CHAPTER CXLI.

THE FLIGHT.

Upon breaking away from the presence of his father, in the manner

already described, Charles Hatfield hurried to the house in Suffolk

Street; and bursting into the room where Mrs. Fitzhardinge and Perdita

were seated at breakfast, he exclaimed, “I have at length thrown off

all allegiance to my parents;--and I must now act wholly and solely for

my own interests.”

“Not altogether for _your own_, Charles--dear Charles,” said Perdita,

fixing upon him a plaintive and half-reproachful look, which made her

appear ravishingly beautiful in his eyes.

“No--not altogether for myself will I act,” he cried, embracing

her tenderly: “but for thee also, my angel--yes, for thee whom I

love--adore--worship!”

“What has occurred this morning to render your lordship thus agitated?”

enquired Mrs. Fitzhardinge.

“Oh! a quarrel with my father,” exclaimed Charles, who, in the

enthusiasm of his blind devotion to Perdita, had forgotten the old

woman’s presence. “He has played the part of a spy upon me--he has

followed me to your door--he knows that I visit you--and he will

doubtless endeavour to cause a breach between us!”

“Let us depart hence--now--at a moment’s warning!” cried Perdita. “We

have ample funds for the purpose. Last night a money-lender discounted

your note, Charles: and I have the proceeds safe in my own keeping.”

“Fortune favours us, then!” said the infatuated young man. “Yes--we

will depart without delay: we will hasten to some retired place where

we can deliberate, fearless of interruption, on the course which it

will now be necessary for me to pursue.”

“I will hasten to order a past-chaise,” observed Mrs. Fitzhardinge.

“This task had better be performed by myself--so that we may leave

behind us no trace of the route we shall have taken.”

“Thanks--a thousand thanks, my dear madam!” cried Charles: then,

when the old woman had left the room, he caught Perdita in his arms

and pressing her fondly to his bosom, said, “My parents are resolved

to force me into a marriage with Lady Frances Ellingham--they would

separate me from you----”

“Oh! Charles--were such a destiny in store for me,” said Perdita,

affecting to be melted to tears, “I should not be able to bear up

against the misfortune. For on you are all my hopes now fixed,--to you

have I given my heart--irrevocably given it;--and were you the veriest

mendicant on the face of the earth, I would never cease to love you as

now I love!”

[Illustration]

“Adored Perdita!” cried the young man, enraptured by the tender words

and the enchanting manner of the syren, as he strained her to his

breast and imprinted a thousand kisses on her brow, her cheeks, and her

lips. “Oh! never--never could I prove faithless to thee, my beloved

Perdita! Would that you were mine indissolubly--that you were mine by

the rites of the Church and the sanction of the law;--for then we might

defy the world to separate us!”

“Would you have me renounce the peculiar opinions which I have formed?”

asked Perdita, her heart palpitating with joy--for the young man had

thus, of his own accord, broached the delicate subject on which she

longed to speak, yet knew not how to begin. “Because, if such be

your wish, my beloved Charles, I will make even the sacrifice of my

strongest prejudices to your heart’s desire----”

“Now, indeed, do I know that you love me, sweetest--dearest girl!”

interrupted Charles, experiencing ineffable happiness at the idea of

possessing the beauteous Perdita on terms which would not render him

ashamed of his connexion. “Yes--yes: I _do_ demand that sacrifice at

your hands;--and, if you yield to my wishes in this respect, I shall

receive your assent as the most eloquent--the most convincing proof

of the attachment you avow! And, moreover, Perdita--dearest, dearest

Perdita--I shall be so rejoiced to place a coronet on that fair brow of

thine,--so proud to present thee to the world as my wife! Never--never

will enraptured husband have experienced a triumph so complete as that

which will be mine, when I shall conduct thee--so radiant, so dazzling

in thy beauty--amongst the friends whom the declaration of my rank

will gather around me,--and when I shall introduce thee, adored one,

as the Viscountess Marston! Yes--I shall indeed be proud of thee, my

angel;--and now--will you not breathe the word that is to promise me

all this triumph and all this joy?--will you not say, ‘_Charles, for

thy sake, I will accompany thee to the altar, and wed thee according

to the rites of the Protestant Church and the exigences of the

community_!’”

“Oh! not for another instant can I hesitate, my well beloved--my

handsome--my generous Charles!” exclaimed the syren, casting her arms

round his neck, and pressing him as if in rapture to her glowing bosom:

then, in the sweetest, most dulcet intonations of her melodious voice,

she said, “Yes--Charles, for thy sake, I will accompany thee to the

altar, and will wed thee according to the rites of the Protestant

Church and the usages of that society in which we live!”

“Now am I supremely happy!” cried Charles Hatfield, his tone and manner

fully corroborating his words. “We will repair to Paris, my beloved

Perdita--for there we can be united by the chaplain of the British

Embassy without an instant’s unnecessary delay; and thence also can I

write to my father, solemnly and formally calling upon him to assert

his right to the peerage which he has so long permitted his younger

brother to usurp. And in Paris my Perdita will be the cynosure of all

interest----”

“Oh! yes--let us visit that delightful city of which I have heard so

much!” interrupted the young woman, her eyes gleaming resplendently

with the pleasing sensations excited by the idea. “But I must now leave

you for a moment, to prepare for this sudden journey--as my mother

cannot be long before she returns.”

Perdita rose from the sofa, and hastened from the room, kissing her

hand with playful fondness to her lover as she crossed the threshold.

Even that simple action on her part excited the most ravishing feelings

in his soul;--for as she thus turned round for an instant ere the

door closed behind her, his looks swept all the fulness--all the

contours--all the rich proportions of her voluptuous form,--while the

morning sun-light, rosy from the hues of the hangings through which it

penetrated, shone on her beauteous countenance, giving splendour to the

fine large eyes, freshness to the vermilion lips, and a halo to her

glossy hair!

She disappeared; and Charles, who had risen from his seat

simultaneously with herself, advanced to the window. The street was

quiet;--but the sounds of the rapid vehicles in Cockspur Street met his

ears;--and he wondered whether the post-chaise were yet approaching the

dwelling.

This idea led him to ponder on the step which he was about to

take;--and a sensation of sadness slowly crept upon him, as he

reflected that he was on the point of leaving his home--abandoning his

parents and friends! The recollection of his mother smote him--smote

him painfully;--and yet he did not seek by inward, silent reasoning

to improve this better state of feeling, and act upon its warnings.

No:--with that perverseness which so frequently characterises those

who are on the point of adopting a measure which they secretly know to

be injudicious and unwisely precipitate--even if no worse,--he sought

in sophistry and specious mental argument an apology for his conduct.

Again he reminded himself that his parents had acted unnaturally

towards him,--and that their uniform conduct in this respect had now

been followed up by harshness, upbraidings, menaces, and _espionnage_,

on the part of his father. Then he feasted his imagination with

the thoughts of possessing Perdita:--in a few days she would be

his--irrevocably his, and in a manner which would enable him to

present her proudly to the world as his wedded wife. From this strain

of meditations he glided into glorious, gorgeous, visions of future

greatness:--the words, “My Lord,” and “Your Lordship,” only so recently

addressed to him, sounded like delicious music in his ears;--and

his painful reflections were subdued by the feelings of triumph now

once more awakened within him. Love--ambition--hope,--all--all his

yearnings, all his cravings were now on the point of being gratified:

he should cast off that parental yoke which had latterly weighed so

heavily upon him;--he was about to visit Paris--he would appear as

a Viscount, and with a beauteous bride, in the sphere of fashion

the most refined, elegance the most perfect, and civilisation the

most consummate,--and he already fancied himself walking in the

delicious gardens of the Tuileries, with Perdita--the observed of all

observers--leaning fondly on his arm!

These visions--sweeping like a gorgeous pageantry through his excited

imagination--brought him to that state of mind, in which all regrets

were banished--all remorse was forgotten;--and when Perdita returned

to the apartment, ready attired for the journey, he flew towards

her--he wound his arms around her wasp-like waist, and pressed her

enthusiastically to his bosom.

This was the first time that he had seen her in a walking-dress;--and

he thought that she even appeared more ravishingly beautiful than

when in her morning _déshabillée_, or her drawing-room garb. The

pink crape bonnet, adorned with artificial flowers, set off her fine

countenance with such admirable effect:--the flowing drapery of the

elegant summer-shawl meandered over the proportions of the symmetrical

form--developing each contour with its wavy undulations:--and the

straw-coloured kid gloves, fitting tightly to a fault, described the

shape of the beautiful tapering fingers.

“You are lovely beyond the loveliness of woman!” murmured Charles

Hatfield, surveying her with an admiration the most unfeigned--the most

sincere.

“And you, Charles--are not you my own handsome, dearly beloved

Charles--so soon to be my husband?” asked Perdita. “You said just

now that you should be proud to present me as your wife to your

friends:--Oh! I feel--yes, I feel that I shall also be proud to be so

presented. My mind seems to have undergone a complete change since I

made you that promise to wed you at the altar;--and you must forget,

dear Charles, that I ever wished it otherwise!”

Hatfield, for all answer, impressed a burning kiss upon her rosy

lips;--and the young woman’s eyes became soft and melting in

expression--voluptuous and languid with desire.

At this instant her mother returned, with the announcement that the

post-chaise would be at the door in less than a quarter of an hour;

and the old woman hastened to the bed-rooms to pack up the trunks.

Her daughter, who kept the purse, then gave her the necessary money

to liquidate all liabilities due to the landlady of the house; and

while this was being done, Perdita placed the gold and Bank-notes in

Charles’s hand, saying, “In the excitement of the morning’s incidents I

forgot to tender you this amount before.”

“Henceforth all that I have is yours equally, my beloved,” said the

young man, as he secured the money about his person.

The post-chaise-and-four now appeared; and while the trunks were

being strapped on to the vehicle, Mrs. Fitzhardinge superintended the

process, apparently with the bustling officiousness of an old woman

of particular habits, but in reality to prevent any communication

between the post-boys and the people of the dwelling;--for she knew how

inquisitive lodging-house keepers were apt to be, and that postilions

were proportionately communicative.

At length all the arrangements were completed;--Charles handed his

Perdita into the vehicle--manifested the same politeness towards the

old mother--and then entered it himself. Mrs. Fitzhardinge had placed

herself with her back to the horses, on an imperious sign from Perdita

to that effect;--so that the young couple were next to each other on

the same seat.

The post-chaise rolled rapidly away from Suffolk Street, and passed

down Whitehall towards Westminster Bridge. So long as the wheels

rattled over the stones, but little conversation took place inside

the vehicle,--though Charles and Perdita conveyed to each other many

tender assurances by means of the eloquent language of the eyes and

the pressure of hands. When, however, the chaise emerged from the more

crowded, thoroughfares of the metropolis, and entered upon the Dover

Road, the travelling party were enabled to discourse at ease.

The day was very sultry;--but the upper part of the barouche was now

thrown open; and the speed at which they travelled, created a current

of air that mitigated the intensity of the heat. However, Perdita put

up her parasol; and as the faces of the happy pair were not very far

apart, the silk canopy, circumscribed though it were, shaded those fine

countenances which really seemed made to be side by side with each

other,--both being so handsome!

For a short time the conversation was general amongst the

three:--gradually, however, Mrs. Fitzhardinge was, as it were, excluded

from its range--not rudely so,--but because it became of a tender

description between the young gentleman and her daughter;--and then it

languished somewhat, inasmuch as the old woman was a restraint upon

them.

At length there was a pause altogether; but still Charles and Perdita

felt no weariness in each other’s society. They gazed on each

other--drinking draughts of love in each other’s looks,--and often

pressing each other’s hands

For Perdita really loved the young man,--loved him with a deep and

ardent affection, of which however sensuality formed no inconsiderable

portion. Nevertheless, she _did_ love him after the fashion of her own

heart;--and thus to some extent the snarer had become ensnared!

It was in a humour of melting and voluptuous languor, that, suddenly

breaking the silence noticed above, Perdita said in her soft, dulcet

tones, “Charles, how delicious is it to travel in this manner! Do you

know that I feel as if I should like you to repeat to me a piece of

poetry--or tell me some interesting tale--for it is so sweet to hear

the sound of your voice. But if you thus gratify my caprice--this whim

of the moment--let the theme of your recitation be love!”

“I will endeavour to please you, my charmer,” returned the young

man;--“and at this moment I bethink me of a Love Story that I wrote

myself some few years ago--one day, when the mania for scribbling

suddenly seized upon me.”

“Oh! that will be truly delightful!” exclaimed Perdita. “A story of

your own composition! Begin, Charles--dear Charles: I am dying to hear

this specimen of your abilities.”

“I am afraid it will prove but a poor one,” returned Hatfield. “At the

same time, such as it is, I will repeat it.”

Mrs. Fitzhardinge, having overheard this dialogue, intimated the

pleasure she should experience in listening to the tale;--and as the

chaise was now rolling along a road rendered, as it were, soft by the

accumulation of the dust of summer, Charles was not compelled to pitch

his voice to a key unpleasantly high, in relating the ensuing narrative.