CHAPTER XXI.

AYLESFORD AND MRS. WARREN

For on his brow the throbbing vein Throbb’d as if back upon his brain The hot blood ebb’d and flowed again. —Byron.

I am burned up with inflaming wrath; A rage, whose heat hath this condition, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood. —Shakespeare.

It would be impossible to convey, in words, an adequate idea of the state of Aylesford’s mind, after his separation from Major Gordon. Rage, shame and jealousy possessed him by turns. But to one sentiment he was constant through all; he was resolved yet to have the life of our hero; to consummate the revenge of which he believed he had been baulked at the very moment of success.

Uncle Lawrence’s description of him had not exaggerated the reality. On the contrary, it had fallen short of the truth in many particulars; for the patriarch was ignorant of some of the worst passages in the young man’s life. Aylesford had long since squandered his entire patrimony, in the wildest excesses, and had now no prospect of retaining his position in life unless by marrying his cousin. Relying on the family understanding to that effect, he had never allowed himself to doubt Kate’s assent; but had looked forward to her return to America as the period which was to set him afloat anew on the tide of fortune.

Expecting, however, that Kate would not only land at New York, but remain there until the colonies, as he hoped and believed, would be subdued, he had made every preparation to meet her at that port; but not supposing that she would arrive as soon as she did, he had delayed, until the last moment, entering within the royal lines, a step which he knew would prevent his return to Sweetwater or to Philadelphia. He was at the former place, accordingly, when his aunt and cousin, arriving from the wreck, brought the first intelligence alike of their having sailed earlier than they had designed, and of the catastrophe which had terminated their voyage.

At first he saw nothing in the somewhat reserved manners of Kate, but the coyness natural to her sex and age; in fact, for awhile he attributed it to secret admiration of himself. But time gradually undeceived him. Kate’s reserve changed occasionally to marked aversion. He resembled, indeed, so little the cousin she remembered when a boy, that, when his attentions became particular, she shrank from him with feelings almost of disgust. As whatever was worst in his past career was concealed from her, this growing dislike must have arisen from the fine instinct of her sex.

Aylesford, like men of his class, looked everywhere but to himself for the cause of this aversion. He could find no explanation so plausible as in a romantic fancy, on the part of his cousin, for the handsome young officer who was said to have been the principal cause of saving her life. Giving way to his unbridled passions, he secretly swore to avenge himself on this rival. But, meantime, resolving to lose no opportunity of ingratiating himself with his mistress, he offered to visit Philadelphia, in order to attend in person to those commissions which the damaged wardrobe of the ladies rendered necessary.

Arriving at Sweetwater, after an absence unavoidably protracted, his first inquiry was for Kate; and his rage was only equalled by his astonishment, when he learned she had gone out on horseback with Major Gordon. Once, before his departure, he had offered to accompany her himself; but she had declined in terms that left no opening for repeating the request. A few questions, angrily put, extracted from the frightened servant, that Kate had been riding out daily for a fortnight with the man he already considered his rival. He was almost white with passion, therefore, when Mrs. Warren appeared.

His aunt, like all weak-minded persons, loved him none the less, perhaps, for his wild life, or his ungovernable temper. He had been her pet before she left for Europe, the more probably because his uncle so often frowned upon him, and now that she had returned, he seemed to her to be the same frank and good-hearted lad she had always persisted in believing him, only somewhat older in years, handsomer in person, and more finished in manner. To do her justice, Aylesford did all he could to deceive the simple dame. He was punctilious in attending to her wants, flattered her whims, and paraded his royalist sympathies freely in her presence. Accordingly, such was the hold he obtained over her, before leaving Sweetwater, that when, once or twice, her maid began to gossip about his antecedents, she sternly bade the girl to be silent, and resolutely refused to believe anything to his disadvantage.

“What is this I hear?” said Aylesford, with a lowering brow, when they had entered the parlor. “How could you allow this paltry rebel officer to establish himself here?”

Poor Mrs. Warren knew not what to say. She felt like a culprit. At last, not daring to look in his face, but fumbling, like a truant girl, the little, round pin-cushion, which, in common with all dames of her day, she wore at her side, she stammered—

“Indeed, Charles, I couldn’t help it—”

He answered angrily—

“Why didn’t you say that her horse was too wild? That you were afraid of the unsettled condition of the country? That it wasn’t proper for Kate to be seen with an American officer?”

Bewildered by so many questions, Mrs. Warren could only reply to that which came last.

“Oh! Charles, how could I be so rude?” she answered, “Major Gordon, you should remember, saved our lives—”

“That’s the very difficulty,” broke in her nephew. “I wish the intermeddler had been at the bottom of the ocean.”

“But we should have been drowned then,” and Mrs. Warren held up her hands. “You don’t mean what you say, Charles.”

“Well, then, I wish I’d been there—”

“I wish so, too, from the bottom of my heart,” said Mrs. Warren, beginning to cry, for his impetuosity had quite unnerved her.

“There, aunt,” he said, curbing his passion, “don’t. I’m sure I never intended to hurt your feelings.” And he approached and kissed her.

“Nor have you, my dear boy,” sobbed Mrs. Warren, throwing herself on his neck, and crying for a while hysterically. “But I’m sure nobody can blame me. I always knew there’d be trouble. I felt it from the first. I was satisfied you wouldn’t approve of such an acquaintance, any more than our cousin, Lord Danville, would.”

“Confound the old fool!” muttered Aylesford to himself. Then, giving up to his impatience, he said aloud. “It’s not as an acquaintance I care about him. But,” and he forgot himself so much as to utter a savage oath, “the fellow will be having Kate in love with him.”

Mrs. Warren sank into a chair, holding up both her hands.

“In love with him? Deary me! deary me! I never thought of that! But it can’t be, Charles,” she said, eagerly, “you’re joking with me. Kate would never throw herself away on such a person.”

“How do you know?” abruptly said he. “There’s nothing Kate won’t do, if she takes a mind to it. The man saved her life, too, or she thinks he did; and she’s as romantic as the devil!”

“So he did. So she is!” said Mrs. Warren, confusedly. “Oh! I see it all now. Why did I not do it before? But I never suspected such a thing. A rebel too, and worse, a rebel officer! We’re disgraced forever. What would Cousin Danville say? What will the King say when he hears of it?”

“Well, if this isn’t a precious partner I’ve got,” said Aylesford to himself, “to help me in my difficulty. I might as well have a crazy person.” But after a turn about the room, seeing that the handkerchief was still at her eyes, he said— “I’m not finding fault, aunt. But why the deuce,” he cried “didn’t you say that Arab was too wild for Kate?”

“I did, my dear boy, I did,” was the eager reply. “I was going to tell you so, only you frightened me. I told her so again and again. But your cousin’s as headstrong as her father, poor, dear man—I don’t mean to abuse him, now that he’s in his grave, but he’d always have his way; or for that matter so would your father, too, Charles, when we were children—I remember once seeing him, when he wasn’t ten years old, jump on an unbroken colt, that the grooms were afraid to ride, in spite of all they could say, and though I screamed as if I’d go into fits—and so she would ride Arab, when the Major had tried him and pronounced him safe, and though I begged him not to favor the child’s whim, and said to him, says I, ‘she’ll kill herself yet’—but he no more minded me than if I hadn’t spoke, for I see now that he wanted to have a _tete-a-tete_ with her—and so they’ve been riding together nearly every day—and it’s all over with the marriage between you two, on which I’ve always set my heart”—and here the good dame, after this marvellously lucid narrative, burst into a perfect passion of sobbing, for she really could see no end to the troubles that threatened her.

Aylesford, with another oath, muttered— “Cold comfort this for a man. But what else can be expected from a whimpering old dunce? If she’d had sense and courage, she’d have got rid of this militia Major civilly, after the first interview. However,” he continued, “I mustn’t let her see what I think. She can be of service to me yet, and I must keep her in temper. I really believe she loves me as if I was her son.” So, again going up to her, and embracing her, not without something even of affection, he said— “There, aunt, compose yourself. What’s done can’t be helped. But, now that I’ve come back, I’ll take this matter into my own hands; and the first thing is to get rid of this rebel visitor. How long have Kate and he been out?”

He looked at the clock as he spoke, his frown deepening, for the hour was even later than he had thought.

“Deary me,” exclaimed Mrs. Warren, in reply, her face displaying visible consternation, “it’s almost noon. I wonder if anything has happened. I’m sure something has,” And she began to wring her hands. “I’ve felt all the morning that it would.”

Aylesford wheeled on his heel to conceal his impatience. But immediately he returned.

“Have they been absent two hours? Three? How many?”

“Deary me, don’t be so cross?” replied his aunt, his very impatience frustrating his object. “You frighten me, Charles. I’m sure I’ve done nothing to deserve this—”

“For heaven’s sake,” cried her nephew, losing control of himself, “cut this short, and tell me how long they’ve been gone, and what road they took.”

Aylesford at last extracted the unwelcome intelligence that Kate and his rival had been absent since eight o’clock.

“Time enough to make a dozen proposals,” muttered he, “and talk down the scruples of twenty heiresses, especially when a beggar of an officer is the suitor, who has had the good luck to help her off from a wreck. But I’ll put a stop to the fellow’s insolent pretensions. If the mischief be not done already, I’ll take good care he gets no more such opportunities; and if he has practiced on my cousin’s susceptibility, of whom I’m the natural protector, as being her nearest male relative, I’ll run him through.”

With these words he stepped to the window, ordered a horse to be saddled, and having ascertained the direction in which the equestrians had ridden, set off in search of them. Fortune conducted him immediately to them, as we have already seen.