CHAPTER XV.

There is a festival where knights and dames,

And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims,

Appear.

'T is he,--how came he thence?

What doth he here?

Lara.

There are two charming situations in life for a woman,--one, the first

freshness of heiressship and beauty; the other, youthful widowhood, with

a large jointure. It was at least Lucy's fortune to enjoy the first. No

sooner was she fairly launched into the gay world than she became the

object of universal idolatry. Crowds followed her wherever she moved

nothing was talked of or dreamed of, toasted or betted on, but Lucy

Brandon; even her simplicity, and utter ignorance of the arts of fine

life, enhanced the eclat of her reputation. Somehow or other,

young people of the gentler sex are rarely ill-bred, even in

their eccentricities; and there is often a great deal of grace in

inexperience. Her uncle, who accompanied her everywhere, himself no

slight magnet of attraction, viewed her success with a complacent

triumph which he suffered no one but her father or herself to detect.

To the smooth coolness of his manner, nothing would have seemed more

foreign than pride at the notice gained by a beauty, or exultation at

any favour won from the caprices of fashion. As for the good old squire,

one would have imagined him far more the invalid than his brother. He

was scarcely ever seen; for though he went everywhere, he was one of

those persons who sink into a corner the moment they enter a room.

Whoever discovered him in his retreat, held out their hands, and

exclaimed, “God bless me! you here! We have not seen you for this age!”

Now and then, if in a very dark niche of the room a card-table had been

placed, the worthy gentleman toiled through an obscure rubber; but more

frequently he sat with his hands clasped and his mouth open, counting

the number of candles in the room, or calculating “when that stupid

music would be over.”

Lord Mauleverer, though a polished and courteous man, whose great object

was necessarily to ingratiate himself with the father of his intended

bride, had a horror of being bored, which surpassed all other feelings

in his mind. He could not therefore persuade himself to submit to the

melancholy duty of listening to the squire's “linked speeches long drawn

out.” He always glided by the honest man's station, seemingly in an

exceeding hurry, with a “Ah, my dear sir, how do you do? How delighted I

am to see you! And your incomparable daughter? Oh, there she is! Pardon

me, dear sir,--you see my attraction.”

Lucy, indeed, who never forgot any one (except herself occasionally),

sought her father's retreat as often as she was able; but her

engagements were so incessant that she no sooner lost one partner than

she was claimed and carried off by another. However, the squire bore his

solitude with tolerable cheerfulness, and always declared that “he was

very well amused; although balls and concerts were necessarily a little

dull to one who came from a fine old place like Warlock Manor-house, and

it was not the same thing that pleased young ladies (for, to them, that

fiddling and giggling till two o'clock in the morning might be a very

pretty way of killing time) and their papas!”

What considerably added to Lucy's celebrity was the marked notice and

admiration of a man so high in rank and ton as Lord Mauleverer. That

personage, who still retained much of a youthful mind and temper, and

who was in his nature more careless than haughty, preserved little or no

state in his intercourse with the social revellers at Bath. He cared not

whither he went, so that he was in the train of the young beauty; and

the most fastidious nobleman of the English court was seen in every

second and third rate set of a great watering-place,--the attendant, the

flirt, and often the ridicule of the daughter of an obscure and almost

insignificant country squire. Despite the honour of so distinguished a

lover, and despite all the novelties of her situation, the pretty head

of Lucy Brandon was as yet, however, perfectly unturned; and as for her

heart, the only impression that it had ever received was made by that

wandering guest of the village rector, whom she had never again seen,

but who yet clung to her imagination, invested not only with all the

graces which in right of a singularly handsome person he possessed, but

with those to which he never could advance a claim,--more dangerous to

her peace, for the very circumstance of their origin in her fancy, not

his merits.

They had now been some little time at Bath, and Brandon's brief respite

was pretty nearly expired, when a public ball of uncommon and manifold

attraction was announced. It was to be graced not only by the presence

of all the surrounding families, but also by that of royalty itself; it

being an acknowledged fact that people dance much better and eat much

more supper when any relation to a king is present.

“I must stay for this ball, Lucy,” said Brandon, who, after spending

the day with Lord Mauleverer, returned home in a mood more than usually

cheerful,--“I must stay for this one ball, Lucy, and witness your

complete triumph, even though it will be necessary to leave you the very

next morning.”

“So soon!” cried Lucy.

“So soon!” echoed the uncle, with a smile. “How good you are to speak

thus to an old valetudinarian, whose company must have fatigued you to

death! Nay, no pretty denials! But the great object of my visit to this

place is accomplished: I have seen you, I have witnessed your debut in

the great world, with, I may say, more than a father's exultation, and I

go back to my dry pursuits with the satisfaction of thinking our old

and withered genealogical tree has put forth one blossom worthy of its

freshest day.”

“Uncle!” said Lucy, reprovingly, and holding up her taper finger with

an arch smile, mingling with a blush, in which the woman's vanity spoke,

unknown to herself.

“And why that look, Lucy?” said Brandon.

“Because--because--well, no matter! you have been bred to that trade in

which, as you say yourself, men tell untruths for others till they lose

all truth for themselves. But let us talk of you, not me; are you really

well enough to leave us?”

Simple and even cool as the words of Lucy's question, when written,

appear, in her mouth they took so tender, so anxious a tone, that

Brandon, who had no friend nor wife nor child, nor any one in his

household in whom interest in his health or welfare was a thing of

course, and who was consequently wholly unaccustomed to the accent of

kindness, felt himself of a sudden touched and stricken.

“Why, indeed, Lucy,” said he, in a less artificial voice than that in

which he usually spoke, “I should like still to profit by your cares,

and forget my infirmities and pains in your society; but I cannot: the

tide of events, like that of nature, waits not our pleasure!”

“But we may take our own time for setting sail!” said Lucy.

“Ay, this comes of talking in metaphor,” rejoined Brandon, smiling;

“they who begin it always get the worst of it. In plain words, dear

Lucy, I can give no more time to my own ailments. A lawyer cannot play

truant in term-time without--”

“Losing a few guineas!” said Lucy, interrupting him.

“Worse than that,--his practice and his name.”

“Better those than health and peace of mind.”

“Out on you, no!” said Brandon, quickly, and almost fiercely. “We

waste all the greenness and pith of our life in striving to gain a

distinguished slavery; and when it is gained, we must not think that

an humble independence would have been better. If we ever admit that

thought, what fools, what lavish fools, we have been! No!” continued

Brandon, after a momentary pause, and in a tone milder and gayer, though

not less characteristic of the man's stubbornness of will, “after losing

all youth's enjoyments and manhood's leisure, in order that in age the

mind, the all-conquering mind, should break its way at last into the

applauding opinions of men, I should be an effeminate idler indeed, did

I suffer, so long as its jarring parts hold together, or so long as I

have the power to command its members, this weak body to frustrate the

labour of its better and nobler portion, and command that which it is

ordained to serve.”

Lucy knew not while she listened, half in fear, half in admiration,

to her singular relation, that at the very moment he thus spoke, his

disease was preying upon him in one of its most relentless moods,

without the power of wringing from him a single outward token of his

torture. But she wanted nothing to increase her pity and affection for a

man who in consequence, perhaps, of his ordinary surface of worldly

and cold properties of temperament never failed to leave an indelible

impression on all who had ever seen that temperament broken through by

deeper though often by more evil feelings.

“Shall you go to Lady--------'s rout?” asked Brandon, easily sliding

back into common topics. “Lord Mauleverer requested me to ask you.”

“That depends on you and my father.”

“If on me, I answer yes,” said Brandon. “I like hearing Mauleverer,

especially among persons who do not understand him. There is a refined

and subtle sarcasm running through the commonplaces of his conversation,

which cuts the good fools, like the invisible sword in the fable, that

lopped off heads without occasioning the owners any other sensation than

a pleasing and self-complacent titillation. How immeasurably superior he

is in manner and address to all we meet here! Does it not strike you?”

“Yes--no--I can't say that it does exactly,” rejoined Lucy.

“Is that confusion tender?” thought Brandon.

“In a word,” continued Lucy, “Lord Mauleverer is one whom I think

pleasing without fascination, and amusing without brilliancy. He is

evidently accomplished in mind and graceful in manner, and withal the

most uninteresting person I ever met.”

“Women have not often thought so,” said Brandon. “I cannot believe that

they can think otherwise.”

A certain expression, partaking of scorn, played over Brandon's hard

features. It was a noticeable trait in him, that while he was most

anxious to impress Lucy with a favourable opinion of Lord Mauleverer, he

was never quite able to mask a certain satisfaction at any jest at the

earl's expense, or any opinion derogatory to his general character for

pleasing the opposite sex; and this satisfaction was no sooner conceived

than it was immediately combated by the vexation he felt that Lucy did

not seem to share his own desire that she should become the wife of the

courtier. There appeared as if in that respect there was a contest in

his mind between interest on one hand and private dislike or contempt on

the other.

“You judge women wrongly!” said Brandon. “Ladies never know each

other; of all persons, Mauleverer is best calculated to win them, and

experience has proved my assertion. The proudest lot I know for a woman

would be the thorough conquest of Lord Mauleverer; but it is impossible.

He may be gallant, but he will never be subdued. He defies the whole

female world, and with justice and impunity. Enough of him. Sing to me,

dear Lucy.”

The time for the ball approached; and Lucy, who was a charming girl and

had nothing of the angel about her, was sufficiently fond of gayety,

dancing, music, and admiration to feel her heart beat high at the

expectation of the event.

At last the day itself came. Brandon dined alone with Mauleverer, having

made the arrangement that he, with the earl, was to join his brother

and niece at the ball. Mauleverer, who hated state, except on great

occasions, when no man displayed it with a better grace, never suffered

his servants to wait at dinner when he was alone or with one of his

peculiar friends. The attendants remained without, and were summoned at

will by a bell laid beside the host.

The conversation was unrestrained.

“I am perfectly certain, Brandon,” said Mauleverer, “that if you were

to live tolerably well, you would soon get the better of your nervous

complaints. It is all poverty of blood, believe me. Some more of the

fins, eh?--No! Oh, hang your abstemiousness; it is d----d unfriendly to

eat so little! Talking of fins and friends, Heaven defend me from ever

again forming an intimacy with a pedantic epicure, especially if he

puns!”

“Why, what has a pedant to do with fins?”

“I will tell you,--ah, this madeira--I suggested to Lord Dareville, who

affects the gourmand, what a capital thing a dish all fins (turbot's

fins) might be made. 'Capital!' said he, in a rapture; 'dine on it with

me to-morrow.' 'Volontiers!' said I. The next day, after indulging in

a pleasing revery all the morning as to the manner in which Dareville's

cook, who is not without genius, would accomplish the grand idea, I

betook myself punctually to my engagement. Would you believe it? When

the cover was removed, the sacrilegious dog of an Amphitryon had put

into the dish Cicero's 'De Finibus.' 'There is a work all fins!' said

he. “Atrocious jest!” exclaimed Brandon, solemnly.

“Was it not? Whenever the gastronomists set up a religious inquisition,

I trust they will roast every impious rascal who treats the divine

mystery with levity. Pun upon cooking, indeed! A propos of Dareville, he

is to come into the administration.”

“You astonish me!” said Brandon. “I never heard that; I don't know him.

He has very little power; has he any talent?”

“Yes, a very great one,--acquired, though.”

“What is it?”

“A pretty wife!”

“My lord!” exclaimed Brandon, abruptly, and half rising from his seat.

Mauleverer looked up hastily, and on seeing the expression of his

companion's face coloured deeply; there was a silence for some moments.

“Tell me,” said Brandon, indifferently, helping himself to vegetables,

for he seldom touched meat; and a more amusing contrast can scarcely be

conceived than that between the earnest epicurism of Mauleverer and the

careless contempt of the sublime art manifested by his guest,--“tell me,

you who necessarily know everything, whether the government really

is settled,--whether you are to have the garter, and I (mark the

difference!) the judgeship.”

“Why so, I imagine, it will be arranged; namely, if you will consent to

hang up the rogues instead of living by the fools!”

“One may unite both!” returned Brandon. “But I believe, in general, it

is vice versa; for we live by the rogues, and it is only the fools we

are able to hang up. You ask me if I will take the judgeship. I would

not--no, I would rather cut my hand off,” and the lawyer spoke with

great bitterness, “forsake my present career, despite all the obstacles

that now encumber it, did I think that this miserable body would suffer

me for two years longer to pursue it.”

“You shock me!” said Mauleverer, a little affected, but nevertheless

applying the cayenne to his cucumber with his usual unerring nicety of

tact,--“you shock me; but you are considerably better than you were.”

“It is not,” continued Brandon, who was rather speaking to himself than

to his friend,--“it is not that I am unable to conquer the pain and to

master the recreant nerves; but I feel myself growing weaker and weaker

beneath the continual exertion of my remaining powers, and I shall die

before I have gained half my objects, if I do not leave the labours

which are literally tearing me to pieces.”

“But,” said Lord Mauleverer, who was the idlest of men, “the judgeship

is not an easy sinecure.”

“No; but there is less demand on the mind in that station than in

my present one;” and Brandon paused before he continued. “Candidly,

Mauleverer, you do not think they will deceive me,--you do not think

they mean to leave me to this political death without writing 'Resurgam'

over the hatchment?”

“They dare not!” said Mauleverer, quaffing his fourth glass of madeira.

“Well, I have decided on my change of life,” said the lawyer, with a

slight sigh.

“So have I on my change of opinion,” chimed in the earl. “I will tell

you what opinions seem to me like.”

“What?” said Brandon, abstractedly.

“Trees!” answered Mauleverer, quaintly. “If they can be made serviceable

by standing, don't part with a stick; but when they are of that growth

that sells well, or whenever they shut out a fine prospect, cut them

down, and pack them off by all manner of means!--And now for the second

course.”

“I wonder,” said the earl, when our political worthies were again alone,

“whether there ever existed a minister who cared three straws for the

people; many care for their party, but as for the country--”

“It is all fiddlestick!” added the lawyer, with more significance than

grace.

“Right; it is all fiddlestick, as you tersely express it. King,

Constitution, and Church, forever! which, being interpreted, means,

first, King or Crown influence, judgeships, and garters; secondly,

Constitution, or fees to the lawyer, places to the statesman, laws for

the rich, and Game Laws for the poor; thirdly, Church, or livings for

our younger sons, and starvings for their curates!”

“Ha, ha!” said Brandon, laughing sardonically; “we know human nature!”

“And how it may be gulled!” quoth the courtier. “Here's a health to

your niece; and may it not be long before you hail her as your friend's

bride!”

“Bride, et cetera,” said Brandon, with a sneer meant only for his own

satisfaction. “But mark me, my dear lord, do not be too sure of her.

She is a singular girl, and of more independence than the generality of

women. She will not think of your rank and station in estimating you;

she will think only of their owner; and pardon me if I suggest to you,

who know the sex so well, one plan that it may not be unadvisable

for you to pursue. Don't let her fancy you entirely hers; rouse her

jealousy, pique her pride, let her think you unconquerable, and unless

she is unlike all women, she will want to conquer you.”

The earl smiled. “I must take my chance!” said he, with a confident

tone.

“The hoary coxcomb!” muttered Brandon, between his teeth; “now will his

folly spoil all.”

“And that reminds me,” continued Mauleverer, “that time wanes, and

dinner is not over; let us not hurry, but let us be silent, to enjoy the

more. These truffles in champagne,--do taste them; they would raise the

dead.”

The lawyer smiled, and accepted the kindness, though he left the

delicacy untouched; and Mauleverer, whose soul was in his plate, saw not

the heartless rejection.

Meanwhile the youthful beauty had already entered the theatre of

pleasure, and was now seated with the squire at the upper end of the

half-filled ball-room.

A gay lady of the fashion at that time, and of that half and half rank

to which belonged the aristocracy of Bath,--one of those curious persons

we meet with in the admirable novels of Miss Burney, as appertaining

to the order of fine ladies,--made the trio with our heiress and her

father, and pointed out to them by name the various characters that

entered the apartments. She was still in the full tide of scandal, when

an unusual sensation was visible in the environs of the door; three

strangers of marked mien, gay dress, and an air which, though differing

in each, was in all alike remarkable for a sort of “dashing” assurance,

made their entree. One was of uncommon height, and possessed of

an exceedingly fine head of hair; another was of a more quiet

and unpretending aspect, but nevertheless he wore upon his face a

supercilious yet not ill-humoured expression; the third was many years

younger than his companions, strikingly handsome in face and figure,

altogether of a better taste in dress, and possessing a manner that,

though it had equal ease, was not equally noticeable for impudence and

swagger.

“Who can those be?” said Lucy's female friend, in a wondering tone. “I

never saw them before,--they must be great people,--they have all the

airs of persons of quality! Dear, how odd that I should not know them!”

While the good lady, who, like all good ladies of that stamp, thought

people of quality had airs, was thus lamenting her ignorance of

the new-comers, a general whisper of a similar import was already

circulating round the room, “Who are they?” and the universal answer

was, “Can't tell,--never saw them before!”

Our strangers seemed by no means displeased with the evident and

immediate impression they had made. They stood in the most conspicuous

part of the room, enjoying among themselves a low conversation,

frequently broken by fits of laughter,--tokens, we need not add, of

their supereminently good breeding. The handsome figure of the youngest

stranger, and the simple and seemingly unconscious grace of his

attitudes were not, however, unworthy of the admiration he excited; and

even his laughter, rude as it really was, displayed so dazzling a set

of teeth, and was accompanied by such brilliant eyes, that before he

had been ten minutes in the room there was scarcely a young lady under

thirty-nine not disposed to fall in love with him.

Apparently heedless of the various remarks which reached their ears, our

strangers, after they had from their station sufficiently surveyed the

beauties of the ball, strolled arm-in-arm through the rooms. Having

sauntered through the ball and card rooms, they passed the door that

led to the entrance passage, and gazed, with other loiterers, upon the

new-comers ascending the stairs. Here the two younger strangers renewed

their whispered conversation, while the eldest, who was also the tallest

one, carelessly leaning against the wall, employed himself for a few

moments in thrusting his fingers through his hair. In finishing this

occupation, the peculiar state of his rules forced itself upon the

observation of our gentleman, who, after gazing for some moments on an

envious rent in the right ruffle, muttered some indistinct words, like

“the cock of that confounded pistol,” and then tucked up the mutilated

ornament with a peculiarly nimble motion of the fingers of his left

hand; the next moment, diverted by a new care, the stranger applied his

digital members to the arranging and caressing of a remarkably splendid

brooch, set in the bosom of a shirt the rude texture of which formed

a singular contrast with the magnificence of the embellishment and the

fineness of the one ruffle suffered by our modern Hyperion to make

its appearance beneath his cinnamon-coloured coatsleeve. These little

personal arrangements completed, and a dazzling snuff-box released from

the confinement of a side-pocket, tapped thrice, and lightened of two

pinches of its titillating luxury, the stranger now, with the guardian

eye of friendship, directed a searching glance to the dress of his

friends. There all appeared meet for his strictest scrutiny, save,

indeed, that the supercilious-looking stranger having just drawn forth

his gloves, the lining of his coat-pocket which was rather soiled

into the bargain--had not returned to its internal station; the tall

stranger, seeing this little inelegance, kindly thrust three fingers

with a sudden and light dive into his friend's pocket, and effectually

repulsed the forwardness of the intrusive lining. The supercilious

stranger no sooner felt the touch than he started back, and whispered to

his officious companion,--

“What! among friends, Ned! Fie now; curb the nature of thee for one

night at least.”

Before he of the flowing locks had time to answer, the master of the

ceremonies, who had for the last three minutes been eying the strangers

through his glass, stepped forward with a sliding bow; and the handsome

gentleman, taking upon himself the superiority and precedence over his

comrades, was the first to return the courtesy. He did this with so good

a grace and so pleasing an expression of countenance that the censor of

bows was charmed at once, and with a second and more profound salutation

announced himself and his office. “You would like to dance probably,

gentlemen?” he asked, glancing at each, but directing his words to the

one who had prepossessed him.

“You are very good,” said the comely stranger; “and, for my part, I

shall be extremely indebted to you for the exercise of your powers in

my behalf. Allow me to return with you to the ball-room, and I can there

point out to you the objects of my especial admiration.”

The master of the ceremonies bowed as before, and he and his new

acquaintance strolled into the ball-room, followed by the two comrades

of the latter.

“Have you been long in Bath, sir?” inquired the monarch of the rooms.

“No, indeed! we only arrived this evening.”

“From London?”

“No; we made a little tour across the country.”

“Ah! very pleasant, this fine weather.”

“Yes; especially in the evenings.”

“Oho! romantic!” thought the man of balls, as he rejoined aloud, “Why,

the nights are agreeable, and the moon is particularly favourable to

us.”

“Not always!” quoth the stranger.

“True, true, the night before last was dark; but, in general, surely the

moon has been very bright.”

The stranger was about to answer, but checked himself, and simply bowed

his head as in assent.

“I wonder who they are!” thought the master of the ceremonies. “Pray,

sir,” said he, in a low tone, “is that gentle man, that tall gentleman,

any way related to Lord ----------? I cannot but think I see a family

likeness.”

“Not in the least related to his lordship,” answered the stranger; “but

he is of a family that have made a noise in the world; though he, as

well as my other friend, is merely a commoner!” laying a stress on the

last word.

“Nothing, sir, can be more respectable than a commoner of family,”

returned the polite Mr. -------, with a bow.

“I agree with you, sir,” answered the stranger, with another. “But,

heavens!”--and the stranger started; for at that moment his eye caught

for the first time, at the far end of the room, the youthful and

brilliant countenance of Lucy Brandon,--“do I see rightly, or is that

Miss Brandon?”

“It is indeed that lovely young lady,” said Mr. -------. “I congratulate

you on knowing one so admired. I suppose that you, being blessed with

her acquaintance, do not need the formality of my introduction?”

“Umph!” said the stranger, rather shortly and uncourteously. “No!

Perhaps you had better present me!”

“By what name shall I have that honour, sir?” discreetly inquired the

nomenclator.

“Clifford!” answered the stranger; “Captain Clifford!” Upon this the

prim master of the ceremonies, threading his path through the now

fast-filling room, approached towards Lucy to obey Mr. Clifford's

request. Meanwhile that gentleman, before he followed the steps of the

tutelary spirit of the place, paused and said to his friends, in a tone

careless yet not without command, “Hark ye, gentlemen; oblige me by

being as civil and silent as ye are able; and don't thrust yourselves

upon me, as you are accustomed to do, whenever you see no opportunity

of indulging me with that honour with the least show of propriety!” So

saying, and waiting no reply, Mr. Clifford hastened after the master of

the ceremonies.

“Our friend grows mighty imperious!” said Long Ned, whom our readers

have already recognized in the tall stranger.

“'T is the way with your rising geniuses,” answered the moralizing

Augustus Tomlinson. “Suppose we go to the cardroom and get up a rubber!”

“Well thought of,” said Ned, yawning,--a thing he was very apt to do

in society; “and I wish nothing worse to those who try our rubbers than

that they may be well cleaned by them.” Upon this witticism the Colossus

of Roads, glancing towards the glass, strutted off, arm-in-arm with his

companion, to the card-room.

During this short conversation the re-introduction of Mr. Clifford (the

stranger of the Rectory and deliverer of Dr. Slopperton) to Lucy Brandon

had been effected, and the hand of the heiress was already engaged,

according to the custom of that time, for the two ensuing dances.

It was about twenty minutes after the above presentation had taken place

that Lord Mauleverer and William Brandon entered the rooms; and the buzz

created by the appearance of the noted peer and the distinguished lawyer

had scarcely subsided, before the royal personage expected to grace the

“festive scene” (as the newspapers say of a great room with plenty of

miserable-looking people in it) arrived. The most attractive persons

in Europe may be found among the royal family of England, and the great

personage then at Bath, in consequence of certain political intrigues,

wished, at that time especially, to make himself as popular as possible.

Having gone the round of the old ladies, and assured them, as the “Court

Journal” assures the old ladies at this day, that they were “morning

stars” and “swan-like wonders,” the prince espied Brandon, and

immediately beckoned to him with a familiar gesture. The smooth but

saturnine lawyer approached the royal presence with the manner that

peculiarly distinguished him, and which blended in no ungraceful

mixture a species of stiffness that passed with the crowd for native

independence, with a supple insinuation that was usually deemed the

token of latent benevolence of heart. There was something, indeed, in

Brandon's address that always pleased the great; and they liked him

the better because, though he stood on no idle political points, mere

differences in the view taken of a hairbreadth,--such as a corn-law or a

Catholic bill, alteration in the Church or a reform in parliament,--yet

he invariably talked so like a man of honour (except when with

Mauleverer) that his urbanity seemed attachment to individuals, and

his concessions to power sacrifices of private opinion for the sake of

obliging his friends.

“I am very glad indeed,” said the royal personage, “to see Mr. Brandon

looking so much better. Never was the crown in greater want of his

services; and if rumour speak true, they will soon be required in

another department of his profession.”

Brandon bowed, and answered,--

“So please your royal highness, they will always be at the command of

a king from whom I have experienced such kindness, in any capacity for

which his Majesty may deem them fitting.”

“It is true, then!” said his royal highness, significantly. “I

congratulate you! The quiet dignity of the bench must seem to you a

great change after a career so busy and restless.”

“I fear I shall feel it so at first, your royal highness,” answered

Brandon, “for I like even the toil of my profession; and at this moment,

when I am in full practice, it more than ever--But” (checking himself at

once) “his Majesty's wishes, and my satisfaction in complying with

them, are more than sufficient to remove any momentary regret I might

otherwise have felt in quitting those toils which have now become to me

a second nature.”

“It is possible,” rejoined the prince, “that his Majesty took into

consideration the delicate state of health which, in common with the

whole public, I grieve to see the papers have attributed to one of the

most distinguished ornaments of the bar.”

“So please your royal highness,” answered Brandon, coolly, and with a

smile which the most piercing eye could not have believed the mask to

the agony then gnawing at his nerves, “it is the interest of my rivals

to exaggerate the little ailments of a weak constitution. I thank

Providence that I am now entirely recovered; and at no time of my life

have I been less unable to discharge--so far as my native and mental,

incapacities will allow--the duties of any occupation, however arduous.

Nay, as the brute grows accustomed to the mill, so have I grown wedded

to business; and even the brief relaxation I have now allowed myself

seems to me rather irksome than pleasurable.”

“I rejoice to hear you speak thus,” answered his royal highness, warmly;

“and I trust for many years, and,” added he, in a lower tone, “in the

highest chamber of the senate, that we may profit by your talents.

The times are those in which many occasions occur that oblige all true

friends of the Constitution to quit minor employment for that great

constitutional one that concerns us all, the highest and the meanest;

and” (the royal voice sank still lower) “I feel justified in assuring

you that the office of chief-justice alone is not considered by his

Majesty as a sufficient reward for your generous sacrifice of present

ambition to the difficulties of government.”

Brandon's proud heart swelled, and that moment the veriest pains of hell

would scarcely have been felt.

While the aspiring schemer was thus agreeably engaged, Mauleverer,

sliding through the crowd with that grace which charmed every one, old

and young, and addressing to all he knew some lively or affectionate

remark, made his way to the dancers, among whom he had just caught a

glimpse of Lucy. “I wonder,” he thought, “whom she is dancing with.

I hope it is that ridiculous fellow, Mossop, who tells a good story

against himself; or that handsome ass, Belmont, who looks at his own

legs, instead of seeming to have eyes for no one but his partner. Ah! if

Tarquin had but known women as well as I do, he would have had no reason

to be rough with Lucretia. 'T is a thousand pities that experience

comes, in women as in the world, just when it begins to be no longer of

use to us!”

As he made these moral reflections, Mauleverer gained the dancers, and

beheld Lucy listening, with downcast eyes and cheeks that evidently

blushed, to a young man whom Mauleverer acknowledged at once to be

one of the best-looking fellows he had ever seen. The stranger's

countenance, despite an extreme darkness of complexion, was, to be sure,

from the great regularity of the features, rather effeminate; but, on

the other hand, his figure, though slender and graceful, betrayed to

an experienced eye an extraordinary proportion of sinew and muscle; and

even the dash of effeminacy in the countenance was accompanied by so

manly and frank an air, and was so perfectly free from all coxcombry or

self-conceit, that it did not in the least decrease the prepossessing

effect of his appearance. An angry and bitter pang shot across that

portion of Mauleverer's frame which the earl thought fit, for want

of another name, to call his heart. “How cursedly pleased she looks!”

muttered he. “By Heaven! that stolen glance under the left eyelid,

dropped as suddenly as it is raised; and he--ha! how firmly he holds

that little hand! I think I see him paddle with it; and then the dog's

earnest, intent look,--and she all blushes, though she dare not look

up to meet his gaze, feeling it by intuition. Oh, the demure, modest,

shamefaced hypocrite! How silent she is! She can prate enough to me! I

would give my promised garter if she would but talk to him. Talk, talk,

laugh, prattle, only simper, in God's name, and I shall be happy. But

that bashful, blushing silence,--it is insupportable. Thank Heaven, the

dance is over! Thank Heaven, again! I have not felt such pains since the

last nightmare I had after dining with her father!”

With a face all smiles, but with a mien in which more dignity than he

ordinarily assumed was worn, Mauleverer now moved towards Lucy, who was

leaning on her partner's arm. The earl, who had ample tact where his

consummate selfishness did not warp it, knew well how to act the lover,

without running ridiculously into the folly of seeming to play the hoary

dangler. He sought rather to be lively than sentimental; and beneath the

wit to conceal the suitor.

Having paid, then, with a careless gallantry his first compliments, he

entered into so animated a conversation, interspersed with so many naive

yet palpably just observations on the characters present, that perhaps

he had never appeared to more brilliant advantage. At length, as the

music was about to recommence, Mauleverer, with a careless glance at

Lucy's partner, said, “Will Miss Brandon now allow me the agreeable duty

of conducting her to her father?”

“I believe,” answered Lucy, and her voice suddenly became timid, “that,

according to the laws of the rooms, I am engaged to this gentleman for

another dance.”

Clifford, in an assured and easy tone, replied in assent.

As he spoke. Mauleverer honoured him with a more accurate survey than

he had hitherto bestowed on him; and whether or not there was any

expression of contempt or superciliousness in the survey, it was

sufficient to call up the indignant blood to Clifford's cheek. Returning

the look with interest, he said to Lucy, “I believe, Miss Brandon,

that the dance is about to begin;” and Lucy, obeying the hint, left the

aristocratic Mauleverer to his own meditations.

At that moment the master of the ceremonies came bowing by, half afraid

to address so great a person as Mauleverer, but willing to show his

respect by the profoundness of his salutation.

“Aha! my dear Mr. -------!” said the earl, holding out both his hands to

the Lycurgus of the rooms; “how are you? Pray can you inform me who that

young man is, now dancing with Miss Brandon?”

“It is--let me see-oh! it is a Captain Clifford, my lord! a very fine

young man, my lord! Has your lordship never met him?”

“Never! Who is he? One under your more especial patronage?” said the

earl, smiling.

“Nay, indeed!” answered the master of the ceremonies, with a simper of

gratification; “I scarcely know who he is yet; the captain only made

his appearance here to-night for the first time. He came with two other

gentlemen,--ah! there they are!” and he pointed the earl's scrutinizing

attention to the elegant forms of Mr. Augustus Tomlinson and Mr. Ned

Pepper, just emerging from the card-rooms. The swagger of the latter

gentleman was so peculiarly important that Mauleverer, angry as he was,

could scarcely help laughing. The master of the ceremonies noted the

earl's countenance, and remarked that “that fine-looking man seemed

disposed to give himself airs.”

“Judging from the gentleman's appearance,” said the earl, dryly (Ned's

face, to say truth, did betoken his affection for the bottle), “I

should imagine that he was much more accustomed to give himself thorough

draughts!”

“Ah!” renewed the arbiter elegantiarum, who had not heard Mauleverer's

observation, which was uttered in a very low voice,--“ah! they seem real

dashers!”

“Dashers!” repeated Mauleverer; “true, haberdashers!” Long Ned now,

having in the way of his profession acquitted himself tolerably well

at the card-table, thought he had purchased the right to parade himself

through the rooms, and show the ladies what stuff a Pepper could be made

of.

Leaning with his left hand on Tomlinson's arm, and employing the right

in fanning himself furiously with his huge chapeau bras, the lengthy

adventurer stalked slowly along, now setting out one leg jauntily, now

the other, and ogling “the ladies” with a kind of Irish look,--namely, a

look between a wink and a stare.

Released from the presence of Clifford, who kept a certain check on

his companions, the apparition of Ned became glaringly conspicuous; and

wherever he passed, a universal whisper succeeded.

“Who can he be?” said the widow Matemore. “'T is a droll creature; but

what a head of hair!”

“For my part,” answered the spinster Sneerall, “I think he is a

linen-draper in disguise; for I heard him talk to his companion of

'tape.'”

“Well, well,” thought Mauleverer, “it would be but kind to seek out

Brandon, and hint to him in what company his niece seems to have

fallen!” And so thinking, he glided to the corner where, with a

gray-headed old politician, the astute lawyer was conning the affairs of

Europe.

In the interim the second dance had ended, and Clifford was conducting

Lucy to her seat, each charmed with the other, when he found himself

abruptly tapped on the back, and turning round in alarm,--for such taps

were not unfamiliar to him,--he saw the cool countenance of Long Ned,

with one finger sagaciously laid beside the nose.

“How now?” said Clifford, between his ground teeth; “did I not tell thee

to put that huge bulk of thine as far from me as possible?”

“Humph!” granted Ned; “if these are my thanks, I may as well keep my

kindness to myself; but know you, my kid, that Lawyer Brandon is here,

peering through the crowd at this very moment, in order to catch a

glimpse of that woman's face of thine.”

“Ha!” answered Clifford, in a very quick tone; “begone, then! I will

meet you without the rooms immediately.” Clifford now turned to his

partner, and bowing very low, in reality to hide his face from those

sharp eyes which had once seen it in the court of Justice Burnflat,

said: “I trust, madam, I shall have the honour to meet you again. Is

it, if I may be allowed to ask, with your celebrated uncle that you are

staying, or--”

“With my father,” answered Lucy, concluding the sentence Clifford had

left unfinished; “but my uncle has been with us, though I fear he leaves

us to-morrow.”

Clifford's eyes sparkled; he made no answer, but bowing again, receded

into the crowd and disappeared. Several times that night did the

brightest eyes in Somersetshire rove anxiously round the rooms in search

of our hero; but he was seen no more.

It was on the stairs that Clifford encountered his comrades; taking an

arm of each, he gained the door without any adventure worth noting, save

that, being kept back by the crowd for a few moments, the moralizing

Augustus Tomlinson, who honoured the moderate Whigs by enrolling himself

among their number, took up, pour passer le temps, a tall gold-headed

cane, and weighing it across his finger with a musing air, said,

“Alas! among our supporters we often meet heads as heavy, but of what

a different metal!” The crowd now permitting, Augustus was walking away

with his companions, and, in that absence of mind characteristic of

philosophers, unconsciously bearing with him the gold-headed object of

his reflection, when a stately footman, stepping up to him, said, “Sir,

my cane!”

“Cane, fellow!” said Tomlinson. “Ah, I am so absent! Here is thy cane.

Only think of my carrying off the man's cane, Ned! Ha, ha!”

“Absent indeed!” grunted a knowing chairman, watching the receding

figures of the three gentlemen; “body o' me! but it was the cane that

was about to be absent!”