One part of the ceremony overcame me altogether. When the third round of musketry had rung out over the grave, a solemn pause of half a minute or so was to ensue, then the band was to burst out with the first bars of “God preserve the Emperor;” and while a wild cheer arose, I was to spring into the saddle of my father's horse, which had been led close after the coffin, and to join the cheer. This soldier declaration that death was but a passing terror, revolted me to the heart, and I over and over asserted I could not do this. They would not yield, however; they regarded my reasons as childish sentimentality, and half impugned my courage besides. I do not know why I gave in, nor am I sure I ever did yield; but when the heavy smoke of the last round slowly rose over the bier, I felt myself jerked up into the saddle of a horse that plunged wildly and struck out madly in affright With a rider's instinct, I held my seat, and even managed the bounding animal with the hand of a practised rider. Four fearful bounds I sat unshaken, while the air rang with the hoarse cheer of some thousand voices, and then a sickness like death itself gathered over my heart,—a sense of horror, of where I was and why, came over me. My arms fell powerless to my sides, and I rolled from the saddle and fell senseless and stunned to the ground.
Without having received serious injury, I was too ill to be removed from the little village of Naglos, where I was confined to bed for ten days. The doctor remained with me for some days, and came again and again to visit me afterwards. The chief care of me, however, devolved on my father's valet, a smart young Swiss, whom I had difficulty in believing not to be English, so perfectly did he speak our language.
I soon saw this fellow was thoroughly conversant with all my father's history, and, whether in his confidence or not, knew everything that concerned him, and understood his temperament and nature to perfection. There was much adroitness in the way in which he showed me this, without ever shocking my pride or offending my taste by any display of a supposed influence. Of his consummate tact I need give but one,—a very slight instance, it is true, but enough to denote the man. He, in addressing me as Sir Digby, remarked how the sound of my newly acquired title seemed to recall my father to my mind at once, and ever after limited himself to saying simply “sir,” which attracted no attention from me.
Another instance of his address I must record also. I had got my writing-desk on the bed, and was writing to my mother, to whom I had already despatched two telegraphic messages, but as yet received no reply. “I beg pardon, sir,” said La Grange, entering in his usual noiseless fashion; “but I thought you would like to know that my Lady has left Schloss Hunyadi. She took her departure last night for Pesth.”
“You mean—” I faltered, not really knowing what I. would say.
“Yes, sir,” said he, thoroughly aware of what was passing in my mind. “She admitted no one, not even the doctor, and started at last with only a few words of adieu in writing for the Countess.”
“What impression has this left? How are they speaking of her?” asked I, blurting out against my will what was working within me.
“I believe, sir,” said he, with a very faint smile, “they lay it all to English ways and habits. At least I have heard no other comments than such as would apply to these.”
“Be sure that you give rise to no others,” said I, sternly.
“Of course not, sir. It would be highly unbecoming in me to do so.”