University of Virginia Library

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
ROMANTIC RECONCILIATION OF THE LOVERS.

Although Lucy was sensible of a painful dejection following
the events in the saloons of Mrs. Laurel, yet her forebodings
were not unmixed with a melancholy pleasure, when she remembered
the pleading looks and eloquent words of her lover.
Filial duty, interest, even a prior engagement, might separate
them in future; but there could be no doubt he truly loved
her—that no one else could ever inspire a more ardent affection
in his breast than she had done. He might go beyond
the broad ocean, never to return; he might glitter as an ornament
in the lofty circles of the aristocracy, to which he belonged;
and he might have in his train the high-born Lady
Stuart, and be the lord of her vast possessions; yet, something
within assured Lucy he could never forget her—he could
never cease to dwell upon her memory with sad regret.

And, however singular it may appear to the uninitiated,
yet such reflections, even when the object which inspires
them is lost beyond the hope of recovery, are fraught with
soothing consolations, more potent in enabling the sex to bear
the most dreadful of all deprivations, than any other equivalents
the world can offer. It is the conviction that they have
been appreciated, though not possessed; the knowledge that

their loss will be lamented, after they have been cast away.
Such is woman!

Lucy never slept more sweetly, nor dreamt more delightfully,
than on the night she returned from the Laurel mansion.
And the next morning she arose quite refreshed, with
cheeks nearly as roseate as usual, and with spirits no longer
desponding; for she knew that if it was the decree of fortune
she should be separated from her exalted lover—but whom
she was proud to have loved as the untitled Mr. Lowe—the
pang of parting must be reciprocal.

“I hope you are better this morning, dear aunt,” said
Lucy, the next day, when she entered Miss Flora's chamber.

“A great deal. The doctor understands my system, and
his remedies never fail. You must send for Dr. McGab—
but, really, Lucy!” continued her aunt, gazing at her niece,
“you look as well as ever you did.”

“I am quite well this morning, aunt.”

“I was fearful the excitement last night would unstring
your nerves. They must be better than mine. You are
stronger than I was at your age. But tell me the news. Was
Roland there?”

“He was.”

“How did Pollen conduct himself?”

“He is now the favorite of the countess, and you must
not expect him longer to dance attendance here.”

“I am sure it was only pity for his distresses that I felt
for him. If there is to be no more distress, there need be no
more pity. But instead of using the money I gave him in the
way he promised, I learn from his tailor he paid it to him,
and the bill is not yet quite settled in full. I will pay it,
however. How did the countess look?”

“Fresh and blooming as yourself, dear aunt.”

“As myself! But they say there is really some resemblance
between us. And the earl?”

“You mean Mr. Lowe?”

“No—the Lord Hilton.”

“You know him very well; the earl was Mr. Lowe.
You have often entertained his lordship under your roof.”

“Lucy! is that so?” exclaimed Flora, with much animation.

“It is, indeed, aunt; and for several days I had suspected
as much.”

“What a romance! I am quite well now, Lucy! He
spoke to you, of course?”

“Of course, aunt, and begged me to forgive him.”

“And you did?”

“I did not! That is, I expressed myself precisely as I
should have done to Mr. Lowe.”

“Brave girl! But I hope the difference is not irreconcilable.
Yet you did well. A too easy yielding often ruins
a girl's power over the sterner sex. The gratification of repulsing
a lord, must be nearly as great as marrying one! The
greatest triumph I ever enjoyed, was the rejection of —;
who, you know, became an ambassador. But I knew he
merely wanted my little fortune. Lord Hilton! And he
won your little heart as the simple Mr. Lowe!”

“I fancy, aunt,” replied Lucy, “he lost quite as much as
he won!”

“Oh, it is a game at which two can play! Such a romance!
I had a presentiment of something of the sort, when
I received your letter from Babbleton. I am perfectly well,
Lucy. Some one rings. How late it is. I will be down in
a few minutes. Who is it?” she continued, to the servant.
“A note? For you, Lucy. Read it.”

It was from Lord Hilton, urgently begging a brief interview
on a matter of the utmost importance. But the signature
was “Edmund.”

“I think I would deny him, Lucy,” said Miss Flora. “It
will increase his eagerness. Never fear but he will persist
until he accomplishes his purpose. I know the men!” And
yet she never secured one herself, with all her knowledge.
Whether or not that fact had any influence in the decision of
Lucy, she told the servant to say she would attend the gentleman.

A few minutes after, Lucy entered the parlor. She was
struck with the mournful expression of Lord Hilton's countenance,
and immediately changed her purpose of maintaining a
cold and resentful demeanor.

“Lucy,” said he, taking her unresisting hand, and leading
her to a seat, “I beg you will hear me patiently before you
reply. It is my duty to ask forgiveness, and to utter explanations.
All I crave is to be heard, and to be judged according
to the dictates of your heart.”

“Go on, sir, if you please. But there is nothing to forgive.
I have not censured you.”

“But I was not so forbearing. It was my duty to ascertain,
beyond the possibility of doubt, and by other means than
those at first adopted, if there were any just grounds for the
suspicion—and it pains me to repeat it—that I was made the
victim of a duplicity, a capricious deception—so inconsistent
with your nature—so different from all the former actions of
your life—”

“You will oblige me,” said Lucy, “by putting a period
to these self-reproaches.”

“They are merited; for my obtuseness and stupidity were
unparalleled. I should have known, after the vile attempt of
Roland on that memorable night, that he was capable of any
device—apt to perpetrate any scheme, to destroy the character
of the one who indignantly rejected his offers; or to be insidiously
revenged on the one who had defied his prowess in open
day.”

“Do you know it now?” asked Lucy.

“I do. And I came hither to relate the manner of the
discovery.” He then described the occurrence of the preceding
evening, and told her he had employed similar agents
to those which had been used by Roland, to watch his movements,
and to obtain information from the villain's creatures.

Lucy, though surprised, betrayed no emotion. Conscious
of her own rectitude, she never yielded to the apprehension
that she might be seriously involved in the machinations of
others.

“And now,” continued his lordship, “can you forgive
me?”

“Most certainly,” said Lucy. “Be assured that I do not
harbor a particle of resentment.”

“Oh, then,” cried he, seizing her hand, “I shall be the
happiest of mortals!”

“I hope so, sir,” said she, withdrawing her hand, and
rising. “I am sure the knowledge that Lord Hilton is happy,
after all the privations he endured in a foreign land, will be
an agreeable reflection to his friends, who knew him in his
exile; and none will rejoice more heartily than myself—for I
was his sincere friend and—”

“Lucy, do not torture me thus!” said his lordship, detaining
her. “Oh, believe me, when I declare that without

you, I should be the most miserable creature in the world.
You say I am forgiven. Why, then, should you desire to
avoid the consummation of the promise you made me? Why
seek to be estranged from the one, who, enveloped in mystery,
you admitted had some share in your affections—and who
now declares, when the cloud of uncertainty is dispelled, that
his whole heart is yours, and that his happiness in this world
depends upon an indissoluble union with you. You knew I
was a native of a distant land, and that I never sought to
become a citizen of your country. That much I resolved to
disclose, that you might not upbraid me for a disingenuousness
I was incapable of perpetrating.”

“My lord—”

“Oh, do not address me thus!”

“Then, Edmund, be assured I am not offended. Believe
that my regard for you, frankly admitted when I did not know
the rank you were destined to hold, is not diminished—”

“Noble, generous Lucy!” exclaimed he, pressing her to
his heart.

“Have pity, Edmund,” said she, escaping from him, and
resuming her chair. “Let us realize the thought, that in all
probability we are doomed soon to part, probably to meet no
more.”

“No! no! The power does not exist which can separate
us.”

“Reason will resume its sway. I have learned from
others—and without a resort to interrogation—that another
claims you—a relation of your own, and in your own country.
One who is able to repair the injury wrought on your hereditary
possessions by the improvidence of the late earl—and
one who has the approbation of the countess—”

“Lucy! Let me explain it. It is true my mother would
have me espouse the Lady Stuart. But, even if I had never
met with you, I would not comply with my mother's wishes.
Our estates are contiguous, but our hearts are wide asunder.
And Lady Stuart is my senior in years, and would not deny
that her heart has been lavished on another. Enough of her.
But I have letters from my steward, stating that the heaviest
claims against my deceased brother's estate, and which I had
agreed to discharge, have been ascertained to be fraudulent,
and there is no obligation, legal or moral, to pay them. My
clear rental will be amply sufficient for any elegance and

comfort one should desire—and particularly one who has
studied so many lessons of economy in this great country—
and if enough for your comfort and elegance, you alone, would
suffice for my happiness.”

“This is rhapsody—reality must follow. The wife of
Lord Hilton should be of noble descent, or else she should
not dwell in a land of hereditary titles.”

“Not so. In England the wife shares the husband's station,
and is elevated to his rank by law and custom. In
American the lord becomes a citizen. Such is the operation
of both governments. Mine is the most liberal and generous,
and hence we should prefer it. You will agree with me,
my adorable girl? Let your brother exult in his native
Americanism. He is right. Were I not debarred by birth,
I would be of his party. Nor would I deprive his country
of a vote or a soldier. But politics, in your glorious Republic,
cannot be made to mingle with matrimony. If your
foreign husband dwelt in America, it might be different—it
might seem like a proscription of the natives. But who
would censure your brother if he were to wed a foreign lady?
She could exercise no—”

“You are talking politics,” said Lucy, smiling.

“And you have no political objections! Forgive me; but
I apprehend some obstacles from your brother.”

“My brother knows my utter aversion to politics,” continued
Lucy, “and will not be likely to attempt an interference
on such grounds. But, still, there would be difficulties.
My mother—'

“Shall go with us.”

“She would not leave her old mansion to reside in
Buckingham palace.”

“Then we will come to her once every year, instead of
economizing on the continent. I will come hither, and learn
more and more of your institutions. And when I return to
my place in the House of Lords, I will be the better able to
repel the calumnies of our slanderous scribblers. For the
last few centuries Great Britain has culminated above all the
empires that preceded her; but she is, I think, to be succeeded
and surpassed by her Transatlantic offspring. But
Americans must rule America, as the British have ruled
Great Britain.

“Are you not talking politics again?” asked Lucy, archly.

“Perhaps you would demonstrate the point that a British
lord might, however, govern an American lady?”

“By no means!” said his lordship, taking her unresisting
hand—“for a lady governs all the lords of Great Britain.”

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Miss
Flora Blount, radiant with smiles.

“I have learned all about your romantic disguises,” said
she.

“Not all of them, aunt,” said Lucy. She then related
the account of the chastisement of Roland by the countess's
coachman and footman.

“That was well done,” said Flora, “and the punishment
merited.” She then launched on the ocean of romance, enumerating
many instances of lords dwelling in foreign lands,
under assumed names, and concluded by intimating to Lord
Hilton that she should not be surprised if he were to be made
one of the heroes of a novel.

His lordship admitted the possibility of such a thing;
and said he ought not be astonished at it, inasmuch as the
affair of the disguised footman and coachman with Roland
had been faithfully chronicled. He then exhibited a morning
paper containing an elaborate version of the occurrence; and
while Miss Blount was striving to read it without her spectacles,
and entirely unconscious of the fact, that the sheet was
upside down in her hands, his lordship bowed, and withdrew
with an elastic step and happy countenance.

During the day, the countess and Mrs. Laurel called to
inquire after the health of Miss Blount; and both were exceedingly
complimentary on the improved appearance of
Lucy, who had been less vivacious than usual the evening
before. She did not explain the cause of the change—but
from certain phrases made use of by the visitors, it might
have been inferred—and which was really the case—that
Lord Hilton had communicated something of a peremptory
character to his mother.

The ladies had just risen to depart when Col. Ball was
announced. When the door closed after them, the colonel
said his object was to ascertain the place where he would be
likely to meet the poet.

“Bless your life, colonel,” said Miss Flora, “I was about
to ask you the same question. Until to-day, I could always

rely upon seeing him here. But the countess has captured
him, and I must relinquish my claims.”

“He was not worth retaining, madam,” said the colonel.
He then detailed the inexcusable pusillanimity of his conduct,
and gave the particulars of his wild-goose chase, as he called
it, to Hoboken; and amused Lucy with his description of the
encounter with the reporter.

“And it was all on your account, miss,” added the colonel.

“I am much indebted to you, colonel.”

“That's nothing. I am indebted to at least fifty. But
those pranksome girls—the Babbleton heiresses at our boarding
house—have been telling me that this sprig of nobility—
his father was a brave man, and was killed magnificently in
battle—this son of the laughing countess, has been stealing
away the hearts of our American girls, and that, too, under
false colors.”

“Did they tell you that?”

“Something of the sort. But they have changed their
tune since Roland had his drubbing, which I will tell you
about another time, and they declare you are worthy of a
prince.”

“I am much obliged to them.”

“I doubt it. They regret, I am sure, the Earl did not
lay siege to their own slightly defended hearts—or that they
did not ambush for his.”

“That is unkind, colonel.”

“No. It is the truth. But, since I was the friend of
your craven protector last night, and was ready to stand in his
place this morning; and since this disguised stranger turns
out to be a great lord, who will no doubt desert you—hang me,
if an old soldier can avail any thing, and you will accept his
remaining hand—”

“Colonel Ball! What are you driving at?'

“What am I driving at? I am aiming point-blank at
matrimony, rather than see such a splendid girl go unwedded.
What say you to my summons?”

“I must decline—but I thank you.”

“If you decline, I will not attempt a storm—or tempt one,
rather; for if you were to comply, I should be the prisoner.
Well, I have discharged my duty, both here and in the field.
Farewell.” And before the ladies had time to perceive that
the old warrior was quite serious in his proposition, he had

vanished. But, nevertheless, their laughter could not be restrained.

The Blount mansion now became a very fashionable resort.
The old walls, ceilings, fireplaces, and furniture were tolerated
without a depreciating comment, after it was ascertained that
the earl and the countess were frequent visitors; and that
Mrs. Laurel had substituted wax candles in her parlors, for
jets of gas.

Roland had left the city in discomfiture and disgrace, and
his blue carriage no longer impudently waited to entrap his
victims. Even Bell Arum and Susan Crudle, wrote polite
notes to Lucy Winkle, protesting that they had been misled
and deceived by the wicked misrepresentations of Roland, and
beseeching their old schoolmate and neighbor to forgive them.
Lucy did so without hesitation, and invited them to her aunt's
mansion. It was a most unaccountable thing to Lucy that
they had escaped the evil devices of Roland; or rather that
he formed no designs against them. But they had never entertained
any apprehensions; and if he had proposed matrimony,
they were both in readiness to accept him.

Admitted to the Blount mansion, Bell and Susan immediately
cut the acquaintance of their boarding-house associates.
The music teacher, the dry goods clerk, and the horticulturist
were dismissed. Henceforth their company was to be comprised
of the real aristocracy. And by some means which
was never explained, George Parke had obtained an intimation
that his presence in the city would be agreeable to certain
young ladies at No. —, — square; and as it was vacation,
he repaired thither, and became an occasional attendant at the
various places of amusement. Poor fellow! He too had intended
to propose to Lucy, when informed by Miss Crudle
that she was already engaged. But as he really admired her,
he found some satisfaction in occasionally gaining access to
her presence in company with the belles, for whom he found it
impossible to entertain any other than feelings of friendly indifference.
From New York he ultimately wandered over to
Philadelphia, where he became seriously fascinated with Julia
Nitre.

Lord Hilton having resisted the entreaties of his mother
in behalf of Lady Stuart, their departure from the United
States was indefinitely postponed. They were the objects of
so many flattering attentions on the part of the republican

aristocracy of the great metropolis, that they were induced to
pass the winter among them.

About this time all Babbleton was in a state of excessive
agitation. Bell and Sue were writing home lengthy letters
every day. Lucy Winkle was to be married to an earl! The
countess, his mother, would certainly be in Babbleton—and
they would all be the guests of the Widow Winkle! No
doubt the money with which the widow's house had been purchased,
was furnished by his lordship! The widow's house
was now beset with friendly visitors, whilst Mrs. Griselda
ceased to be tolerated by the quality of the village. And in
revenge for this she staid at home and tormented her prisoner.
But Patty O'Pan appeared no more in her Arum and Crudle
costume, and her offence was forgotten.