The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 1. Lever Charles James
indolently within the deep recess of a cushioned chair, her attitude evinced a gracefulness and ease which long habit seemed to have identified with her nature.
At the opposite side of the table, and busy in the preparation of the breakfast, stood a young girl whose age could not have been more than eighteen. So striking was the resemblance between them that the least acute of physiognomists must have pronounced her the daughter. She was dressed with remarkable simplicity; but not all the absence of ornament could detract from the first impression her appearance conveyed, that she was one of birth and station. Her beauty was of that character which, although attributed peculiarly to the Celtic race, seems strangely enough to present its most striking examples among the Anglo-Irish. Rich auburn hair, the color varying from dark brown to a deep golden hue as the light falls more or less strongly on it, was braided over a brow of classic beauty; her eyes were of blue, that deep color which, in speaking or in moments of excitement, looks like dark hazel or even black; these were fringed with long dark lashes which habitually hung heavily over the eyes, giving them a character of sleepy, almost indolent, beauty. The rest of her features, in unison with these, were of that Greek mould which our historians attribute to the Phoenician origin of our people, – a character by no means rare to be seen to this day among the peasantry. If the mild and gentle indications of womanly delicacy were told in every lineament of her face, there were traits of decision and determination when she spoke not less evident. From her mother she inherited the placid tenderness of English manner, while from her father her nature imbibed the joyous animation and buoyant light-heartedness of the Irish character.
“And there are but two letters, Mamma,” said Helen, “in the bag this morning?”
“But two,” said Lady Eleanor; “one of them from Lionel.”
“Oh, from Lionel!” cried the young girl, eagerly; “let me see it.”
“Read this first,” said Lady Eleanor, as she handed across the table a letter bearing a large seal impressed with an Earl’s coronet; “if I mistake not very much, Helen, that’s my cousin Lord Netherby’s writing; but what eventful circumstance could have caused his affectionate remembrance of me, after something nigh twenty years’ silence, is beyond my power of divination.”
Helen Darcy well knew that the theme on which her mother now touched was the sorest subject on her mind, and, however anxiously she might, under other circumstances, have pressed for a sight of her brother’s letter, she controlled all appearance of the wish, and opened the other without speaking.
“It is dated from Carlton House, Mamma, the 2d – ”
“He is in waiting, I suppose,” said Lady Eleanor, calmly; and Helen began.
“‘My dear cousin – ‘”
“Ah! so he remembers the relationship at least,” muttered the old lady to herself.
“‘My dear cousin, it would be a sad abuse of the small space a letter affords, to inquire into the cause of our long silence; faults on both sides might explain much of it. I was never a brilliant correspondent, you were always an indolent one; if I wrote stupid letters, you sent me very brief answers; and if you at last grew weary of giving gold for brass, I can scarcely reproach you for stopping the exchange. Still, at the risk of remaining unanswered, once more – ‘”
“This is intolerable,” broke in Lady Eleanor; “he never replied to the letter in which I asked him to be your godfather.”
“‘Still, at the risk of remaining unanswered, once more I must throw myself on your mercy. In the selfishness of age, – don’t forget, my dear coz, I am eleven years your senior, – in the selfishness of age – ‘”
The old lady smiled dubiously at these words, and Helen read on: —
“‘I desire to draw closer around me those ties of kindred and family which, however we may affect to think lightly of, all our experiences in life tend to strengthen and support. Yes, my dear Eleanor, we are the only two remaining of all those light-hearted boys and bright-eyed girls that once played upon the terrace at Netherby. Poor Harry, your old sweetheart at Eton, fell at Mysore. Dudley, with ability for anything, would not wait patiently for the crowning honors of his career, took a judgeship in Madras, and he, too, sleeps in the land of the stranger! And our sweet Catherine! your only rival amongst us, how short-lived was her triumph! – for so the world called her marriage with the Margrave: she died of a broken heart at two-and-twenty! I know not why I have called up these sad memories, except it be in the hope that, as desolation deals heavily around us, we may draw more closely to each other.’”
Lady Eleanor concealed her face with her handkerchief, and Helen, who had gradually dropped her voice as she read, stopped altogether at these words.
“Read on, dear,” said the old lady, in a tone whose firmness was slightly shaken.
“‘A heart more worldly than yours, my dear Eleanor, would exclaim that the parti was unequal, – that I, grown old and childless, with few friends left, and no ambitions to strive for, stood in far more need of your affectionate regard, than you, blessed with every tie to existence, did of mine; and the verdict would be a just one, for, by the law of that Nemesis we all feel more or less, even in this world, you, whom we deemed rash and imprudent, have alone amongst us secured the prize of that happiness we each sought by such different paths.’”
A heavy sigh that broke from her mother made Helen cease reading, but at a motion of her hand she resumed: “‘For all our sakes, then, my dear cousin, only remember so much of the past as brings back pleasant memories. Make my peace with your kind-hearted husband. If I can forgive him all the pangs of jealousy he inflicted on me, he may well pardon any slight transgressions on my part, and Lionel, too. – But, first, tell me how have I offended my young kinsman? I have twice endeavored to make his acquaintance, but in vain. Two very cold and chilling answers to my invitations to Netherby are all I have been able to obtain from him: the first was a plea of duty, which I could easily have arranged; but the second note was too plain to be mistaken: “I’ll none of you,” was the tone of every line of it. But I will not be so easily repulsed: I am determined to know him, and, more still, determined that he shall know me. If you knew, my dear Eleanor, how proudly my heart beat at hearing his Royal Highness speak of him! – he had seen him at Hounslow at a review. It was a slight incident, but I am certain your son never told it, and so I must. Lionel, in passing with his company, forgot to lower the regimental flag before the Prince, on which Lord Maxwell, the colonel, the most passionate man in England, rode up, and said something in an angry tone. “I beg pardon, Colonel,” said the Prince, “if I interfere with the details of duty, but I have remarked that young officer before, and, trust me, he ‘ll come off ‘with flying colors,’ on more occasions than the present.” The mot was slight, but the flattery was perfect; indeed, there is not another man in the kingdom can compete with his Royal Highness on this ground. Fascination is the only word that can express the charm of his manner. To bring Lionel more particularly under the Prince’s notice, has long been a favorite scheme of mine; and I may say, without arrogance, that my opportunities are not inferior to most men’s in this respect; I am an old courtier now, – no small boast for one who still retains his share of favor. If the son have any of his father’s gifts, his success with the Prince is certain. The manner of the highly-bred Irish gentleman has been already pronounced by his Royal Highness as the type of what manner should be, and, with your assistance, I have little doubt of seeing Lionel appointed on the staff, here.
“‘Now, I must hazard my reputation a little, and ask what is the name of your second boy, and what is he doing?’”
Helen burst into a fit of laughter at these words, nor could Lady Eleanor’s chagrin prevent her joining in the emotion.
“This, he shall certainly have an answer to,” said the old lady, recovering her self-possession and her pride; “he shall hear that my second boy is called Helen.”
“After all, Mamma, is it not very kind of him to remember even so much?”
“I remember even more, Helen,” interrupted Lady Eleanor; “and no great kindness in the act either.”
“Shall