Lucretia — Complete. Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон
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much bewildered. “What claim have I, Sir Miles, to such generosity? I know that my uncle offended you.”
“Sir, that’s the claim!” said Sir Miles, gravely. “I cannot live long,” he added, with a touch of melancholy in his voice; “let me die in peace with all! Perhaps I injured your uncle,—who knows but, if so, he hears and pardons me now?”
“Oh, Sir Miles!” exclaimed the thoughtless, generous-hearted young man; “and my little playfellow, Susan, your own niece!”
Sir Miles drew back haughtily; but the burst that offended him rose so evidently from the heart, was so excusable from its motive and the youth’s ignorance of the world, that his frown soon vanished as he said, calmly and gravely,—
“No man, my good sir, can allow to others the right to touch on his family affairs; I trust I shall be just to the poor young lady. And so, if we never meet again, let us think well of each other. Go, my boy; serve your king and your country!”
“I will do my best, Sir Miles, if only to merit your kindness.”
“Stay a moment: you are intimate, I find, with young Mainwaring?”
“An old college friendship, Sir Miles.”
“The army will not do for him, eh?”
“He is too clever for it, sir.”
“Ah, he’d make a lawyer, I suppose,—glib tongue enough, and can talk well; and lie, if he’s paid for it?”
“I don’t know how lawyers regard those matters, Sir Miles; but if you don’t make him a lawyer, I am sure you must leave him an honest man.”
“Really and truly—”
“Upon my honour I think so.”
“Good-day to you, and good luck. You must catch the coach at the lodge; for I see by the papers that, in spite of all the talk about peace, they are raising regiments like wildfire.”
With very different feelings from those with which he had entered the room, Ardworth quitted it. He hurried into his own chamber to thrust his clothes into his portmanteau, and while thus employed, Mainwaring entered.
“Joy, my dear fellow, wish me joy! I am going to town,—into the army; abroad; to be shot at, thank Heaven! That dear old gentleman! Just throw me that coat, will you?”
A very few more words sufficed to explain what had passed to Mainwaring. He sighed when his friend had finished: “I wish I were going with you!”
“Do you? Sir Miles has only got to write another letter to the Horse Guards. But no, you are meant to be something better than food for powder; and, besides, your Lucretia! Hang it, I am sorry I cannot stay to examine her as I had promised; but I have seen enough to know that she certainly loves you. Ah, when she changed flowers with you, you did not think I saw you,—sly, was not I? Pshaw! She was only playing with Vernon. But still, do you know, Will, now that Sir Miles has spoken to me so, that I could have sobbed, ‘God bless you, my old boy!’ ‘pon my life, I could! Now, do you know that I feel enraged with you for abetting that girl to deceive him?”
“I am enraged with myself; and—”
Here a servant entered, and informed Mainwaring that he had been searching for him; Sir Miles requested to see him in his room. Mainwaring started like a culprit.
“Never fear,” whispered Ardworth; “he has no suspicion of you, I’m sure. Shake hands. When shall we meet again? Is it not odd, I, who am a republican by theory, taking King George’s pay to fight against the French? No use stopping now to moralize on such contradictions. John, Tom,—what’s your name?—here, my man, here, throw that portmanteau on your shoulder and come to the lodge.” And so, full of health, hope, vivacity, and spirit, John Walter Ardworth departed on his career.
Meanwhile Mainwaring slowly took his way to Sir Miles. As he approached the gallery, he met Lucretia, who was coming from her own room. “Sir Miles has sent for me,” he said meaningly. He had time for no more, for the valet was at the door of the gallery, waiting to usher him to his host. “Ha! you will say not a word that can betray us; guard your looks too!” whispered Lucretia, hurriedly; “afterwards, join me by the cedars.” She passed on towards the staircase, and glanced at the large clock that was placed there. “Past eleven! Vernon is never up before twelve. I must see him before my uncle sends for me, as he will send if he suspects—” She paused, went back to her room, rang for her maid, dressed as for walking, and said carelessly, “If Sir Miles wants me, I am gone to the rectory, and shall probably return by the village, so that I shall be back about one.” Towards the rectory, indeed, Lucretia bent her way; but half-way there, turned back, and passing through the plantation at the rear of the house, awaited Mainwaring on the bench beneath the cedars. He was not long before he joined her. His face was sad and thoughtful; and when he seated himself by her side, it was with a weariness of spirit that alarmed her.
“Well,” said she, fearfully, and she placed her hand on his.
“Oh, Lucretia,” he exclaimed, as he pressed that hand with an emotion that came from other passions than love, “we, or rather I, have done great wrong. I have been leading you to betray your uncle’s trust, to convert your gratitude to him into hypocrisy. I have been unworthy of myself. I am poor, I am humbly born, but till I came here, I was rich and proud in honour. I am not so now. Lucretia, pardon me, pardon me! Let the dream be over; we must not sin thus; for it is sin, and the worst of sin,—treachery. We must part: forget me!”
“Forget you! Never, never, never!” cried Lucretia, with suppressed but most earnest vehemence, her breast heaving, her hands, as he dropped the one he held, clasped together, her eyes full of tears,—transformed at once into softness, meekness, even while racked by passion and despair.
“Oh, William, say anything,—reproach, chide, despise me, for mine is all the fault; say anything but that word ‘part.’ I have chosen you, I have sought you out, I have wooed you, if you will; be it so. I cling to you, you are my all,—all that saves me from—from myself,” she added falteringly, and in a hollow voice. “Your love—you know not what it is to me! I scarcely knew it myself before. I feel what it is now, when you say ‘part.’”
Agitated and tortured, Mainwaring writhed at these burning words, bent his face low, and covered it with his hands.
He felt her clasp struggling to withdraw them, yielded, and saw her kneeling at his feet. His manhood and his gratitude and his heart all moved by that sight in one so haughty, he opened his arms, and she fell on his breast. “You will never say ‘part’ again, William!” she gasped convulsively.
“But what are we to do?”
“Say, first, what has passed between you and my uncle.”
“Little to relate; for I can repeat words, not tones and looks. Sir Miles spoke to me, at first kindly and encouragingly, about my prospects, said it was time that I should fix myself, added a few words, with menacing emphasis, against what he called ‘idle dreams and desultory ambition,’ and observing that I changed countenance,—for I felt that I did,—his manner became more cold and severe. Lucretia, if he has not detected our secret, he more than suspects my—my presumption. Finally, he said dryly, that I had better return home, consult with my father, and that if I preferred entering into the service of the Government to any mercantile profession, he thought he had sufficient interest to promote my views. But, clearly and distinctly, he left on my mind one impression,—that my visits here are over.”
“Did he allude to me—to Mr. Vernon?”
“Ah, Lucretia! do you know him so little,—his delicacy, his pride?”
Lucretia was silent, and Mainwaring continued:—
“I felt that I was dismissed. I took my leave of your uncle; I came hither with the intention to say farewell forever.”
“Hush!