Lothair Part 53

"I think you may be right in that," said Lothair, with half a sigh.

"Action may not always be happiness," said the general; "but there is no happiness without action. If you will not fight the Egyptians, were I you, I would return home and plunge into affairs. That was a fine castle of yours I visited one morning; a man who lives in such a place must be able to find a great deal to do."

"I almost wish I were there, with you for my companion," said Lothair.

"The wheel may turn," said the general; "but I begin to think I shall not see much of Europe again. I have given it some of my best years and best blood; and, if I had a.s.sisted in establishing the Roman republic, I should not have lived in vain; but the old imposture seems to me stronger than ever. I have got ten good years in me yet; and, if I be well supported and in luck, for, after all, every thing depends on fortune, and manage to put a couple of hundred thousand men in perfect discipline, I may find some consolation for not blowing up St. Peter's, and may do something for the freedom of mankind on the banks of the Danube."

CHAPTER 80

Mrs. Putney Giles, in full toilet, was standing before the mantel-piece of her drawing-room in Hyde Park Gardens, and watching, with some anxiety, the clock that rested on it. It was the dinner-hour, and Mr.

Putney Giles, particular in such matters, had not returned. No one looked forward to his dinner, and a chat with his wife, with greater zest than Mr. Putney Giles; and he deserved the gratification which both incidents afforded him, for he fairly earned it. Full of news and bustle, brimful of importance and prosperity, sunshiny and successful, his daily return home--which, with many, perhaps most, men, is a process lugubriously monotonous--was in Hyde Park Gardens, even to Apollonia, who possessed many means of amus.e.m.e.nt and occupation, a source ever of interest and excitement.

To-day too, particularly, for their great client, friend, and patron, Lothair, had arrived last night, from the Continent, at Muriel House, and had directed Mr. Putney Giles to be in attendance on him on the afternoon of this day.

Muriel House was a family mansion in the Green Park. It was built of hewn stone, during the last century--a Palladian edifice, for a time much neglected, but now restored and duly prepared for the reception of its lord and master by the same combined energy and taste which had proved so satisfactory and successful at Muriel Towers.

It was a long room, the front saloon at Hyde Park Gardens, and the door was as remote as possible from the mantel-piece. It opened suddenly, but only the panting face of Mr. Putney Giles was seen, as he poured forth in hurried words: "My dear, dreadfully late, but I can dress in five minutes. I only opened the door in pa.s.sing, to tell you that I have seen our great friend; wonderful man! but I will tell you all at dinner, or after. It was not he who kept me, but the Duke of Brecon. The duke has been with me two hours. I had a good mind to bring him home to dinner, and give him a bottle of my '48. They like that sort of thing, but it will keep," and the head vanished.

The Duke of Brecon would not have dined ill, had he honored this household. It is a pleasant thing to see an opulent and prosperous man of business, sanguine and full of health, and a little overworked, at that royal meal, dinner. How he enjoys his soup! And how curious in his fish! How critical in his entr e, and how nice in his Welsh mutton! His exhausted brain rallies under the gla.s.s of dry sherry, and he realizes all his dreams with the aid of claret that has the true flavor of the violet.

"And now, my dear Apollonia," said Mr. Putney Giles, when the servants had retired, and he turned his chair and played with a new nut from the Brazils, "about our great friend. Well, I was there at two o'clock, and found him at breakfast. Indeed, he said that, had he not given me an appointment, he thought he should not have risen at all. So delighted he was to find himself again in an English bed. Well, he told me every thing that had happened. I never knew a man so unreserved, and so different from what he was when I first knew him, for he never much cared then to talk about himself. But no egotism, nothing of that sort of thing--all his mistakes, all his blunders, as he called them. He told me every thing, that I might thoroughly understand his position, and that he might judge whether the steps I had taken in reference to it were adequate."

"I suppose about his religion," said Apollonia. "What is he, after all?"

"As sound as you are. But you are right; that was the point on which he was most anxious. He wrote, you know, to me from Malta, when the account of his conversion first appeared, to take all necessary steps to contradict the announcement, and counteract its consequences. He gave me carte blanche, and was anxious to know precisely what I had done. I told him that a mere contradiction, anonymous, or from a third person, however unqualified its language, would have no effect in the face of a detailed narrative, like that in all the papers, of his walking in procession and holding a lighted taper, and all that sort of thing. What I did was this. I commenced building, by his direction, two new churches on his estate, and announced in the local journals, copied in London, that he would be present at the consecration of both. I subscribed, in his name, and largely, to all the diocesan societies, gave a thousand pounds to the Bishop of London's fund, and accepted for him the office of steward, for this year, for the Sons of the Clergy. Then, when the public feeling was ripe, relieved from all its anxieties, and beginning to get indignant at the calumnies that had been so freely circulated, the time for paragraphs had arrived, and one appeared stating that a discovery had taken place of the means by which an unfounded and preposterous account of the conversion of a distinguished young English n.o.bleman at Rome had been invented and circulated, and would probably furnish the occasion for an action for libel. And now his return and appearance at the Chapel Royal, next Sunday, will clinch the whole business."

"And he was satisfied?"

"Most satisfied; a little anxious whether his personal friends, and particularly the Brentham family, were a.s.sured of the truth. He travelled home with the duke's son and Lord St. Aldegonde, but they came from remote parts, and their news from home was not very recent."

"And how does he look?"

"Very well; never saw him look better. He is handsomer than he was. But he is changed. I could not conceive in a year that any one could be so changed. He was young for his years; he is now old for his years. He was, in fact, a boy; he is now a man; and yet it is only a year. He said it seemed to him ten."

"He has been through a fiery furnace," said Apollonia.

"Well, he has borne it well," said Mr. Giles. "It is worth while serving such a client, so cordial, so frank, and yet so full of thought. He say he does not in the least regret all the money he has wasted. Had he remained at home, it would have gone to building a cathedral."

"And a popish one!" said Apollonia. "I cannot agree with him," she continued, "that his Italian campaign was a waste of money. It will bear fruit. We shall still see the end of the 'abomination of desolation.'"

"Very likely," said Mr. Giles; "but I trust my client will have no more to do with such questions either way."

"And did he ask after his friends?" said Apollonia.

"Very much: he asked after you. I think he went through all the guests at Muriel Towers except the poor Campians. He spoke, to me about the colonel, to whom it appears he has written; but Theodora he never mentioned, except by some periphrasis, some allusion to a great sorrow, or to some dear friend whom he had lost. He seems a little embarra.s.sed about the St. Jeromes, and said more than once that he owed his life to Miss Arundel. He dwelt a good deal upon this. He asked also a great deal about the Brentham family. They seem the people whom he most affects.

When I told him of Lady Corisande's approaching union with the Duke of Brecon, I did not think he half liked it."

"But is it settled?"

"The same as--. The duke has been with me two hours to-day about his arrangements. He has proposed to the parents, who are delighted with the match, and has received every encouragement from the young lady. He looks upon it as certain."

"I wish our kind friend had not gone abroad," said Apollonia.

"Well, at any rate, he has come back," said Mr. Giles; "that is something. I am sure I more than once never expected to see him again."

"He has every virtue, and every charm," said Apollonia, "and principles that are now proved. I shall never forget his kindness at the Towers. I wish he were settled for life. But who is worthy of him? I hope he will not fall into the clutches of that popish girl. I have sometimes, from what I observed at Muriel, and other reasons, a dread misgiving."

CHAPTER 81

It was the first night that Lothair had slept in his own house, and, when he awoke in the morning, he was quite bewildered, and thought for a moment he was in the Palazzo Agostini. He had not reposed in so s.p.a.cious and lofty a chamber since he was at Rome. And this brought all his recollection to his Roman life, and every thing that had happened there.

"And yet, after all," he said, "had it not been for Clare Arundel, I should never have seen Muriel House. I owe to her my life." His relations with the St. Jerome family were doubtless embarra.s.sing, even painful; and yet his tender and susceptible nature could not for a moment tolerate that he should pa.s.sively submit to an estrangement from those who had conferred on him so much kindness, and whose ill-considered and injurious courses, as he now esteemed them, were perhaps, and probably, influenced and inspired by exalted, even sacred motives.

He wondered whether they were in London; and, if so, what should he do?

Should he call, or should he write? He wished he could do something to show to Miss Arundel how much he appreciated her kindness, and how grateful he was. She was a fine creature, and all her errors were n.o.ble ones; enthusiasm, energy, devotion to a sublime cause. Errors, but are these errors? Are they not, on the contrary, qualities which should command admiration in any one? and in a woman--and a beautiful woman--more than admiration?

There is always something to worry you. It comes as regularly as sunrise. Here was Lothair under his own roof again, after strange and trying vicissitudes, with his health restored, his youth little diminished, with some strange memories and many sweet ones; on the whole, once more in great prosperity, and yet his mind harped only on one vexing thought, and that was his painful and perplexed relations with the St. Jerome family.

His thoughts were a little distracted from this hara.s.sing theme by the novelty of his house, and the pleasure it gave him. He admired the double staircase and the somewhat heavy, yet richly-carved ceilings; and the look into the park, shadowy and green, with a rich summer sun, and the palace in the distance. What an agreeable contrast to his hard, noisy sojourn in a bran-new, brobdingnagian hotel, as was his coa.r.s.e fate when he was launched into London life! This made him think of many comforts for which he ought to be grateful, and then he remembered Muriel Towers, and how completely and capitally every thing was there prepared and appointed, and while he was thinking over all this--and kindly of the chief author of these satisfactory arrangements, and the instances in which that individual had shown, not merely professional dexterity and devotion, but some of the higher qualities that make life sweet and pleasant--Mr. Putney Giles was announced, and Lothair sprang forward and gave him his hand with a cordiality which repaid at once that perfect but large-hearted lawyer for all his exertions, and some anxieties that he had never expressed even to Apollonia.

Nothing in life is more remarkable than the unnecessary anxiety which we endure, and generally, occasion ourselves. Between four and five o'clock, having concluded his long conference with Mr. Putney Giles, Lothair, as if he were travelling the princ.i.p.al street of a foreign town, or rather treading on tiptoe like a prince in some enchanted castle, ventured to walk down St. James Street, and the very first person he met was Lord St. Jerome!

Nothing could be more unaffectedly hearty than his greeting by that good man and thorough gentleman. "I saw, by the Post, you had arrived," said Lord St. Jerome, "and we were all saying at breakfast how glad we should be to see you again. And looking so well! Quite yourself! I never saw you looking better. You have been to Egypt with Lord St. Aldegonde, I think? It was the wisest thing you could do. I said to Gertrude, when you went to Sicily, 'If I were Lothair, I would go a good deal farther than Sicily.' You wanted change of scene and air, more than any man I know."

"And how are they all?" said Lothair; "my first visit will be to them."

"And they will be delighted to see you. Lady St. Jerome is a little indisposed--a cold caught at one of her bazaars. She will hold them, and they say that no one ever sells so much. But still, as I often say, 'My dear Gertrude, would it not be better if I were to give you a check for the inst.i.tution; it would be the same to them, and would save you a great deal of trouble.' But she fancies her presence inspires others, and perhaps there is something in it."

"I doubt not; and Miss Arundel?"

"Clare is quite well, and I am hurrying home now to ride with her. I shall tell her that you asked after her."

"And offer her my kindest remembrances."

"What a relief!" exclaimed Lothair, when once more alone. "I thought I should have sunk into the earth when he first addressed me, and now I would not have missed this meeting for any consideration."

He had not the courage to go into White's. He was under a vague impression that the whole population of the metropolis, and especially those who reside in the sacred land, bounded on the one side by Piccadilly, and on the other by Pall Mall, were unceasingly talking of his sc.r.a.pes and misadventures; but he met Lord Carisbrooke and Mr.

Brancepeth.

"Ah! Lothair," said Carisbrooke, "I do not think we have seen you this season--certainly not since Easter. What have you been doing with yourself?"

"You have been in Egypt?" said Mr. Brancepeth. "The duke was mentioning at White's to-day that you had returned with his son and Lord St.

Aldegonde."