Part 3

In the autumn of the preceding year, Louis obtained his guardian's permission to accompany a neighbouring gentleman to the Red-deer hunt at Blair Athol in Scotland. On the first day, several fine harts were roused and slain. But just as the two Northumbrians were seating themselves on a high wooded cliff to take some refreshment after a hot pursuit, the forester who attended them approached, crouching on hands and knees, and silently made a sign, pointing to the glen beneath.--On looking where he levelled, they saw two fine stags upon a rock below, which projected over the river Tilt. Louis immediately took aim, and shot one of them on the edge of the precipice; the animal fell headlong into the stream; and the victor, with his followers, hastened down the glen to secure his prize. About the same instant, a huntsman, who had been with the foremost all day, from an opposite direction had espied the companion of the slain stag galloping forward in affright. He lost not a moment, but fired, and wounded the creature in the haunches. The disabled deer slackened his pace, and the huntsman let a hound loose after him, who held him at bay on a high bank; but the stag recovered courage, and broke away again.--Another dog was then unleashed, which brought him to a stand in a deep dell, filled by the current of a mountain-stream. This second hound ran in upon his antagonist, and seized him between the horns. The stag gored him from shoulder to shoulder, and alarmed for the life of his dog, the huntsman made a spring into the water, to shoot the deer without danger to the hound. But in his haste, the man fell, and with his gun under him. At this moment the Northumbrians came up. Louis's companion rashly unloosed their dogs, to assist the struggling hounds of the fallen huntsman. The deer, the dogs, all were at once upon the prostrate man. He called for help.--The stag's foot was on his breast:--the hounds crushed him as they sprung forward, and hung on the furious animal. The deer's eye-balls flashed fire; he dashed his tremendous antlers from side to side, and seemed aiming their next plunge against the life of his fallen enemy.

"He is a dead man!" cried the forester. But Louis drew a dirk, which was always his companion in these excursions 5 and throwing himself at once amidst the terrific group, struck it into the throat of the animal.--The wounded stag instantly recoiled, carrying away the weapon buried in his flesh. The released huntsman sprung on his legs, and extricating himself from the dogs, which hung more fiercely on their dying prey, staggered towards the adjacent bank. With the assistance of his companions, Louis immediately conveyed the fainting stranger to a neighbouring lodge, where he soon recovered his recollection and wonted spirits.--Perhaps it need hardly be said, that this stranger was Sir Anthony Athelstone!--Louis, being unacquainted with the alteration in his uncle's person, which eight years of intemperance had rendered bloated and coarse, had thus exerted himself from humanity alone. But when Sir Anthony enquired the name of his preserver, and learnt that he owed his life to the intrepidity of Louis de Montemar, the joy of the uncle knew no bounds. He embraced his nephew a thousand times; vowed never to marry, that he might adopt him as his son; nay, he declared, that from this day forward, Louis de Montemar should be the lord both of Bamborough and its master. Louis was affected by his uncle's gratitude, and self-accusations for the cause of their first separation; but respectfully declined resuming a stationary residence at the castle, though he gratefully promised to make his visits very frequent.

"Providence having thus reconciled the uncle and nephew," continued the Pastor, "how could I presume to refuse my sanction to the renewal of kindred affection?"

The Marquis assented to the force of this argument; and Mr. Athelstone hastened to conclude his narrative, of which the following is a brief summary.

After this general amnesty, Louis continued to visit Sir Anthony every week. And as the watchful guardian heard of no proceedings in the baronet likely to injure the morals of his nephew, he consented to his accompanying his uncle early in the ensuing spring, to re-visit the scene of their happy reconciliation. They accordingly went to Scotland. And when they left the Duke of Athol's, Sir Anthony proposed returning home by Loch Rannock, and paying his respects to old Robertson of Struan. Louis was eager to see the veteran and the poet; though, from his advanced age, he expected to find little of the lyre, and less of the trumpet, at his hospitable board.

The visit was paid; and Louis returned to Lindisfarne in raptures with the country he had seen; delighted with the chief of Struan; but above all, enchanted with one of the old man's guests. He seemed intoxicated with some before untasted pleasure, as he discoursed, full of a vague kind of admiration, about this extraordinary personage. Mr. Athelstone asked his name; Louis replied, it was the Duke of Wharton, whom he remembered when a boy; and who, he recollected, had joined his uncle in the folly about the wine. The Duke came to Loch Rannock the day after Sir Anthony's arrival. There was a large party in the house, but Wharton selected Louis as his companion; often deserting the rest, to ride alone with him; and to explore with fearless step, sometimes on horseback, but oftener on foot, the caverned recesses of the Loch; its fir-clad islands, and mountains of desolate sublimity. During their wide and stormy rambles, they visited the house of the laird, and the hovel of the shepherd; pleased alike with the generous cheer of the one, and the frugal hospitality of the other. Wharton could speak Gaelic, a language of which his companion was totally ignorant; but Louis did not the less enjoy the hilarity with which his noble friend pledged their entertainers in claret or whiskey: and while a rapid discourse passed in this, to him, unknown tongue, he did not the less sympathise in the pleasure with which _gentle and semple_ seemed to regard their animated guest. Men, women, of all ages and degrees, thronged around their illustrious visitor. Sometimes he was serious, sometimes he was gay; but still he spoke in Gaelic; and all changes renewed their acclamations of delight.

When Louis narrated these particulars at the tea-table in Lindisfarne, Mr. Athelstone sighed, and thought that in this fortnight's sojourn at Rannock, his nephew had seen too much, or too little of this extraordinary man. However, he would not risk knowing all that passed, by any immediate observation to damp the ardour of Louis's frank communicativeness. His cousins were eager listeners; and he went rapturously on, describing the Duke as the most fascinating being on earth. So profound in his reflections; so careless in his manner of uttering them; so conscious of his fine person, and yet so gracefully negligent of its effect; so dignified in his carriage, and yet so boyishly fond of mirth; that the mischief he played ever found a ready excuse, in the ingenuity of its contrivance, or the frank apology of the laughing perpetrator.

"I would say," exclaimed Louis, "that he is the merriest devil I ever saw, if I could give so poor a name to so rich a wit!"

"Call him Belial," said the Pastor, with a meaning smile; "and you will name him rightly."

Louis laughed; and replied,--"If you will have him a fallen angel, he must be Satan himself:

For such high-reaching thought, and port superb, Could ne'er be native with the grov'ling crew That sunk in raging Phlegethon!"

The Pastor shook his head with another smile; and Louis ran on, talking of the Duke's lofty demeanor at one season; of its playful condescension at another: and in the guileless exhilaration of his own heart, described the air with which Wharton drank his Burgundy; how he graced each draught with a brilliant song, adapted by himself to words of Horace or Anacreon, in their original language. Then he spoke of the Duke's eloquent criticisms on the classics; of his wit in apt references to them, and to the best writers of France and Italy; and of the sportive manner with which he trifled, with the foibles of the company around him;--"seeming," continued Louis, "to stoop from his native height, merely' to skim the grosser element, in condescending fellowship with those heavy sons of earth. And the Duke tells me the change is pleasant; for it is only burrowing a little amongst the gnomes, to enjoy with keener relish the etherial joys of the upper regions!"

"Here, my Lord," continued the Pastor, in his narrative to the Marquis, "was the snare I had dreaded. When we were alone, I declared my apprehensions to my nephew; but he combated my suspicions with all the pleadings of ingenuous enthusiasm. Louis had never felt more than general kindliness for any of the young men of his acquaintance. For, I am sorry to say that education is not a principle of these times: and my boy found few to understand any part of his intellectual pursuits, till he met this highly-gifted nobleman. Wharton is also master of every avenue to an unsuspecting heart. This, too, was the first time that any thing like his own ideas of friendship had come before my nephew; and when they were proffered by so specious a character, it was hardly surprising that even the short intimacy of a fortnight should bewilder his imagination and captivate his heart. When I became aware of the depth of the impression, I took up the subject in the serious light it demanded. I narrated several instances of the Duke's ill-conduct in various relations of life; and shewed at once to Louis the deleterious cup he was so tenaciously holding, since it had already induced him to confound right and wrong, by denominating the ruffian violence he had received in his helpless childhood, _mere folly and frolic_! His countenance betrayed there was a powerful contention in his mind. I conjured him to reflect on what I had said; to hearken to my warning voice, as he would to that of his distant father, or to the last admonitions of his departed mother. Tears burst from his eyes; and kissing my hands, he solemnly pledged himself never again to be a willing resident in the same house with the Duke of Wharton. His Grace had separated from the travelling party, and was gone to Ireland. But that did not prevent me calling on Sir Anthony; and though he did not see the reasonableness of my alarm, he was prevailed on to make me a promise that he would not again be instrumental in bringing his nephew into the society of the Duke.

"From that period until now, this dangerous man has been too much engaged in cajoling and thwarting the British ministry, to think of obscurer triumphs in Northumberland. But now that he is come, and his mischievous spirit has not only persuaded Sir Anthony to break his honour with me, but that Louis has been wrought upon to forfeit the verity of his word; I must assume the authority of a guardian; and at once wrest the infatuated boy from the favour of his uncle, and the perverting powers of his friend."

"Venerable Mr. Athelstone!" cried the Marquis, with an emotion of reverence; "this resolution is worthy of a minister of Christ!" But the words were no sooner uttered, than, dropping the hand he had emphatically seized, he quitted the room in disorder.

CHAP. III.

Unconscious of the anxieties which had been aroused respecting him at his tranquil home, Louis found himself engaged in scenes he little expected in the dull routine of his uncle's castle.

The first day of his present visit to Bamborough, passed according to the usual journal of the whole year; a plenteous dinner, with abundance of wine, and three or four country squires around the table. After the feast, Louis played at backgammon with his uncle; while three of the other guests, with the assistance of Dumby, dozed through half a dozen rubbers of whist. The senses of the fourth had not sufficiently survived the dinner's last potation, to be even a silent spectator. He took his station in an easy chair, near some snoring dogs on the hearth-rug, and soon shewed audible fellowship with their slumbers. At ten o'clock the butler announced supper. The whole party started from their chairs; and rubbing their eyes and hands in the joy of renewed impulse, crowded into the eating-room. Louis, who could say no with as much good humour as most people say yes, declined accompanying them, and went to his own apartments; where he passed the moon-light hours in making a drawing of their effect on the opposite tower of Lindisfarne, and the misty ruins of its abbey.

The next morning being ushered in by a fierce equinoctial tempest, the guests of the castle gazed despairingly at the floods of rain which swept before the furious wind; and when they found it impossible to animate the drowsy hours by lingering out a breakfast they had already prolonged to loathing, they dashed through the pouring torrents, to kill time amongst horses and grooms, dogs and whippers-in. But these employments too found satiety; and at the first blast of the letter-carrier's horn, the whole party rushed into the house, to see what his bag contained, and to snatch the welcome newspapers. The sleeper of the night before, who was also high-sheriff of the county, in right of his dignity, mumbled _The Postman_ to himself; while Sir Anthony, with many bursts of applause, read _The True Briton_ aloud to the rest of the company.

As soon as Louis found the badness of the weather likely to prevent his uncle's guests from taking their usual excursions, he retreated from their noisy pastimes to the large solitary library. There he knew he should be as safe from invasion, as if he had hid himself in the vaults of the chapel. A few minutes absorbed his whole attention in the black-letter annalists of Great Britain; comparing their details with the chronicles of France; and losing himself in admiration of the Condés and Montmorencies of the one country, and the Talbots and Percies of the other. He dwelt with particular delight on the chivalric characters of Froissart, feeling as if he conversed with them as friends; while the heroes of Cressy and Poictiers divided his heart between the triumph of conquest, and the god-like moderation of their victories. While thus engaged, he was at times wrested from his fancied presence in the scenes he read, by the smacking of whips, and the halloos of his uncle's guests as they passed through the hall in their visits to the stables.

"What descendants of the Mowbrays, the Percies, and the Nevilles!" cried Louis to himself. The uproar rose and fell in gusts, like the tempest; and at last dying away behind the friendly interposition of long passages and distant rooms, he forgot the existence of the noisy rout; and again found himself in the pavilions of heroes.

Towards four o'clock the clouds had exhausted themselves; and a bright sun, tempering the chilly freshness of the air, he looked from the library window over the woods and glades of his uncle's park; and felt inclined to steal out unobserved, and take an exhilarating race towards its boundary. The deer were coming from their covert, to enjoy the beam; and the rooks, speeding home in glad multitudes, were cooing and wheeling, and flapping their wings, as they hovered over or settled on the tall elms of the ancient avenue. These sounds of grateful nature, rather soothed than disturbed the tranquillity of the scene; and Louis lingered at the window, reciprocating the happiness of these creatures, free, careless, innocent, and full of blameless enjoyment.

In the midst of these musings, a new, and an uncommon noise in his uncle's house, startled his ear; opening and banging doors along the adjoining gallery, the rumbling of trunks, the calling of servants, and a variety of female voices in constant command. Louis stood amazed. He had not heard that his uncle expected any unusual company, and least of all women; for owing to the convivial character of Sir Anthony's meetings, none of the country ladies had honoured the Castle with a visit, since the departure of Mrs. Coningsby.

In a few minutes Louis heard his name loudly vociferated by Sir Anthony himself.--"Louis--Louis de Montemar!--Where the devil have you hid yourself?"--and with the boisterous interrogation the baronet burst into the library.--His eyes sparkled with jovial intelligence, as he advanced to his nephew: "Come Louis, my boy! Here is metal more attractive to your taste than chess and backgammon!--Leave this musty place, and I will introduce you to lillies and roses!"

Louis guessed, from these extraordinary transports, that some accident had brought ladies to the Castle; and while he allowed Sir Anthony to hurry him down a back-stair to the drawing-room, he tried to learn something of the matter. But the Baronet was in too great an ecstacy to speak common sense:--he broke into extravagant thanks to the storm, and eulogies on fine eyes and blooming complexions; and did not give Louis time to ask another question before he ushered him into the presence of several elegantly dressed women. With manifest pride in the fine person of his nephew, Sir Anthony introduced him to the fair group; and they received him with compliments to the uncle, which, being new to the young man from female lips, deepened to crimson the colour on his glowing complexion.

A little observation convinced him that these were neither his county ladies, nor the ladies of any other county in England. They were handsome, their habits costly; and their deportment something like high fashion, though it wanted that ineffable grace of delicate reserve, which is the indispensable mark of a true English gentlewoman. As he looked on their careless movements and familiar ease, he could not but think how like the last harmonizing hue which a skilful painter casts over his picture, is the veil of modesty to a lovely woman. In short, he soon gathered from the rapid discourse of these unexpected visitors, that they were natives of different countries, and belonging to the stage; which profession, he thought, might necessarily free their manners from the usual restraints of their sex, without in reality impairing their virtue.[A] Two of the party were of the opera, the one, an Italian _primadona_, with a singularly beautiful figure; the other, a French dancer, young, pretty and full of life: the rest, English actresses of various degrees of personal charms.

It was the voices of these ladies' respective maids, which had surprized Louis from the gallery; and he now stood contemplating the persons and manners of their mistresses, with the amused curiosity of youth.--The pretty French dancer had just enquired whether he spoke her language; and was expressing her delight at being answered in the affirmative, when Sir Anthony (who had quitted the room soon after the introduction of his nephew,) re-entered with the Duke of Wharton and the remainder of his guests.

Louis started at sight of the Duke, instantly remembering his promise to his guardian. Wharton wore the same careless, animated air, as when he first fascinated the imagination of his young admirer; and springing directly from the dull mass which surrounded him, seemed to Louis like a sun-beam shot from a heavy cloud. The next moment he found himself in the Duke's arms.

"My dear de Montemar! This is unexpected pleasure! I thought only of refreshing my horses, little dreaming your uncle had provided this feast for their master!"

Louis trembled and was silent. He wished his guardian had not exacted the promise, which, even at this moment, whispered he must not hearken to the captivating Wharton, but tear himself away. Louis did not reply; for he felt unable to say (what he was determined to do:) that he must instantly return to Lindisfarne.

The Duke took his arm, and drew him to a distant part of the room. "De Montemar, I could sacrifice a hecatomb of my best Cumberland steers, for this blessed meeting! I have not seen any thing so after my own heart, since we parted; and yet I have been lamp in hand, day and night, in search of one of your stamp. I know you have a brave soul; and that it spurns a sleepy life, though your dreams should be of paradise!--When all are gone to bed, meet me to-night in the old library.--I have that to say to you, I would not have even a listening spider whisper to some of this herd."

"Not even myself must listen to it!" replied Louis, making a strong effort to declare at once his intention; "Your Grace must pardon me, but I am this instant leaving the Castle."

"Impossible!" cried the Duke, "you would not go for the wealth of Mexico, if you knew the matter I have to communicate."

"No temptation must detain me!" replied Louis, with a smile that spoke of sacrifice; "I am under an engagement that cannot be broken."

"That countenance," returned Wharton, laughing; "tells a different story!--You know the old proverb! _where there is a will, &c._; and I cannot doubt yours, since we pledged ourselves heart to heart on the bonnie braes of Glen Rannock!--Besides, I am here accidentally, and only for a short time. Under these circumstances, what engagement can be so serious, as ought to separate us at such a moment?"

The Duke paused, and Louis blushed. It was almost for his venerable uncle; for he thought him severe against this resistless pleader.--Wharton resumed. "Come, de Montemar; let me write _man_ upon that candid brow. Not as your uncle Anthony would stamp it, in lees; nor as another uncle, perhaps, would mark it, with Saint Cuthbert's tonsure! My signet is of other impression."

"Your signet is too true a one," returned Louis, "to obliterate a _word of honour_! and I have given mine to my uncle of Lindisfarne to----," he hesitated.--Could he tell the noble Wharton, that he had solemnly promised never to remain willingly under the same roof with him?

Wharton observed the painful confusion of his too well-inclined friend.

"To what," said he, "have you pledged yourself to Mr. Athelstone?--To return to him to-night?--But the promise was given under ordinary circumstances. I know your uncle does not like the usual orgies of Sir Anthony. And as neither you, nor the good old gentleman, could guess that my happy stars would bring me to Bamborough to-day, you must allow me, as a _good knight_, and _grand-master_ in the _courts of honour_, to give both of you acquittal on this head; and to pronounce, that change of circumstances releases you from your engagement, and him from the necessity of demanding its fulfilment!"

Louis's heightening colour overspread his face, as the Duke concluded; but collecting all his powers of self-denial, "My Lord," said he, "You are very good; but I must go!--The tide now serves, and delay----"

Wharton released his arm with an air of pique.--The resolution of Louis to depart, and without assigning his guardian's reason for insisting on his return, was enough for the ready apprehension of the Duke. He at once comprehended that Mr. Athelstone foresaw a change in his nephew's moral and political principles, should he be permitted to cultivate an intimacy, which, it was evident, was the secret wish of that nephew's heart.--The Duke saw the struggle between inclination and duty. He saw, that persuasions to stay, by causing Louis to summon more of his moral strength to oppose his own desire to stay, only ensured his departure; and therefore the moment Wharton perceived the real position of the enemy, he made a _russe de guerre_, and drew off.