“This is intolerable,” broke in Lady Eleanor; “he never replied to the letter in which I asked him to be your godfather.”
“'Still, at the risk of remaining unanswered, once more I must throw myself on your mercy. In the selfishness of age,—don't forget, my dear coz, I am eleven years your senior,—in the selfishness of age—'”
The old lady smiled dubiously at these words, and Helen read on:—
“'I desire to draw closer around me those ties of kindred and family which, however we may affect to think lightly of, all our experiences in life tend to strengthen and support. Yes, my dear Eleanor, we are the only two remaining of all those light-hearted boys and bright-eyed girls that once played upon the terrace at Netherby. Poor Harry, your old sweetheart at Eton, fell at Mysore. Dudley, with ability for anything, would not wait patiently for the crowning honors of his career, took a judgeship in Madras, and he, too, sleeps in the land of the stranger! And our sweet Catherine! your only rival amongst us, how short-lived was her triumph!—for so the world called her marriage with the Margrave: she died of a broken heart at two-and-twenty! I know not why I have called up these sad memories, except it be in the hope that, as desolation deals heavily around us, we may draw more closely to each other.'”
Lady Eleanor concealed her face with her handkerchief, and Helen, who had gradually dropped her voice as she read, stopped altogether at these words.
“Read on, dear,” said the old lady, in a tone whose firmness was slightly shaken.
“'A heart more worldly than yours, my dear Eleanor, would exclaim that the parti was unequal,—that I, grown old and childless, with few friends left, and no ambitions to strive for, stood in far more need of your affectionate regard, than you, blessed with every tie to existence, did of mine; and the verdict would be a just one, for, by the law of that Nemesis we all feel more or less, even in this world, you, whom we deemed rash and imprudent, have alone amongst us secured the prize of that happiness we each sought by such different paths.'”
A heavy sigh that broke from her mother made Helen cease reading, but at a motion of her hand she resumed: “'For all our sakes, then, my dear cousin, only remember so much of the past as brings back pleasant memories. Make my peace with your kind-hearted husband. If I can forgive him all the pangs of jealousy he inflicted on me, he may well pardon any slight transgressions on my part, and Lionel, too.—But, first, tell me how have I offended my young kinsman? I have twice endeavored to make his acquaintance, but in vain. Two very cold and chilling answers to my invitations to Netherby are all I have been able to obtain from him: the first was a plea of duty, which I could easily have arranged; but the second note was too plain to be mistaken: “I'll none of you,” was the tone of every line of it. But I will not be so easily repulsed: I am determined to know him, and, more still, determined that he shall know me. If you knew, my dear Eleanor, how proudly my heart beat at hearing his Royal Highness speak of him!—he had seen him at Hounslow at a review. It was a slight incident, but I am certain your son never told it, and so I must. Lionel, in passing with his company, forgot to lower the regimental flag before the Prince, on which Lord Maxwell, the colonel, the most passionate man in England, rode up, and said something in an angry tone. “I beg pardon, Colonel,” said the Prince, “if I interfere with the details of duty, but I have remarked that young officer before, and, trust me, he 'll come off 'with flying colors,' on more occasions than the present.” The mot was slight, but the flattery was perfect; indeed, there is not another man in the kingdom can compete with his Royal Highness on this ground. Fascination is the only word that can express the charm of his manner. To bring Lionel more particularly under the Prince's notice, has long been a favorite scheme of mine; and I may say, without arrogance, that my opportunities are not inferior to most men's in this respect; I am an old courtier now,—no small boast for one who still retains his share of favor. If the son have any of his father's gifts, his success with the Prince is certain. The manner of the highly-bred Irish gentleman has been already pronounced by his Royal Highness as the type of what manner should be, and, with your assistance, I have little doubt of seeing Lionel appointed on the staff, here.
“'Now, I must hazard my reputation a little, and ask what is the name of your second boy, and what is he doing?'”
Helen burst into a fit of laughter at these words, nor could Lady Eleanor's chagrin prevent her joining in the emotion.