The Coquette's Victim Part 6

CHAPTER VI.

Youth Full of Beauty and Promise.

There was no man of greater note in England than the late Royston Carruthers, Esq., Lord of the Manor of Rutsford. He was one of the ablest statesmen and finest orators in England. He had been returned for the Borough of Rutsford for many years, without opposition. To hear him make a speech was a decided treat; a handsome man of stately presence, he invested every word with new dignity. The grand volume of sound rolled on in one continuous stream; the ideas he expressed were n.o.ble, the sentiments patriotic and exalted; his gestures were full of animation and grace.

Royston Carruthers had done great service to his country in his time. He had advocated several important measures; his eloquence had facilitated the introduction of several bills; his country thought well of him, and for a wonder, was grateful to him.

Government offered him the t.i.tle of Baron Rutsford of Rutsford, and he had declined it, saying that his ancestors had for years asked no higher t.i.tle than that of Lord of the Manor, and he valued his name--Carruthers of Ulverston--too highly to ever exchange it for another.

In the very pride and zenith of his prosperity he married the Lady Hildegarde Blenholme, the only daughter of the Duke of Blenholme. She was a very beautiful and accomplished woman--proud to a fault, but generous and n.o.ble in disposition. They had one child, Basil, and while he was yet a boy, his father died, worn out with work and over-exertion.

He left his wife, Lady Hildegarde Carruthers, sole guardian of the boy, expressing a wish that she should bring him up to resemble herself in mind and disposition as far as it was possible.

Three years after the great statesman's death, a cousin of Lady Hildegarde died, leaving her only child, Marion Hautville, under the sole care and guardians.h.i.+p of the mistress of Ulverston Priory.

"Bring her up as you would a daughter of your own," wrote the dying mother. "She has a large fortunes--save her from fortune-hunters."

And Lady Carruthers, scrupulously carried out her kinswoman's wish. She took the girl to her own home, Ulverston Priory; she superintended her education; she brought her up in simple, refined habits--succeeded in making of her a perfect lady and a n.o.ble woman.

Then the dearest wish of her heart was to see her son, the heir to Ulverston, marry Marion Hautville, one of the loveliest girls and wealthiest heiresses in England. She was far too wise ever to express such a wish openly, none the less it was deeply engraven on her heart.

They were warmly attached to each other and Lady Carruthers fancied that she already saw some signs of liking on the part of Marion for Basil.

While Miss Hautville pursued her quiet, ordinary course of education under Lady Carruthers' roof, Basil went through Eton and Oxford; at both places he gained high honors and at both places he succeeded in puzzling his tutors and masters. He was of such a peculiar disposition; chivalrous, romantic, brave, yet with something about him--they could not define what, but quite unlike other boys.

He did not evince any taste for any particular branch of study; he had no inclination for the navy, for serving his country as his father had done before him. In fact, it was difficult to tell in what direction his taste really lay. Still, he left college with high honors, and his masters prophesied great things for him.

"He will make himself famous some day," they wrote to his anxious mother. "In the mean time, let him see something of the world, and you will know in what direction his talent lies."

So, crowded with honors, he came home to Ulverston. He was eighteen then and one of the handsomest young men England could boast. No barber's beauty; strong, comely, of n.o.ble bearing, with a face that had come to him from the crusaders of old.

Then Lady Hildegarde set herself to work to discover what manner of man her son was. She was puzzled; he was brave, generous, full of high spirits, truthful, even to bluntness. She could not discover any grave fault in him. She thanked G.o.d he had no vices, no mean faults, no contemptible failings.

"Basil," she said to him, one evening, as the three sat around the drawing-room fire. "Confess now, do you not like and admire the olden times better than these?"

"Yes," he replied; "I always did."

"I knew it," said Lady Hildegarde; "I understand now what has always puzzled everyone who has had the care of you. You were born two hundred years too late; the ancient days of knight errantry and chivalry would have suited you better than these."

"It is your fault, mother," he replied. "When I was only twelve years old, you gave me a beautiful edition of Froissart's Chronicles, and everything else has seemed dull and tame to me since."

"I thought as much," she said, quietly; "you make the same mistake others have made before you; you live in the past, not in the present."

"You are right, mother; in these days, there seems to me nothing to do."

"Your father thought differently," she said; "he died from overwork."

"Ah! my dear father was a genius," said the young man, thoughtfully, and for some minutes there was silence between them.

"I can understand you," said Lady Hildegarde, with a smile; "you would like to have been a knight, always looking out for some romantic adventure; you would have fought giants, released distressed princesses."

"Overthrown all wrong and upheld all right," he said; "that would have been my vocation."

Lady Hildegarde went over to him and laid her hand on his head. "My dearest boy, you are young yet, but will live to see that there is as much to be done in the way of redressing wrong now as there was in the days when knights rode forth to do battle for lady fair."

"I want some romantic adventure," he said; "I cannot see much in the plain, common ways of man. I should like to do something that would make me a hero at once, something brave and glorious."

"My dear boy," she said; "G.o.d grant you may learn to distinguish true from false, true romance from mere sentiment, true gold from mere glitter."

He looked so eager, so handsome, she kissed him with pa.s.sionate love.

"I should like to have been one of King Arthur's knights," he said, musingly.

"My dear Basil," said his mother; "your mind is chaos. I tell you there are giants to be fought, hydra-headed ones--the giants of ignorance, of wickedness, of injustice, and they call for a sharper, keener sword than that wielded by the knights of old."

And there came into her heart a great fear lest her boy, who had too much imagination, too much ideality, would waste his life in dreams.

"I will tell you, Basil," said Marion Hautville; "what I call a great hero. The man who does his duty perfectly in the state of life in which G.o.d has placed him."

"We all do that," replied Basil.

"Indeed we do not--you do not, to begin with. You ought now, instead of dreaming about Froissart and his barbaric times, you ought to be studying hard how to make a good master of this large estate--how to employ the vast wealth given to you--how best to serve your G.o.d, your country and those who will depend upon you."

"Solomon in petticoats!" cried Basil, gaily, and Marion joined in his laugh.

That conversation gave Lady Carruthers many uneasy moments. She understood so well the dreamy, yet ardent, romantic temperament of the boy.

"What shall I make of him?" she said. "Will he ever learn to live contentedly here at Ulverston, doing his duty, as Marion says, to G.o.d and man? My poor Basil, he lives too late!"

She asked advice from those best fitted to give it. One and all said the same thing; there would be nothing so useful for him as a tour on the Continent, seeing plenty of the world and going into society.

So Lady Carruthers, who loved home very dearly, gave up its peaceful tranquillity, and went with Basil and Miss Hautville to Paris, where they remained some months until they saw all that was most brilliant in that brilliant capital; from there to Berlin; then on to Vienna, and Basil lost much of his dreamy nature.

He was eager, ardent, impetuous, longing, as is the fas.h.i.+on of young men, to do brave deeds, to be a great hero, and not in the least knowing what to do.

He was just twenty when they returned home, at the commencement of the year; Lady Carruthers, worn out with travel and excitement, longing for rest. There was more to be done--her son had been presented at most of the courts of Europe; he must attend the first levees held in London this season.

The Carruthers had a magnificent mansion in Belgravia. Miss Hautville begged for one year more of seclusion and privacy, so that Lady Hildegarde and her son went to London alone. She remained there for a week, and then, finding her son afloat in London society, she returned to Ulverston.

And Basil Carruthers, the dreamy, ardent, romantic boy, remained in London alone.

CHAPTER VII.

A Modern Bayard.