CHAPTER LVIII.--HOME.

The comfort and splendour of the fashionable club-house, the tall

mirrors, the gilded cornices, the soft carpets, the massive furniture,

the powdered and liveried waiters gliding noiselessly about, all

impressed me with a high sense of the intense snugness of England and

of _home_, after my airy tent, with its embankment of earth for

shelter, its smoky funnel of mess-tins, and the tiny trench cut round

it to carry away the rainwater. Then I was discussing a breakfast

which, after my Crimean experience, seemed a feast fit for Lucullus or

Apicius, and listening with something of a smile to the rather loud

conversation of some members of the club--wiry old Peninsulars,

Waterloo and India men, who were certain "the service was going to the

devil," and who drew somewhat disparaging comparisons between the way

matters had been conducted by our generals and those of the war under

Sir John Moore, Lynedoch, Hill, and "the Iron Duke;" and to me it

seemed that the old fellows were right, and that after forty years of

peace we had learned nothing new in the art of campaigning.

"Captain Hardinge, a gentleman for you, sir," said a waiter,

presenting me with a card on a silver salver; and I had barely time to

look at it ere Sir Madoc Lloyd, in top-boots and corded breeches as

usual--his ruddy sunburnt face, his white hair and sparkling dark

eyes, in his cheery breezy way the same as ever--entered, hat and whip

in hand, and welcomed me home so warmly, that for a moment he drew

the eyes of all in the room upon us. He had breakfasted two hours

before--country time--and had a canter round the Park. He was in town

on Parliamentary business, but was starting that afternoon for

Craigaderyn. I should accompany him, of course, he added, in his

hearty impetuous way. Then ere I could speak,--

"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "Poor Harry! till I have seen you I

could not realise the idea of your being mutilated thus! No more

hunting, no more shooting, no more fishing----"

"And no more dancing, the ladies would add," said I, smiling.

"And no more soldiering."

"Unless the Queen kindly permits me."

"Gad! I think you have had enough of it!"

"And--and Miss Lloyd and Dora?"

"Are both well and looking beautiful. There are not many girls in

Wales like my girls. A seaside trip has brought back the bloom to

Winny's cheeks; and as for Dora, she never loses it."

"And why did Miss Lloyd refuse an offer so eligible as that of Sir

Watkins Vaughan?" I asked, after a pause.

"Can't for the life of me say," replied Sir Madoc, rubbing his chin,

and turning to the decanter as a waiter set some dry sherry and

biscuits before us.

"And why would not my little friend Dora have her Guardsman?"

"Can't say that, either. Perhaps she hated a 'swell' with an affected

'yaw-haw' impediment in his speech. Girls are so odd; but mine are

dear girls for all that. I'll telegraph to Owen Gwyllim to have the

carriage awaiting us at Chester; and we shall leave town before

luncheon-time, if you have no other plans or engagements."

"I have neither; but--but, Sir Madoc, why so soon?" I asked, as

certain passages in my later visits to Craigaderyn gave me a twinge of

compunction. "Now that I think of it, I had an idea of taking a run

down to Lewes in Sussex," said I.

"Lewes in Sussex--a dreary place, though in a first-rate coursing

country. I've ridden there with the Brighton Hunt. What would take you

there--before coming to us, at least?"

I coloured a little, and said,

"I have a friend there, among the Russian prisoners."

"By Jove, I think you've had enough of those fellows! Nonsense, Harry!

We shall start without delay. Why waste time and money in London?"

said Sir Madoc, who never liked his plans or wishes thwarted. "I have

just to give a look at a brace of hunters at Tattersall's for Vaughan,

and then I am with you. Down there, with our fine mountain breezes,

our six-months' Welsh mutton, and seven-years' cliquot, we'll make a

man of you again. I can't get you an arm, Harry; but, by Jove, it will

go hard with us if we don't get you _two_ belonging to some one else!"

I laughed at this idea; and so that evening saw me again far from

London, and being swept as fast as the express could speed along the

North-Western line towards Chester. I had quite a load of Russian

trophies--such were then in great request--for Sir Madoc: sabres,

muskets, and bayonets; glazed helmets of the 26th and Vladimir

Regiments, a Zouave trumpet (with a banner attached), trod flat as a

pancake under the feet of the stormers as they poured into the

Malakoff. There, too, were several rusty fragments of exploded

shells, hand-grenades, and the last cannon-shot fired from the Mamelon

Vert. For Winifred and Dora I had mother-of-pearl trunks of rare

essences and perfumes; slender gilt vials of attar of roses;

daintily-embroidered Turkish slippers, with turned-up toes, and

bracelets of rose-pearls from Stamboul; Maltese jewelry, lace, veils,

and as many pretty things as might have stocked a little shop in the

Palais Royal or the Burlington Arcade.

The month was June, and my spirits became more and more buoyant, as in

the open carriage we bowled along between the green mountains and the

waving woodlands. Now the mowers, scythe in hand, were bending over

the fragrant and bearded grass; the ploughmen were turning up the

fallow soil; the squirrels were feasting in the blossom; the sheep

were being driven to fold; and the crow was flying aloft, ere he

sought his nest "in the rooky wood." It was a thorough English June

evening: the air pure, the sunshine bright, and casting the shadows of

the mountains far across the vales and fresh green meadows; the

blackbird, thrush, and linnet sang on every tree, and a glow of

happiness came over me; for all around the land looked so peaceful and

so lovely, the gray smoke curling up from copse and dingle to mark

where stood those "free fair homes of England," of which Mrs. Hemans

sang so sweetly. Sir Madoc was discoursing on the cultivation of

turnips and mangold wurzels, and on the mode of extirpating annual

darnel-grass, coltsfoot, wild charlock, and other mysterious plants to

me unknown; and I heard him as one in a dream, when we entered the

long lime avenue.

How pleasant and picturesque looked the old house of the Tudor times

at the end of that long leafy vista, with all its tinted oriels, its

gilded vanes, and quaint stone finials! The woodbine, clematis, and

ivy, hops and honeysuckle, all blended in luxuriant masses, aspiring

to peep in at the upper windows. Craigaderyn, so redolent of fruit and

flowers, of fresh sweet air, of bright green leaves, of health and

every bracing element--a hearty old house, where for generations the

yule log had blazed, and the holly-branch and the mistletoe hung from

the old oak roof, when the snow lay deep on Carneydd Llewellyn; where

the boar's head was served up in state at Christmas, and at Michaelmas

the goose; where so many brides had come home happy, and so many old

folks, full of years and honour, gone to the vault of the old church

among the hills; where lay all the line of Lloyd, save the luckless

Sir Jorwerth Du; and where--. But here my somewhat discursive reverie

was interrupted by the carriage being pulled sharply up at the perron

before the entrance; and Owen Gwyllim, with his wrinkled face beaming,

and his white head glistening in the sunshine, hastened down to open

the door, arrange the steps, and shake the only hand the Russians had

left me.

"Where are the young ladies?" asked Sir Madoc, impatiently glancing up

at all the windows.

"Gone for a ride so far as Llandudno, with Miss Vaughan."

"Alone?"

"No, Sir Madoc, attended by Spurrit, the groom. They were gone before

your telegram arrived, but are to be back before the first bell rings

for dinner."

And now, after a little attention to my toilet, I was ushered into the

drawing-room, every object in which was so familiar to me; and seating

myself in the corner of an oriel, I gave way to a long train of deep

thought; for I was left quite alone just then, as Sir Madoc found

letters of importance awaiting him; and now, induced by the heat of

evening, the stillness broken only by the tinkle of a sheep-bell and

the hum of the bees at the open window, and by the length and rapidity

of my journey, I actually dozed quietly off to sleep.