“Gone! for ever gone from me!” said Lord Colambre to himself, as the carriage drove away. “Never shall I see her more — never will I see her more, till she is married.”
Lord Colambre went to his own room, locked the door, and was relieved in some degree by the sense of privacy; by the feeling that he could now indulge his reflections undisturbed. He had consolation — he had done what was honourable — he had transgressed no duty, abandoned no principle — he had not injured the happiness of any human being — he had not, to gratify himself, hazarded the peace of the woman he loved — he had not sought to win her heart. Of her innocent, her warm, susceptible heart, he might, perhaps, have robbed her — he knew it — but he had left it untouched, he hoped entire, in her own power, to bless with it hereafter some man worthy of her. In the hope that she might be happy, Lord Colambre felt relief; and in the consciousness that he had made his parents happy, he rejoiced; but, as soon as his mind turned that way for consolation, came the bitter reflection, that his mother must be disappointed in her hopes of his accompanying her home, and of his living with her in Ireland: she would be miserable when she should hear that he was going abroad into the army — and yet it must be so — and he must write, and tell her so. “The sooner this difficulty is off my mind, the sooner this painful letter is written, the better,” thought he. “It must be done — I will do it immediately.”
He snatched up his pen, and began a letter.
“My dear mother, Miss Nugent —” He was interrupted by a knock at his door.
“A gentleman below, my lord.” said a servant, “who wishes to see you.”
“I cannot see any gentleman. Did you say I was at home?”
“No, my lord, I said you was not at home; for I thought you would not choose to be at home, and your own man was not in the way for me to ask — so I denied you: but the gentleman would not be denied; he said I must come and see if you was at home. So, as he spoke as if he was a gentleman not used to be denied, I thought it might be somebody of consequence, and I showed him into the front drawing-room. I think he said he was sure you’d be at home for a friend from Ireland.”
“A friend from Ireland! Why did not you tell me that sooner?” said Lord Colambre, rising, and running down stairs. “Sir James Brooke, I dare say.”
No, not Sir James Brooke; but one he was almost as glad to see — Count O’Halloran!
“My dear count! the greater pleasure for being unexpected.”
“I came to London but yesterday,” said the count; “but I could not be here a day, without doing myself the honour of paying my respects to Lord Colambre.”
“You do me not only honour, but pleasure, my dear count. People, when they like one another, always find each other out, and contrive to meet, even in London.”
“You are too polite to ask what brought such a superannuated militaire as I am,” said the count, “from his retirement into this gay world again. A relation of mine, who is one of the ministry, knew that I had some maps, and plans, and charts, which might be serviceable in an expedition they are planning. I might have trusted my charts across the channel, without coming myself to convoy them, you will say. But my relation fancied — young relations, you know, if they are good for any thing, are apt to overvalue the heads of old relations — fancied that mine was worth bringing all the way from Halloran Castle to London, to consult with tête-à-tête. So, you know, when this was signified to me by a letter from the secretary in office, private, most confidential, what could I do, but do myself the honour to obey? For though honour’s voice cannot provoke the silent dust, yet ‘flattery soothes the dull cold ear of age.’— But enough and too much of myself,” said the count: “tell me, my dear lord, something of yourself. I do not think England seems to agree with you so well as Ireland; for, excuse me, in point of health, you don’t look like the same man I saw some weeks ago.”
“My mind has been ill at ease of late,” said Lord Colambre.
“Ay, there’s the thing! The body pays for the mind — but those who have feeling minds, pain and pleasure altogether computed, have the advantage; or at least they think so; for they would not change with those who have them not, were they to gain by the bargain the most robust body that the most selfish coxcomb, or the heaviest dunce extant, ever boasted. For instance, would you now, my lord, at this moment, change altogether with Major Benson, or Captain Williamson, or even with our friend, ‘Eh, really now, ‘pon honour’— would you?— I’m glad to see you smile.”
“I thank you for making me smile, for I assure you I want it. I wish — if you would not think me encroaching upon your politeness in honouring me with this visit — You see,” continued he, opening the doors of the back drawing-room, and pointing to large packages, “you see we are all preparing for a march: my mother has left town half an hour ago — my father engaged to dine abroad — only I at home — and, in this state of confusion, could I even venture to ask Count O’Halloran to stay and dine with me, without being able to offer him Irish ortolans or Irish plums — in short, will you let me rob you of two or three hours of your time? I am anxious to have your opinion on a subject of some importance to me, and on one where you are peculiarly qualified to judge and decide for me.”
“My dear lord, frankly, I have nothing half so good or so agreeable to do with my time; command my hours. I have already told you how much it flatters me to be consulted by the most helpless clerk in office; how much more about the private concerns of an enlightened young-friend, will Lord Colambre permit me to say? I hope so; for, though the length of our acquaintance might not justify the word, yet regard and intimacy are not always in proportion to the time people have known each other, but to their mutual perception of certain attaching qualities, a certain similarity and suitableness of character.”
The good count, seeing that Lord Colambre was in much distress of mind, did all he could to soothe him by kindness: far from making any difficulty about giving up a few hours of his time, he seemed to have no other object in London, and no purpose in life, but to attend to our hero. To put him at ease, and to give him time to recover and arrange his thoughts, the count talked of indifferent subjects.
“I think I heard you mention the name of Sir James Brooke.”
“Yes, I expected to have seen him when the servant first mentioned a friend from Ireland; because Sir James had told me that, as soon as he could get leave of absence, he would come to England.”
“He is come; is now at his estate in Huntingdonshire; doing, what do you think? I will give you a leading hint; recollect the seal which the little De Cressy put into your hands the day you dined at Oranmore. Faithful to his motto, ‘Deeds, not words,’ he is this instant, I believe, at deeds, title deeds; making out marriage settlements, getting ready to put his seal to the happy articles.”
“Happy man! I give him joy,” said Lord Colambre: “happy man! going to be married to such a woman — daughter of such a mother.”
“Daughter of such a mother! That is indeed a great addition and a great security to his happiness,” said the count. “Such a family to marry into; good from generation to generation; illustrious by character as well as by genealogy; ‘all the sons brave, and all the daughters chaste.’”
Lord Colambre with difficulty repressed his feelings. “If I could choose,” said the count, “I would rather that a woman I loved were of such a family than that she had for her dower the mines of Peru.”
“So would I,” cried Lord Colambre.
“I am glad to hear you say so, my lord, and with such energy; so few young men of the present day look to what I call good connexion. In marrying, a man does not, to be sure, marry his wife’s mother; and yet a prudent man, when he begins to think of the daughter, would look sharp at the mother; ay, and back to the grandmother too, and along the whole female line of ancestry.”
“True — most true — he ought — he must.”
“And I have a notion,” said the count, smiling, “your lordship’s practice has been conformable to your theory.”
“I!— mine!” said Lord Colambre, starting, and looking at the count with surprise.
“I beg your pardon,” said the count; “I did not intend to surprise your confidence. But you forget that I was present, and saw the impression which was made on your mind by a mother’s want of a proper sense of delicacy and propriety — Lady Dashfort.”
“Oh, Lady Dashfort! she was quite out of my head.”
“And Lady Isabel?— I hope she is quite out of your heart.”
“She never was in it,” said Lord Colambre. “Only laid siege to it,” said the count. “Well, I am glad your heart did not surrender at discretion, or rather without discretion. Then I may tell you, without fear or preface, that the Lady Isabel, who talks of ‘refinement, delicacy, sense,’ is going to stoop at once, and marry — Heathcock.” Lord Colambre was not surprised, but concerned and disgusted, as he always felt, even when he did not care for the individual, from hearing any thing which tended to lower the female sex in public estimation.
“As to myself,” said he, “I cannot say I have had an escape, for I don’t think I ever was in much danger.”
“It is difficult to measure danger when it is over — past danger, like past pain, is soon forgotten,” said the old general. “At all events, I rejoice in your present safety.”
“But is she really going to be married to Heathcock?” said Lord Colambre.
“Positively: they all came over in the same packet with me, and they are all in town now, buying jewels, and equipages, and horses. Heathcock, you know, is as good as another man for all those purposes: his father is dead, and has left him a large estate. Que voulez-vous? as the French valet said to me on the occasion, c’est que monsieur est un homme de bien: il a des biens, à ce qu’on dit.”
Lord Colambre could not help smiling.
“How they got Heathcock to fall in love is what puzzles me,” said his lordship. “I should as soon have thought of an oyster’s falling in love as that being.”
“I own I should have sooner thought,” replied the count, “of his falling in love with an oyster; and so would you, if you had seen him, as I did, devouring oysters on shipboard.
“‘Say, can the lovely heroine hope to vie With a fat turtle or a ven’son pie?’
“But that is not our affair; let the Lady Isabel look to it.”
Dinner was announced; and no farther conversation of any consequence passed between the count and Lord Colambre till the cloth was removed and the servants had withdrawn. Then our hero opened on the subject which was heavy at his heart.
“My dear count — I have a mind to serve a campaign or two, if I could get a commission in a regiment going to Spain; but I understand so many are eager to go at this moment, that it is very difficult to get a commission in such a regiment.”
“It is difficult,” said the count. “But,” added he, after thinking for a moment, “I have it! I can get the thing done for you, and directly. Major Benson, who is in danger of being broke, in consequence of that affair, you know, about his mistress, wants to sell out; and that regiment is to be ordered immediately to Spain: I will have the thing done for you, if you request it.”
“First, give me your advice, Count O’Halloran: you are well acquainted with the military profession, with military life. Would you advise me — I won’t speak o............