Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

“They are solemn words,” said he, evading her question; “for they pledge that for which it is so hard to promise, – the changeful moods which time and years bring over us. Which of us at twenty can say what he will be at thirty, – still less at fifty? The world makes us many things we never meant to be.”

“So, then, you are not happy?” said she, in the same low voice.

“I have not said so much,” said he, smiling sadly; “are you?”

“Can you ask me? Is not the very confidence wherewith I treat you – strangers as we were an hour back to each other – the best evidence that it is from the very depth of my misery I appeal to you?”

“Make no rash confidences, Lady Grace,” said he, seriously. “They who tell of their heart’s sorrows to the world are like those who count their gold before robbers. I have seen a great deal of life, and the best philosophy I have learned from it is to ‘bear.’ Bear everything that can be borne. You will be surprised what a load you will carry by mere practice of endurance.”

“It is so easy to say to one in pain, ‘Have patience,’” said she, bitterly.

“I have practised what I teach for many a year. Be assured of one thing, – the Battle of Life is waged by all. The most favored by fortune – the luckiest, as the world calls them – have their contest and their struggle. It is not for existence, but it is often for what makes existence valuable.”

She sighed deeply, and, after a pause, he went on, —

“We pity the poor, weary, heart-sick litigant, wearing out life in the dreary prosecution of a Chancery suit, dreaming at night of that fortune he is never to see, and waking every day to the same dull round of pursuit. As hope flickers in his heart, suffering grows a habit; his whole nature imbibes the conflicting character of his cause; he doubts and hesitates and hopes and fears and wishes, till his life is one long fever. But infinitely more painful is the struggle of the heart whose affections have been misplaced. These are the suits over which no hope ever throws a ray. It is a long, dreary path, without a halting-place or a goal.”

As he spoke, she covered her face with her handkerchief; but he could perceive that she was weeping.

“I am speaking of what I know,” said he. “I remember once coming closely into relations with a young nobleman whose station, fortune, and personal advantages combined to realize all that one could fancy of worldly blessings. He was just one of those types a novelist would take to represent the most favored class of the most favored land of Europe. He had an ancient name, illustrious in various ways, a splendid fortune, was singularly endowed with abilities, highly accomplished, and handsome, and, more than all, he was gifted with that mysterious power of fascination by which some men contrive to make themselves so appreciated by others that their influence is a sort of magic. Give him an incident to relate, – let him have a passing event to tell, wherein some emotion of pity, some sentiment of devotion played a part, – and without the slightest touch of artifice, without the veriest shade of ingenuity, he could make you listen breathlessly, and hang in rapture on his words. Well, this man – of whom, if I suffer myself to speak, I shall grow wearisome in the praise – this man was heart-broken. Before he succeeded to his title, he was very poor, a subaltern in the army, with little beyond his pay. He fell in love with a very beautiful girl – I never heard her name, but I know that she was a daughter of one of the first houses in England. She returned his affection, and there was one of those thousand cases wherein love has to combat all the odds, and devotion subdue every thought that appeals to worldly pride and vanity.

“She accepted the contest nobly; she was satisfied to brave humble fortune, obscurity, exile, – everything for him – at least she said so, and I believe she thought she could keep her word. When the engagement took place – which was a secret to their families – the London season had just begun.

“It is not for me to tell you what a period of intoxicating pleasure and excitement that is, nor how in that wondrous conflict of wealth, splendor, beauty, and talent, all the fascination of gambling is imparted to a scene where, of necessity, gain and loss are alternating. It demands no common power of head and heart to resist these temptations. Apparently she had not this self-control. The gorgeous festivities about her, the splendor of wealth, and more than even that, the esteem in which it was held, struck her forcibly. She saw that the virtues of humble station met no more recognition than the false lustre of mock gems, – that ordinary gifts, illustrated by riches, became actual graces. She could not shut out the contrast between her lover, poor, unnoticed, and unregarded, and the crowd of fashionable and distinguished youths whose princely fortunes gave them place and pre-eminence. In fact, as he himself told me, – for Allington excused her – Good Heavens! are you ill?” cried be, as with a low, faint cry she sank to the ground.

“Is she dying? Good God! is she dead?” cried Lady Lackington, as she lifted the powerless arm, and held the cold hands within her own.

Lanfranchi was speedily sent for, and saw that it was merely a fainting fit.

“She was quite well previously, was she not?” asked he of Dunn.

“Perfectly so. We were chatting of indifferent matters, – of London, and the season, – when she was seized,” said he. “Is there anything in the air here that disposes to these attacks?”

Lanfranchi looked at him without reply. Possibly they understood each other, for they parted without further colloquy.

CHAPTER XI. “A CONSULTATION.”

It was late in the night as Lord Lackington and his friends reached the villa, a good deal wearied, very jaded, and, if the confession may be made, a little sick of each other; they parted pretty much as the members of such day-long excursions are wont to do, – not at all sorry to have reached home again, and brought their trip of pleasure to an end. Twining, of course, was the same happy-natured, gay, volatile creature that he set out in the morning. Everything went well with him, the world had but one aspect, which was a pleasant one, and he laughed and muttered, “What fun!” as in half-dogged silence the party wended their way through the garden towards the house.

“I hope these little girls may not have caught cold,” said the Viscount, as he stood with Twining on the terrace, after saying “Good-night!”

“I hope so, with all my heart. Charming girls – most fascinating – father so amiable.”

“Isn’t that Dunn’s apartment we see the light in?” asked the other, half impatiently. “I ‘ll go and make him a visit.”

“Overjoyed to see you, greatly flattered by the attention,” chimed in Twining; and while he rubbed his hands over the enchanting prospect, Lord Lackington walked away.

Not waiting for any announcement, and turning the handle of the door immediately after he had knocked at it, the Viscount entered. Whether Dunn had heard him or not, he never stirred from the table where he was writing, but continued engrossed by his occupation till his Lordship accosted him.

“I have come to disturb you, I fear, Dunn?”

“Oh! Lord Lackington, your most obedient. Too happy to be honored by your presence at any time. Just returned, I conclude?”

“Yes, only this moment,” said the Viscount, sighing weariedly. “These picnics are stupid inventions; they fatigue and they exhaust. They give little pleasure at the time, and none whatever to look back upon.”

“Your Lordship’s picture is rather a dreary one,” said Dunn, smiling.

“Perfectly correct, I assure you; I went simply to oblige some country folks of yours. The O’Reillys, – nice little girls, – very natural, very pretty creatures; but the thing is a bore. I never knew any one who enjoyed it except the gentleman who gets tipsy, and he has an awful retribution in the next day’s headache, – the terrible headache of iced rum punch.”

Dunn laughed, because he saw that his Lordship expected as much; and the Viscount resumed, —

“I am vexed, besides, at the loss of time; I wanted to have my morning with you here.”

Dunn bowed graciously, but did not speak.

“We have so much to talk over – so many things to arrange – that I am quite provoked at having thrown away a day; and you, too, are possibly pressed for time?”

He nodded in assent.

“You can give me to-morrow, however?”

“I can give you to-night, my Lord, which will, perhaps, do as well.”

“But to-morrow – ”

“Oh, to-morrow, my Lord, I start with Baron Glumthal for Frankfort, to meet the Elector of Darmstadt, – an appointment that cannot be broken.”

“Politically most important, I have no doubt,” said the Viscount, with an undisguised sarcasm in the tone.

“No, my Lord, a mere financial affair,” said Dunn, not heeding the other’s manner. “His Highness wants a loan, and we are willing to accommodate him.”

“I wish I could find you in the same liberal spirit. It is the very thing I stand in need of Just now. In fact, Dunn, you must do it.”

The half-coaxing accent of these last words was a strong contrast to the sneer of a few seconds before, and Dunn smiled as he heard them.

“I fancy, my Lord, that if you are still of the same mind as before, you will have little occasion to arrange for a loan in any quarter.”

“Pooh! pooh! the scheme is absurd. It has not one, but fifty obstacles against it. In the first place, you know nothing of this fellow, or whether he can be treated with. As for myself, I do not believe one word about his claim. Why, sir, there’s not a titled house in England has not at some period or other been assailed with this sort of menace. It is the stalest piece of knavery going. If you were to poll the peers to-morrow, you ‘d not meet two out of ten have not been served with notice of action, or ejectment on the title; in fact, sir, these suits are a profession, and a very lucrative one, too.”

Lord Lackington spoke warmly, and ere he had finished had lashed himself up into a passion. Meanwhile Duun sat patiently, like one who awaited the storm to pass by ere he advanced upon his road.

“I conclude, from your manner, that you do not agree with me?” said the Viscount.

“Your Lordship opines truly. I take a very different view of this transaction. I have had all the documents of Conway’s claim before me. Far more competent judges have seen and pronounced upon them. They constitute a most formidable mass of evidence, and, save in a very few and not very important details, present an unbroken chain of testimony.”

“So, then, there is a battery preparing to open fire upon us?” said the Viscount, with a laugh of ill-affected indifference.

“There is a mine whose explosion depends entirely upon your Lordship’s discretion. If I say, my Lord, that I never perused a stronger case, I will also say that I never heard of one so easy of management The individual in whose favor these proofs exist has not the slightest knowledge of them. He has not a suspicion that all his worldly prospects put together are worth a ten-pound note. It is only within the last three months that I have succeeded in even discovering where he is.”