CHAPTER XIV.
The afternoon had been clear, and even warm. Every cloud had passed away from the sky; and when, about a quarter to six, Eda Brandon retired to her own room to dress for dinner, the sun, set about a quarter of an hour before, had left the sky all studded with stars. She was fond of seeing the heavens, and the curtains of her windows were not drawn; so that while she sat at her toilette table, with the maid dressing her beautiful hair, she could gaze out at the orbs of light in the firmament, which was spread like a scroll written with characters of fire before her eyes.
It was very dark, however, for--as the reader learned in moons will comprehend from what was said at the beginning of this work--the fair planet of the night had not yet risen; and as Eda continued to gaze, there suddenly shot up through the obscurity what seemed a bright, rushing ball of fire; then pausing, suspended as it were, in the air for a moment, it burst into a thousand glittering sparks, which descended slowly towards the earth again.
"What can that be?" exclaimed Eda. '"La! ma'am, it's a rocket," said the maid. "I shouldn't wonder if it was some of those Chartist people's signals. They are making a great stir about here just now, I can tell you, Miss Eda; and I am getting horribly afraid for what will happen next."
"Do you mean to say that such things are taking place in this neighbourhood?" inquired Eda, in some surprise. "I think you must be confounding the reports from the manufacturing districts."
"Oh! dear, no, ma'am!" replied the maid. "My brother, who is servant with Mr. Gaspey, told me yesterday, that he had seen full fifty of them marching across, two and two, to some of their meetings; and he and his master both think we shall have a row. La! there goes another rocket: it's their doings, depend upon it."
"That cannot be," answered Eda. "Those rockets are thrown up from the sea. I should not wonder if it was some ship in distress. Open the window, and listen if there are guns."
The maid obeyed, but all was silent, though the wind blew dead upon the coast; and Eda, finishing her toilette, descended to the drawing-room.
A number of the neighbouring gentry had been invited to dine at Brandon on that day, and the table was well-nigh full. As soon as that pause in devouring took place, which usually succeeds when people have eaten fully sufficient to satisfy the hungry man, and have nothing left but to pamper the epicure, conversation, which was very slack before, became animated upon the subject of the movements which were taking place in different parts of the country, of the designs of the Chartists, and of the danger of 'the people's holiday' terminating in anarchy and bloodshed.
Eda watched her uncle, for she knew well that he entertained opinions upon political subjects very different from those of the gentlemen by whom he was surrounded. Sir Arthur changed colour several times while the subject was under discussion; but at length a young military man, with somewhat rash impetuosity, exclaimed, "Depend upon it, this is a disease that wants blood-letting. A few inches of cold iron, applied on the first attack, will soon cut it short."
Sir Arthur fired at the speech, and replied, warmly, "My opinion is totally different, sir. If it be a disease at all, it is one of those that are salutary in the end, and likely to clear off a mass of evils which have accumulated in the pursy and pampered constitution of this country. But," he continued, in a more moderate tone, "as the opinions at the table are very wide apart, it may be wise to avoid politics."
"Perhaps so," replied the young officer, with a courteous inclination of the head; and the subject dropped, much to Eda's relief.
She was destined, however, in the course of that evening to meet with a new subject of anxiety and annoyance. Lord Hadley, without actually getting at all tipsy, took enough wine after dinner to render him overbearing and irritable; and when Dudley seated himself beside her for a moment in the drawing-room, and said a few words to her in a low tone, the young peer instantly cut across their conversation, and in a haughty and domineering manner, gave a flat contradiction to something which his tutor had asserted.
Although of an amiable, and usually of a placable disposition, Dudley instantly retorted in severe terms: his growing contempt for the young peer overcoming his ordinary command over himself. Lord Hadley's words grew high, and tones loud; Edgar Adelon and the young officer, who had been one at the dinner-table, drew near; and the former listened with evident satisfaction to the severe castigation which the peer received at the hands of Mr. Dudley. It was given without loss of temper, but yet with an unsparing and a powerful hand; and the young man, almost furious, exposed himself every moment more and more, while the contemptuous smile of Edgar Adelon rendered his punishment still more bitter. The presence of Miss Brandon acted as a certain restraint; and as the eyes of several ladies in the room turned upon them, Lord Hadley, with a burning heart and a flushed cheek, turned away and left the room, while Edgar, with a laugh, muttered, "It will do him good;" and Dudley calmly resumed his conversation with Eda.
Miss Brandon, however, was herself much agitated and alarmed; and in the course of the evening, as the company from time to time broke into different groups, she took the opportunity of saying, at a moment when they were unobserved, "For pity's sake, Edward, do not let the dispute go any farther with that foolish young man. Remember, he is but a boy, in mind at all events, and really unworthy of your notice."
"Oh! fear not, dear Eda," replied Dudley; "for your sake, if for nothing else, I would not suffer such an idle dispute to deviate into a direct quarrel. But the relations between him and me must be immediately altered. As long as he thought fit to demean himself as a gentleman and a man of honour, there seemed to be nothing degrading in the position that I held. Now, however, the case is different."
Other persons coming up prevented their farther conversation; and when the guests had taken their leave, Eda retired, not to rest, but to think over events which were the cause of no slight anxiety. Slowly undressing, she dismissed her maid, and sitting down before the table, wrapped in her dressing-gown, meditated painfully over the probable result. The moments often fly fast in thought as well as in activity; and Eda, in surprise, heard a clock which stood near her door strike one, while she was still sitting at the table. She rose to go to bed, but at that moment a curious sound caught her ear. It seemed to proceed from the park, and was that of a dull, heavy tramp, sometimes sounding louder, sometimes softer, sometimes distinctly measured, sometimes varied into a mere rustle. It struck her as very curious; and although she tried to persuade herself that it was a herd of deer passing over the gravel in the avenue, yet she was not satisfied, and proceeding to a window, drew back the curtains and gazed out.
The moon was not yet to be seen in the sky, but still her approaching light shed a certain degree of lustre before her. The night was certainly clearer than it had appeared shortly after sunset, and the stars were more faint and pale. From the left-hand side of the park, moving rapidly across the wide open space in front of the house, at a distance of not more than a hundred yards, a stream of dark human figures was seen, tending towards the opposite side, where the stile led down into the little valley with the stream and the old priory. There seemed to be between two and three hundred men, principally walking two and two; but every here and there in the line, they were gathered into a little knot, and apparently carrying some heavy mass upon their shoulders. At one spot within sight they halted, and one of the burdens which they carried was shifted to the shoulders of fresh bearers, displaying to the eyes of Eda, as the change was effected, an object which, to imagination, looked much like the form of a man. It seemed very heavy, however, and took at least eight or ten persons to carry it. It required some time, too, to move it from one set of shoulders to another; and when the party marched on again, Eda said to herself, "This must be a train of those misguided men, the Chartists. How bold of them to come across the park! I trust my uncle has nothing to do with them; but I almost fear it."
Even as the thought passed through her mind, a single figure came forth from the terrace just below her, and followed upon the track of the others. The form, however, was too slight and graceful for that of Sir Arthur Adelon. It was that of a young and lightly made man; and Eda at once recognised her cousin Edgar.
The moment she did so, she threw open the window, and leaning out, spoke to him in a low voice. "What is all this, Edgar?" she said. "Who are those men, and what are they about?"
"I do not know, pretty cousin," he answered; "but I am going to see."
"Oh! for heaven's sake, take care," cried Eda. "You had better take no notice of them. There were two or three hundred men, and they may murder you."
"Pooh! pooh!" answered Edgar. "Go to bed, Eda, dear; you will catch cold, and then somebody will scold me to-morrow;" and away he walked after the party of men, which he also had seen from his room as he sat meditating near the window. The intruders seemed to know the park tolerably well, but Edgar Adelon knew it better; and cutting off an angle here, and taking a short turn there--by a hawthorn bush, round a clump of chestnuts, through a copse, over a rise--he contrived to come in sight of them continually, without being seen himself, till at length they reached the stone stile, and paused around it in an irregular mass. The young gentleman was at that moment standing with his back against a large horse-chestnut tree, and he could not at all make out the man[oe]uvres that followed. Some of the men stood upon the top of the stile, and seemed, with great labour and difficulty, to lift a large and very weighty object over the wall. Then came another effort of the same kind, and then the men began to pass rapidly into the road beyond the park.
As soon as the last had disappeared, young Edgar Adelon darted out of his place of concealment, and followed; but by the time he reached the lane, although the moon had now risen, not a trace of the mob could be discovered; and he was turning away to the left, when suddenly a murmur of voices from the copse and valley below showed him the direction which those he sought had taken. There were ways through that copse only known to himself and the gamekeepers, unless, indeed, some of the neighbouring poachers were as learned in its recesses; but following one of these paths, he soon came within sight of the open space before the old priory, and a strange scene presented itself to his eyes. Full two hundred men were there assembled; some sitting on fragments of the old ruin, some sauntering idly about the little green, some bathing their hands in the stream, which sparkled not only in the light, pure and pale, of the newly-risen moon, but in that of two or three torches, which had by this time been lighted. In the centre, however, there was a group of some thirty persons, more busily employed, in the midst of whom shone the torches I have mentioned; and by their glare, Edgar now perceived, for the first time clearly, the heavy objects which the men had carried, and saw what they were now doing with them. Two small field-pieces, apparently of brass, lay upon the ground, detached from their carriages, which had been taken to pieces, and which the mob were busily putting together. A good deal of skill was shown in the task, and no slight eagerness appeared in the rough, bronzed countenances of the men around, as they looked on or assisted from time to time. The fixing the carriages together was soon complete, and then came the more laborious work of slinging the cannon, and adjusting them in their proper position. This was not accomplished without difficulty, but it was at length complete; and Edgar Adelon felt inclined to turn away and go back to the house, when suddenly a loud voice exclaimed, "Now run them back into those dark nooks, and gather round and hear a word or two."
Eight or ten men instantly applied themselves to drag the field-pieces into the recesses of the building, and then came forth again, gathering round the person who had spoken. He then placed himself upon a large mass of fallen masonry, and in a loud, clear tone, and with powerful and energetic language, pronounced an harangue, which gave to Edgar Adelon the astounding information that his father was looked upon as the leader of the rash men he saw before him, and their future guide and support in schemes which seemed to his fresh young mind nothing but mete madness. A part, at least, of their plans and purposes was displayed; and with a heart filled with terror and anxiety for his father, Edgar Adelon made his way out of the copse, to return to Brandon House, asking himself how he should act, and resolving to consult the priest as soon as he could see him on the following morning.