“I have heard nothing,” exclaimed he, with a sigh of despondency.
“Well, then, I may inform you, that the 'Pike' has brought us very stirring intelligence. The war in Egypt is now over. The French have surrendered under the terms of a convention, and a treaty has been ratified that permits their return to France. Hostages for the guarantee of the treaty have been already interchanged, and”—here he turned towards Forester, and added—“it will doubtless interest you to hear that your old friend the Knight of Gwynne is one of them,—an evidence that he is not only alive, but in good health also.”
“This is, indeed, good news you bring me,” said Forester, with a flashing eye and a heightened complexion. “Has any one written? Do Colonel Darcy's friends know of this?”
“I have myself done so,” said Lord Castlereagh. “Not that I may attribute the thoughtful attention to myself, for I received his Royal Highness's commands on the subject I need scarcely say that such a communication must be gratifying to any one.”
“Where are they at present?” said Forester, eagerly.
“That was a question of some difficulty to me, and I accordingly called on my Lord Netherby to ascertain the point. I found he had left home, and now have the good fortune to catch him here.” So saying, Lord Castlereagh took from the folds of a pocket-book a sealed but un-addressed letter, and dipping a pen in the ink before him, prepared to write.
There were, indeed, very few occurrences in life which made Lord Netherby feel ashamed. He had never been obliged to blush for any solecism in manner or any offence against high breeding, nor had the even tenor of his days subjected him to any occasion of actual shame, so that the confusion he now felt had the added poignancy of being a new as well as a painful sensation.
“It may seem very strange to you, my Lord,” said he, in a broken and hesitating voice; “not but that, on a little reflection, the case will be easily accounted for; but—so it is—I—really must own—I must frankly acknowledge—that I am not at this moment aware of my dear cousin's address.”
If his Lordship had not been too much occupied in watching Lord Castlereagh's countenance, he could not have failed to see, and be struck by, the indignant expression of Forester's features.
“How are we to reach them, then, that's the point?” said Lord Castlereagh, over whose handsome face not the slightest trace of passion was visible. “If I mistake not, Gwynne Abbey they have left many a day since.”