was to get Giles Vernon
exchanged; and Sir Peter, without a moment’s hesitation, agreed to
do all he could for me; and then, as usual, directed me to have my
portmanteau sent to Berkeley Square, as Lady Hawkshaw had done. Before
I left the Admiralty, machinery had been put in motion to secure Giles
Vernon’s exchange. I returned to Berkeley Square, and again took up my
abode there.



VII


One month from the time I arrived in London, I was on my way to
Portsmouth to meet Giles Vernon, who had been brought over with a batch
of exchanged officers from France.

In that month, during which I had lived continuously in Berkeley
Square, things were so little changed, except in one respect, which I
shall mention presently, that I could scarcely persuade myself five
years had passed. Peter and Polly, as Giles disrespectfully called
them, had not grown a day older, and quarreled as vigorously as ever.
Lady Arabella was then her own mistress, although still living under
Sir Peter’s roof; but, as far as I could see, this spoiled child of
nature and fortune had always been her own mistress. I found that
Overton had been away for some years on foreign service, and, after
distinguishing himself greatly, had lately returned suffering from
severe wounds and injuries to his constitution. He was, however, in
London, and able to ride and walk out, and visit his friends; but it
was doubted by many whether, on the expiration of his leave, he would
ever be fit for duty again.

I heard and saw enough to convince me that Lady Arabella had been wild
with grief and despair when she heard of his wounds; and, although
since his return to London he avoided company generally, she managed
to see him occasionally, and spent much of her time driving in the
parks upon the mere chance of seeing him taking his daily ride or
walk. Lady Arabella Stormont had everything in life that heart could
wish, except one. She had chosen to give her wilful and wayward heart
to Philip Overton, and it must be acknowledged that he was a man well
fitted to enchain a woman’s imagination. Overton had disdained the
spontaneous gift of Arabella’s love; but I believe her haughty and
arrogant mind could never be brought to believe that any man could be
really insensible to her beauty, her rank, and her fortune. Overton
could not in any way be considered a great match for her. His fortune
was modest, and his chance of succeeding to the Vernon estates remote;
but, with the desperate perversity of her nature, him she would have
and no other. It always seemed to me as if Overton were the one thing
denied her, but that she had determined to do battle with fate until
she conquered her soul’s desire.

For myself, she treated me exactly as she had done five years
before,--called me Dicky in her good humors, and a variety of sneering
names in her bad humors,--and, little as it may be believed, I, Richard
Glyn, lieutenant in his Majesty’s sea-service, with three thousand
pounds to my name, would have gone to the gibbet rather than marry Lady
Arabella, with her thirty thousand pounds.

Perhaps Daphne Carmichael had something to do with it. She was the same
gentle, winning creature at nineteen as at twelve. She was still Sir
Peter’s pet, and Lady Hawkshaw’s comfort; but I had not been in the
house a week before the change I alluded to came about, and the change
was in me concerning Daphne. I began to find it very hard to keep away
from her. She treated me with great kindness before others, but when
we were alone together, she was capricious. I began to despair of
ever finding a woman who could be kind to a man three times running.
And I was very much surprised at the end of a fortnight to find myself
experiencing the identical symptoms I had felt five years before, with
Arabella--only much aggravated. There was this difference, too. I had
admired Arabella as a star, afar off, and I think I should have been
very much frightened, if, at the time, she had chosen formally to
accept my devotion. Not so with Daphne. I felt I should never be really
at ease until I had the prospect of having her by my side the rest of
my life. I reached this phase at the end of the third week. At the end
of the fourth, I was in a desperate case, but it was then time to go
to Portsmouth to meet Giles, according to my promise, and I felt, when
I parted from Daphne, as if I were starting on a three years’ cruise,
and I was only to be gone a day and a half. She, dear girl, showed some
feeling, too, and I left, bearing with me the pack which every lover
carries,--pains and hopes.

I left London at night, and next morning on reaching Portsmouth,
as I jumped from the coach, I ran into Giles’ arms; he had reached
Portsmouth some hours in advance of the time.

He showed marks of his imprisonment in his appearance, but his soul had
ever been free, and he was the same brave and joyous spirit I had ever
known. Not being minded to waste our time in Portsmouth, we took coach
for London town at noon. As we were mounting, a countryman standing by
held up a wooden cage full of larks, and asked us to buy, expatiating
on their beautiful song.

“I will take them all, my lad,” cried Giles, throwing him a guinea.
The fellow gaped for a moment, and then made off as fast as his legs
could carry him. I wondered what Giles meant to do with the birds.
He held the cage in his hand until we had started and were well into
the country; then, opening the little slide, he took out one poor,
fluttering bird, and, poising on his finger for a moment, the lark flew
upward with a rush of joyous wings.

Each bird he liberated in the same way, all of us on the coach-top
watching him in silence. As the last captive disappeared in the blue
heavens, Giles, crushing the cage in his strong hands, threw it away.

“I have been a prisoner for fourteen months,” he said, “and I shall
never see any harmless living thing again imprisoned without trying to
set it free.”

We reached London that night, and Giles went to his old lodgings, where
his landlady was delighted to see him, as all women were who knew Giles
Vernon. She gave us supper, and then we sat up all night talking. I had
thought from the guinea he had thrown the vender of larks, that he had
money. I found he had none, or next to none.

“And how I am to live until I get another ship, I am at a loss, my
boy,” he cried, quite cheerfully. “Two courses are open to me--play and
running away with an heiress. Do you know of a charming girl, Dicky,
with something under a hundred thousand pounds, who could be reconciled
to a penniless lieutenant in his Majesty’s navy? And remember, she
must be as beautiful as the dawn besides, and of good family, and keen
of wit--no lunkhead of a woman for me.” To this, fate impelled me to
reply that Lady Arabella Stormont was still single.

“Faith!” cried Giles, slapping his knee, “she is the girl for me. I
always intended to marry her, if only to spite her.”

I was sorry I had raked up the embers of his passion of five years
before, and attempted to cover my step by saying,--

“She is still infatuated with Overton, whom, however, she sees rarely,
and that only at the houses of others; but he has ever looked coldly
upon her.”

“She’ll not be coldly looked on by me. And let me see; there is her
cousin you used to tell me about,--the Carmichael girl,--suppose you,
Dicky, run away with her; then no two lieutenants in the service will
have more of the rhino than we!”

I declare this was the very first time I had remembered Daphne’s
thirty thousand pounds. She had the same fortune as Lady Arabella. The
reflection damped my spirits dreadfully.

Giles saw it directly, and in a moment he had my secret from me. He
shouted with delight, and immediately began a grotesque planning for
us to run away with the two heiresses. He recalled that the abduction
of an heiress was a capital crime, and drew a fantastic picture of
us two standing in the prisoners’ dock, on trial for our lives, with
Lady Arabella and Daphne swearing our lives away, and then relenting
and marrying us at the gallows’ foot. And this tale, told with the
greatest glee, amid laughter and bumpers of hot brandy and water, had a
singular effect upon me. It sobered me at once, and suddenly I seemed
to see a vision, as Macbeth saw Banquo’s ghost, passing before my very
eyes,--just such a scene as Giles described. Only I got no farther
than the spectacle of Giles a prisoner in the dock, on trial for his
life. My own part seemed misty and confused, but I saw, instead of the
lodging-house parlor, a great hall of justice dimly lighted with lamps,
the judges in their robes on the bench, one with a black cap on his
head, and Giles standing up to receive sentence. I passed into a kind
of nightmare, from which I was aroused by Giles whacking me on the back
and saying in a surprised voice,--

“What ails you, Dicky boy? You look as if you had seen a ghost. Rouse
up here and open your lantern jaws for a glass of brandy and rid
yourself of that long face.”

I came out of this singular state as quickly as I had gone into it,
and, ashamed to show my weakness to Giles, grew merry, carried on the
joke about the abduction, and shortly felt like myself, a light-hearted
lieutenant of twenty-one. I proposed that we should go to the play the
next night,--or rather that night, for it was now about four in the
morning,--and shortly after we tumbled into bed together and slept
until late the next day.

Giles and I went to Berkeley Square in the afternoon, professing just
to have arrived from Portsmouth. Giles expressed his thanks in the
handsomest manner to Sir Peter for his kindness, and made himself, as
usual, highly agreeable to Lady Hawkshaw. Neither Lady Arabella nor
Daphne was at home, but came in shortly after Giles had left. Lady
Arabella made some slighting remark about Giles, as she always did
whenever opportunity offered. Daphne was very kind to me, and I gave
her to understand privately that I was ready to haul down my flag at
the first summons to surrender.

The family from Berkeley Square were going to the play that night, and
I mentioned that Giles and I would be there together. And so, just as
the playhouse was lighting up, we walked in. After the curtain was
up, and when Mrs. Trenchard was making her great speech in _Percy_,
I motioned Giles to look toward Lady Hawkshaw’s box. Her ladyship
entered on Sir Peter’s arm; his face was very red, and he was growling
under his breath, to which Lady Hawkshaw contributed an obligato
accompaniment in a sepulchral voice; and behind them, in all the
splendor of her beauty, walked Lady Arabella, and last, came sweet,
sweet Daphne.

The first glimpse Giles caught of Lady Arabella seemed to renew in an
instant the spell she had cast on him five years before. He seemed
almost like a madman. He could do nothing but gaze at her with eyes
that seemed starting out of his head. He grew pale and then red, and
was like a man in a frenzy. It was all I could do to moderate his voice
and his looks in that public place. Luckily, Mrs. Trenchard being on
the stage, all eyes were, for the time, bent on her.

I hardly knew how we sat the play out. I had to promise Giles a dozen
times that the next day I would take him to Berkeley Square. When the
curtain went down, he fairly leaped his way out of the playhouse to see
Lady Arabella get into the coach.

That was a fair sample of the way he raved for days afterward. He
haunted Berkeley Square, where he was welcomed always by Sir Peter and
Lady Hawkshaw, asked to dine frequently, and every mark of favor shown
him.

Lady Arabella remained cold and indifferent to him. About that time
Overton appeared a little in his old haunts, although much changed
and sobered. Neither wounds nor illness had impaired his looks and
charms, but rather he had become an object of interest and sympathy
from his gallant behavior in the field. Sir Peter, who had always
liked him, began to pester him to come to Berkeley Square, which he
did a few times, because he could not well decline Sir Peter and Lady
Hawkshaw’s pressing and friendly invitations. I believed, however,
that in spite of his forced composure he felt cruelly abashed before
Lady Arabella. She, however, showed an amazing coolness, and even began
to be a little kind to Giles, from some obscure motive of her own. I
believe every act of her life with regard to men had some reference to
her passion for Overton.

[Illustration: She suddenly fell into my arms. _Page 145_]

All this time, though, from the night of the play, Daphne and I had
been secretly happy; for on the very next day, catching her alone, I
told her, in plain and seamanlike language, that I loved her, and when
she showed a disposition to cut and run, I said to her, very boldly,--

“Since you scorn my love, I have the resource that every one of my
calling has in these days. I shall soon go to sea, and upon the deck
of my ship I can find death, since life is nothing to me without my
Daphne’s love.”

At which, without the least warning, she suddenly fell into my arms,
crying,--

“You’ll break my heart, if you talk in that way!” and I perceived that
she was only manœuvering for position.

I do not know exactly what happened next, except I was in that heaven,
Daphne’s arms, when I looked up and caught the butler and two footmen
grinning at me. But it mattered not.

Next morning Daphne and I met in the drawing-room, as usual, after
breakfast; but what a meeting it was! We had barely time to scuttle
back to our chairs when Sir Peter entered with the newspaper, and
informed me that the _Bellona_ frigate was being fitted for the West
Indies, and he thought he could get me a berth in her, at which I felt
myself grow weak in the knees, so great is the power of love.

Presently he went out. Then Daphne and I began to speculate upon Sir
Peter’s personal equation in our affairs.

“He will never let me marry you,” she said. “He will say I am too
young.”

This depressed me so that I could say nothing in reply. Daphne
continued, quite in an offhand manner,--

“If we should elope, he would make a great hullabaloo.”

This admirable suggestion at once commended itself to me.

“His hullabaloo could not separate us, if we were married,” I replied.

“True,” said Daphne; “and after all, he and Lady Hawkshaw as good as
eloped, and she was but eighteen--a year younger than I.”

Thus was I supplied with another argument.

I again swear that I had not a thought of Daphne’s fortune in all this.
I would have taken the dear girl with nothing but the clothes upon her
back.

True to his word, Sir Peter worked like a Trojan to get me a berth on
the _Bellona_, and, meaning to do Giles the greatest service in the
world, tried likewise for him; and mightily afraid we were that he
would soon succeed.

This brought matters to a crisis with Daphne. I mentioned the word
“elope” to her again, and she made a great outcry, after the manner of
young women, and then began straightway to show me precisely how it
might be done, protesting, meanwhile, that she would never, no, never,
consent. We both agreed, though, that it was proper we should lay the
matter of our marriage before Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw; but I saw
that Daphne, who was of a romantic turn, had her imagination fired by
the notion of an elopement.

“A pair of good horses and a light traveling chaise!” she exclaimed.
“If only it were not wrong!”

“No, no! Four horses!” cried I, “and there is nothing wrong in either a
two or a four horse chaise.”

Daphne clapped her hands.

“A trip to Scotland--I have always longed for Scotland. I know a dozen
people who have married in Scotland, and happy marriages, every one of
them. But I forbid you, Richard, to think of an elopement.”

“We shall set out at midnight; we shall not be missed until morning,
and we shall have at least twelve hours’ start. Then, at every stage,
we shall leave something behind, which will ensure a broken axle, or a
linchpin gone, for our pursuers.”

We were both so charmed with the picture we had conjured up, that when
I said, “Suppose, after all, though, that Sir Peter consents?” Daphne’s
face fell; but presently she smiled, when I said,--

“If he does consent, why, then, there is no harm in our marrying any
way we like, and he will excuse us for running away. And if he does
_not_ consent, there is no help for it,--we _must_ elope!”

I considered myself a casuist of the first order. I felt obliged to
take the first opportunity of letting Sir Peter know the state of
affairs, and, as usual, I determined to begin through Lady Hawkshaw.

“And,” as Daphne shrewdly remarked, “they will certainly differ, so we
shall at least have one of them on our side.”

I sought Lady Hawkshaw, and found her in her usual place, in the
Chinese room. I began, halting, stammering, and blushing, as if I were
a charity school-boy, instead of a lieutenant in his Majesty’s service,
who had been thanked by Lord Nelson.

“M-m-my lady,” I stuttered, “I have experienced so much k-k-kindness
from you that I have come to you in the greatest emergency of my life.”

“You want to get married,” promptly replied Lady Hawkshaw.

I was so staggered by having the words taken out of my mouth, that I
could only gape and stare at her. To render my confusion worse, she
added,--

“And you want to marry Daphne.”

“I can not deny it, Madam,” I managed to say.

“Will you ring the bell?” she asked.

I rang the bell like a churchwarden, and the footman came, and Lady
Hawkshaw immediately sent him for Sir Peter.

I think my courage would wholly have given out at that, except for a
glimpse of Daphne, flitting up the stairs. The dear girl wished to give
me heart, so she told me afterward.

Sir Peter appeared, and was greeted by Lady Hawkshaw as follows:--

“Sir Peter, here is Richard Glyn wanting to marry Daphne. He has but
three thousand pounds; but she might go farther, and fare worse.”

Sir Peter literally glared at me. He gasped once or twice, then broke
out in a torrent.

“He wants to marry my ward, does he--my ward, with thirty thousand
pounds, in her own right! I wonder, damme, he didn’t propose to marry
Arabella, too. Young gentleman, you are too modest. Heiresses in
England go about hunting for poor lieutenants to marry. I suppose you
think it would be a fine stroke for me to marry my ward to my nephew!
Ha, ha! Ho, ho!”

His laughter was demoniac.

“Sir Peter,” said Lady Hawkshaw severely,--for I remained mute,--“I
am astonished at your violence and unreason. Did you never hear of an
heiress--and a fine, handsome girl, too, with many accomplishments,
and of a great family--marrying a poor lieutenant without a penny, and
without an ancestor?”

“By Jupiter, I never did!” roared Sir Peter.

“Then, Sir Peter,” cried Lady Hawkshaw, rising with awful dignity, “you
forget all about Lieutenant Peter Hawkshaw and the Honorable Apollonia
Jane Howard.”

At this, Sir Peter fairly wilted for a few moments; and I heard
something strangely like a tittering in the next room.

But Sir Peter presently recovered himself in a measure.

“But--but--there are lieutenants and lieutenants, Madam, I was
considered a man likely to rise. And besides, if I remember rightly, I
was not an ill-looking fellow, Madam.”

“Sir Peter, you were no taller then than you are now--five feet four
inches. Your hair was red, and you were far from handsome. Richard Glyn
is as good-looking as you ever were in your life; and he has already
made his mark. Richard Glyn,” turning to me, “you are at liberty to
marry Daphne Carmichael.”

“Richard Glyn,” bawled Sir Peter, “if you dare to _think_ you are
going to marry Daphne Carmichael,--mind, I say, if the thought ever
enters your damned head,--it will be as much as your life is worth! I
am going, this moment, to the First Lord of the Admiralty, to see if I
can’t have you sent to the West Indies, or the Gold Coast, with my best
wishes and endeavors to keep you there for ten years at least.”

“And what will you do with _me_, dear Uncle Peter?” suddenly asked a
soft voice; and Daphne, who had stolen into the room (she must have
been very near), stood before him, and nestled her pretty head against
his shoulder.

Sir Peter was too astonished, for a moment or two, to speak. The whole
thing had fallen upon him like the shock of an earthquake. But in a
little while he recovered his voice, and all of his voice, too; he
shouted as if he were on the bridge of the _Ajax_, with a whole gale
blowing, and the enemy in sight.

“Do!” he shrieked. “What shall I do? Bread and water, miss, for six
months! Discipline, miss!” And much more of the same sort.

This roused Lady Hawkshaw to take our part. She shouted back at Sir
Peter; and I, not to be outdone, shouted that Daphne was mine, and I
was hers, as long as life should last; and presently Sir Peter flung
out, in a royal rage, and Lady Hawkshaw flung after him; and Daphne
sank, in tears, on my shoulder, and I kissed her a hundred times, and
comforted her. But I knew Sir Peter was a determined man, in some
respects; and I felt assured he would shortly carry out his threat to
send me to sea, and, once at sea, it might be years before I should
again set foot in England. Scotland, then, sounded sweetly in our ears.
I found, in truth, that when it came actually to going off, Daphne’s
romantic willingness changed to a natural hesitation at so bold a step.
But the near prospect of going to the _Bellona_ turned the scale in
my favor, and I won from her a sort of oblique consent. And another
thing seemed to play directly into our hands. Sir Peter had business
at Scarborough, which might detain him some time; and, although it
was late in the autumn, he determined to take his family with him. I
believe it was by way of separating Daphne and me that he came to the
decision. Lady Hawkshaw was to go, and his two wards; and they were to
remain a month. This was so obviously showing us the road across the
border, that I told my sweet Daphne, plainly, I should carry her off;
at which she wept more, and protested less, than I had yet seen her.

In the whole affair, I had counted upon the assistance of Giles Vernon;
and on the very night the party left for Scarborough, after a tearful
farewell between Daphne and me, I went to Giles’ lodgings, to make a
clean breast of it.

Giles’ voice called me up stairs; and when I reached his room, there,
spread out on the bed, I saw a beautiful suit of brown and silver.

“Do you see that?” cried Giles. “That is my wedding suit. For it I
spent fifty of the last hundred pounds I had in the world, and it is to
marry Lady Arabella Stormont that I bought it.”

I thought he was crazy, but I soon perceived there was method in his
madness. He told me seriously enough that he meant to carry off Lady
Arabella Stormont from Scarborough.

“But--but--she does not like you,” I said, hesitating and amazed.

“We shall see about that, my lad,” he said, and then began to tell
me of what he thought a great change in his favor with Arabella. He
put many trifling things which I had not noted in such a light that
under his eloquent persuasion I began to believe Lady Arabella really
might have a secret weakness for him, which pride prevented her from
discovering. He had never failed to win any woman’s regard yet; and it
had always seemed a miracle to me, Richard Glyn, who had fallen under
his spell so many years ago, how anybody could resist him. He wound up
his argument by saying, in his usual confident manner,--

“Trust me, there is something compelling in the love I feel for
Arabella. Women are all alike, my boy. They want a master. Once put the
bit in their mouths, and they adore you for it. Let me have the spirit
to run away with that adorable creature, and see how quickly she will
come to my call. You will shortly see her clinging to me like peaches
to a southern wall.”

“And her fortune?”

“She is none the worse for that. But I swear to you, Dicky Glyn, that
I would carry her off as the Romans did the Sabine maidens, if she
had not a shilling,”--which I believed to be true; for his was an
infatuation which takes account of nothing.

He then began to tell me of his plans, and in them he showed his usual
shrewdness and boldness. The trip to Scarborough had put Scotland in
his head. He was likely to be sent to sea any day, to be gone, perhaps,
for years; just the arguments I had used to myself first and to Daphne
afterward.

I remembered that scene five years before, with Overton and Lady
Arabella in Sir Peter’s cubby-hole; and the memory of it made me think
with dread of Giles Vernon’s marrying Arabella. But I could not speak
openly; and, after all, she was so strange a creature that one could
scarcely judge her by the standard of other women. And then the plan
I had to confide to him very effectually withdrew the charges of any
battery I might have brought to bear on him.

When he had finished his tale, and I had told mine, Giles was in an
ecstasy. He laughed in his uproarious good humor.

“Oh, you sly dog!” he shouted. “So you are up to the same game!”

I explained that I had not much to fear. Daphne was undoubtedly fond
of me, and Lady Hawkshaw being on our side, and other reasons in our
favor,--all of which fitted Giles’ case exactly. And at last I gave
up, in sheer despair, and agreed to Giles’ suggestion that we should
together carry off the two damsels of our hearts; and then and there
we made our plans, sitting up until the gray dawn came.

Oh, the madness of it! the wildness of it! But we were two dare-devil
and happy-go-lucky lieutenants, without the prudence of landsmen.
We loved, and we were liable at any moment to be torn away for many
years from the idols of our hearts. Runaway marriages were common;
and only the parents and guardians were offended in those cases, and
forgiveness generally followed. We were about to commit a great folly;
but we thought we were nobly sustaining the reputation of his Majesty’s
sea-officers for our spirit and gallantry with the fair sex, and looked
not to the dreadful consequences of our desperate adventure.



VIII


Giles Vernon and I agreed that it was necessary we should strike the
blow as soon as possible, while we had the weather-gage, so to speak,
of Sir Peter; and on the day after his traveling chariot took its way
north, a very plain post-chaise followed it, and in it were Giles
Vernon and myself.

Giles was in a state of the wildest happiness conceivable. There is
something appalling in that fervor of mind when the human creature,
forgetting all the vicissitudes of this life, treads on air and
breathes and lives in Heaven. Thus I was made sad by his gladness, but
I dared not show it, lest it be mistaken for a want of spirit in our
enterprise, so I joined with him in his joy and revelry.

We reached Scarborough at four o’clock in the afternoon, and put up at
a small inn on the outskirts of the town, and some little way on the
road to the north. We sallied forth immediately to find out something
about our inamoratas, and Fate--whether it was that kindly goddess who
leads our footsteps toward those we love, or whether it was the cruel
Destiny which delights in torturing men--at once directed us. We were
walking along near the playhouse, which had been lately opened in the
town, when we saw Jeames, Lady Hawkshaw’s own footman, go inside the
playhouse and buy some tickets of the man at the door. As soon as he
was well out of the way I sneaked in, and, thrusting two shillings into
the man’s hand, inquired if Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw and the young
ladies would favor the performance that night. The man grinned and
showed me a slip of paper, on which was written in Lady Hawkshaw’s bold
hand, “Three stalls for Lady Hawkshaw and party.”

This made me hope that Sir Peter would not be present, for I thought
our chances of getting off would materially improve if he were not on
the spot.

The play was to be over at half-past ten, and it may be imagined that
we had plenty to do until then. We engaged four of the best pairs
of nags in the town. We arranged to pay the postboys according to
the time they took us over the border, and we felt in ourselves the
strength of Titans, to overcome whatever resistance might be offered.
Of course we counted on the surprise, and we determined that the best
disposition to make of Lady Hawkshaw was for Giles Vernon to appear
suddenly, when the people were coming out, place Lady Hawkshaw in
her coach, and then make that bold dash for love and beauty which we
had determined upon. Our postboys, who were not new to the perils of
elopements, grinned at the prospect, and were instructed to remain near
Lady Hawkshaw’s coach and impede it as much as possible, so that it
might be the last to reach the door of the theater.

Our arrangements were complete by eight o’clock, and from that hour
until ten we employed ourselves in disposing of a good supper at the
tavern. We were in a gale of rapture then. It seemed to us both as
if we were in that happy and exultant mood, when the enemy is within
gun-shot and the ship is cleared for action; and we only awaited the
signal for victory. We had some punch, but both Giles and myself knew
enough to be exceedingly careful in attacking it.

“Dicky, my lad,” cried Giles, banging me in the back, “this day is
the anniversary of the day we whipped the _Indomptable_ and the
_Xantippe_!”--and so it was. “So we shall capture the _Indomptable_, in
the Lady Arabella, and we will disable the _Xantippe_,--ha! ha!--in my
Lady Hawkshaw.”

This I thought a very fine joke indeed, and we drank to it.

“Dicky,” began Giles again, wiping his mouth after the punch, “I never
thought I could be constant to any woman, as I have been to Arabella.
By Heaven, the whole sex is so seductive that it was the last one
I saw I loved the best. But since I knew that witch of a girl, St.
Anthony himself could not be more impervious to female charms than your
humble servant,” which was true enough. “And as for Overton,--that
psalm-singing devil,--I defy him. Give me but a week, and he shall see
Arabella hanging upon me so fondly! Let him have her thirty thousand
pounds; ’tis so much dirt and dross to me. And she may be Lady Vernon
yet. Do you know that old rapscallion Sir Thomas Vernon’s estate is in
this part of the country? though nearer York than Scarborough. On our
return from our honeymoon I have a great mind to take my Arabella to
Vernon Court, and show her what may one day be hers.”

So he raved and roared out snatches like,--

  “In Bacchus’ joys I’ll freely roll,
  Deny no pleasure to my soul,
  Let Bacchus’ health round freely move;
  For Bacchus is the friend of love--
  And he that will this toast deny,
  Down among the dead men let him lie.”

And I took up the chorus and bawled it out; for I, too, looked for no
more crosses in this life, having Daphne for my wife.

So the time passed until ten o’clock; and at ten o’clock we sallied
forth.

It was a starlit night in early December. The cold high blue heavens
above us seemed to radiate happiness; the myriad stars twinkled with
joy; we scarce felt the ground under our feet.

The two post-chaises awaited us on the highway, the postboys full of
confidence; the horses, the best in the town, were eager to be off. We
jumped together in one, and were whirled into the town, and were at the
door of the playhouse almost before we knew it.

One of our postilions speedily found the coach which had brought Lady
Hawkshaw there, and, in pursuance of his instructions, got the coachman
off his box to drink in a neighboring tavern, while one of our postboys
stood watch over the horses. Giles and I remained in the chaise until
it was time for us to make our descent.

At half-past ten the play was over, and then began that hurry and
commotion of the dispersion of a crowd in the darkness. We heard loud
shouts for Lady Hawkshaw’s coach, but the coachman did not make his
appearance. There were many officers and ladies from the garrison, and
a number of equipages; but soon they were driving off, while half a
dozen men at once were shouting for Lady Hawkshaw’s coach. At last my
lady herself came out of the entrance, followed by Arabella and Daphne,
and at that moment Giles slipped out of the chaise, and appeared
before Lady Hawkshaw as if he had risen from the earth. I, too, was on
the ground, but out of sight.

“Pray, my lady,” said he, in his most gallant manner, and hat in hand,
“allow me to show you to your coach.”

“Mr. Vernon!” cried Lady Hawkshaw, in surprise. “I thought you were in
London. How came you to Scarborough?”

“By chaise, Madam,” he replied politely; “and I hope to see the young
ladies before I leave,” (the hypocrite!). “Is Sir Peter with you,
Madam?”

“No, he is not,” replied Lady Hawkshaw, her wrath rising at the idea.
“Had he been with me, my coach would have been awaiting me.” And then
turning to Arabella and Daphne, who were behind her, she said sternly,--

“Arabella and Daphne, this does not happen again. Sir Peter comes with
us to the play, after this.”

I caught sight, from a corner behind the chaise, of my dear Daphne, at
that moment. She stopped suddenly, and turned pale and then rosy, and
glanced wildly about her. She knew I was not far off.

How Arabella received Giles’ sudden appearance I never knew, as I could
not see her. But in another moment he had placed Lady Hawkshaw, with
the utmost obsequiousness, in the coach; then folding up the steps like
magic, he slammed the door, and shouting to the coachman, “Drive on!”
the coach rattled off, and the next moment his arm was around Arabella,
and mine was around Daphne, and they were swept off their feet; and in
less time than it takes to tell it, each of us was with the idol of his
heart, whirling off toward Gretna Green, as fast as four horses to a
light chaise could take us.

Now, what think you, were Daphne’s first words to me?

“Unhand me, Mr. Glyn, or I will scream for assistance!”

“My dearest one!” I exclaimed, “you are now mine. By to-morrow morning
we shall be over the border, and you will be my wife.”

“An elopement! Gracious heaven! I never thought of such a thing!” she
replied.

I might have answered that she had not only thought of such a thing,
but talked of it. I refrained, however, knowing a woman’s tongue to be
capricious in its utterances, and, instead, assured her that my passion
was such I could no longer bear the thought of existing without her.

“And do you mean to marry me, sir, without my guardian’s consent?” she
asked with much violence.

“I do, indeed, my angel, and I thought it was agreed between us.”

This was an unfortunate speech, and she again threatened to scream for
assistance, but presently remarked that as there was none to come to
her assistance, she would refrain. And then, having done what propriety
required, she began to relent a little, and at last she lay in my arms,
asking me, with tears, if I would promise her never to love another,
and I told her, with great sincerity, that I never would, provided I
got out of that alive.

Deep in our own happiness,--for at least the dear girl admitted that
she was happy to be mine,--we yet thought of Giles and Arabella,
and I would have got out of the chaise at each of the three stages,
where we made a rapid change of horses, except that Daphne would not
let me,--afraid, she said, lest I should be recognized and get into
trouble. She afterward told me it was because she feared we might be
stopped. We did not forget the precaution, in our brief halts, to pay
the hostlers well to do some harm to any pursuing vehicles which might
be after us; and our plan seemed to be prospering famously.

So all night we rattled furiously along, and at daybreak we crossed the
border, notified by the huzzaing of the postboys. It was a dank, dismal
morning, the weather having changed during the night, and we saw that
we had passed the other chaise in the darkness. It was some distance
behind, and the horses seemed much spent. We continued on our way, to
the house of a blacksmith at Gretna Green, who, so our postboy told us,
usually united runaway couples. We dashed up to his cottage,--a humble
place, surrounded by a willow hedge,--and he, warned by approaching
wheels, came out, half dressed, in the murky morning.

“Come to be marrit?” he cried. “Step out then.”

I assisted Daphne out of the chaise, and then, as we stood on the
damp ground, in those squalid surroundings, looking at each other,
the possible wrong I had done this innocent girl suddenly swept over
me. And in her eyes, too, I read the first consciousness of having
committed an impropriety. This dirty, unkempt blacksmith, the coarse,
laughing postboys--this, a way to make the most solemn and spiritual of
all engagements! I felt an uncomfortable sense of guilt and shame.

It was only momentary. The more depressed she, the more should I
support, and therefore I called out cheerfully, “I take this woman to
be my wedded wife,” and such other words as I recalled of the marriage
service--and I said it so heartily and promised so devoutly, removing
my hat when I made my vows, that it heartened up Daphne--and her
response, so full of faith and love, gave a kind of holiness to it all.
We were two rash and foolish young people--but we loved each other
truly, and we made our vows solemnly, determined to keep them. Perhaps
that counts for more, in the eyes of God, than all else; at least, we
realized the sacredness of our vows.

Scarcely was the brief ceremony over--for ceremony we made it--when the
chaise containing Arabella and Giles drew up. And the sight I saw, I
can never forget.

Arabella’s face was quite pale, but her eyes were blazing. There were
some drops of blood upon her cheek--they came from her wrists, which
Giles held firmly. The door of the chaise being opened, she stepped
out willingly, disdaining the assistance Giles offered her. His face,
too, was very pale, and he looked and moved like a man in a nightmare.
The blacksmith grinned broadly; he thought his gains were to be
increased--for I had not forgotten to pay him handsomely.

Giles seized her hand. “Arabella,” he cried desperately, “surely you do
not now mean to throw me over?”

For answer, she gave him a glance of ineffable hatred.

“This man,” she said, turning to me, “your friend, your intimate--I
blush for you--has dragged me here. Rather would I die than marry
him. Look!”

[Illustration: “Rather would I die than marry him.” _Page 171_]

She held up her wrists, and they showed marks of violence.

“’Twas to keep her from jumping out of the chaise,” said Giles wildly.
“She would have had me leave her at midnight, on the highway--alone and
unprotected. Dearest Arabella,” he cried, turning to her, and trying to
clasp her, “will you not listen to my prayer? How can you scorn such
love as mine?” And he was near going down on his knees to her, in the
mud--but I held him up. I confess that the most painful thing, of all
this painful business, was Giles Vernon’s complete surrender of his
manhood, under the influence of his wild passion. He, an officer in
his Majesty’s sea-service, a man who had smelt powder and knew what
it was to look Death in the eye and advance upon him, who would have
answered with his life for his courage, was ready to grovel in the
earth like a madman for the favor of a woman. Nothing was it to him
that low-born creatures like the postboys and the blacksmith beheld him
with contempt and disgust; nothing to him that a woman like Daphne,
and that I, a brother officer, witnessed his degradation. He seemed to
have parted with the last semblance of self-respect.

Arabella answered his appeal by a laugh of scorn, which seemed to cut
him like a knife; and then, shaking me off, he shouted to her,--

“I know why you will not be mine. It is that pious, hypocritical hound,
Overton. But I tell you now, my lady, if you marry him, I’ll have his
life. Take note of what I say--I’ll have his life.”

To which Arabella, after a pause in which her face grew deeply red and
then pale again, said,--

“Your own life is in jeopardy. The abduction of an heiress is a capital
offense, and you shall be tried for your life if it takes every
shilling of my fortune to do it. You shall see what you have done!”

I shuddered at these words, for I saw it was no idle threat. If Giles
contemplated violence toward Overton, I had not the slightest doubt
that Arabella was fully capable of keeping her word in the dreadful
business. Daphne thought so too; for she ran forward, and, putting her
hands over Arabella’s mouth, cried,--

“No, no! dear Arabella, take that back!”

“But I will not take it back,” replied Arabella; “and I shall
lodge information against this wretch, as soon as I can return to
Scarborough,--which I shall do in the post-chaise; for, luckily, I have
money with me.”

Under the terrible threat of prosecution, Giles recovered himself
surprisingly. He lost his frantic air, and, drawing himself up,
remarked quite calmly,--

“Just as your ladyship pleases.”

His change of manner seemed to infuriate Arabella, who shrieked at
him,--

“You shall be hanged for this!”

“Anything to oblige your ladyship,” responded Giles, as cool as you
please.

I felt that this painful scene could no longer continue, and said so.

“Lady Arabella,” said I, “my wife”--how Daphne’s eyes glowed as I
spoke--“and I are returning immediately to Scarborough; you had best go
with us; and when you have seen and consulted with Sir Peter and Lady
Hawkshaw, it will be time enough to determine upon your course.”

“My course is already determined upon,” she replied; and no one who saw
her could doubt it.

“And so is mine,” said Giles, now in possession of all his usual
manliness. “I return to London, where I shall duly report myself to the
Admiralty, and later to Sir Peter Hawkshaw; and if the lady thirsts for
my blood, begad, she can have it.”

“Giles Vernon,” said I, “you have been unlucky. I can not say more,
because I am in the same boat with you. But you have done nothing
unworthy of a gentleman, and nothing to make either Daphne or me love
you the less, no matter what befalls. So here is my hand upon it.”

We grasped hands, and, turning to Daphne, he removed his hat and
proceeded to kiss her, saying to me, “By your leave.” And Daphne said
to him,--

“Good-by, dear Giles.”

The proceedings seemed to fill Lady Arabella with disgust. She
haughtily refused my hand to assist her into the chaise, and announced
that she would go to the village of Springfield, near by, for rest
and breakfast; and willy-nilly, Daphne and I had to follow in the
post-chaise.

Never shall I forget that dismal wedding journey back to Scarborough.
I began, for the first time, to fear the reproaches of the world in
general, and Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw in particular, in regard to
running away with an heiress. I had one comfort, however; Daphne fully
believed in my disinterestedness; and I can sincerely say I wished
Daphne’s fortune at the bottom of the sea, if I could but have wooed
and won her in the ordinary course of events.

Lady Arabella traveled just ahead of us, but took occasion to show her
anger and resentment against us in every way.

About half the distance to Scarborough we met full in the road a
traveling chariot, and in it were Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw.

We found that the hostlers had earned their money, and that the
Hawkshaws’ chaise had broken down at least once in every stage.

When we met and stopped, Arabella alighted, and so did we, and so did
the Hawkshaws; and the first word that was spoken was by Daphne.

“Uncle Peter,” she said, “don’t fly at Richard. If you must know it, I
ran away with him; for I am sure, although he is as brave as a lion, it
never would have dawned upon him to run away with me, if I had not put
the idea in his head, and kept it there.”

“Sir,” said I, “and Madam,” turning to Lady Hawkshaw, “I beg you will
not listen to this young lady’s plea. I am wholly responsible for the
circumstances of our marriage. I can, however, and do, call Heaven to
witness, that her fortune had nothing to do with it, and I should have
been happy and proud to take her, with the clothes on her back, and
nothing more.”

Sir Peter began to sputter, but Lady Hawkshaw cut him short.

“Exactly what you said, Sir Peter, within an hour of our marriage.”

Thus were Sir Peter’s guns dismounted.

“And, Richard and Daphne, you are a couple of fools to run away, when,
if you had only had a little patience, I would have had you handsomely
married at St. George’s, Hanover Square. But least said, soonest
mended. Sir Peter, kiss Daphne, and shake hands with Richard.”

And as I am a sinner, she actually forced Sir Peter to do both,
although I saw he mortally hated it.

Arabella’s turn came next. She advanced and said, with a bitterness
that struck a chill to my heart,--

“Sir Peter, as you know, I was carried off by that wretch who disgraces
his uniform, Lieutenant Giles Vernon; but he did not succeed in forcing
me to consent to a marriage. And I call upon you, as my next friend, to
aid me in the prosecution which I shall immediately set on foot against
him for the capital offense of the abduction of an heiress; and I hope
to bring him to the gibbet for it.”



IX


Lady Arabella Stormont was as good as her word; for that day, two
months, Giles Vernon was put on trial for his life, at York Assizes,
for the abduction of an heiress. Sir Peter Hawkshaw refused absolutely
to countenance Arabella; and my Lady Hawkshaw, who never had bowed
her head or abased her spirit to mortal man or mortal woman before,
went upon her knees, imploring Arabella to give over her revenge,--for
revenge it was, pure and simple,--but Lady Arabella laughed at her.
Lady Hawkshaw rose from her knees, crying out,--

“You have some deep and unknown reason for this; but it will come to
naught, it will come to naught!”

But Arabella found a person ready to her hand, who was most active in
the matter. This was Sir Thomas Vernon, of Vernon Court. It was he
who lodged the information with the public prosecutor against Giles,
and assumed the part of Lady Arabella’s champion. Of course, there
was some ground for the version of the story which was started in
Arabella’s interest, that a frightful outrage had been committed by
dragging her off against her will; and that only the most determined
courage had saved her from a marriage repulsive to her; that Sir Peter
and Lady Hawkshaw, her next friends, had basely deserted her; and that
Sir Thomas had chivalrously taken up her cause. It is true that the
relative characters of the Hawkshaws and Sir Thomas Vernon discounted
much of this; but the actual facts in the case looked so ugly for
Giles, that there was no trouble in securing his prompt arrest and
delivery in York jail.

The breach between Lady Arabella and the Hawkshaws, as well as Daphne
and myself, was too great to be bridged over; and, having thrown
herself, so to speak, in Sir Thomas Vernon’s arms, she accepted
the protection of a relative of his, one Mrs. Whitall, a decayed
gentlewoman, and went to live at a small town near York, until the
Assizes, when she would be called upon as the chief witness for the
prosecution. Great stories were immediately put forth, that Sir Thomas
Vernon was deeply smitten with Arabella’s charms, and that, after a
visit with Mrs. Whitall to Vernon Court, she looked very kindly on Sir
Thomas. All this might be true, and Sir Thomas might flatter himself
that he had won her favor; but, knowing Arabella well, I did not credit
her with any sincere desire to be kind to Sir Thomas Vernon, although
she might make him think so, for her own purposes. I suspected,
however, a motive far deeper, in any matter connected with Sir Thomas
Vernon. Overton was the next heir after Giles; Sir Thomas was extremely
rickety, and not likely to be long-lived; and if, by merely telling
what had happened, Lady Arabella could sate her resentment, which was
deep and furious, against Giles, and at the same time greatly benefit
Overton, I think she would not have weighed Giles’ life at a penny.
My Daphne, whose faith in human nature was angelic, in her belief in
ultimate good, prayed and besought Arabella to leave the country before
the trial came off; but Arabella only said contemptuously:

“You are a child and a chit. Giles Vernon contemplated doing me the
greatest wrong a man can do a woman. Do you think I shall let him go
unpunished? If so, how little do you know Arabella Stormont!”

Then I, from loyalty to Giles, and not from any hope I had from Lady
Arabella, went to her and made my appeal. She heard all my prayers
without the slightest sign of relenting, playing with her lap-dog the
while. At last, I said to her,--

“Tell me, at least, who is to be benefited by the conviction of Giles
Vernon? Not you, certainly; for you will be loathed and shunned by all.”

“The person dearest to me in the world,” she replied; “the person I
love better than my life or my soul,” and then, as if she had admitted
too much, she stopped, turned pale, and seemed altogether disconcerted.
She had, in truth, admitted too much. The person she had ever loved
better than her soul was Philip Overton.

I had the self-possession to leave her then, and went off by myself to
think over the strange motive which had been revealed to me. Arabella’s
infatuation for Overton had always been abnormal, touched with
unreason. And could fate have woven a closer web around Giles Vernon
than in making him fall so madly in love with Arabella Stormont?

Giles had promptly surrendered himself, rightly judging a trial
better than being a fugitive from justice and a deserter from the
naval service. He repaired to York, after having duly reported to the
Admiralty, and was jailed immediately, and indicted.

The Hawkshaws, my Daphne, and I remained in Scarborough during the
two dreadful months that passed before the trial came off. Sir Peter
easily got leave from the Admiralty for me, hoping, not only that my
testimony, but the example of the felicity in which Daphne and I lived,
might not be without its effect upon the jury that tried Giles.

Offers of money to assist in his defense came from many quarters and
from several ladies,--two in especial, her Grace of Auchester and Mrs.
Trenchard. Lady Hawkshaw, however, claimed the privilege of bearing the
expenses of the trial out of her private fortune, which was large. Sir
Peter and she had it hot and heavy, he desiring to contribute; and for
one of the few times in his life, he carried his point against her.
Two great barristers were to be brought from London to assist Giles in
his defense, besides another one in York itself.

As soon as Giles was lodged in jail, Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw,
Daphne and I went immediately to see him. We drove in state, in a coach
and four, with outriders, Sir Peter in his uniform, with his sword, and
I also in uniform; for our object was to testify publicly our regard
for Giles and detestation of the prosecution for his life which was on
foot.

We reached the great gloomy building, and the turnkey immediately
showed us to Giles’ room. It was one of the best rooms in the place,
and would have been comfortable enough had it not been in a prison.

He was delighted to see us, kissed Lady Hawkshaw’s hand, and gave
Daphne a hearty smack on the cheek. He looked well, and I expected to
find him hopeful; but he seemed to regard his fate as fixed, although
it in no wise disturbed his cheerfulness. Sir Peter at once told him
that everything possible should be done for his defense, and that
eminent counsel were then on their way from London for him; and he
with Lady Hawkshaw would bear all the costs of the trial.

“And we,” cried Daphne, “claim the right to help; and when you are
acquitted, you will find all your debts paid, and need not trouble
yourself where the money comes from.”

Tears sprang to Giles’ eyes at this, and he looked gratefully upon us
all.

“Dear friends,” he said, “I thank you; but I shall not be acquitted.
Sir Thomas Vernon and Lady Arabella Stormont thirst for my blood, and
by my own folly I have put the noose around my neck. But I say to you
from the bottom of my heart that I rather would die upon the gibbet
than be married to Lady Arabella. God was good to me in giving her to
me as my enemy instead of my wife.”

There was something in this; for what man could think, without
shuddering, of taking Arabella Stormont to wife?

I saw that Giles had completely recovered from his madness. He blamed
no one, frankly acknowledging his own folly, and bore himself as became
an officer and a gentleman.

Sir Peter would by no means admit there was the smallest chance of an
adverse verdict; but although I could not bring myself to believe that
the extreme penalty of the law would be carried out, yet I thought it
very likely that the case was too plain for Giles to escape conviction.
The conduct of Daphne and Lady Hawkshaw to him was such that I came out
of the jail with a deeper reverence, a higher esteem for women than
I had known before, although I had always believed them to be God’s
angels on earth (with a few exceptions). So gentle and caressing was
Daphne, so boldly and determinedly friendly was Lady Hawkshaw, that it
did one’s heart good. Daphne announced her intention of going to see
Sir Thomas Vernon and pleading with him, while Lady Hawkshaw threatened
to give him her opinion of him publicly, which was, indeed, a dreadful
threat.

The trial came off at the February Assizes, and on the night before
was the great assize ball. The word was passed around that all of
Giles Vernon’s friends were to attend this ball, by way of showing
our confidence--alas!--in his acquittal. Therefore, on that night,
we--that is, the Hawkshaws, Daphne, and I--were to go to the ball in
all the state we could muster. We had taken lodgings at York for the
trial.

The evening of the ball found the streets crowded as I had never seen
them before. The great case, which would be reached within a day or
two, brought crowds to attend the Assizes, many persons coming even
from London. These were chiefly gentlemen of the nobility and gentry
who were friends of Giles Vernon’s, for never man had so many friends.

It was a cold bright February night; and the street in front of the
assize hall where the ball was held was packed with chariots, chaises,
and people on foot, flaring torches and bawling footmen, as if it
were a London rout. As our carriage passed the entrance, the way was
blocked by the judges’ chariots, from which they descended in state.
Our coachman, whipping up to get the next place in line, locked wheels
with the coach of Sir Thomas Vernon. He sat back, his face visible by
the lamps in the courtyard, and as unconcerned as if the case which
had brought us all to York was one of his servants beating the watch,
instead of the trial of his relative and heir on a capital charge.

The crowd showed its disapproval of Sir Thomas by hurling abusive
epithets at him, which only caused him to smile. But he had another
enemy to encounter, which was Lady Hawkshaw, and in full sight and
hearing of the judges, as they stepped with stately tread up the
stairs, occurred a battle _a mort_ between her and Sir Thomas Vernon,
to the intense enjoyment of the crowd, which was uproariously on Lady
Hawkshaw’s side. Neither Sir Peter nor I took any part in the fray,
seeing Lady Hawkshaw had the best of it from the start, and that, woman
against man, the populace was heartily with her.

It began by Lady Hawkshaw’s putting her head out of the coach and
saying at the top of her voice,--and what a voice!--“Good evening, Sir
Thomas. We are called here upon a sad occasion, but I hope that English
justice will prevail to save the life of that gallant young man, your
heir, Giles Vernon.”

To which Sir Thomas, with a wicked grin, replied,--

“We may safely leave that to the jury and to their honors, the lords
justices, Madam. But if a young villain steals an heiress against her
will, he incurs the extreme penalty of the law.”

“Yes,” replied Lady Hawkshaw, “I dare say you think the law will
deal by Giles Vernon as it did by poor Jack Bassett, whom you got
transported for life for killing a hare which was already half dead;
or as it served Tobias Clark, the blacksmith, whom you got hanged for
stealing one of your sheep.”

These things were true, and the crowd gave three loud groans for Sir
Thomas Vernon. Before he could get his breath to reply, Lady Hawkshaw
continued,--

“No wonder you are afraid to sleep without candles burning in your room
all night. Sir Thomas.”

Sir Thomas ground his teeth, and called,--

“Back your horses, coachman, and drive out.”

But the crowd would by no means permit it, holding on to the wheels,
and shouts resounded of “Good for your ladyship! Hawkshaw for ever!”

Sir Peter lay back laughing, while Daphne, by way of encouraging the
people, clapped her hands and kissed Lady Hawkshaw on the cheek.

“And let me tell you, Sir Thomas,” continued that excellent and
indomitable woman, “that because no woman could ever be induced to
elope with _you_, there is no reason why runaway marriages should not
be the happiest in the world. I defied my family and as good as ran
away with Sir Peter Hawkshaw, and he was as poor as Giles Vernon; but,
like him, he was a true and gallant gentleman, and God bless the day I
married him!”

At this there was tremendous cheering for Sir Peter, and he took off
his hat and bowed, kissing Lady Hawkshaw’s hand.

Sir Thomas responded by calling out airily,--

“May I ask your ladyship if Sir Peter was a free agent in the affair of
your marriage? for I believe he is not generally held accountable for
his actions since that day.”

Sir Peter’s eyes flashed at that, but Lady Hawkshaw cried back,--

“Right you are, Sir Thomas, for have him I would, and if he had
not agreed to marry me I should have died of disappointment. Nor
has he been a free agent since that day,--not for one moment free
from my love, my admiration, and my solicitude. I knew you well, Sir
Thomas, forty years ago” (this was a cruel thrust, for Sir Thomas was
notoriously touchy about his age), “and I would no more have run away
with _you_ then than I would this night--and God knows no woman in all
the three kingdoms would go with you now!”

The delight of the crowd was extraordinary. I believe they would have
mobbed Sir Thomas, except that they felt that Lady Hawkshaw could
inflict the more exquisite misery on him. The judges, still going up
the steps slowly, probably heard every word of this controversy. The
crowd then parted, and taking Sir Thomas’ horses by the bits, forced
them to give place to Lady Hawkshaw’s coach, and she descended amid the
loudest cheers of the populace.

Within the splendid ball-room Lady Hawkshaw’s triumph was even more
marked. Numbers of great people flocked around her; many of them had
been witnesses of her battle royal with Sir Thomas, and the story had
quickly spread to the rest. Lady Hawkshaw, in spite of her oddities,
had always maintained the respect of all who knew her, and never saw I
a woman who bore, under all circumstances, more unmistakably the air of
a great lady; whether squabbling with Sir Peter, laying down the law
to the world at large, or speaking bad French, she was invariably the
woman of quality.

The scene of the ball was so gorgeous that even my sad heart took
note of it. The hall was ablaze with wax lights, and a huge band
of musicians brayed and trumpeted. The lords justices, the lords
lieutenants of the three Ridings, and many other persons were in full
court costumes, and the ladies’ trains of brocade and velvet were a
sight to see. And I may be pardoned for saying that Mistress Richard
Glyn was by no means the least handsome of the women present.

By Lady Hawkshaw’s command we were all to look cheerful, and, when I
saw the outpouring of popular approval upon us as Giles Vernon’s next
friends, my heart grew less heavy.

Lady Hawkshaw seated herself in a large chair at the end of the hall,
where she held a kind of court. She wore a gown of some sort of crimson
stuff, with a great tail to it, and on her head was a turban with a
bird of paradise in it, and on top of that, her huge diamond tiara.
Everybody flocked to pay her court, and the lord lieutenant of the
East Riding asked the honor of her hand to open the ball. She promptly
agreed, with the added remark that she had not danced for thirty years.
Sir Peter attempted to interpose.

“You can not do it, my lady,” he said. “You will trip up and break your
leg.”

“Not unless you trip me up, Sir Peter,” responded her ladyship, who
was totally unable to keep up the turtle-dove style toward Sir Peter
for any appreciable length of time. “My legs are as good as the lord
lieutenant’s, thank God! and I shall have the pleasure in dancing with
his lordship.”

Obeying a look from her, Daphne accepted a partner, and I secured one
in the lord mayor’s daughter. Sir Thomas Vernon, who was then in the
hall, had the ineffable impudence to wish to dance in the country dance
with us, but he was met everywhere with cold looks and refusals.
The ladies of the lords lieutenants were all engaged; so were their
daughters. It was a picture to see him going along the line of ladies
sitting against the wall, being repulsed by all, and his composure
under these embarrassing circumstances was the most extraordinary thing
I ever saw. He wore a smile upon his sickly, but handsome face all the
time, and, at last, he found a partner in the person of a monstrous
ugly woman, whose husband was in the hides and leather trade.

We took our places, Lady Hawkshaw and the lord lieutenant, a fine,
handsome man, many years younger than she, at the head of the room. And
then the musicians struck up, and Lady Hawkshaw began to dance.

Such dancing! It was of the kind that was fashionable before the
American war, and introduced so many cuts, capers, pigeon-wings, slips,
slides, and pirouettes, that it was really an art in itself. And her
agility was surprising. With her train over her arm, her tiara blazing,
and her bird of paradise nodding violently, Lady Hawkshaw’s small
high-bred feet twinkled. She was a large woman, too, and she proved
that her boast about her legs was well founded. When she came face to
face with Sir Thomas Vernon in the dance, instead of turning him, she
folded her arms and sailed around him, carefully avoiding touching his
hand. And he, the old sinner, being acquainted with that ancient style
of dancing, made a caper so exactly like her ladyship’s, with so grave
a countenance, that the whole ball-room was in a titter. But although
the people might laugh at Sir Thomas’ excellent mimicry, the sentiment
was totally against him, and he found difficulty in getting gentlemen
to notice him, or ladies to dance with him. With Lady Hawkshaw, on the
contrary, it was every man’s desire to dance; she was besieged with
partners, young and old; but having shown what she could do, she rested
upon her laurels, and sat in state the rest of the evening, fanning
herself with vast dignity and composure, and occasionally snapping at
Sir Peter, who, it must be admitted, made no great figure at a ball.

At last it was over, and we returned to our lodgings. The next day
but one we were on our way to the assize hall for the trial of Giles
Vernon.

A tremendous crowd was present, and there was difficulty in gaining an
entrance; some one, however, in the multitude set up a shout of “Way
for Lady Hawkshaw!” and the people fell back, leaving us a clear path
to the door, and into the hall itself.

Within that place of judgment all was dignity and decorum. The lords
justices in their robes and wigs sat like statues; and, presently, when
we were all seated and the crier had pronounced the court open, Giles
Vernon was brought in, and placed in the prisoners’ dock. He looked
pale from his late confinement, but I thought I had never seen his
plain features so nearly handsome. His fine figure was nobly set off by
the identical brown and silver suit which the poor fellow had bought
for his wedding with Lady Arabella, and, in a flash, came back to me
that strange vision I had had at his London lodgings on the night that
this unfortunate elopement was first talked of between us. My heart
stood still, and I grew sick and faint at the recollection of the rest
of that dream, or revelation, or whatever it was.

Giles, meanwhile, had bowed respectfully to the judges, then to the
assembled people, who very generally returned his salutation with every
mark of politeness. Turning to where we sat, he bowed and smiled. We
all rose, and Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne made him deep curtseys. A jury
was soon selected and sworn, and the first witness called was Lady
Arabella Stormont.

In a moment she entered, leaning upon the arm of Sir Thomas Vernon, and
was by him escorted to her place in the witness-box.

Her beauty was almost unearthly. She wore a black gown and a simple
white cap, under which the curls of her rich hair shone like burnished
gold. She was perfectly composed, and, after being sworn, began her
story in a manner the most quiet and calm. A deep stillness reigned
through the vast room, and every one in it caught her lowest word.

Her testimony was entirely clear and straightforward. She related
the circumstances of her being dragged off, while coming out of the
playhouse at Scarborough; of finding herself alone in the chaise with
Giles Vernon, who told her he was taking her to Scotland to marry her;
that she struggled violently and endeavored to get out of the chaise,
and that she was withheld by force by Giles, who severely hurt her
wrists, causing blood to flow; and finally, that when she began to
scream, Giles put his hand over her mouth and stifled her cries. She
said that this conduct was kept up the whole of the night, until they
reached Gretna Green at daylight; that all the time Giles was imploring
her to marry him, then threatening to kill himself or her; and that she
told him many times she preferred death to marriage with him; and at
last, on reaching Gretna Green, she defied him and escaped from him.

When she had concluded, there was an ominous stillness for a time, and
then I saw something which struck a chill to my heart. I had stealthily
kept my eyes fixed on the judges to see whether they gave in their
countenances any signs of lenity or severity. They were altogether
unmoved, except one, who was reported to be a most merciful man. He
grew pale and paler as Lady Arabella’s story progressed, and I saw him
several times wipe the cold sweat from his brow, and at last a sigh
broke from him; but I think no one noted it but me, for the multitude
of people were absorbed in the sight of this beautiful young woman, so
coolly swearing away the life of a man who had loved her.

Giles Vernon bore the ordeal unflinchingly, and when at intervals she
looked toward him with a quiet hatred in her glance, he gazed steadily
back at her.

She was then to be cross-examined. Many questions were asked her by the
great London barrister, who was one of the three defending Giles. One
query was, whether she had ever given Mr. Vernon reason to think she
would marry him, to which she replied,--

“No; never in my life.”

She was then asked if there was another gentleman in the case, and
for the first time she showed confusion. Her face grew crimson, and
she remained silent. The question was not pressed, and she was soon
permitted to retire. When she passed out of the hall, she was the
divinest picture of beauty and modesty I ever saw. Her eyes sought
the floor, and a delicious blush mantled her cheek. I believe that
many persons, under the spell of her beauty, thought that she was an
unwilling witness, and pitied her youth and inexperience.

But it was hanging testimony she gave, and well she knew it.

After the examination of the postboys and other witnesses for the
prosecution, I was called as the first witness for Giles. I told the
circumstances of our agreement to run away with the two charmers of our
hearts; and the fact that I had been so readily forgiven, not only by
Daphne herself, but by Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw, I saw produced a
good effect. But when I was asked by the other side if I had ever seen,
or if Giles had ever claimed, any willingness on Lady Arabella’s part
to go off with him, I broke down miserably. My testimony did Giles but
little good, I fear.

Sir Peter Hawkshaw was the next witness. It was plain from the start
that he desired to help Giles, and likewise that he knew very little of
the affair until it was all over. But he proved a most entertaining, if
discursive witness.

Sir Peter evidently thought the witness-box was his own quarter-deck,
and he proceeded to harangue the court in his best manner as a flag
officer. He talked of everything except the case; he gave a most
animated description of the fight between the _Ajax_ on our side and
the _Indomptable_ and _Xantippe_ on the other, praising Giles Vernon’s
gallantry at every turn. He also aired his views on the subject of
the flannel shirts furnished to the navy, alleging that some rascally
contractors ought to be hanged at the yard-arm for the quality
supplied; and wound up by declaring, with great gusto, that if an
officer in his Majesty’s service desired to marry a young lady, it was
an act of spirit to carry her off, and for his part, fellows of that
sort were the kind he should select to lead a boarding party, while the
sneaking, law-abiding fellows should be under the hatches when the ship
was cleared for action.

Sir Peter’s rambling but vigorous talk was not without its effect, upon
which I think he had shrewdly calculated. In vain counsel for the crown
tried to check him; Sir Peter bawled at them to pipe down, and remarked
aloud of the senior counsel who had been most active in trying to
suppress him,--

[Illustration: “That lawyer fellow is three sheets in the wind!” _Page
201_]

“That lawyer fellow is three sheets in the wind, with the other one
a-flapping!”

The judges, out of respect to him, made no great effort to subdue him,
and he had the satisfaction of telling his story his own way. When the
prosecution took him in hand, they found, though, that he could very
well keep to the subject-matter, and they did not succeed in getting
anything of the slightest consequence out of him. When he stepped down,
I saw that he had in reality done much more good to Giles’ cause than I
had, although he knew little about the facts, and I knew all.

Then came Lady Hawkshaw’s testimony. Sir Peter’s was not a patch on
it. Like him, she really had no material evidence to give, but, with a
shrewdness equal to his, she made a very good plea for the prisoner.
She began with a circumstantial account of her own marriage to Sir
Peter, in which the opposition of her family was painted in lurid hues.
In vain was she again and again checked; she managed to tell her tale
against the vigorous objections of the prosecutors, and the somewhat
feeble and perfunctory rebukes from the bench. The jury, however, were
plainly so interested in it, that no serious attempt was made to stop
her--not that it would have availed anything, for Lady Hawkshaw was not
used to stopping for any one.

“No doubt my family could have hounded Sir Peter for marrying me,”
she announced in the beginning, “but my family, your honors, is an
honorable one, and would not condescend to nasty tricks like--” Here
she fixed her great black eyes on Sir Thomas Vernon, who smiled blandly
and took snuff.

“And as for a man expecting opposition in a girl he is willing to
marry, I ask your honors, does a man exist who can believe, until it is
proved to him beyond cavil, that there is a woman alive who would not
jump for joy to marry him?”

This produced so much laughter that the bailiffs had to enforce order
in the hall.

Lady Hawkshaw then, with great ingenuity, referred to Sir Thomas
Vernon, “who, in those days, forty years ago, was not called ‘Wicked
Sir Thomas,’ but plain ‘Lying Tom Vernon’!”

This produced a regular uproar, during which Lady Hawkshaw, with
great complacency, fanned herself. After a warning from the presiding
justice to keep to the matter in hand, she curtsied deeply to him, and
immediately resumed her account of Sir Thomas Vernon, in which she told
of a certain occasion, in the time of the American war, when, as the
royal family was passing to chapel at Windsor, hisses were heard, which
were directly traced to Sir Thomas Vernon, the king having declined to
receive him at the levee on account of his notoriously bad character.
And Sir Thomas, being thrust out, was taken by some of the inhabitants
of Windsor, and ducked in a neighboring horse-pond. At this point, the
judge himself courteously but firmly interrupted Lady Hawkshaw, and
informed her that she could not be permitted to go on in that strain.

“I shall observe your lordship’s caution,” she replied politely, and
straightway launched into a description of Sir Thomas’ appearance when
he emerged from the horse-pond, which brought a smile to every face in
court--including even the judge’s--except the victim himself, who bit
his lip, and scowled in fury.

The judges afterward said that Lady Hawkshaw proved to be the most
unmanageable witness any and all of them had ever encountered; for in
spite of them, she gave a circumstantial account of every misdeed Sir
Thomas Vernon had ever been guilty of in his life, as far as she knew.

The crown lawyers, very wisely, declined to cross-examine this witness.
When she stepped down out of the witness-box and took Sir Peter’s arm,
she passed close to the presiding justice, who happened to have his
snuff-box open in his hand. My lady deliberately stopped and took a
pinch out of the judge’s box, remarking suavely,--

“Your lordship shows excellent taste in preferring the Spanish!”

I thought his lordship would drop out of his chair.

The evidence being all in, and the arguments made, a recess was taken.
We were not the only ones who paid our respects immediately to Giles
Vernon. Many persons went forward and shook his hand, while I think
Sir Thomas did not receive a cordial greeting from a single man or
woman in the hall, although he was known to every one present.

We got a hurried dinner at the tavern, and returned at once to the
hall. It was about half-past four in the winter afternoon, and the day
being dark and lowering, candles were required. The lord justice’s
instructions to the jury were then read, and my heart sank, as, in a
dreadful monotone, he expounded the law to them. Alas! As long as the
statute against the abduction of an heiress remained, Giles Vernon was
guilty of a capital crime; and not one word uttered by any one of us
who testified in his behalf did aught but prove the more strongly that
he had carried Lady Arabella off against her will.

The jury retired, and, the day having been fatiguing, the lords
justices determined to wait in their retiring-room for an hour, where
they could be called, if the jury promptly reached a verdict. This
troubled me--this expectation of a quick decision.

The judges having retired and suspended the sitting of the court, we
at once went over and sat with Giles, who maintained perfectly his
manly composure. He laughed with Sir Peter over some of the events
of the fight between the _Ajax_ and her two enemies, complimented
Lady Hawkshaw upon her triumph over the laws of the land relating to
evidence, and said many kind things to Daphne.

While we were in the midst of a cheerful conversation, and not
observant of what was going on in the other part of the hall, we
suddenly heard the crier proclaiming the entrance of their lordships,
and at the same moment Sir Thomas Vernon entered by another door.
Hanging on his arm was Lady Arabella Stormont. And then the jury filed
in with solemn faces, and what followed all seemed to me like some
horrid dream.

Although several persons were moving about, there seemed to me a
dreadful silence; and although the candles burned, and a great
hobgoblin of a moon peered in at the windows, there seemed an awful
darkness. And after a time, in which I was oppressed by this ghostly
silence and darkness, I saw the senior lord justice put on a black cap,
and sentence Giles Vernon to be hanged by the neck until he was dead,
that day fortnight.

My eyes roved aimlessly around, and fell at that moment on Lady
Arabella Stormont. A faint smile flickered on her lovely mouth.



X


In that hour of horror, I became weaker and more helpless than the
weakest and most helpless woman. Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw were
too stunned to think. I remember, now, the look of despair on Sir
Peter’s countenance, where I had never before seen anything but sturdy
courage,--and it was an added terror. And the one who retained her
senses, who suggested a forlorn hope, was Daphne,--the youngest, the
least experienced of us all.

“To London!” she said. “To the king, for pardon! I myself will go upon
my knees to him. He shall--he _shall_ pardon Giles!”

We were all huddled together, then, in our parlor at the inn, having
just returned from the assize hall.

“Richard and I will go,” said Sir Peter.

“And Daphne and I will stay and comfort Giles,” spoke Lady Hawkshaw.

A week to London, and a week to return, was easy traveling--but how
long would it take us to reach the king? And what ministers would be
in town? And what would be the earliest moment we could leave London?
All these things were in our minds to torment us. Nevertheless, within
half an hour, we were on our way.

While we were demanding the best horses, and having them put to, an
insolent groom came in the stable-yard, and asked for horses for Sir
Thomas Vernon and Lady Arabella Stormont and Lady Arabella’s companion,
Mrs. Whitall, and two servants, for London. The head hostler replied
roughly that they had no time to attend him then, as they were starting
Sir Peter Hawkshaw and Mr. Glyn off for London, too, to beg Mr. Giles
Vernon’s life. The man, at this, grew saucy, and offered a handsome
bonus for the horses which were then being put to for us. I caught him
by the collar, and threw him out of the stable-yard, where the hostlers
drubbed him soundly, thank God!

One hurried kiss to Daphne, a brief farewell between Sir Peter and
Lady Hawkshaw, and we were off for London. Our race into Scotland was
nothing to it.

The roads were much cut up, and although we traveled day and night, we
were more than four days on the way. We reached London early in the
day; and, without stopping for food, or to change our linen, we went
to the Admiralty. There we got the information that the First Lord was
visiting in the country, in Kent. Within the hour, I was on my way to
Kent. When I reached the place, the First Lord had left, not more than
two hours before, for London. I had passed him on the road, without
knowing him. I returned to London. Sir Peter had seen several members
of the government, meanwhile, and had been privately informed that
the king was suffering mentally; and although hopes were entertained
that the spell would pass away, without the necessity of informing the
country or Parliament, still, access to him was refused to all by his
physicians, except the members of his family and immediate household,
and they were charged not to mention business to him; it would be
impossible to approach him.

When Sir Peter told me this, I became so weak I was forced to sit down.
After a few minutes of agony, a desperate resolve came to me. I rose,
and said,--

“I have a scheme--desperate, but not impossible. Go with me to the
Prince of Wales. He is at Carlton House, but goes back and forth to
Windsor.”

Sir Peter jumped at this poor chance, and we agreed to go immediately.

We had left York on a Friday, and had reached London on the Monday. Two
days had been lost in the journey to Kent; and it was now late in the
evening of Wednesday. We had, luckily, brought our uniforms along; and,
dressing ourselves in them,--Sir Peter with all his orders sewn on his
coat,--we called a hackney-coach, and drove to Carlton House.

When we got there, it was about ten o’clock in the evening. The windows
were brilliantly lighted up, and it was about the hour that the Prince
of Wales was known to be in his best humor--but the hour when he most
hated to be disturbed.

We descended, and the sentries passed us through, on account of our
uniforms and Sir Peter’s decorations on his breast. We reached the
door, and knocked. The porter opened the door gingerly, when Sir Peter,
giving it a kick, walked in, followed by me. The man attempted to
arrest our progress, but Sir Peter said to him fiercely,--

“Do you think, you damned lackey, that you can be insolent to an
admiral in his Majesty’s service?” The man apologized humbly and
ushered us into a large reception-room on the first floor, saying he
would call the gentleman of the chambers.

We seated ourselves. Even in that time of agony, I noticed the beauty
of the room--indeed, my senses seemed preternaturally acute, and every
incident of that dreadful time is deeply fixed in my mind. The ceiling
was of gilt, while around the walls were paintings of Flora. A gilt
chandelier diffused light through the apartment, and at one side was a
pair of large folding doors.

After a long wait, a gentleman, Mr. Digby, appeared. He received us
politely, but said it was impossible to disturb the Prince then, as he
was just sitting down to piquet. Sir Peter remained silent; he was used
to giving orders, and the words, “It is impossible to see His Royal
Highness,” were peculiarly disagreeable to him.

I then made my plea. I told Mr. Digby that the life of a gallant
officer and gentleman was in jeopardy, and that we begged to see his
Royal Highness, in the hope that the king might be approached.

“That, too, is impossible,” coldly replied Mr. Digby. “The king is far
from well.”

Just then, some one on the other side of the folding doors opened one
of them the least bit in the world, and then closed it--but not before
we had seen streams of light pouring from it, a long table brilliant
with plate and ornaments, and a company of about twenty gentlemen
sitting around it, and at one end sat a personage whom we at once
recognized as the Prince of Wales.

Without a word, Sir Peter arose, and, darting toward the door,--for he
was ever an agile man,--threw it open, and walked into the presence of
his Royal Highness.

“Sir,” said he, marching up to the Prince, “I am Admiral Sir Peter
Hawkshaw, and I have boarded you, so to speak, sir, in order to save
the life of one of the gallantest officers in the service of his
Majesty.”

I had always heard that his Royal Highness was a gentleman, and I saw
then such an exhibition of readiness and good taste as I never saw
before, and never expect to see again. Every one at the table, except
the Prince, seemed astounded at the sudden entrance and startling
address of a short active little man in an admiral’s uniform. But the
Prince offered Sir Peter his hand in the coolest manner in the world,
saying,--

“Most happy to meet you, Sir Peter. I recollect well that you carried
the _Indomptable_ by boarding very successfully. But how did you get
past the watch-dogs at the door, my dear sir?”

“By carrying sail hard, your Royal Highness,” responded Sir Peter, “and
seeing this door open, faith, said I, to myself, having risked my skin
these forty years for the king and his successors, sure, I can risk
it once more by walking in on my Prince, and here I am, sir, ready to
state my case. That bloody popinjay, Digby” (Digby was right behind
him), “wanted me to let you alone because you were about to go to
piquet, but I think no prince of England would sacrifice a man’s life
to a game of piquet.”

“Certainly not I, Sir Peter,” answered his Royal Highness, rising, “and
now I have an hour entirely at your service.”

“Sir,” said Sir Peter, “I ask the honor of shaking hands with you, not
as a royal prince, but as an honest man and good fellow.”

I think the Prince was ever susceptible to honest praise, for he was no
fool, and he was undoubtedly pleased when Sir Peter wrung his hand. He
then led the way into another room, and the door was closed.

The rest of the party behaved very civilly to me, and I accepted
thankfully an invitation to have something to eat and drink. They were
merciful to me, seeing my distress of mind, and did not plague me with
questions, but resumed their conversation with one another.

Presently the Prince and Sir Peter appeared, and his Royal Highness
said, with that charm of manner which seduced some men and many
women,--

“Hark’ee, Sir Peter; I do not promise that the affair will be complete
before Sunday night; I go to Windsor early in the morning, and two
days is a brief time in which to arrange so important a matter. But if
you will be at Windsor on Sunday morning, I pledge you my word as a
gentleman the paper shall be ready, signed, sealed, and delivered.”

At that Sir Peter fairly broke down, and could only say, “God bless
you, sir, God bless you!” and the Prince, turning the old man’s emotion
off gently, smiled and said,--

“’Tis for the preservation of the gallantry of our sex, Sir Peter, that
this young officer must not hang.”

He warmly invited us to remain and finish up the wine, and then one
of the gentlemen at the table, whether of design or not, mentioned
the extraordinary reports which had just reached London concerning
the trial at York, and I, encouraged thereto by a subtle look and a
question of his Royal Highness, told the whole story, assisted by Sir
Peter. It was listened to with the deepest interest.

Lady Arabella Stormont was known to every person there, and the Prince
remarked that he had danced with her at the last birthnight ball. Her
infatuation for Overton was well known and freely commented on, and
the strange measures that women will sometimes venture upon in the
interest, as they think, of the man they love, was exemplified in her
testifying against Giles Vernon. Sir Thomas Vernon’s hatred of his heir
was also well known,--and as the web was unfolded to the Prince he
listened with an air of the profoundest thought, and his comment was
significant,--

“The king can pardon.”

He had pity on us and did not press us to remain to cards, so we
left Carlton House about an hour after entering it, and with hearts
immeasurably lighter. Our first thought was to hasten back to our
lodgings to send off our good news to Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne by the
northern mail.

Sir Peter told me then that the Prince had directed him to go to
Windsor in the morning and remain, and that he himself would bring
him back on the Sunday morning, if the counter signatures to his
Majesty’s could not be had before. The Prince was quite familiar with
the procedure, and engaged to get the pardon from the king without
difficulty.

Early next morning Sir Peter left me. It was agreed that I should
proceed on the Sunday morning to the Bear and Churn, a tavern and
posting station near London, on the northern road, to arrange in
advance for the best cattle, in order that not a moment might be lost
in returning to York. So, after two miserable days alone in London,
while Sir Peter was at Windsor, I was glad on Sunday morning to be on
the northern road, preparing for our rapid return to York. The Bear and
Churn was directly on the highway, and was well out of London, being
surrounded by green fields and orchards.

It was a beautiful morning, more like April than February. The
greenness of the earth, the blueness of the heavens, the quiet of the
country, after the rattle and roar and dun skies of London, were balm
to my soul.

I reached the inn by ten o’clock; and, having arranged for their best
horses, and sent word two stations ahead, I sat down to pass the day
as best I might. I wrote a long letter to Daphne, and then, it being
about twelve o’clock, I went out for a walk.

There was a pretty pathway, through a little grove, toward a rolling
field, next the highway. I took this path, and presently came face to
face, at a turn in the path, with Overton. He was singularly dressed
for a man of his quality and profession.

He wore black clothes, with plain silver buckles at the knees, and
black silk stockings and shoes. His hair, unpowdered, was tied with
a black ribbon; but he wore no crape or vestige of mourning. I had
ever thought him the handsomest man in England; but in this garb, so
different from the brilliant uniform or other exquisite dress in which
I had heretofore seen him, he looked like an Apollo. He greeted me
gravely, but not impolitely; and we walked along together. He had heard
of my marriage, and felicitated me on it.

My heart was so full of Giles Vernon that I burst out with the story.
It seemed quite new to him; and he listened to it with breathless
attention, occasionally ejaculating his horror at the conduct of Sir
Thomas Vernon and of Lady Arabella Stormont. It gave me a savage
pleasure to tell him every dreadful particular concerning Arabella;
and by the look of consciousness which came into his expressive face,
and by the way in which he avoided my eye, I saw that he knew he was a
factor in the case against his will. At last, quite transported by my
rage against these two, I cried out,--

“And it is for the purpose of securing the estate to you that Arabella
Stormont thus swore away the life of Giles Vernon; but God will
confound her and Sir Thomas Vernon yet!”

“Truly,” said he, in a thrilling voice, “God will confound all the
wicked. He will bring this horrid scheme to naught in every way; for
know you, if Lady Arabella Stormont were to throw herself on her knees
before me--”

He stopped, and colored violently; he had not meant to admit what the
whole world knew,--that Arabella Stormont had adored him for seven
years past. He hurriedly changed the subject, saying,--

“Perhaps you do not know that I am no longer in the army.”

I said I did not.

“Although I have recovered the use of my limbs, and look to be in
health, I am not fit for service; and I was retired on half-pay only a
few days ago. My life is not likely to be long; but released as I am,
by God’s hand, from the profession of arms, I shall devote the remnant
of my life to the service of the Lord God Almighty. His message came
to me years ago, but I was deaf to it. I was in love with the world,
and possessed by the flesh and the devil. I committed murders under
the name of war. I dishonored my Maker by my dissipations. I spent in
gambling and vice the money wrung from the poor that were bond-slaves
to labor and poverty. I blasphemed, and yet I was not counted evil by
the world.”

I listened and wondered to myself, should this be true, where stood we
all?

Overton’s face had flushed, his eyes were full of rapture; he seemed to
dwell in the glory of the Lord.

“But now I am free from the body of that death, and subject only to the
yoke of the Nazarene,--the Jesus who labored with His hands to show
that work was honorable; the Carpenter who called about Him those
as poor as Himself, and preached to them the love of God and one’s
neighbor; who received the Magdalen as a sister and the leper as a
brother.”

I was silent. I had heard many sermons from deans and dignitaries,--all
well-fed men, and every man jack of them after promotion from the
Whigs,--and these sermons had left my heart as untouched as that of the
wild Indian of North America. But this was different. After a while,
Overton continued,--

“As this Jesus called all manner of men to follow Him,--the greedy
tax-gatherer, as well as Peter the poor fisherman, and John the gentle
and studious youth,--so He called me; and, like the tax-gatherer, whose
stony heart was melted by the voice of Jesus, I say with tears, ‘My
God! I follow Thee!’”

We had now approached the corner of the field, and involuntarily
stopped. I said to him blunderingly,--

“Shall you take orders?”

“No,” he replied. “I do not aspire to open my mouth as a teacher--I am
not worthy; but a few of the humblest people about here--I have been
in this place for some time--come to me on Sundays, in the forenoon, to
ask me to speak to them. They are day-laborers, hostlers--the kind of
people I once fancied to be without souls. I speak to them, not as a
preacher and teacher, but as a brother and a friend. It is now time for
them to assemble.”

I saw, sure enough, a number of poorly-dressed rustics coming toward
the field. They came by twos and threes, the women mostly with children
in arms, or hanging to their skirts. When all had arrived, there were
about thirty men and women. They seated themselves on the grass, and
I along with them, and, in some mysterious way, I felt, for the first
time in my life, that the plowman was my brother, and the kitchen wench
my sister.

When they were all seated, Overton took from his pocket a small Bible,
and read the Sermon on the Mount. The people listened reverently. He
gave them a short discourse, suited to their understanding, and then
read to them a simple hymn, which they sang with fervor.

I listened with a strange feeling, half pain, half pleasure, half
satisfaction, half dissatisfaction. I wished for Daphne’s sweet spirit
to be near me. It came to my mind how like was this meeting of the poor
and unlearned to those held by the Carpenter of Nazareth on the shores
of the Sea of Galilee. The hymn echoed sweetly over the green fields;
it was a part of that great antiphon with which Nature replies to the
harmonics of the Most High. The quiet scene, the woods, the fields, the
kine in the pasture near by, all seemed one in this act of worship. But
presently my soul was distracted by what I saw on the highway close by
us. A handsome traveling chariot, followed by a plain post-chaise going
Londonward, stopped. Out of the chariot stepped Lady Arabella Stormont,
and, through an opening in the hedge, she entered the field. After a
considerable interval, Mrs. Whitall followed her; and, after a still
longer one, Sir Thomas Vernon.

[Illustration: “Will you speak to me?” _Page 225_]

Lady Arabella walked noiselessly over the grass, and, when she reached
the edge of the group, stopped. Her eyes were full of laughing contempt
at first, but, when Overton turned his glance full upon her, she
suddenly assumed a look of seriousness, and folded her hands as if
in silent prayer. Behind her, Mrs. Whitall’s foolish face was all
fear, while Sir Thomas Vernon grinned unpleasantly over her shoulder.
Overton, without taking the slightest notice of them, at the conclusion
of the hymn announced that he would make a prayer, and asked his
hearers to join with him in a petition that the life might be spared
of a certain young man, Giles Vernon, now under sentence of death in
York jail. We all stood up, then, the men removing their hats. I held
mine before my face to conceal my tears, while Overton made a brief but
earnest prayer for Giles, and I could not refrain from crying, “Amen!
Amen!” when he concluded.

The people then trooped off, and we, the gentlefolks, were left
together.

Overton surveyed Lady Arabella and Sir Thomas with much contempt. Lady
Arabella was the first to speak. She held up her head timidly, and
said,--

“Will you not speak to me?”

“No,” replied Overton sternly. “Giles Vernon’s life may be spared; but
upon you is blood-guiltiness.”

Arabella turned pale, and replied,--

“I was summoned as a witness. I was obliged to testify.”

Overton said nothing. Then Sir Thomas, taking snuff with his usual
grace, remarked,--

“I listened with attention to one lawbreaker praying for another
lawbreaker. Of course, you know, this meeting of yours is
seditious--and many a man has been stood in the pillory for it.”

“And one Man,” replied Overton, “Jesus Christ, was crucified for it.”

He turned, and with me, took the path back to the tavern. I heard, as
we went on, an altercation behind me, and involuntarily, after we had
gone some distance, I looked back. Lady Arabella was struggling in the
grasp of Sir Thomas Vernon, while Mrs. Whitall looked on, and wrung her
hands. Sir Thomas, however, was no match for Arabella’s young strength.
She broke away from him, and, running after us, caught up, panting and
breathless, with us, as we entered the little grove. And then I saw an
almost exact representation of the scene when Giles Vernon had insanely
and with unmanly groveling and violence pleaded with Arabella for her
love,--so she pleaded with Philip Overton. She held him by the arms,
when he would have thrown her off.

“Philip! Philip!” she cried. “I did it for you! I determined to make
you rich, great, even if you refused my fortune. Sir Thomas can not
live long. Surely, _you_ can not reproach me, if all the world does.
The stupid, stupid world thinks I did it under the influence of Sir
Thomas Vernon; but no, it was not hate for Giles Vernon, it was my love
for you, Philip Overton, that made me appear at the York Assizes.”

“Remember yourself,” said Overton to her sternly. “Others, besides
myself, see your degradation!”

“It is no degradation to love truly, to love as I do. Speak but one
word to me, and I will become a Methodist like yourself. I, too, will
go among the poor, and serve and love them; and I will even love God
for your sake!”

The awful grotesqueness of this, the blasphemy of it, was altogether
unknown to her. She continued wildly,--

“Does not my soul need saving as much as those clods you have been
praying with?”

“You blaspheme!” replied Overton, casting her off.

And, to make the resemblance between her own unwomanly conduct and
the unmanly conduct of Giles Vernon the more singular, she recovered
herself, as he had done, in a single moment of time. She laid her hand
on Overton’s arm, and looked keenly into his eyes. Her glance seemed
to enchain him, and to set her free. She breathed a long sigh, and,
turning, gazed about her, like a person awaking from a nightmare. Then,
with perfect self-possession, she dropped a curtsey to us both, and
said, in her natural, playful manner,--

“Mr. Overton, I see I have been mistaken. I should have tried to
cheat the law by not appearing when I was summoned; or, I should have
testified falsely. And for my indiscreet conduct just now, let me tell
you, for seven years I have been under a spell. It is now broken for
ever. Titania once loved Bottom the weaver; but not always. I bid you
good day, Captain Philip Overton, and you, Mr. Richard Glyn. And I
trust Giles Vernon’s life may be saved, if only to keep you, Captain
Overton, as poor as you deserve to be. For myself, I shall shortly
marry,--perhaps, Sir Thomas Vernon,--then, neither of you will get the
estates. Good morning!”

And she was gone, flying along the field, with a white mantle streaming
after her, and her flight as rapid as the swallows in spring.



XI


At twelve o’clock that night Sir Peter arrived at the tavern, and with
the pardon.

The expectation of his coming, and the greater matter upon which we
were engaged, prevented my mind from dwelling longer upon the strange
scene I had witnessed between Overton and Lady Arabella. Overton did
not speak her name to me, and showed much sympathy for us. When Sir
Peter’s chaise drove up to the door of the Bear and Churn, another
chaise with four horses was waiting, and into it we huddled, bidding
Overton a hurried farewell; and in another moment we were off for York,
the horses doing their best.

Sir Peter then told me the circumstances of his visit to Windsor. The
Prince, who was always most powerful when the king was on the verge
of madness, saw his father and found him comparatively rational. The
story being broached to him, he appeared interested, and even grew
more collected as his attention was chained. He recalled at once Sir
Peter Hawkshaw and the capture of the _Indomptable_ and _Xantippe_, and
corrected the Prince when he spoke of Sir Peter as Vice-Admiral of the
White. It was a very easy matter to get his signature to the pardon,
and the necessary seals and formalities took some little time but no
trouble, and when Sir Peter presented himself at the Castle on Sunday,
all was prepared for him.

We felt now comparatively safe. There was little doubt that we could
reach York at least twenty-four hours in advance of the date set for
the execution; our letters would precede us, giving positive assurances
of hope; and we looked for no accidents, having a new and strong chaise.

After Sir Peter had told me his story, I told him mine about Lady
Arabella and Overton. He was not much imbued with the kind of religion
that Overton preached, although he swore roundly by Church and State,
and was always a great churchman when he was slightly in liquor, which
did not happen often. He therefore condemned Overton’s sermon, which
I tried to repeat to him, as a damned, beastly low sort of religion,
unfit for a gentleman to practise; but he admitted that Overton lacked
neither brains nor courage. For Lady Arabella, though, he had the stern
disapproval of an honest heart, and in his excitement swore both long
and loud because of the short-sightedness of Providence in permitting
such women to exist for the undoing of his Majesty’s officers of both
services.

We made good progress that night and the next day, which was Monday,
and began to have strong hopes of reaching York Wednesday night. But
on Monday, in the afternoon, the weather suddenly changed, a violent
snow-storm set in, and our postboys wilfully, I think, drove us ten
miles out of the way, near a tavern where they hoped, no doubt, we
would agree to stop until the storm should be over. But Sir Peter,
putting one of his great horse-pistols to the postboy’s head, forced
him to turn back to the high-road. We lost three hours by this; and
when we got to our next posting stage, our horses, engaged two days
ahead, had been taken. We got others, after a frantic effort, but at
the end of that day’s journey we saw our margin of time diminished
exactly one-half.

I shall not attempt to describe the fierce and gnawing impatience which
consumed us, nor the awful and unspoken dread which began to overshadow
us. Sir Peter was a man of stout heart, and had no more notion of
giving up at this stage of the affair than he dreamed of surrendering
when he saw the _Indomptable_ to windward and the _Xantippe_ to leeward.

The weather, however, grew worse instead of better, and even four
horses could scarcely drag us through the mire made by the snow and
rain. In spite of all we could do our progress diminished, although at
no time did it seem hopeless, until--O God! twenty miles from York,
at midnight on the Thursday, Sir Peter himself suddenly gave out; the
strain had proved too much for his brave heart and sturdy frame. It
came as the horses were wallowing along the road in the darkness, and
I, holding my watch in my hand, was glancing at it every ten minutes,
by the feeble light of the traveling lamp. I spoke to Sir Peter as he
lay back in the chaise wrapped in his boat-cloak, and got no answer.
He was unconscious. Without stopping the chaise, I got some brandy,
which I tried to pour down his throat, but could not. I grew much
alarmed,--it was not like Sir Peter to refuse good brandy, and as we
were passing a farmstead, I stopped the chaise, knocked the people up,
and had Sir Peter carried into the house. I met with kindness, and I
repaid it with coin of the realm. Sir Peter soon revived, and his first
words were,--

“Push on, my lad. Don’t wait to repair damages.”

I found that his seizure was really trifling, and he assured me he
would be able to resume the journey by daylight, the farmer agreeing to
furnish him horses; so, in half an hour I had again taken the road.

And ten miles from York, the chaise broke down!

I had the horses taken out, and, mounting the best beast, made for York
at the top of his speed, which was poor,--the creature was already
spent with traveling.

It was just daylight, and streaks of golden glory were lighting up
the pallid dawn; I urged the poor beast onward. Seven miles he went,
then he dropped dead, just as the sun was gilding the spires of York
Cathedral. Before me, along the road, jogged an itinerant tinker on a
rather good-looking horse, the tools of a tinker’s trade hanging from
a moth-eaten saddle. I was young and strong,--he was middle-aged and
ill-fed and feeble. I ran up to him, holding five guineas in my hand.

“Lend me this horse to ride to York!” I cried.

The man, astonished at my abrupt address, stopped, but gave me no
answer. I made my own answer, though, by dragging him off the beast,
dashing the five guineas on the ground, and clattering off, throwing
away the tools and kettles as I galloped along.

Already there were great crowds in the streets, and as I made my way
madly toward the jail, I was often impeded. I shrieked, I screamed
at the people, and waved aloft my precious paper, shouting, “Pardon!
Pardon!” The cry was taken up, and swelled in a great roar that came
from a thousand friendly throats. As I galloped along on the tinker’s
horse, in a frenzy, through the crowded streets, an awful unspeakable
Thing loomed up before me. It was the gibbet, and it was empty!

I felt the hot tears run down my cheeks at this, and some recollection
of the God that Overton had preached to me caused me to utter an
inarticulate thanksgiving! But if my tongue faltered, my heart did not.

At last I pushed my way through shouting crowds, to the jail. The
people parted, and I saw a black cart drawn by a white horse, and Giles
Vernon, with pinioned hands, sitting in it, by the side of the hangman.
I noticed--as I did all the trifles of that dreadful time--that the
jailer was ashy pale, and Giles was fresh-colored. I flung myself off
my horse, rushed toward the cart, holding the paper above my head. Oh,
the roaring and the shouting! I thrust it in Giles’ face; the hangman,
in a second, cut the thongs that bound the prisoner’s hands. Giles took
the pardon and kissed it, and then threw his arms around me and kissed
me, and smiled and waved his hat in the air, while voices thundered,
men shouting like demons, and women screaming and weeping. And the
next thing I knew Daphne appeared, as if dropped down from Heaven, and,
springing into the cart, clasped Giles; and Lady Hawkshaw, a little
slower, but yet quick, descended from the coach, in which she and
Daphne had come, and embraced all of us; and then, the cheering seemed
to rend the skies.

[Illustration: I saw Giles Vernon with pinioned hands. _Page 236_]

In a little while, the mood of the crowd changed. They began to clamor
for the blood of Sir Thomas Vernon. He was known to be away from home,
but, as if by a preconcerted movement, a dash was made for Vernon
Court, which was but five miles away. The military were called out, and
the crowd stopped; but not without a collision, and several persons
were badly injured, which did not tend toward better feeling for Sir
Thomas.

For ourselves, I remained with Giles until he was duly released by the
officers of the law, while Daphne and Lady Hawkshaw set off to meet Sir
Peter on the road. They met him, five miles off, and brought him back
to York in their coach. I shall never forget the scene when they drove
up to the inn where Giles and I were already, the crowd, however, not
allowing him to remain indoors at all. When the coach hove to, the
people, in their delight, picked Sir Peter up and carried him bodily
up stairs, to an open balcony, and demanded a speech, followed by
“Parliament! Parliament! Our next member!” and so on. Sir Peter made a
speech,--the most wonderful I ever heard,--standing with one hand on
Giles’ shoulder, and the other on mine, with Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne
in the background.

He began by roundly damning Sir Thomas Vernon, “and a lady who shall
be nameless.” Nevertheless, in spite of some vagaries, the speech was
full of sound sense, and he promised the people, if they gave him
their suffrages for parliament, he would do all in his power for the
abolition of the barbarous law from which Giles Vernon had suffered
so cruelly. He averred that it was impossible for a seaman, alone and
unaided, to take care of himself on dry land, Jack ashore being a
helpless creature at best, and but for Lady Hawkshaw he would probably
have been hanged himself, long ago. This allusion to Lady Hawkshaw, who
fairly divided the honors with Giles, brought forth yells of delight
from the crowd. Her ladyship appeared and bowed magnificently, and it
was a regular triumph for us all, from beginning to end.

Next day, with Giles, we all started for London, the happiest
coach-load of people in the three kingdoms.

Two days after our arrival, we read the announcement of the marriage,
at St. George’s, Hanover Square, of Sir Thomas Vernon to Lady Arabella
Stormont.

Sir Peter was delighted at this match, and so was Lady Hawkshaw, and
for once they were agreed. The position of the newly-married couple in
London was anything but a pleasant one; for Giles became the object
of public sympathy, and of popular and royal approval. The Prince of
Wales sent for him, and our visit to Windsor, whither we all went to
thank the king, was made a triumph for us. Sir Thomas and Lady Vernon
were forbidden the court and Carlton House, and were frequently hissed
in public. I saw them myself at Drury Lane, when they were hissed. Sir
Thomas merely grinned, while Lady Arabella surveyed the scowling faces
before her with a slow sweet smile, and calmly played with the diamonds
in her stomacher.

We had a whole year of happiness. The dreadful experience Giles had
been through began to tell on him, and he was permitted to remain
quietly a year on shore. And I, because of Giles, was given a year with
my bride before I had to leave her. And what a year of blessedness it
was to all! We all lived with Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw in Berkeley
Square, and those two honest souls took delight in us. Lady Hawkshaw
became a heroine, and the worthy woman enjoyed it thoroughly. Overton
came sometimes to see us. A persecution had been set on foot against
him; and he was several times arrested and sentenced for unlawful
assemblage. But persecution was not the way to prevail with Overton.

It was very well understood who instigated these continued
prosecutions, and that did not help to increase the popularity of Sir
Thomas and his beautiful wife. At last, a year to the month after
the trial at York, the last indignity was offered to Overton. He was
sentenced to be whipped at the cart’s-tail, and set in the pillory.

There was a general rally of his friends; and on the winter morning
when this barbarous sentence was to be carried out, a number, including
many persons of note, were assembled at the prison, when Sir Peter and
I joined them.

We soon heard that the government would not permit the first part of
the sentence to be carried out; but when Overton emerged from the
prison, he was unaware of this, and prepared for the worst. The holy
calmness of his countenance and air brought even Sir Peter to admit
that “the pious dog is a man, after all.” When informed that he would
not be whipped, Overton only remarked,--

“My Master was scourged. Why should I rebel?”

Arrived at the place of punishment, we found a great crowd assembled,
of all sorts of persons, among them some of the highest quality.
Overton saluted them, and with the utmost dignity submitted to the
cruel and hateful punishment. He had, however, the undisguised sympathy
of the officers of the law, as well as of the crowd, and was treated
with the utmost tenderness.

He was to spend three hours pilloried, and it was made the greatest
triumph of his life.

It is possible for a good man undergoing unjust punishment to be
dignified, even in the pillory; and so it was with Overton. His
singular beauty, the mildness of his countenance, the uncomplaining
fortitude with which he submitted to an odious and miserable position,
the remembrance of his past military services, showed him to be
every inch a man. Many of his friends came in their coaches, and,
descending and going up to Overton, saluted him respectfully and
expressed their sympathy, to which Overton gently returned thanks. At
last a very splendid coach appeared. It was magnificently horsed with
four thoroughbreds, and had outriders, besides two huge footmen with
nosegays. It drew up in front of the pillory, and within it sat Lady
Vernon, superbly dressed; and in her arms she held a very young infant
in a great robe of lace and satin. Two nurses sat on the front seat;
and Sir Thomas’ saturnine countenance glared behind Lady Vernon’s
beautiful, triumphant face. The coach stopped; and Lady Vernon, holding
the child up in her arms, directly in front of Overton’s eyes, gave him
a smile and a meaning look, as much as to say,--

“Poor wretch! your inheritance is gone!” The crowd, which was never
in a good humor with the Vernons, began to hiss vigorously. This they
appeared not to mind; but when hisses were followed by a shower of
stones and sticks, the equipage rolled off at the top of its speed.

At twelve o’clock Overton was released, and at once he was exhorting
the people to fear God and live truly to Him. He was not interrupted
by the constables who were present, and was listened to with solemn
attention. He has preached ever since, and has never again been
molested. And when a dear little girl came to my Daphne,--I was then
at sea, fighting the French,--Overton was at the christening, and made
a prayer over her infant head, which my Daphne believes will keep that
dear child good and holy all her life.

Giles Vernon, now Captain Vernon, in command of his Majesty’s ship
_Acasta_, forty-four, is counted the smartest of the young captains
in the British service. The women still love him; but Giles has grown
a little shy of going too far with them, and swears he will die a
bachelor. However, there appears to be an affair forward between my
little Daphne, who is now four years and six months old, and Captain
Vernon, and I think something will come of it when she is of a
marriageable age--and so thinks her mother too.



TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

--Bucaneer on page 21 has been changed to buccaneer.

--James on pages 69, 117, 125 and 160 have been changed to Jeames.

--All other variant and archaic spellings have been retained.

--Hyphenation has been retained as typeset.



*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Loves of the Lady Arabella" ***

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