Sybil, or the Two Nations Part 40

But we have no need of management. Your claim on the barony of Lovel is very good: I could recommend your pursuing it, did not another more inviting still present itself. In a word, if you wish to be Lord Bardolf, I will undertake to make you so, before, in all probability, Sir Robert Peel obtains office; and that I should think would gratify Lady Firebrace."

"Indeed it would," said Sir Vavasour, "for if it had not been for this sort of a promise of a peerage made--I speak in great confidence Mr Hatton--made by Mr Taper, my tenants would have voted for the whigs the other day at the ----s.h.i.+re election, and the conservative candidate would have been beaten. Lord Masque had almost arranged it, but Lady Firebrace would have a written promise from a high quarter, and so it fell to the ground."

"Well we are independent of all these petty arrangements now," said Mr Hatton.

"It is very wonderful," said Sir Vavasour, rising from his chair and speaking as it were to himself. "And what do you think our expenses will be in this claim?" he inquired.

"Bagatelle!" said Mr Hatton. "Why a dozen years ago I have known men lay out nearly half a million in land and not get two per cent for their money, in order to obtain a borough influence which might ultimately obtain them a spick and span coronet; and now you are going to put one on your head, which will give you precedence over every peer on the roll, except three (and I made those), and it will not cost you a paltry twenty or thirty thousand pounds. Why I know men who would give that for the precedence alone.--Here!" and he rose and took up some papers from a table: "Here is a case; a man you know, I dare say; an earl, and of a decent date as earls go: George the First. The first baron was a Dutch valet of William the Third. Well I am to terminate an abeyance in his favour through his mother, and give him one of the baronies of the Herberts. He buys off the other claimant who is already enn.o.bled with a larger sum than you will expend on your ancient coronet. Nor is that all. The other claimant is of French descent and name; came over at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Well, besides the hush money, my client is to defray all the expense of attempting to transform the descendant of the silkweaver of Lyons into the heir of a Norman conqueror. So you see, Sir Vavasour, I am not unreasonable. Pah! I would sooner gain five thousand pounds by restoring you to your rights, than fifty thousand in establis.h.i.+ng any of these pretenders in their base a.s.sumptions. I must work in my craft, Sir Vavasour, but I love the old English blood, and have it in my veins."

"I am satisfied, Mr Hatton." said Sir Vavasour: "let no time be lost.

All I regret is, that you did not mention all this to me before; and then we might have saved a great deal of trouble and expence."

"You never consulted me," said Mr Hatton. "You gave me your instructions, and I obeyed them. I was sorry to see you in that mind, for to speak frankly, and I am sure now you will not be offended, my lord, for such is your real dignity, there is no t.i.tle in the world for which I have such a contempt as that of a baronet."

Sir Vavasour winced, but the future was full of glory and the present of excitement; and he wished Mr Hatton good morning, with a promise that he would himself bring the papers on the morrow.

Mr Hatton was buried for a few moments in a reverie, during which he played with the tail of the Persian cat.

Book 4 Chapter 8

We left Sybil and Egremont just at the moment that Gerard arrived at the very threshold which they had themselves reached.

"Ah! my father," exclaimed Sybil, and then with a faint blush of which she was perhaps unconscious, she added, as if apprehensive Gerard would not recall his old companion, "you remember Mr Franklin?"

"This gentleman and myself had the pleasure of meeting yesterday,"

said Gerard embarra.s.sed, while Egremont himself changed colour and was infinitely confused. Sybil felt surprised that her father should have met Mr Franklin and not have mentioned a circ.u.mstance naturally interesting to her. Egremont was about to speak when the street-door was opened. And were they to part again, and no explanation? And was Sybil to be left with her father, who was evidently in no haste, perhaps had no great tendency, to give that explanation? Every feeling of an ingenuous spirit urged Egremont personally to terminate this prolonged misconception.

"You will permit me, I hope," he said, appealing as much to Gerard as to his daughter, "to enter with you for a few moments."

It was not possible to resist such a request, yet it was conceded on the part of Gerard with no cordiality. So they entered the large gloomy hail of the house, and towards the end of a long pa.s.sage Gerard opened a door, and they all went into a s.p.a.cious melancholy room, situate at the back of the house, and looking upon a small square plot of dank gra.s.s, in the midst of which rose a very weather-stained Cupid, with one arm broken, and the other raised in the air with a long sh.e.l.l to its mouth.

It seemed that in old days it might have been a fountain. At the end of the plot the blind side of a house offered a high wall which had once been painted in fresco. Though much of the coloured plaster had cracked and peeled away, and all that remained was stained and faded, still some traces of the original design might yet be detected: festive wreaths, the colonnades and perspective of a palace.

The wails of the room itself were waincsotted in pannels of dark-stained wood; the window-curtains were of coa.r.s.e green worsted, and encrusted with dust so ancient and irremovable, that it presented almost a lava-like appearance; the carpet that had once been bright and showy, was entirely threadbare, and had become grey with age. There were several heavy mahogany arm-chairs in the room, a Pembroke table, and an immense unwieldy sideboard, garnished with a few wine-gla.s.ses of a deep blue colour. Over the lofty uncouth mantel was a portrait of the Marquis of Granby, which might have been a sign, and opposite to him, over the sideboard, was a large tawdry-coloured print, by Bunbury, of Ranelagh in its most festive hour. The general appearance of the room however though dingy, was not squalid: and what with its s.p.a.ciousness, its extreme repose, and the a.s.sociations raised by such few images as it did suggest, the impression on the mind of the spectator was far from unpleasing, partaking indeed of that vague melancholy which springs from the contemplation of the past, and which at all times softens the spirit.

Gerard walked to the window and looked at the gra.s.s-plot; Sybil seating herself, invited their guest to follow her example; Egremont, not without agitation, seemed suddenly to make an effort to collect himself, and then, in a voice not distinguished by its accustomed clearness, he said, "I explained yesterday to one who I hope I may still call my friend, why I a.s.sumed a name to which I have no right."

Sybil started a little, slightly stared, but did not speak.

"I should be happy if you also would give me credit, in taking that step, at least for motives of which I need not be ashamed; even," he added in a hesitating voice, "even if you deemed my conduct indiscreet."

Their eyes met: astonishment was imprinted on the countenance of Sybil, but she uttered not a word; and her father, whose back was turned to them, did not move.

"I was told," continued Egremont, "that an impa.s.sable gulf divided the Rich from the Poor; I was told that the Privileged and the People formed Two Nations, governed by different laws, influenced by different manners, with no thoughts or sympathies in common; with an innate inability of mutual comprehension. I believed that if this were indeed the case, the ruin of our common country was at hand; I would have endeavoured, feebly perchance, but not without zeal, to resist such a catastrophe; I possessed a station which entailed on me some portion of its responsibility: to obtain that knowledge which could alone qualify me for beneficial action, I resolved to live without suspicion among my fellow-subjects who were estranged from me; even void of all celebrity as I am, I could not have done that without suspicion, had I been known; they would have recoiled from my cla.s.s and my name, as you yourself recoiled, Sybil, when they were once accidentally mentioned before you.

These are the reasons, these the feelings, which impelled, I will not say justified, me to pa.s.s your threshold under a feigned name. I entreat you to judge kindly of my conduct; to pardon me: and not to make me feel the bitterness that I have forfeited the good opinion of one for whom, under all circ.u.mstances and in all situations, I must ever feel the highest conceivable respect,--I would say a reverential regard."

His tones of pa.s.sionate emotion ceased. Sybil, with a countenance beautiful and disturbed, gazed at him for an instant, and seemed about to speak, but her trembling lips refused the office; then with an effort, turning to Gerard, she said, "My father, I am amazed; tell me, then, who is this gentleman who addresses me?"

"The brother of Lord Marney, Sybil," said Gerard, turning to her.

"The brother of Lord Marney!" repeated Sybil, with an air almost of stupor.

"Yes," said Egremont: "a member of that family of sacrilege, of those oppressors of the people, whom you have denounced to me with such withering scorn."

The elbow of Sybil rested on the arm of her chair, and her cheek upon her hand; as Egremont said these words she shaded her face, which was thus entirely unseen: for some moments there was silence. Then looking up with an expression grave but serene, and as if she had just emerged from some deep thinking, Sybil said, "I am sorry for my words; sorry for the pain I unconsciously gave you; sorry indeed for all that has past: and that my father has lost a pleasant friend."

"And why should he be lost?" said Egremont mournfully, and yet with tenderness. "Why should we not still befriends?"

"Oh, sir!" said Sybil, haughtily; "I am one of those who believe the gulf is impa.s.sable. Yes," she added, slightly but with singular grace waving her hands, and somewhat turning away her head, "utterly impa.s.sable."

There are tumults of the mind when like the great convulsions of nature all seems anarchy and returning chaos, yet often in those moments of vast disturbance, as in the material strife itself, some new principle of order, or some new impulse of conduct, develops itself, and controls and regulates and brings to an harmonious consequence, pa.s.sions and elements which seemed only to threaten despair and subversion. So it was with Egremont. He looked for a moment in despair upon this maiden walled out from sympathy by prejudices and convictions more impa.s.sable than all the mere consequences of cla.s.s. He looked for a moment, but only for a moment, in despair. He found in his tortured spirit energies that responded to the exigency of the occasion. Even the otherwise embarra.s.sing presence of Gerard would not have prevented--but just at this moment the door opened, and Morley and another person entered the room.

Book 4 Chapter 9

Morley paused as he recognised Egremont; then advancing to Gerard, followed by his companion, he said, "This is Mr Hatton of whom we were speaking last night, and who claims to be an ancient acquaintance of yours."

"Perhaps I should rather say of your poor dear father," said Hatton, scanning Gerard with his clear blue eye, and then he added, "He was of great service to me in my youth, and one is not apt to forget such things."

"One ought not," said Gerard: "but it is a sort of memory, as I have understood, that is rather rare. For my part I remember you very well, Baptist Hatton," said Gerard, examining his guest with almost as complete a scrutiny as he had himself experienced. "This world has gone well with you, I am glad to hear and see."

"Qui laborat, orat," said Hatton in a silvery voice, "is the gracious maxim of our Holy Church; and I venture to believe my prayers and vigils have been accepted, for I have laboured in my time," and as he was speaking these words, he turned and addressed them to Sybil.

She beheld him with no little interest; this mysterious name that had sounded so often in her young ears, and was a.s.sociated with so many strange and high hopes, and some dark blending of doubt and apprehension and discordant thoughts. Hatton in his appearance realised little of the fancies in which Sybil had sometime indulged with regard to him. That appearance was prepossessing: a frank and even benevolent expression played upon his intelligent and handsome countenance: his once rich brown hair, still long though very thin, was so arranged as naturally to conceal his baldness; he was dressed with great simplicity, but with remarkable taste and care: nor did the repose and suavity of his manner and the hushed tone of his voice detract from the favourable effect that he always at once produced.

"Qui laborat, orat," said Sybil with a smile, "is the privilege of the people."

"Of whom I am one," said Hatton bowing, well recollecting that he was addressing the daughter of a chartist delegate.

"But is your labour, their labour," said Sybil. "Is yours that life of uncomplaining toil wherein there is so much of beauty and of goodness, that by the fine maxim of our Church, it is held to include the force and efficacy of prayer?"

"I am sure that I should complain of no toil that would benefit you,"

said Hatton; and then addressing himself again to Gerard, he led him to a distant part of the room where they were soon engaged in earnest converse. Morley at the same moment approached Sybil, and spoke to her in a subdued tone. Egremont feeling embarra.s.sed advanced, and bade her farewell. She rose and returned his salute with some ceremony; then hesitating while a soft expression came over her countenance, she held forth her hand, which he retained for a moment, and withdrew.

"I was with him more than an hour," continued Morley. "At first he recollected nothing: even the name of Gerard, though he received it as familiar to him, seemed to produce little impression; he recollected nothing of any papers; was clear that they must have been quite insignificant; whatever they were, he doubtless had them now, as he never destroyed papers: would order a search to be made for them, and so on. I was about to withdraw, when he asked me carelessly a question about your father; what he was doing, and whether he were married and had children. This led to a very long conversation in which he suddenly seemed to take great interest. At first he talked of writing to see your father, and I offered that Gerard should call upon him. He took down your direction in order that he might write to your father and give him an appointment; when observing that it was Westminster, he said that his carriage was ordered to go to the House of Lords in a quarter of an hour, and that if not inconvenient to me, he would propose that I should at once accompany him. I thought, whatever might be the result, it must be a satisfaction to Gerard at last to see this man of whom he has talked and thought so much--and so we are here."

"You did well, good Stephen, as you always do," said Sybil with a musing and abstracted air; "no one has so much forethought and so much energy as you."

He threw a glance at her: and immediately withdrew it. Their eyes had met: hers were kind and calm.

"And this Egremont," said Morley rather hurriedly and abruptly, and looking on the ground, "how came he here? When we discovered him yesterday your father and myself agreed that we should not mention to you the--the mystification of which we had been dupes."

"And you did wrong," said Sybil. "There is no wisdom like frankness. Had you told me, he would not have been here today. He met and addressed me, and I only recognised an acquaintance who had once contributed so much to the pleasantness of our life. Had he not accompanied me to this door and met my father, which precipitated an explanation on his part which he found had not been given by others, I might have remained in an ignorance which hereafter might have produced inconvenience."

"You are right," said Morley, looking at her rather keenly. "We have all of us opened ourselves too unreservedly before this aristocrat."