“Of course it was; it would n't be my lot if it were anything else. I say,” cried he, starting up, and approaching the window, “what's up now?”
“She's going at last, I really believe.”
The sound of many and heavy footsteps was now heard descending the stairs slowly, and immediately after two men issued from the door, carrying young Trafford on a chair; his arms hung listlessly at his side, and his head was supported by his servant.
“I wonder whose doing is this? Has the doctor given his concurrence to it? How are they to get him into the coach, and what are they to do with him when he is there?” Such was the running commentary Balfour kept up all the time they were engaged in depositing the sick man in the carriage. Again a long pause of inaction ensued, and at last a tap came to the door of the room, and a servant inquired for Mr. Balfour.
“There!” cried Sewell, “it's your turn now. I only hope she 'll insist on your accompanying her to town.”
Balfour hurried out, and was seen soon afterwards escorting Lady Trafford to the carriage. Whether it was that she was not yet decided as to her departure, or that she had so many injunctions to give before going, the eventful moment was long delayed. She twice tried the seat in the carriage, once with cushions and then without. She next made Balfour try whether it might not be possible to have a sort of inclined plane to lie upon. At length she seemed overcome with her exertions, sent for a chair, and had a glass of water given her, to which her maid added certain drops from a phial.
“You will tell Colonel Sewell all I have said, Mr. Balfour,” said she, aloud, as she prepared to enter the carriage. “It would have been more agreeable to me had he given me the opportunity of saying it to himself, but his peculiar notions on the duties of a host have prevented this. As to Mrs. Sewell, I hope and believe I have sufficiently explained myself. She at least knows my sentiments as to what goes on in this house. Of course, sir, it is very agreeable to you. Men of pleasure are not persons to be overburdened with scruples,—least of all such scruples as interfere with self-indulgence. This sort of life is therefore charming; I leave you to all its delights, sir, and do not even warn you against its dangers. I will not promise the same discretion, however, when I go hence. I owe it to all mothers who have sons, Mr. Balfour,—I owe it to every family in which there is a name to be transmitted, and a fortune to be handed down, to declare what I have witnessed under this roof. No, Lionel,—no, my dear boy; nothing shall prevent my speaking out.” This was addressed to her son, who by a deep sigh seemed to protest against the sentiments he was not able to oppose. “It may suit Mr. Balfour's habits, or his tastes, to remain here,—with these I have nothing to do. The Duke of Bayswater might possibly think his heir could keep better company,—with that I have no concern; though when the matter comes to be discussed before me,—as it one day will, I have no doubt,—I shall hold myself free to state my opinion. Good-bye, sir; you will, perhaps, do me the favor to call at the Bilton; I shall remain till Saturday there; I have resolved not to leave Ireland till I see the Viceroy; and also have a meeting with this Judge, I forget his name, Lam—Lena—what is it? He is the Chief something, and easily found.”
A few very energetic words, uttered so low as to be inaudible to all but Balfour himself, closed this address.
“On my word of honor,—on my sacred word of honor,—Mr. Balfour,” said she, aloud as she placed one foot on the step, “Caroline saw it,—saw it with her own eyes. Don't forget all I have said; don't drop that envelope; be sure you come to see me.” And she was gone.
“Give me five minutes to recover myself,” said Balfour, as he entered Se well's room, and threw himself on a sofa; “such a 'breather' as that I have not had for many a day.”