He threw aside the paper, quitted the club, returned home for a carpet bag, and went shrieking and whistling down to West Lynne, taking his son with him. Or, if he did not whistle and shriek the engine did.
Fully determined was the earl of Mount Severn to show /his/ opinion of the affair.
On these fine spring mornings, their breakfast over, Lady Isabel was in the habit of going into the grounds with the children. They were on the lawn before the house, when two gentlemen came walking up the avenue; or, rather, one gentleman, and a handsome young stripling growing into another. Lady Isabel thought she should have dropped, for she stood face to face with Lord Mount Severn. The earl stopped to salute the children, and raised his hat to the strange lady.
"It is my governess, Madame Vine," said Lucy.
A silent courtesy from Madame Vine. She turned away her head and gasped for breath.
"Is your papa at home, Lucy?" cried the earl.
"Yes; I think he is at breakfast. I'm so glad you are come!"
Lord Mount Severn walked on, holding William by the hand, who had eagerly offered to "take him" to papa. Lord Vane bent over Lucy to kiss her. A little while, a very few more years, and my young lady would not hold up her rosy lips so boldly.
"You have grown a dearer girl than ever, Lucy. Have you forgotten our compact?"
"No," laughed she.
"And you will not forget it?"
"Never," said the child, shaking her head. "You shall see if I do."
"Lucy is to be my wife," cried he, turning to Madame Vine. "It is a bargain, and we have both promised. I mean to wait for her till she is old enough. I like her better than anybody else in the world."
"And I like him," spoke up Miss Lucy. "And it's all true."
Lucy was a child--it may almost be said an infant--and the viscount was not of an age to render important such avowed passions.
Nevertheless, the words did thrill through the veins of the hearer.
She spoke, she thought, not as Madame Vine would have spoken and thought, but as the unhappy mother, the ill-fated Lady Isabel.
"You must not say these things to Lucy. It could never be."
Lord Vane laughed.
"Why?" asked he.
"Your father and mother would not approve."
"My father would--I know he would. He likes Lucy. As to my mother--oh, well, she can't expect to be master and mistress too. You be off for a minute, Lucy; I want to say some thing to Madame Vine. Has Carlyle shot that fellow?" he continued, as Lucy sprung away. "My father is so stiff, especially when he's put up, that he would not sully his lips with the name, or make a single inquiry when we arrived; neither would he let me, and I walked up here with my tongue burning."
She would have responded, what fellow? But she suspected too well, and the words died away on her unwilling lips.
"That brute, Levison. If Carlyle riddled his body with shots for this move, and then kicked him till he died, he'd only get his deserts, and the world would applaud. /He/ oppose Carlyle! I wish I had been a man a few years ago, he'd have got a shot through his heart then. I say," dropping his voice, "did you know Lady Isabel?"
"Yes--no--yes."
She was at a loss what to say--almost as unconscious what she did say.
"She was Lucy's mother, you know, and I loved her. I think that's why I love Lucy, for she is the very image of her. Where did you know her?
Here?"
"I knew her by hearsay," murmured Lady Isabel, arousing to recollection.
"Oh, hearsay! /Has/ Carlyle shot the beast, or is he on his legs yet?
By Jove! To think that he should sneak himself up, in this way, at West Lynne!"
"You must apply elsewhere for information," she gasped. "I know nothing of these things."
She turned away with a beating heart, and took Lucy's hand, and departed. Lord Vane set off on a run toward the house, his heels flying behind him.
And now the contest began in earnest--that is, the canvass. Sir Francis Levison, his agent, and a friend from town, who, as it turned out, instead of being some great gun of the government, was a private chum of the baronet's by name Drake, sneaked about the town like dogs with their tails burnt, for they were entirely alive to the color in which they were held, their only attendants being a few young gentlemen and ladies in rags, who commonly brought up the rear. The other party presented a stately crowd--county gentry, magistrates, Lord Mount Severn. Sometimes Mr. Carlyle would be with them, arm-and-arm with the latter. If the contesting groups came within view of each other, and were likely to meet, the brave Sir Francis would disappear down an entry, behind a hedge, any place convenient; with all his "face of brass," he could not meet Mr. Carlyle and that condemning jury around him.
One afternoon it pleased Mrs. Carlyle to summon Lucy and the governess to accompany her into West Lynne. She was going shopping. Lady Isabel had a dread and horror of appearing in there while that man was in town, but she could not help herself. There was no pleading illness, for she was quite well; there must be no saying, "I will not go," for she was only a dependant. They started, and had walked as far as Mrs. Hare's gate, when Miss Carlyle turned out of it.
"Your mamma's not well, Barbara."
"Is she not?" cried Barbara, with quick concern. "I must go and see her."
"She has had one of those ridiculous dreams again," pursued Miss Carlyle, ignoring the presence of the governess and Lucy. "I was sure of it by her very look when I got in, shivering and shaking, and glancing fearfully around, as if she feared a dozen spectres were about to burst out of the walls. So I taxed her with it, and she could make no denial. Richard is in some jeopardy, she protests, or will be.
And there she is, shaking still, although I told her that people who put faith in dreams were only fit for a lunatic asylum."
Barbara looked distressed. She did not believe in dreams any more than Miss Carlyle, but she could not forget how strangely peril to Richard /had/ supervened upon some of these dreams.
"I will go in now and see mamma," she said. "If you are returning home, Cornelia, Madame Vine can walk with you, and wait for me there."
