St. Ronan's Well Part 41

"ETHERINGTON."

"This," said St. Ronan's to himself, as he folded the letter deliberately, after having twice read it over, "seems all fair and above board; I could not wish any thing more explicit; and, moreover, it puts into black and white, as old Mick would say, what only rested before on our private conversation. An especial cure for the headache, such a billet as this in a morning."

So saying, he sat him down and wrote an answer, expressing the pleasure he should have in seeing his lords.h.i.+p as soon as he thought proper. He watched even the departure of the groom, and beheld him gallop off, with the speed of one who knows that his quick return was expected by an impatient master.

Mowbray remained for a few minutes by himself, and reflected with delight upon the probable consequences of this match;--the advancement of his sister--and, above all, the various advantages which must necessarily accrue to himself, by so close an alliance with one whom he had good reason to think deep _in the secret_, and capable of rendering him the most material a.s.sistance in his speculations on the turf and in the sporting world. He then sent a servant to let Miss Mowbray know that he intended to breakfast with her.

"I suppose, John," said Clara, as her brother entered the apartment, "you are glad of a weaker cup this morning than those you were drinking last night--you were carousing till after the first c.o.c.k."

"Yes," said Mowbray, "that sandbed, old MacTurk, upon whom whole hogsheads make no impression, did make a bad boy of me--but the day is over, and they will scarce catch me in such another sc.r.a.pe.--What did you think of the masks?"

"Supported as well," said Clara, "as such folk support the disguise of gentlemen and ladies during life; and that is, with a great deal of bustle, and very little propriety."

"I saw only one good mask there, and that was a Spaniard," said her brother.

"O, I saw him too," answered Clara; "but he wore his visor on. An old Indian merchant, or some such thing, seemed to me a better character--the Spaniard did nothing but stalk about and tw.a.n.gle his guitar, for the amus.e.m.e.nt of my Lady Binks, as I think."

"He is a very clever fellow, though, that same Spaniard," rejoined Mowbray--"Can you guess who he is?"

"No, indeed; nor shall I take the trouble of trying. To set to guessing about it, were as bad as seeing the whole mummery over again."

"Well," replied her brother, "you will allow one thing at least--Bottom was well acted--you cannot deny that."

"Yes," replied Clara, "that worthy really deserved to wear his a.s.s's head to the end of the chapter--but what of him?"

"Only conceive that he should be the very same person with that handsome Spaniard," replied Mowbray.

"Then there is one fool fewer than I thought there was," replied Clara, with the greatest indifference.

Her brother bit his lip.

"Clara," he said, "I believe you are an excellent good girl, and clever to boot, but pray do not set up for wit and oddity; there is nothing in life so intolerable as pretending to think differently from other people.--That gentleman was the Earl of Etherington."

This annunciation, though made in what was meant to be an imposing tone, had no impression on Clara.

"I hope he plays the peer better than the Fidalgo," she replied, carelessly.

"Yes," answered Mowbray, "he is one of the handsomest men of the time, and decidedly fas.h.i.+onable--you will like him much when you see him in private."

"It is of little consequence whether I do or no," answered Clara.

"You mistake the matter," said Mowbray, gravely; "it may be of considerable consequence."

"Indeed!" said Clara, with a smile; "I must suppose myself, then, too important a person not to make my approbation necessary to one of your first-rates? He cannot pretend to pa.s.s muster at St. Ronan's without it?--Well, I will depute my authority to Lady Binks, and she shall pa.s.s your new recruits instead of me."

"This is all nonsense, Clara," said Mowbray. "Lord Etherington calls here this very morning, and wishes to be made known to you. I expect you will receive him as a particular friend of mine."

"With all my heart--so you will engage, after this visit, to keep him down with your other particular friends at the Well--you know it is a bargain that you bring neither buck nor pointer into my parlour--the one worries my cat, and the other my temper."

"You mistake me entirely, Clara--this is a very different visitor from any I have ever introduced to you--I expect to see him often here, and I hope you and he will be better friends than you think of. I have more reasons for wis.h.i.+ng this, than I have now time to tell you."

Clara remained silent for an instant, then looked at her brother with an anxious and scrutinizing glance, as if she wished to penetrate into his inmost purpose.

"If I thought,"--she said, after a minute's consideration, and with an altered and disturbed tone; "but no--I will not think that Heaven intends me such a blow--least of all, that it should come from your hands." She walked hastily to the window, and threw it open--then shut it again, and returned to her seat, saying, with a constrained smile, "May Heaven forgive you, brother, but you frightened me heartily."

"I did not mean to do so, Clara," said Mowbray, who saw the necessity of soothing her; "I only alluded in joke to those chances that are never out of other girls' heads, though you never seem to calculate on them."

"I wish you, my dear John," said Clara, struggling to regain entire composure, "I wish _you_ would profit by my example, and give up the science of chance also--it will not avail you."

"How d'ye know that?--I'll show you the contrary, you silly wench,"

answered Mowbray--"Here is a banker's bill, payable to your own order, for the cash you lent me, and something over--don't let old Mick have the fingering, but let Bindloose manage it for you--he is the honester man between two d----d knaves."

"Will not you, brother, send it to the man Bindloose yourself?"

"No,--no," replied Mowbray--"he might confuse it with some of my transactions, and so you forfeit your stake."

"Well, I am glad you are able to pay me, for I want to buy Campbell's new work."

"I wish you joy of your purchase--but don't scratch me for not caring about it--I know as little of books as you of the long odds. And come now, be serious, and tell me if you will be a good girl--lay aside your whims, and receive this English young n.o.bleman like a lady as you are?"

"That were easy," said Clara--"but--but--Pray, ask no more of me than just to see him.--Say to him at once, I am a poor creature in body, in mind, in spirits, in temper, in understanding--above all, say that I can receive him only once."

"I shall say no such thing," said Mowbray, bluntly; "it is good to be plain with you at once--I thought of putting off this discussion--but since it must come, the sooner it is over the better.--You are to understand, Clara Mowbray, that Lord Etherington has a particular view in this visit, and that his view has my full sanction and approbation."

"I thought so," said Clara, in the same altered tone of voice in which she had before spoken; "my mind foreboded this last of misfortunes!--But, Mowbray, you have no child before you--I neither will nor can see this n.o.bleman."

"How!" exclaimed Mowbray, fiercely; "do you dare return me so peremptory an answer?--Think better of it, for, if we differ, you will find you will have the worst of the game."

"Rely upon it," she continued, with more vehemence, "I will see him nor no man upon the footing you mention--my resolution is taken, and threats and entreaties will prove equally unavailing."

"Upon my word, madam," said Mowbray, "you have, for a modest and retired young lady, plucked up a goodly spirit of your own!--But you shall find mine equals it. If you do not agree to see my friend Lord Etherington, ay, and to receive him with the politeness due to the consideration I entertain for him, by Heaven! Clara, I will no longer regard you as my father's daughter. Think what you are giving up--the affection and protection of a brother--and for what?--merely for an idle point of etiquette.--You cannot, I suppose, even in the workings of your romantic brain, imagine that the days of Clarissa Harlowe and Harriet Byron are come back again, when women were married by main force? and it is monstrous vanity in you to suppose that Lord Etherington, since he has honoured you with any thoughts at all, will not be satisfied with a proper and civil refusal--You are no such prize, methinks, that the days of romance are to come back for you."

"I care not what days they are," said Clara--"I tell you I will not see Lord Etherington, or any one else, upon such preliminaries as you have stated--I cannot--I will not--and I ought not.--Had you meant me to receive him, which can be a matter of no consequence whatever, you should have left him on the footing of an ordinary visitor--as it is, I will not see him."

"You _shall_ see and hear him both," said Mowbray; "you shall find me as obstinate as you are--as willing to forget I am a brother, as you to forget that you have one."

"It is time, then," replied Clara, "that this house, once our father's, should no longer hold us both. I can provide for myself, and may G.o.d bless you!"

"You take it coolly, madam," said her brother, walking through the apartment with much anxiety both of look and gesture.

"I do," she answered, "for it is what I have often foreseen--Yes, brother, I have often foreseen that you would make your sister the subject of your plots and schemes, so soon as other stakes failed you.

That hour is come, and I am, as you see, prepared to meet it."

"And where may you propose to retire to?" said Mowbray. "I think that I, your only relation and natural guardian, have a right to know that--my honour and that of my family is concerned."

"Your honour!" she retorted, with a keen glance at him; "your interest, I suppose you mean, is somehow connected with the place of my abode.--But keep yourself patient--the den of the rock, the linn of the brook, should be my choice, rather than a palace without my freedom."

"You are mistaken, however," said Mowbray, sternly, "if you hope to enjoy more freedom than I think you capable of making a good use of. The law authorizes, and reason, and even affection, require, that you should be put under restraint for your own safety, and that of your character.

You roamed the woods a little too much in my father's time, if all stories be true."