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Title: Evan Harrington, v4

Author: George Meredith

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This etext was produced by David Widger

EVAN HARRINGTON

By George Meredith

BOOK 4.

XIX. SECOND DESPATCH OF THE COUNTESS

XX. BREAK-NECK LEAP

XXI. TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS

XXII. IN WHICH THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GREAT MEL HAVE TO

DIGEST HIM AT DINNER

XXIII. TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF

XXIV. THE COUNTESS MAKES HERSELF FELT

XXV. IN WHICH THE STREAM FLOWS MUDDY AND CLEAR

CHAPTER XIX

SECOND DESPATCH OF THE COUNTESS

We do not advance very far in this second despatch, and it will be found

chiefly serviceable for the indications it affords of our General's skill

in mining, and addiction to that branch of military science. For the

moment I must beg that a little indulgence be granted to her.

'Purely business. Great haste. Something has happened. An event? I

know not; but events may flow from it.

'A lady is here who has run away from the conjugal abode, and Lady

Jocelyn shelters her, and is hospitable to another, who is more concerned

in this lady's sad fate than he should be. This may be morals, my dear:

but please do not talk of Portugal now. A fine-ish woman with a great

deal of hair worn as if her maid had given it one comb straight down and

then rolled it up in a hurry round one finger. Malice would say carrots.

It is called gold. Mr. Forth is in a glass house, and is wrong to cast

his sneers at perfectly inoffensive people.

'Perfectly impossible we can remain at Beckley Court together—if not

dangerous. Any means that Providence may designate, I would employ. It

will be like exorcising a demon. Always excuseable. I only ask a little

more time for stupid Evan. He might have little Bonner now. I should

not object; but her family is not so good.

'Now, do attend. At once obtain a copy of Strike's Company people. You

understand—prospectuses. Tell me instantly if the Captain Evremonde in

it is Captain Lawson Evremonde. Pump Strike. Excuse vulgar words.

Whether he is not Lord Laxley's half-brother. Strike shall be of use to

us. Whether he is not mad. Captain E——'s address. Oh! when I think

of Strike—brute! and poor beautiful uncomplaining Carry and her

shoulder! But let us indeed most fervently hope that his Grace may be

balm to it. We must not pray for vengeance. It is sinful. Providence

will inflict that. Always know that Providence is quite sure to. It

comforts exceedingly.

'Oh, that Strike were altogether in the past tense! No knowing what the

Duke might do—a widower and completely subjugated. It makes my bosom

bound. The man tempts me to the wickedest Frenchy ideas. There!

We progress with dear venerable Mrs. Bonner. Truly pious—interested in

your Louisa. She dreads that my husband will try to convert me to his

creed. I can but weep and say—never!

'I need not say I have my circle. To hear this ridiculous boy Harry

Jocelyn grunt under my nose when he has led me unsuspectingly away from

company—Harriet! dearest! He thinks it a sigh! But there is no time

for laughing.

'My maxim in any house is—never to despise the good opinion of the

nonentities. They are the majority. I think they all look up to me.

But then of course you must fix that by seducing the stars. My

diplomatist praises my abilities—Sir John Loring my style—the rest

follow and I do not withhold my smiles, and they are happy, and I should

be but that for ungrateful Evan's sake I sacrificed my peace by binding

myself to a dreadful sort of half-story. I know I did not quite say it.

It seems as if Sir A.'s ghost were going to haunt me. And then I have

the most dreadful fears that what I have done has disturbed him in the

other world. Can it be so? It is not money or estates we took at all,

dearest! And these excellent young curates—I almost wish it was

Protestant to speak a word behind a board to them and imbibe comfort.

For after all it is nothing: and a word even from this poor thin mopy Mr.

Parsley might be relief to a poor soul in trouble. Catholics tell you

that what you do in a good cause is redeemable if not exactly right. And

you know the Catholic is the oldest Religion of the two. I would listen

to the Pope, staunch Protestant as I am, in preference to King Henry the

Eighth. Though, as a woman, I bear him no rancour, for his wives were—

fools, point blank. No man was ever so manageable. My diplomatist is

getting liker and liker to him every day. Leaner, of course, and does

not habitually straddle. Whiskers and morals, I mean. We must be silent

before our prudish sister. Not a prude? We talk diplomacy, dearest.

He complains of the exclusiveness of the port of Oporto, and would have

strict alliance between Portugal and England, with mutual privileges.

I wish the alliance, and think it better to maintain the exclusiveness.

Very trifling; but what is life!

'Adieu. One word to leave you laughing. Imagine her situation! This

stupid Miss Carrington has offended me. She has tried to pump Conning,

who, I do not doubt, gave her as much truth as I chose she should have in

her well. But the quandary of the wretched creature! She takes Conning

into her confidence—a horrible malady just covered by high-neck dress!

Skin! and impossible that she can tell her engaged—who is—guess—Mr.

George Up———! Her name is Louisa Carrington. There was a Louisa

Harrington once. Similarity of names perhaps. Of course I could not let

her come to the house; and of course Miss C. is in a state of wonderment

and bad passions, I fear. I went straight to Lady Racial, my dear.

There was nothing else for it but to go and speak. She is truly a noble

woman—serves us in every way. As she should!—much affected by sight of

Evan, and keeps aloof from Beckley Court. The finger of Providence is in

all. Adieu! but do pray think of Miss Carrington!

It was foolish of her to offend me. Drives and walks-the Duke attentive.

Description of him when I embrace you. I give amiable Sir Franks

Portuguese dishes. Ah, my dear, if we had none but men to contend

against, and only women for our tools! But this is asking for the world,

and nothing less.

'Open again,' she pursues. 'Dear Carry just come in. There are fairies,

I think, where there are dukes! Where could it have come from? Could

any human being have sent messengers post to London, ordered, and had it

despatched here within this short time? You shall not be mystified! I

do not think I even hinted; but the afternoon walk I had with his Grace,

on the first day of his arrival, I did shadow it very delicately how much

it was to be feared our poor Carry could not, that she dared not, betray

her liege lord in an evening dress. Nothing more, upon my veracity! And

Carry has this moment received the most beautiful green box, containing

two of the most heavenly old lace shawls that you ever beheld. We divine

it is to hide poor Carry's matrimonial blue mark! We know nothing. Will

you imagine Carry is for not accepting it! Priority of birth does not

imply superior wits, dear—no allusion to you. I have undertaken all.

Arch looks, but nothing pointed. His Grace will understand the exquisite

expression of feminine gratitude. It is so sweet to deal with true

nobility. Carry has only to look as she always does. One sees Strike

sitting on her. Her very pliability has rescued her from being utterly

squashed long ere this! The man makes one vulgar. It would have been

not the slightest use asking me to be a Christian had I wedded Strike.

But think of the fairy presents! It has determined me not to be expelled

by Mr. Forth—quite. Tell Silva he is not forgotten. But, my dear,

between us alone, men are so selfish, that it is too evident they do not

care for private conversations to turn upon a lady's husband: not to be

risked, only now and then.

'I hear that the young ladies and the young gentlemen have been out

riding a race. The poor little Bonner girl cannot ride, and she says to

Carry that Rose wishes to break our brother's neck. The child hardly

wishes that, but she is feelingless. If Evan could care for Miss Bonner,

he might have B. C.! Oh, it is not so very long a shot, my dear. I am

on the spot, remember. Old Mrs. Bonner is a most just-minded spirit.

Juliana is a cripple, and her grandmother wishes to be sure that when she

departs to her Lord the poor cripple may not be chased from this home of

hers. Rose cannot calculate—Harry is in disgrace—there is really no

knowing. This is how I have reckoned; L10,000 extra to Rose; perhaps

L1000 or nothing to H.; all the rest of ready-money—a large sum—

no use guessing—to Lady Jocelyn; and B. C. to little Bonner—it is worth

L40,000 Then she sells, or stops—permanent resident. It might be so

soon, for I can see worthy Mrs. Bonner to be breaking visibly. But young

men will not see with wiser eyes than their own. Here is Evan risking

his neck for an indifferent—there's some word for "not soft." In short,

Rose is the cold-blooded novice, as I have always said, the most selfish

of the creatures on two legs.

'Adieu! Would you have dreamed that Major Nightmare's gallantry to his

wife would have called forth a gallantry so truly touching and delicate?

Can you not see Providence there? Out of Evil—the Catholics again!

'Address. If Lord Lax—-'s half-brother. If wrong in noddle. This I

know you will attend to scrupulously. Ridiculous words are sometimes the

most expressive. Once more, may Heaven bless you all! I thought of you

in church last Sunday.

'I may tell you this: young Mr. Laxley is here. He—but it was Evan's

utter madness was the cause, and I have not ventured a word to him. He

compelled Evan to assert his rank, and Mr. Forth's face has been one

concentrated sneer since THEN. He must know the origin of the

Cogglesbys, or something. Now you will understand the importance. I

cannot be more explicit. Only—the man must go.

'P.S. I have just ascertained that Lady Jocelyn is quite familiar with

Andrew's origin!! She must think my poor Harriet an eccentric woman. Of

course I have not pretended to rank here, merely gentry. It is gentry in

reality, for had poor Papa been legitimized, he would have been a

nobleman. You know that; and between the two we may certainly claim

gentry. I twiddle your little good Andrew to assert it for us twenty

times a day. Of all the dear little manageable men! It does you

infinite credit that you respect him as you do. What would have become

of me I do not know.

'P.S. I said two shawls—a black and a white. The black not so costly—

very well. And so delicate of him to think of the mourning! But the

white, my dear, must be family—must! Old English point. Exquisitely

chaste. So different from that Brussels poor Andrew surprised you with.

I know it cost money, but this is a question of taste. The Duke

reconciles me to England and all my troubles! He is more like poor Papa

than any one of the men I have yet seen. The perfect gentleman! I do

praise myself for managing an invitation to our Carry. She has been a

triumph.'

Admire the concluding stroke. The Countess calls this letter a purely

business communication. Commercial men might hardly think so; but

perhaps ladies will perceive it. She rambles concentrically, if I may so

expound her. Full of luxurious enjoyment of her position, her mind is

active, and you see her at one moment marking a plot, the next, with a

light exclamation, appeasing her conscience, proud that she has one;

again she calls up rival forms of faith, that she may show the Protestant

its little shortcomings, and that it is slightly in debt to her (like

Providence) for her constancy, notwithstanding. The Protestant you see,

does not confess, and she has to absolve herself, and must be doing it

internally while she is directing outer matters. Hence her slap at King

Henry VIII. In fact, there is much more business in this letter than I

dare to indicate; but as it is both impertinent and unpopular to dive for

any length of time beneath the surface (especially when there are few

pearls to show for it), we will discontinue our examination.

The Countess, when she had dropped the letter in the bag, returned to her

chamber, and deputed Dorothy Loring, whom she met on the stairs, to run

and request Rose to lend her her album to beguile the afternoon with; and

Dorothy dances to Rose, saying, 'The Countess de Lispy-Lispy would be

delighted to look at your album all the afternoon.'

'Oh what a woman that is!' says Rose. 'Countess de Lazy-Lazy, I think.'

The Countess, had she been listening, would have cared little for

accusations on that head. Idlesse was fashionable: exquisite languors

were a sign of breeding; and she always had an idea that she looked more

interesting at dinner after reclining on a couch the whole of the

afternoon. The great Mel and his mate had given her robust health, and

she was able to play the high-born invalid without damage to her

constitution. Anything amused her; Rose's album even, and the

compositions of W. H., E. H., D. F., and F. L. The initials F. L. were

diminutive, and not unlike her own hand, she thought. They were appended

to a piece of facetiousness that would not have disgraced the abilities

of Mr. John Raikes; but we know that very stiff young gentlemen betray

monkey-minds when sweet young ladies compel them to disport. On the

whole, it was not a lazy afternoon that the Countess passed, and it was

not against her wish that others should think it was.

CHAPTER XX

BREAK-NECK LEAP

The August sun was in mid-sky, when a troop of ladies and cavaliers

issued from the gates of Beckley Court, and winding through the

hopgardens, emerged on the cultivated slopes bordering the downs.

Foremost, on her grey cob, was Rose, having on her right her uncle

Seymour, and on her left Ferdinand Laxley. Behind came Mrs. Evremonde,

flanked by Drummond and Evan. Then followed Jenny Graine, supported by

Harry and William Harvey. In the rear came an open carriage, in which

Miss Carrington and the Countess de Saldar were borne, attended by Lady

Jocelyn and Andrew Cogglesby on horseback. The expedition had for its

object the selection of a run of ground for an amateur steeple-chase: the

idea of which had sprung from Laxley's boasts of his horsemanship: and

Rose, quick as fire, had backed herself, and Drummond and Evan, to beat

him. The mention of the latter was quite enough for Laxley.

'If he follows me, let him take care of his neck,' said that youth.

'Why, Ferdinand, he can beat you in anything!' exclaimed Rose,

imprudently.

But the truth was, she was now more restless than ever. She was not

distant with Evan, but she had a feverish manner, and seemed to thirst to

make him show his qualities, and excel, and shine. Billiards, or

jumping, or classical acquirements, it mattered not—Evan must come

first. He had crossed the foils with Laxley, and disarmed him; for Mel

his father had seen him trained for a military career. Rose made a noise

about the encounter, and Laxley was eager for his opportunity, which he

saw in the proposed mad gallop.

Now Mr. George Uplift, who usually rode in buckskins whether he was after

the fox or fresh air, was out on this particular morning; and it happened

that, as the cavalcade wound beneath the down, Mr. George trotted along

the ridge. He was a fat-faced, rotund young squire—a bully where he

might be, and an obedient creature enough where he must be—good-humoured

when not interfered with; fond of the table, and brimful of all the jokes

of the county, the accent of which just seasoned his speech. He had

somehow plunged into a sort of half-engagement with Miss Carrington.

At his age, and to ladies of Miss Carrington's age, men unhappily do not

plunge head-foremost, or Miss Carrington would have had him long before.

But he was at least in for it half a leg; and a desperate maiden, on the

criminal side of thirty, may make much of that. Previous to the visit of

the Countess de Saldar, Mr. George had been in the habit of trotting over

to Beckley three or four times a week. Miss Carrington had a little

money: Mr. George was heir to his uncle. Miss Carrington was lean and

blue-eyed.

Mr. George was black-eyed and obese. By everybody, except Mr. George, the

match was made: but that exception goes for little in the country, where

half the population are talked into marriage, and gossips entirely devote

themselves to continuing the species. Mr. George was certain that he had

not been fighting shy of the fair Carrington of late, nor had he been

unfaithful. He had only been in an extraordinary state of occupation.

Messages for Lady Racial had to be delivered, and he had become her

cavalier and escort suddenly. The young squire was bewildered; but as

he was only one leg in love—if the sentiment may be thus spoken of

figuratively—his vanity in his present office kept him from remorse or

uneasiness.

He rode at an easy pace within sight of the home of his treasure, and his

back turned to it. Presently there rose a cry from below. Mr. George

looked about. The party of horsemen hallooed: Mr. George yoicked. Rose

set her horse to gallop up; Seymour Jocelyn cried 'fox,' and gave the

view; hearing which Mr. George shouted, and seemed inclined to surrender;

but the fun seized him, and, standing up in his stirrups, he gathered his

coat-tails in a bunch, and waggled them with a jolly laugh, which was

taken up below, and the clamp of hoofs resounded on the turf as Mr.

George led off, after once more, with a jocose twist in his seat, showing

them the brush mockingly. Away went fox, and a mad chase began. Seymour

acted as master of the hunt. Rose, Evan, Drummond, and Mrs. Evremonde

and Dorothy, skirted to the right, all laughing, and full of excitement.

Harry bellowed the direction from above. The ladies in the carriage,

with Lady Jocelyn and Andrew, watched them till they flowed one and all

over the shoulder of the down.

'And who may the poor hunted animal be?' inquired the Countess.

'George Uplift,' said Lady Jocelyn, pulling out her watch. 'I give him

twenty minutes.'

'Providence speed him!' breathed the Countess, with secret fervour.

'Oh, he hasn't a chance,' said Lady Jocelyn. 'The squire keeps wretched

beasts.'

'Is there not an attraction that will account for his hasty capture?'

said the Countess, looking tenderly at Miss Carrington, who sat a little

straighter, and the Countess, hating manifestations of stiff-backedness,

could not forbear adding: 'I am at war with my sympathies, which should

be with the poor brute flying from his persecutors.'

She was in a bitter state of trepidation, or she would have thought twice

before she touched a nerve of the enamoured lady, as she knew she did in

calling her swain a poor brute, and did again by pertinaciously pursuing:

'Does he then shun his captivity?'

'Touching a nerve' is one of those unforgivable small offences which, in

our civilized state, produce the social vendettas and dramas that, with

savage nations, spring from the spilling of blood. Instead of an eye for

an eye, a tooth for a tooth, we demand a nerve for a nerve. 'Thou hast

touched me where I am tender thee, too, will I touch.'

Miss Carrington had been alarmed and hurt at the strange evasion of Mr.

George; nor could she see the fun of his mimicry of the fox and his

flight away from instead of into her neighbourhood. She had also, or she

now thought it, remarked that when Mr. George had been spoken of

casually, the Countess had not looked a natural look. Perhaps it was her

present inflamed fancy. At any rate the Countess was offensive now. She

was positively vulgar, in consequence, to the mind of Miss Carrington,

and Miss Carrington was drawn to think of a certain thing Ferdinand

Laxley had said he had heard from the mouth of this lady's brother when

ale was in him. Alas! how one seed of a piece of folly will lurk and

sprout to confound us; though, like the cock in the eastern tale, we peck

up zealously all but that one!

The carriage rolled over the turf, attended by Andrew, and Lady Jocelyn,

and the hunt was seen; Mr. George some forty paces a-head; Seymour

gaining on him, Rose next.

'Who's that breasting Rose?' said Lady Jocelyn, lifting her glass.

'My brother-in-law, Harrington,' returned Andrew.

'He doesn't ride badly,' said Lady Jocelyn. 'A little too military.

He must have been set up in England.'

'Oh, Evan can do anything,' said Andrew enthusiastically. 'His father

was a capital horseman, and taught him fencing, riding, and every

accomplishment. You won't find such a young fellow, my lady—'

'The brother like him at all?' asked Lady Jocelyn, still eyeing the

chase.

'Brother? He hasn't got a brother,' said Andrew.

Lady Jocelyn continued: 'I mean the present baronet.'

She was occupied with her glass, and did not observe the flush that took

hold of Andrew's ingenuous cheeks, and his hurried glance at and off the

quiet eye of the Countess. Miss Carrington did observe it.

Mr. Andrew dashed his face under the palm of his hand, and murmured:

'Oh-yes! His brother-in-law isn't much like him—ha! ha!'

And then the poor little man rubbed his hands, unconscious of the

indignant pity for his wretched abilities in the gaze of the Countess;

and he must have been exposed—there was a fear that the ghost of Sir

Abraham would have darkened this day, for Miss Carrington was about to

speak, when Lady Jocelyn cried: 'There's a purl! Somebody's down.'

The Countess was unaware of the nature of a purl, but she could have

sworn it to be a piece of Providence.

'Just by old Nat Hodges' farm, on Squire Copping's ground,' cried Andrew,

much relieved by the particular individual's misfortune. 'Dear me, my

lady! how old Tom and I used to jump the brook there, to be sure! and

when you were no bigger than little Miss Loring—do you remember old Tom?

We're all fools one time in our lives!'

'Who can it be?' said Lady Jocelyn, spying at the discomfited horseman.

'I'm afraid it's poor Ferdinand.'

They drove on to an eminence from which the plain was entirely laid open.

'I hope my brother will enjoy his ride this day,' sighed the Countess.

'It will be his limit of enjoyment for a lengthened period!'

She perceived that Mr. George's capture was inevitable, and her heart

sank; for she was sure he would recognize her, and at the moment she

misdoubted her powers. She dreamed of flight.

'You're not going to leave us?' said Lady Jocelyn. 'My dear Countess,

what will the future member do without you? We have your promise to stay

till the election is over.'

'Thanks for your extreme kind courtesy, Lady Jocelyn,' murmured the

Countess: 'but my husband—the Count.'

'The favour is yours,' returned her ladyship. 'And if the Count cannot

come, you at least are at liberty?'

'You are most kind,' said the Countess.

'Andrew and his wife I should not dare to separate for more than a week,'

said Lady Jocelyn. 'He is the great British husband. The proprietor!

"My wife" is his unanswerable excuse.'

'Yes,' Andrew replied cheerily. 'I don't like division between man and

wife, I must say.'

The Countess dared no longer instance the Count, her husband. She was

heard to murmur that citizen feelings were not hers:

'You suggested Fallow field to Melville, did you not?' asked Lady

Jocelyn.

'It was the merest suggestion,' said the Countess, smiling.

'Then you must really stay to see us through it,' said her ladyship.

'Where are they now? They must be making straight for break-neck fence.

They'll have him there. George hasn't pluck for that.'

'Hasn't what?'

It was the Countess who requested to know the name of this other piece of

Providence Mr. George Uplift was deficient in.

'Pluck-go,' said her ladyship hastily, and telling the coachman to drive

to a certain spot, trotted on with Andrew, saying to him: 'I'm afraid we

are thought vulgar by the Countess.'

Andrew considered it best to reassure her gravely.

'The young man, her brother, is well-bred,' said Lady Jocelyn, and Andrew

was very ready to praise Evan.

Lady Jocelyn, herself in slimmer days a spirited horsewoman, had

correctly estimated Mr. George's pluck. He was captured by Harry and

Evan close on the leap, in the act of shaking his head at it; and many

who inspected the leap would have deemed it a sign that wisdom weighted

the head that would shake long at it; for it consisted of a post and

rails, with a double ditch.

Seymour Jocelyn, Mrs. Evremonde, Drummond, Jenny Graine, and William

Harvey, rode with Mr. George in quest of the carriage, and the captive

was duly delivered over.

'But where's the brush?' said Lady Jocelyn, laughing, and introducing him

to the Countess, who dropped her head, and with it her veil.

'Oh! they leave that on for my next run,' said Mr. George, bowing

civilly.

'You are going to run again?'

Miss Carrington severely asked this question; and Mr. George protested.

'Secure him, Louisa,' said Lady Jocelyn. 'See here: what's the matter

with poor Dorothy?'

Dorothy came slowly trotting up to them along the green lane, and thus

expressed her grief, between sobs:

'Isn't it a shame? Rose is such a tyrant. They're going to ride a race

and a jump down in the field, and it's break-neck leap, and Rose won't

allow me to stop and see it, though she knows I'm just as fond of Evan as

she is; and if he's killed I declare it will be her fault; and it's all

for her stupid, dirty old pocket handkerchief!'

'Break-neck fence!' said Lady Jocelyn; 'that's rather mad.'

'Do let's go and see it, darling Aunty Joey,' pleaded the little maid.

Lady Jocelyn rode on, saying to herself: 'That girl has a great deal of

devil in her.' The lady's thoughts were of Rose.

'Black Lymport'd take the leap,' said Mr. George, following her with the

rest of the troop. 'Who's that fellow on him?'

'His name's Harrington,' quoth Drummond.

'Oh, Harrington!' Mr. George responded; but immediately laughed—

'Harrington? 'Gad, if he takes the leap it'll be odd—another of the

name. That's where old Mel had his spill.'

'Who?' Drummond inquired.

'Old Mel Harrington—the Lymport wonder. Old Marquis Mel,' said Mr.

George. 'Haven't ye heard of him?'

'What! the gorgeous tailor!' exclaimed Lady Jocelyn. 'How I regret

never meeting that magnificent snob! that efflorescence of sublime

imposture! I've seen the Regent; but one's life doesn't seem complete

without having seen his twin-brother. You must give us warning when you

have him down at Croftlands again, Mr. George.'

'Gad, he'll have to come a long distance—poor old Mel!' said Mr. George;

and was going on, when Seymour Jocelyn stroked his moustache to cry,

'Look! Rosey 's starting 'em, by Jove!'

The leap, which did not appear formidable from where they stood, was four

fields distant from the point where Rose, with a handkerchief in her

hand, was at that moment giving the signal to Laxley and Evan.

Miss Carrington and the Countess begged Lady Jocelyn to order a shout to

be raised to arrest them, but her ladyship marked her good sense by

saying: 'Let them go, now they're about it'; for she saw that to make a

fuss now matters had proceeded so far, was to be uncivil to the

inevitable.

The start was given, and off they flew. Harry Jocelyn, behind them, was

evidently caught by the demon, and clapped spurs to his horse to have his

fling as well, for the fun of the thing; but Rose, farther down the

field, rode from her post straight across him, to the imminent peril of a

mutual overset; and the party on the height could see Harry fuming, and

Rose coolly looking him down, and letting him understand what her will

was; and her mother, and Drummond, and Seymour who beheld this, had a

common sentiment of admiration for the gallant girl. But away went the

rivals. Black Lymport was the favourite, though none of the men thought

he would be put at the fence. The excitement became contagious. The

Countess threw up her veil. Lady Jocelyn, and Seymour, and Drummond,

galloped down the lane, and Mr. George was for accompanying them, till

the line of Miss Carrington's back gave him her unmistakeable opinion of

such a course of conduct, and he had to dally and fret by her side.

Andrew's arm was tightly grasped by the Countess. The rivals were

crossing the second field, Laxley a little a-head.

'He 's holding in the black mare—that fellow!' said Mr. George. 'Gad,

it looks like going at the fence. Fancy Harrington!'

They were now in the fourth field, a smooth shorn meadow. Laxley was two

clear lengths in advance, but seemed riding, as Mr. George remarked, more

for pace than to take the jump. The ladies kept plying random queries

and suggestions: the Countess wishing to know whether they could not be

stopped by a countryman before they encountered any danger. In the midst

of their chatter, Mr. George rose in his stirrups, crying:

'Bravo, the black mare!'

'Has he done it?' said Andrew, wiping his poll.

'He? No, the mare!' shouted Mr. George, and bolted off, no longer to be

restrained.

The Countess, doubly relieved, threw herself back in the carriage, and

Andrew drew a breath, saying: 'Evan has beat him—I saw that! The

other's horse swerved right round.'

'I fear,' said Mrs. Evremonde, 'Mr. Harrington has had a fall. Don't be

alarmed—it may not be much.'

'A fall!' exclaimed the Countess, equally divided between alarms of

sisterly affection and a keen sense of the romance of the thing.

Miss Carrington ordered the carriage to be driven round. They had not

gone far when they were met by Harry Jocelyn riding in hot haste, and he

bellowed to the coachman to drive as hard as he could, and stop opposite

Brook's farm.

The scene on the other side of the fence would have been a sweet one to

the central figure in it had his eyes then been open. Surrounded by Lady

Jocelyn, Drummond, Seymour, and the rest, Evan's dust-stained body was

stretched along the road, and his head was lying in the lap of Rose, who,

pale, heedless of anything spoken by those around her, and with her lips

set and her eyes turning wildly from one to the other, held a gory

handkerchief to his temple with one hand, and with the other felt for the

motion of his heart.

But heroes don't die, you know.

CHAPTER XXI

TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS

'You have murdered my brother, Rose Jocelyn!'

'Don't say so now.'

Such was the interchange between the two that loved the senseless youth,

as he was being. lifted into the carriage.

Lady Jocelyn sat upright in her saddle, giving directions about what was

to be done with Evan and the mare, impartially.

'Stunned, and a good deal shaken, I suppose; Lymport's knees are terribly

cut,' she said to Drummond, who merely nodded. And Seymour remarked,

'Fifty guineas knocked off her value!' One added, 'Nothing worse, I

should think'; and another, 'A little damage inside, perhaps.' Difficult

to say whether they spoke of Evan or the brute.

No violent outcries; no reproaches cast on the cold-blooded coquette;

no exclamations on the heroism of her brother! They could absolutely

spare a thought for the animal! And Evan had risked his life for this,

and might die unpitied. The Countess diversified her grief with a deadly

bitterness against the heartless Jocelyns.

Oh, if Evan dies! will it punish Rose sufficiently?

Andrew expressed emotion, but not of a kind the Countess liked a relative

to be seen exhibiting; for in emotion worthy Andrew betrayed to her his

origin offensively.

'Go away and puke, if you must,' she said, clipping poor Andrew's word

about his 'dear boy.' She could not help speaking in that way—he was so

vulgar. A word of sympathy from Lady Jocelyn might have saved her from

the sourness into which her many conflicting passions were resolving; and

might also have saved her ladyship from the rancour she had sown in the

daughter of the great Mel by her selection of epithets to characterize

him.

Will it punish Rose at all, if Evan dies?

Rose saw that she was looked at. How could the Countess tell that Rose

envied her the joy of holding Evan in the carriage there? Rose, to judge

by her face, was as calm as glass. Not so well seen through, however.

Mrs. Evremonde rode beside her, whose fingers she caught, and twined her

own with them tightly once for a fleeting instant. Mrs. Evremonde wanted

no further confession of her state.

Then Rose said to her mother, 'Mama, may I ride to have the doctor

ready?'

Ordinarily, Rose would have clapped heel to horse the moment the thought

came. She waited for the permission, and flew off at a gallop, waving

back Laxley, who was for joining her.

'Franks will be a little rusty about the mare,' the Countess heard Lady

Jocelyn say; and Harry just then stooped his head to the carriage, and

said, in his blunt fashion, 'After all, it won't show much.'

'We are not cattle!' exclaimed the frenzied Countess, within her bosom.

Alas! it was almost a democratic outcry they made her guilty of; but she

was driven past patience. And as a further provocation, Evan would open

his eyes. She laid her handkerchief over them with loving delicacy,

remembering in a flash that her own face had been all the while exposed

to Mr. George Uplift; and then the terrors of his presence at Beckley

Court came upon her, and the fact that she had not for the last ten

minutes been the serene Countess de Saldar; and she quite hated Andrew,

for vulgarity in others evoked vulgarity in her, which was the reason why

she ranked vulgarity as the chief of the deadly sins. Her countenance

for Harry and all the others save poor Andrew was soon the placid heaven-

confiding sister's again; not before Lady Jocelyn had found cause to

observe to Drummond:

'Your Countess doesn't ruffle well.'

But a lady who is at war with two or three of the facts of Providence,

and yet will have Providence for her ally, can hardly ruffle well.

Do not imagine that the Countess's love for her brother was hollow. She

was assured when she came up to the spot where he fell, that there was no

danger; he had but dislocated his shoulder, and bruised his head a

little. Hearing this, she rose out of her clamorous heart, and seized

the opportunity for a small burst of melodrama. Unhappily, Lady Jocelyn,

who gave the tone to the rest, was a Spartan in matters of this sort; and

as she would have seen those dearest to her bear the luck of the field,

she could see others. When the call for active help reached her, you

beheld a different woman.

The demonstrativeness the Countess thirsted for was afforded her by Juley

Bonner, and in a measure by her sister Caroline, who loved Evan

passionately. The latter was in riding attire, about to mount to ride

and meet them, accompanied by the Duke. Caroline had hastily tied up her

hair; a rich golden brown lump of it hung round her cheek; her limpid

eyes and anxiously-nerved brows impressed the Countess wonderfully as she

ran down the steps and bent her fine well-filled bust forward to ask the

first hurried question.

The Countess patted her shoulder. 'Safe, dear,' she said aloud, as one

who would not make much of it. And in a whisper, 'You look superb.'

I must charge it to Caroline's beauty under the ducal radiance, that a

stream of sweet feelings entering into the Countess made her forget to

tell her sister that George Uplift was by. Caroline had not been abroad,

and her skin was not olive-hued; she was a beauty, and a majestic figure,

little altered since the day when the wooden marine marched her out of

Lymport.

The Countess stepped from the carriage to go and cherish Juliana's

petulant distress; for that unhealthy little body was stamping with

impatience to have the story told to her, to burst into fits of pathos;

and while Seymour and Harry assisted Evan to descend, trying to laugh off

the pain he endured, Caroline stood by, soothing him with words and

tender looks.

Lady Jocelyn passed him, and took his hand, saying, 'Not killed this

time!'

'At your ladyship's service to-morrow,' he replied, and his hand was

kindly squeezed.

'My darling Evan, you will not ride again?' Caroline cried, kissing him

on the steps; and the Duke watched the operation, and the Countess

observed the Duke.

That Providence should select her sweetest moments to deal her wounds,

was cruel; but the Countess just then distinctly heard Mr. George Uplift

ask Miss Carrington

'Is that lady a Harrington?'

'You perceive a likeness?' was the answer.

Mr. George went 'Whew!—tit-tit-tit!' with the profound expression of a

very slow mind.

The scene was quickly over. There was barely an hour for the ladies to

dress for dinner. Leaving Evan in the doctor's hand, and telling

Caroline to dress in her room, the Countess met Rose, and gratified her

vindictiveness, while she furthered her projects, by saying:

'Not till my brother is quite convalescent will it be adviseable that you

should visit him. I am compelled to think of him entirely now. In his

present state he is not fit to be, played with.'

Rose, stedfastly eyeing her, seemed to swallow down something in her

throat, and said:

'I will obey you, Countess. I hoped you would allow me to nurse him.'

'Quiet above all things, Rose Jocelyn!' returned the Countess, with the

suavity of a governess, who must be civil in her sourness. 'If you would

not complete this morning's achievement—stay away.'

The Countess declined to see that Rose's lip quivered. She saw an

unpleasantness in the bottom of her eyes; and now that her brother's

decease was not even remotely to be apprehended, she herself determined

to punish the cold, unimpressionable coquette of a girl. Before

returning to Caroline, she had five minutes' conversation with. Juliana,

which fully determined her to continue the campaign at Beckley Court,

commence decisive movements, and not to retreat, though fifty George

Uplofts menaced her. Consequently, having dismissed Conning on a message

to Harry Jocelyn, to ask him for a list of the names of the new people

they were to meet that day at dinner, she said to Caroline:

'My dear, I think it will be incumbent on us to depart very quickly.'

Much to the Countess's chagrin and astonishment, Caroline replied:

'I shall hardly be sorry.'

'Not sorry? Why, what now, dear one? Is it true, then, that a

flagellated female kisses the rod? Are you so eager for a repetition of

Strike?'

Caroline, with some hesitation, related to her more than the Countess had

ventured to petition for in her prayers.

'Oh! how exceedingly generous!' the latter exclaimed. How very

refreshing to think that there are nobles in your England as romantic,

as courteous, as delicate as our own foreign ones! But his Grace is

quite an exceptional nobleman. Are you not touched, dearest Carry?'

Caroline pensively glanced at the reflection of her beautiful arm in the

glass, and sighed, pushing back the hair from her temples.

'But, for mercy's sake!' resumed the Countess, in alarm at the sigh,

'do not be too—too touched. Do, pray, preserve your wits. You weep!

Caroline, Caroline! O my goodness; it is just five-and-twenty minutes to

the first dinner-bell, and you are crying! For God's sake, think of your

face! Are you going to be a Gorgon? And you show the marks twice as

long as any other, you fair women. Squinnying like this! Caroline, for

your Louisa's sake, do not!'

Hissing which, half angrily and half with entreaty, the Countess dropped

on her knees. Caroline's fit of tears subsided. The eldest of the

sisters, she was the kindest, the fairest, the weakest.

'Not,' said the blandishing Countess, when Caroline's face was clearer,

'not that my best of Carrys does not look delicious in her shower. Cry,

with your hair down, and you would subdue any male creature on two legs.

And that reminds me of that most audacious Marquis de Remilla. He saw a

dirty drab of a fruit-girl crying in Lisbon streets one day, as he was

riding in the carriage of the Duchesse de Col da Rosta, and her husband

and duena, and he had a letter for her—the Duchesse. They loved! How

deliver the letter? "Save me!" he cried to the Duchesse, catching her

hand, and pressing his heart, as if very sick. The Duchesse felt the

paper—turned her hand over on her knee, and he withdrew his. What does

my Carry think was the excuse he tendered the Duke? This—and this gives

you some idea of the wonderful audacity of those dear Portuguese—that he

—he must precipitate himself and marry any woman he saw weep, and be her

slave for the term of his natural life, unless another woman's hand at

the same moment restrained him! There!' and the Countess's eyes shone

brightly.

'How excessively imbecile!' Caroline remarked, hitherto a passive

listener to these Lusitanian contes.

It was the first sign she had yet given of her late intercourse with a

positive Duke, and the Countess felt it, and drew back. No more

anecdotes for Caroline, to whom she quietly said:

'You are very English, dear!'

'But now, the Duke—his Grace,' she went on, 'how did he inaugurate?'

'I spoke to him of Evan's position. God forgive me!—I said that was the

cause of my looks being sad.'

'You could have thought of nothing better,' interposed the Countess.

'Yes?'

'He said, if he might clear them he should be happy!

'In exquisite language, Carry, of course.'

'No; just as others talk.'

'Hum!' went the Countess, and issued again brightly from a cloud of

reflection, with the remark: 'It was to seem business-like—the

commerciality of the English mind. To the point—I know. Well, you

perceive, my sweetest, that Evan's interests are in your hands. You dare

not quit the field. In one week, I fondly trust, he will be secure.

What more did his Grace say? May we not be the repository of such

delicious secresies?'

Caroline gave tremulous indications about the lips, and the Countess

jumped to the bell and rang it, for they were too near dinner for the

trace of a single tear to be permitted. The bell and the appearance of

Conning effectually checked the flood.

While speaking to her sister, the Countess had hesitated to mention

George Uplift's name, hoping that, as he had no dinner-suit, he would not

stop to dinner that day, and would fall to the charge of Lady Racial once

more. Conning, however, brought in a sheet of paper on which the names

of the guests were written out by Harry, a daily piece of service he

performed for the captivating dame, and George Uplift's name was in the

list.

'We will do the rest, Conning-retire,' she said, and then folding

Caroline in her arms, murmured, the moment they were alone, 'Will my

Carry dress her hair plain to-day, for the love of her Louisa?'

'Goodness! what a request!' exclaimed Caroline, throwing back her head

to see if her Louisa could be serious.

'Most inexplicable—is it not? Will she do it?'

'Flat, dear? It makes a fright of me.'

'Possibly. May I beg it?'

'But why, dearest, why? If I only knew why!'

'For the love of your Louy.'

'Plain along the temples?'

'And a knot behind.'

'And a band along the forehead?'

'Gems, if they meet your favour.'

'But my cheek-bones, Louisa?'

'They are not too prominent, Carry.'

'Curls relieve them.'

'The change will relieve the curls, dear one.'

Caroline looked in the glass, at the Countess, as polished a reflector,

and fell into a chair. Her hair was accustomed to roll across her

shoulders in heavy curls. The Duke would find a change of the sort

singular. She should not at all know herself with her hair done

differently: and for a lovely woman to be transformed to a fright is hard

to bear in solitude, or in imagination.

'Really!' she petitioned.

'Really—yes, or no?' added the Countess.

'So unaccountable a whim!' Caroline looked in the glass dolefully, and

pulled up her thick locks from one cheek, letting them fall on the

instant.

'She will?' breathed the Countess.

'I really cannot,' said Caroline, with vehemence.

The Countess burst into laughter, replying: 'My poor child! it is not my

whim—it is your obligation. George Uplift dines here to-day. Now do

you divine it? Disguise is imperative for you.'

Mrs. Strike, gazing in her sister's face, answered slowly, 'George? But

how will you meet him?' she hurriedly asked.

'I have met him,' rejoined the Countess, boldly. 'I defy him to know me.

I brazen him! You with your hair in my style are equally safe. You see

there is no choice. Pooh! contemptible puppy!'

'But I never,'—Caroline was going to say she never could face him.

'I will not dine. I will nurse Evan.'

'You have faced him, my dear,' said the Countess, 'and you are to change

your head-dress simply to throw him off his scent.'

As she spoke the Countess tripped about, nodding her head like a girl.

Triumph in the sense of her power over all she came in contact with,

rather elated the lady.

Do you see why she worked her sister in this roundabout fashion? She

would not tell her George Uplift was in the house till she was sure he

intended to stay, for fear of frightening her. When the necessity became

apparent, she put it under the pretext of a whim in order to see how far

Caroline, whose weak compliance she could count on, and whose reticence

concerning the Duke annoyed her, would submit to it to please her sister;

and if she rebelled positively, why to be sure it was the Duke she

dreaded to shock: and, therefore, the Duke had a peculiar hold on her:

and, therefore, the Countess might reckon that she would do more than she

pleased to confess to remain with the Duke, and was manageable in that

quarter. All this she learnt without asking. I need not add, that

Caroline sighingly did her bidding.

'We must all be victims in our turn, Carry,' said the Countess. 'Evan's

prospects—it may be, Silva's restoration—depend upon your hair being

dressed plain to-day. Reflect on that!'

Poor Caroline obeyed; but she was capable of reflecting only that her

face was unnaturally lean and strange to her.

The sisters tended and arranged one another, taking care to push their

mourning a month or two ahead and the Countess animadverted on the vulgar

mind of Lady Jocelyn, who would allow a 'gentleman to sit down at a

gentlewoman's table, in full company, in pronounced undress': and

Caroline, utterly miserable, would pretend that she wore a mask and kept

grimacing as they do who are not accustomed to paint on the cheeks, till

the Countess checked her by telling her she should ask her for that

before the Duke.

After a visit to Evan, the sisters sailed together into the drawing-room.

'Uniformity is sometimes a gain,' murmured the Countess, as they were

parting in the middle of the room. She saw that their fine figures, and

profiles, and resemblance in contrast, produced an effect. The Duke wore

one of those calmly intent looks by which men show they are aware of

change in the heavens they study, and are too devout worshippers to

presume to disapprove. Mr. George was standing by Miss Carrington, and

he also watched Mrs. Strike. To bewilder him yet more the Countess

persisted in fixing her eyes upon his heterodox apparel, and Mr. George

became conscious and uneasy. Miss Carrington had to address her question

to him twice before he heard. Melville Jocelyn, Sir John Loring, Sir

Franks, and Hamilton surrounded the Countess, and told her what they had

decided on with regard to the election during the day; for Melville was

warm in his assertion that they would not talk to the Countess five

minutes without getting a hint worth having.

'Call to us that man who is habited like a groom,' said the Countess,

indicating Mr. George. 'I presume he is in his right place up here?'

'Whew—take care, Countess—our best man. He's good for a dozen,' said

Hamilton.

Mr. George was brought over and introduced to the Countess de Saldar.

'So the oldest Tory in the county is a fox?' she said, in allusion to the

hunt. Never did Caroline Strike admire her sister's fearful genius more

than at that moment.

Mr. George ducked and rolled his hand over his chin, with 'ah-um!' and

the like, ended by a dry laugh.

'Are you our supporter, Mr. Uplift?'

'Tory interest, ma—um—my lady.'

'And are you staunch and may be trusted?'

''Pon my honour, I think I have that reputation.'

'And you would not betray us if we give you any secrets? Say "'Pon my

honour," again. You launch it out so courageously.'

The men laughed, though they could not see what the Countess was driving

at. She had for two minutes spoken as she spoke when a girl, and George

—entirely off his guard and unsuspicious—looked unenlightened. If he

knew, there were hints enough for him in her words.

If he remained blind, they might pass as air. The appearance of the

butler cut short his protestation as to his powers of secresy.

The Countess dismissed him.

'You will be taken into our confidence when we require you.' And she

resumed her foreign air in a most elaborate and overwhelming bow.

She was now perfectly satisfied that she was safe from Mr. George, and,

as she thoroughly detested the youthful squire, she chose to propagate a

laugh at him by saying with the utmost languor and clearness of voice, as

they descended the stairs: