Chapter 16

"Oh, indeed, you are mistaken, grandmother! Sir Thomas is an admirable husband--blind and deaf to all I do, as a good husband ought to be. And as for Dick, look at him--bowing and smiling, and ready to do me any service, while the girl he nearly died for is quite forgotten."

"Upon my word, you wrong Dick. His love for that woman is beyond everything. I wish it wasn't. What right had she to come into our family, and spoil plans and projects made before she was born. I should clearly love to play her her own card back. And I must say, Arabella, that you seem to care very little about your own wrongs."

"Oh, I am by no means certified that the woman has wronged me! I don't think I should have loved Dick, in any case."

"_Ha!_" Lady Capel looked in her granddaughter's musing face, and then, with a chuckle, hobbled to the bell and rang for her maid. "You are very prudent, child, but I am not one that any woman can deceive. I know all the tricks of the sex. Oh, heavens! what a grand thing to be two and twenty, with a kind husband to manage, and lovers bowing and begging at your shoe-ties! Well, well, I had my day; and, thank the fools, I did some mischief in it! Yes, there were eight duels fought for me; and while Somers and Scrope were wetting their swords in the quarrel, I was dancing with Jack Capel. Jack told me that night he would make me marry him; and when I slapped his cheek with my fan, he took my hands in a rage, and swore I should do it that hour. And, faith, he mastered me! Your grandfather Capel had a dreadful temper, Arabella."

"I have heard that Cousin Dick Hyde has a temper too."

"Dick is vain; and you can make a vain man stand on his head, or go down on his knees, if you only vow that he performs the antics better than any other human creature. The town will fling itself at Dick Hyde's feet, and Dick will fling himself at yours. Mind what I say; my prophecies always come true, Arabella, for I never expect sinners to be saints, my dear."

And during the next six months Lady Capel found plenty of opportunities for complimenting herself upon her own penetration. Society made an idol of Capt. Hyde; and if he was not at Lady Arabella's feet, he was certainly very constantly at her side. As to his marriage, it was a topic of constant doubt and dispute. The clubs betted on the subject. In the ball-rooms and the concert-rooms, the ladies positively denied it; and Lady Arabella's smile and shrug were of all opinions the most unsatisfactory and bewildering. Some, indeed, admitted the marriage, but averred, with a meaning emphasis, that madam was on the proper side of the Atlantic. Others were certain that Hyde had brought his wife to England, but felt himself obliged, on account of her great beauty, to keep her away from the conquering heroes of London society. It was a significant index to Hyde's real character, that not one of his associates ever dared to be familiar enough to ask him for the truth on a question so delicately personal.

"Hyde is exactly the man to invite me to meet him in Marylebone Fields for the answer," said a young officer, who had been urged to make inquiries because he was on familiar terms with his comrade. "If it comes to a matter of catechism, gentlemen, I'll bet ten to one that none of you ask him two consecutive questions regarding the American lady."

And perhaps many husbands may be able to understand a fact which to the general world seems beyond satisfactory explanation. Hyde loved his wife, loved her tenderly and constantly; he felt himself to be a better man whenever he thought of her and his little son, and he thought of them very frequently; and yet his eyes, his actions, the tones of his voice, daily led his cousin, Lady Suffolk, to imagine herself the empress of his heart and life. Nor was it to her alone that he permitted this affectation of love. He found beauty, wherever he met it, provocative of the same apparent devotion. There were a dozen men in his own circle who hated him with all the sincerity that jealousy gives to dislike and envy; there were a score of women who believed themselves to have private tokens of Hyde's special admiration for them.

Unfortunately, his military duties were only on very rare occasions any restraint to him. His days were mainly spent in dangling after Lady Suffolk and other fair dames. It was auctions at Christie's, and morning concerts, and afternoon rides and plays, and dinners and balls and masks at Ranelagh's. It was sails down the river to Richmond, and trips to Sadler's Wells, and one perpetual round of flirting and folly, of dressing and dancing and dining and gaming.

And it must be remembered that the English women of that day were such as England may well hope never to see again. They had little education: many very great ladies could hardly read and spell properly. Their sole accomplishments were dressing and embroidery; the ability to make a few delicate dishes for the table, and scents and pomade for the toilet. In the higher classes they married for money or position, and gave themselves up to intrigue. They drank deeply; they played high; they very seldom went to church, for Sunday was the fashionable day for all kinds of frivolity and amusement. And as the men of any generation are just what the women make them, England never had sons so profligate, so profane and drunken. The clubs, especially Brooke's, were the nightly scenes of indescribable orgies. Gambling alone was their serious occupation; duels were of constant occurrence.

Such a life could not be lived except at frightful and generally ruinous expense. Hyde was soon embarrassed. His pay was small and uncertain and the allowance which his brother William added to it, in order that the heir-apparent to the earldom might live in becoming style, had not been calculated on the squandering basis of Hyde's expenditures. Toward Christmas bills began to pour in, creditors became importunate, and, for the first time in his life, creditors really troubled him. Lady Capel was not likely to pay his debts any more. The earl, in settling Hyde's American obligations, had warned him against incurring others, and had frankly told him he would permit him to go to jail rather than pay such wicked and foolish bills for him again. The income from Hyde Manor had never been more than was required for the expenses of the place; and the interest on Katherine's money had gone, though he could not tell how. He was destitute of ready cash, and he foresaw that he would have to borrow some from Lady Capel or some other accommodating friend.

He returned to barracks one Sunday afternoon, and was moodily thinking over these things, when his orderly brought him a letter which had arrived during his absence. It was from Katherine. His face flushed with delight as he read it, so sweet and tender and pure was the neat epistle. He compared it mentally with some of the shameless scented billet-doux he was in the habit of receiving; and he felt as if his hands were unworthy to touch the white wings of his Katherine's most womanly, wifely message. "She wants to see me. Oh, the dear one! Not more than I want to see her. Fool, villain, that I am! I will go to her. Katherine! Kate! My dear little Kate!" So he ejaculated as he paced his narrow quarters, and tried to arrange his plans for a Christmas visit to his wife and child.

First he went to his colonel's lodging, and easily obtained two weeks' absence; then he dressed carefully, and went to his club for dinner. He had determined to ask Lady Capel for a hundred pounds; and he thought it would be the best plan to make his request when she was surrounded by company, and under the pleasurable excitement of a winning rubber. And if the circumstances proved adverse, then he could try his fortune in the hours of her morning retirement.

The mansion in Berkeley Square was brilliantly lighted when he approached it. Chairs and coaches were waiting in lines of three deep; coachmen and footmen quarrelling, shouting, talking; link-boys running here and there in search of lost articles or missing servants. But the hubbub did not at that time make his blood run quicker, or give any light of expectation to his countenance; for his heart and thoughts were near a hundred miles away.

Sunday night was Lady Capel's great card-night, and the rooms were full of tables surrounded by powdered and painted beauties intent upon the game and the gold. The odour of musk was everywhere, and the sound of the tapping of gold snuff-boxes, and the fluttering of fans, and the sharp, technical calls of the gamesters, and the hollow laughter of hollow hearts. There was a hired singing-girl with a lute at one end of the room, babbling of Cupid and Daphne, and green meadow and larks. But she was poorly dressed and indifferent looking; and she sang with a sad, mechanical air, as if her thoughts were far off. Hyde would have passed her without a glance; but, as he approached, she broke her love-ditty in two, and began to sing, with a meaning look at him,--

"They say there is a happy land, Where husbands never prove untrue; Where lovely maids may give their hearts, And never need the gift to rue; Where men can make and keep a vow, And wives are never in despair. I'm very fond of seeing sights-- Pray tell me, how can I get there?"

The question seemed so directly addressed to Hyde that he hesitated a moment, and looked at the girl, who then with a mocking smile continued,--

"They say there really is a land, Where husbands never are untrue, Where wives are always beautiful, And the old love is always new. I've asked the wise to tell me how A loving woman could get there; And this is what they say to me,-- 'If you that happy land would see, There's only one way to get there: _Go straight along the crooked lane, And all around the square_.'"

The scornful little song followed him, and conveyed a certain meaning to his mind. The girl must have taken her cue from the gossip of those who passed her to and fro. He burned with indignation, not for himself, but for his sweet, pure Katherine. He was determined that the world should in the future know that he held her peerless among women. In this half-aggressive mood he approached Lady Capel. She had been unfortunate all the evening, and was not amiable. As he stood behind her chair, Lord Leffham asked,--

"What think you, Hyde, of a party at picquet?"

"Oh, indeed, my lord, you are too much for me!"

"I will give you three points." Then, calling a footman, "Here, fellow, get cards."

Lady Capel flung her own down. "No, no, Leffham. Spare my grandson: there are bigger fish here. Dick, I am angry at you. I have a mind to banish you for a month."

"I am going to Norfolk for two weeks, madam."

"That will do. It is a worse punishment than I should have given you. Norfolk! There is only one word between it and the plantations. At this time of the year, it is a clay pudding full of villages. Give me your arm, Dick; I shall play no more until my luck turns again. Losing cards are dull company indeed."

"I am very sorry that you have been losing. I came to ask for the loan of a hundred pounds, grandmother."

"No, sir, I will not lend you a hundred pounds; nor am I in the humour to do anything else you desire."

"I make my apology for the request. I ought to have asked Katherine."

"No, sir, you ought not to have asked Katherine. You ought to take what you want. Jack Capel took every shilling of my fortune and neither said 'by your leave' nor 'thank you.' Did the Dutchman tie the bag too close?"

"Councillor Van Heemskirk left it open, in my honour. When I am scoundrel enough to touch it, I shall not come and see you at all, grandmother."

"Upon my word, a very pretty compliment! Well, sir, I'll pay you a hundred pounds for it. When do you start?"

"To-morrow morning."

"Make it afternoon, and take care of me as far as your aunt Julia's. The duke is of the royal bed-chamber this month, and I am going to see my daughter while he is away. It will make him supremely wretched at court to know that I am in his house. So I am going there, and I shall take care he knows it."

"I have heard a great deal of his new house."

"A play-house kind of affair, Dick, I assure you,--all in the French style; gods and goddesses above your head, and very badly dressed nymphs all around, and his pedigree on every window, and his coat of arms on the very stairs. I have the greatest satisfaction in treading upon them, I assure you."

"Why do you take the trouble to go? It can give you no pleasure."

"Imagine the true state of things, Dick. The duke is at court--say he is holding the royal gold wash-basin; but in the very sunshine of King George's smile, he is thinking, 'That snuffy old woman is lounging in my white and gilt satin chairs, and handling all my Chinese curiosities, and asking if every hideous Hindoo idol is a fresh likeness of me.' I am always willing to take some trouble to give pleasure to the people I like; I will gladly go to any amount of trouble to annoy the people I hate as cordially as I hate my good, rich, noble son-in-law, the great Duke of Exmouth."

"Will you play again?"

"No; I lost seventy pounds to-night."

"I protest, grandmother, that such high stakes go not with amusement. People come here, not for civility, but for the chance of money."

"Very well, sir. Money! It is the only excuse for card-playing. All the rest is sinning without temptation. But, Dick, put on the black coat to preach in,--why do they wear black to preach in?--and I am not in a humour for a sermon. Come to-morrow at one o'clock; we shall reach Julia's before dinner. And I dare say you want money to-night. Here are the keys of my desk. In the right-hand drawer are some _rouleaus_ of fifty pounds each. Take two."

The weather, as Lady Capel said, was "so very Decemberish" that the roads were passably good, being frozen dry and hard; and on the evening of the third day Hyde came in sight of his home. His heart warmed to the lonely place; and the few lights in its windows beckoned him far more pleasantly than the brilliant illuminations of Vauxhall or Almacks, or even the cold splendours of royal receptions. He had given Katherine no warning of his visit--partly because he had a superstitious feeling about talking of expected joys (he had noticed that when he did so they vanished beyond his grasp); partly because love, like destiny, loves surprises; and he wanted to see with his own eyes, and hear with his own ears, the glad tokens of her happy wonder.

So he rode his horse upon the turf, and, seeing a light in the stable, carried him there at once. It was just about the hour of the evening meal, and the house was brighter than it would have been a little later. The kitchen fire threw great lustres across the brick-paved yard; and the blinds in Katherine's parlour were undrawn, and its fire and candle-light shone on the freshly laid tea-table, and the dark walls gleaming with bunches of holly and mistletoe. But she was not there. He only glanced inside the room, and then, with a smile on his face, went swiftly upstairs. He had noticed the light in the upper windows, and he knew where he would find his wife. Before he reached the nursery, he heard Katherine's voice. The door was a little open, and he could see every part of the charming domestic scene within the room. A middle-aged woman was quietly putting to rights the sweet disorder incident to the undressing of the baby. Katherine had played with it until they were both a little flushed and weary; and she was softly singing to the drowsy child at her breast.

It was a very singular chiming melody, and the low, sweet, tripping syllables were in a language quite unknown to him. But he thought that he had never heard music half so sweet and tender; and he listened to it, and watched the drowsy, swaying movements of the mother, with a strange delight,--

"Trip a trop a tronjes, De varkens in de boonjes, De keojes in de klaver, De paardeen in de haver, De eenjes in de waterplass, So groot mijn kleine Joris wass."

Over and over, softer and slower, went the melody. It was evident that the boy was asleep, and that Katherine was going to lay him in his cradle. He watched her do it; watched her gently tuck in the cover, and stand a moment to look down at the child. Then with a face full of love she turned away, smiling, and quite unconsciously came toward him on tiptoes. With his face beaming, with his arms opened, he entered; but with such a sympathetic understanding of the sweet need of silence and restraint that there was no alarm, no outcry, no fuss or amazement. Only a whispered "Katherine," and the swift rapture of meeting hearts and lips.

XIII.

"_Death asks for no man's leave, But lifts the latch, and enters, and sits down_."

The great events of most lives occur in epochs. A certain period is marked by a succession of important changes, but that ride of fortune, be it good or ill, culminates, recedes, goes quite out, and leaves life on a level beach of commonplaces. Then, sooner or later, the current of affairs turns again; sometimes with a calm, irresistible flow, sometimes in a tidal wave of sudden and overwhelming strength. After Hyde's and Katherine's marriage, there was a long era noticeable only for such vicissitudes as were incident to their fortune and position. But in May, A.D. 1774, the first murmur of the returning tide of destiny was heard. Not but what there had been for long some vague and general expectation of momentous events which would touch many individual lives; but this May night, a singular prescience of change made Hyde restless and impatient.

It was a dull, drizzling evening; and there was an air of depression in the city, to which he was unusually sensitive. For the trouble between England and her American Colonies was rapidly culminating; and party feeling ran high, not only among civilians, but throughout the royal regiments. Recently, also, a petition had been laid before the king from the Americans then resident in London, praying him not to send troops to coerce his subjects in America; and, when Hyde entered his club, some members were engaged in an angry altercation on this subject.

"The petition was flung upon the table, as it ought to have been," said Lord Paget.

"You are right," replied Mr. Hervey; "they ought to petition no longer. They ought now to resist. Mr. Dunning said in the House last night that the tone of the Government to the Colonies was, 'Resist, and we will cut your throats: acquiesce, and we will tax you.'"

"A kind of 'stand and deliver' government," remarked Hyde, whistling softly.

Lord Paget turned upon him with hardly concealed anger. "Captain, you, sir, wear the king's livery."

"I give the king my service: my thoughts are my own. And, faith, Lord Paget, it is my humour to utter them when and how I please!"

"Patience, gentlemen," returned Mr. Hervey. "I think, my lord, we may follow our leaders. The Duke of Richmond spoke warmly for Boston last night. 'The Bostonians are punished without a hearing,' he said; 'and if they resist punishment, I wish them success.' Are they not Englishmen, and many of them born on English soil? When have Englishmen submitted to oppression? Neither king, lords, nor commons can take away the rights of the people. It is past a doubt, too, that his Majesty, at the levee last night, laughed when he said he would just as lief fight the Bostonians as the French. I heard this speech was received with a dead silence, and that great offence was given by it."

"I think the king was right," said Paget passionately. "Rebellious subjects are worse than open enemies like the French."

"My lord, you must excuse me if I do not agree with your opinions. Was the king right to give a government to the Canadians at this precise time? What can his Protestant North-American subjects think, but that he designs the hundred thousand Catholics of Canada against their liberties? It is intolerable; and the king was mobbed this afternoon in the park, on the matter. As for the bishops who voted the Canada bill, they ought to be unfrocked."

"Mr. Hervey, I beg to remind you that my uncle, who is of the see of St. Cuthbert, voted for it."

"Oh, it is notorious that all the English bishops, excepting only Dr. Shipley, voted for war with America! I hear that they anticipate an hierarchy there when the country is conquered. And the fight has begun at home, for Parliament is dissolved on the subject."

"It died in the Roman-Catholic faith," laughed Hyde, "and left us a rebellion for a legacy."

"Captain Hyde, you are a traitor."

"Lord Paget, I deny it. My loyalty does not compel me to swear by all the follies and crimes of the Government. My sword is my country's; but I would not for twenty kings draw it against my own countrymen,"--then, with a meaning glance at Lord Paget and an emphatic touch of his weapon,--"except in my own private quarrel. And if this be treason, let the king look to it. He will find such treason in every regiment in England. They say he is going to hire Hessians: he will need them for his American business, for he has no prerogative to force Englishmen to murder Englishmen."

"I would advise you to be more prudent, Captain Hyde, if it is in your power."

"I would advise you to mind your own affairs, Lord Paget."

"It is said that you married an American."

"If you are perfectly in your senses, my lord, leave my affairs alone."

"For my part, I never believed it; and now that Lady Suffolk is a widow, with revenues, possibly you may"--

"Ah, you are jealous, I perceive!" and Hyde laughed scornfully, and turned on his heel as if to go upstairs.

Lord Paget followed, and laid his hand upon Hyde's arm.

"Hands off, my lord. Hands off all that belongs to me. And I advise you also to cease your impertinent attentions to my cousin, Lady Suffolk."

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Hervey, "this is no time for private quarrels; and, Captain, here is a fellow with a note for you. It is my Lady Capel's footman, and he says he comes in urgent speed."

Hyde glanced at the message. "It is a last command, Mr. Harvey; and I must beg you to say what is proper for my honour to Lord Paget. Lady Capel is at the death-point, and to her requests I am first bounden."

It was raining hard when he left the club, a most dreary night in the city. The coach rattled through the muddy streets, and brought, as it went along, many a bored, heavy countenance to the steaming windows, to watch and to wonder at its pace. Lady Capel had been death-stricken while at whist, and she had not been removed from the parlour in which she had been playing her last game. She was stretched upon a sofa in the midst of the deserted tables, yet covered with scattered cards and half-emptied tea-cups. Only Lady Suffolk and a physician were with her; though the corridor was full of terrified, curious servants, gloating not unkindly over such a bit of sensation in their prosaic lives.

At this hour it was evident that, above everything in the world, the old lady had loved the wild extravagant grandson, whose debts she had paid over and over, and whom she had for years alternately petted and scolded.

"O Dick," she whispered, "I've got to die! We all have. I've had a good time, Dick."

"Shall I go for cousin Harold? I can bring him in an hour."