“Then I have not a friend left in the world,” said Lothair, in a despairing tone.
Lady St. Jerome looked at him with an anxious glance. “Yes,” she continued; “I do not wish to conceal it from you, that for a time we could have wished it otherwise—it has been, it is a trying event for my lord and myself—but the predisposition, which was always strong, has ended in a determination so absolute, that we recognize the Divine purpose in her decision, and we bow to it.”
“I do not bow to it,” said Lothair; “I think it barbarous and unwise.”
“Hush, hush! dear friend.”
“And does the cardinal approve of this step?”
“Entirely.”
“Then my confidence in him is entirely destroyed,” said Lothair.
CHAPTER 88
It was August, and town was thinning fast. Parliament still lingered, but only for technical purposes; the political struggle of the session having terminated at the end of July. One social event was yet to be consummated—the marriages of Lothair’s cousins. They were to be married on the same day, at the same time, and in the same place. Westminster Abbey was to be the scene, and, as it was understood that the service was to be choral, great expectations of ecclesiastical splendor and effect were much anticipated by the fair sex. They were, however, doomed to disappointment, for, although the day was fine, the attendance numerous and brilliant beyond precedent, Lord Culloden would have “no popery.” Lord Carisbrooke, who was a ritualist, murmured, and was encouraged in his resistance by Lady Clanmorne and a party, but, as the Duke of Brecon was high and dry, there was a want of united action, and Lord Culloden had his way.