University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VI.

“Lord Elkington is at home?” said Claude to
Scarlet.

“No, sir,” said Scarlet, touching his hat; “he has
been home, but is now gone out again. I told you
he'd come back!”

“Has anything happened?”

“Yes, a good many things has happened,” said the
man; “things is always a happening!”

“For God's sake, my good fellow, if you know
anything!”

“Egad, I know a good many things—but there's one
thing I don't know. I don't know what right you've
got to stand a questioning me in this here style about
private affairs. Mum's the word! But master said you
might see him if you called, and only you, or some
one from you.”

“Where is he, then? I will see him!”

“Well, he's now at Count Carolan's, with several
other people. Count Carolan gives a great `dejooney
dong-song' to-day.”

Claude instantly bent his steps towards Carolan's.

It was too early for the general company to arrive,
but several carriages were before the door. He entered
and mounted the stairs. They were arranged
with flowers and orange-trees, and the air was full of
perfume. The sound of distant music reached his
ears.

“Whom will you see, sir?” said the servant, for
neither Claude's face nor habiliments indicated one of
the ordinary guests.

“Your master, or Lord Elkington.”

“They are in the boudoir of Madame la Comtesse.”

“Lead on.”

And the man went forward, opened the door, and
announced him. He walked in. There was Count
Carolan, General St. Hillaire, Elkington, and the young
prince—they were all engaged in earnest conversation.
At Claude's name there was a sudden pause, and his
entrance was remarked with much attention.

“Oh, sir,” said Elkington, “you come. You had
better have sent a friend.”

“Mr. Wyndham,” said Carolan, “you must be brief,
for a trifling circumstance has occurred which renders
it necessary for Lord Elkington to absent himself a
while; and let me take the occasion to observe, in the
most marked manner, sir, that, in remaining here when
he might easily have gained the frontier—merely from
a high and imperative sense of honour, and a generous
determination not to escape from you—he has shown
a character which places him far above your calumnies,
and far above reproach. I presume, sir, you
have come to demand satisfaction for the injuries inflicted
on you last night. It would have been more
comme il faut to send a third person.”

“I come to demand my friend,” said Claude.

“Your friend! Have you not selected one?”

“I speak of Mr. Denham. I come to ask of his fate.
He has a wife in a state of distraction—in suspense,
and to relieve her I have undertaken this disagreeable
visit. Is Mr. Denham dead?”

“Mr. Denham is as he is,” said Carolan; “and permit
me to remark, that if you were more au fait to the
way of the world, you would not prefer such questions
to persons not likely to answer.”

“Mr. Wyndham,” said Elkington, “if you are not
really a more despicable character than even I take
you to be, you will not now decline the invitation
which I tender you. Is it your intention to give me a
meeting?”

“No, sir. I regard you as a murderous ruffian, and
beneath contempt.”

“You are a dishonoured man!” said Elkington;

“and words from your lips have hereafter no meaning.”

“By those who honour you, my lord, I hope I shall
be always despised. By frequenting your society, they
sanction your deeds and degrade themselves to your
level. If woman, knowing you, touches your hand,
she falls from her purity; and if Providence sleeps
not, your own character will prove to you a sufficient
shame and a sufficient curse.”

“You have received a blow!” said Elkington, pointing
his finger at him.

“I have,” said Claude; “and an insult thus given
and thus endured, recoils upon him who inflicts, and
ennobles him who receives. My character lies in the
tenour of a stainless life, and cannot be permanently injured
by a tongue uninspired by truth, or a hand unguided
by honour. I appeal to Him who knows my
motives for protection against you. He knows also
that, if you are yet alive, you have to thank my fear,
not of you, but of him.”

There was a calmness in his manner which carried
conviction to the very soul of St. Hillaire, and awed
even Elkington himself. Carolan only said, “Ah,
bah! fine notions—high ideas, sir—but, since you are
not come here to redress your honour, the house is
mine, and—”

He waved his hand towards the door.

“I forgive you, Carolan,” said Claude; “and may
the time never come when you shall know, too much
to your cost, the difference between an honest man—
and such a person as you have made your friend.”

“How great! how noble!” said St. Hillaire.

“Let him say his worst. He is a blighted man, and
the blow I publicly inflicted on him will never be forgotten.
If, however, he dares again—” said Elkington.

“Stop, young man,” said St. Hillaire, in a deep
voice. “You cannot, you shall not again persecute
this person. If he be destitute of the courage which
leads men into danger, is it proper that you should

therefore thus pursue him? And if he be, as I believe
he is, gifted with all your bodily courage and ten
times more—and if he be acting as he does, with the
forbearance almost of God, solely from a principle of
right, in what light do you then appear? You have
raised the hand of a fiend against true grandeur and
the sublimest courage which, even at the blow and
hiss, does not stoop from its course. What have you
then done? You have smitten as the Jew smote the
Saviour. I do not approve your course. The blow
you have struck will sink into your own forehead and
your own soul deeper than into that of this unoffending
being. My young friend, I do not envy you. I
had rather be in his place than yours. You have no
other course than to ask his pardon.”

“His pardon, sir?” said Carolan, in a tone of astonishment.

“I? an apology?” said Elkington. “Never.”

“Go, then. You are rash, young, and ignorant of
the true uses and meanings of life. That may be
some excuse, but I believe you will suffer more than
your victim from the occurrences of last evening. I
believe, sir, in your cooler and better moments, they
will haunt you as a curse, and that they will leave a
stain upon your reputation as a gentleman.”

“By G—d, sir,” said Elkington, “do you mean—”

“I mean that you are in the wrong, young man,”
said St. Hillaire, sternly; “and that, for one, I disdain
you as an associate. I have watched your course
in reference to this matter, and I despise you, sir.”

“General St. Hillaire,” said Elkington, “do you
know to whom—”

“General,” said Carolan, “I protest—”

“Gentlemen, I wish you good-morning,” said St.
Hillaire.