‘How good you were to come directly!’ she said with a smile, which melted his heart. ‘I fear, however, you will not find us so merry as before. But you can make anything amusing. Come, then, and sing to these damsels. Do you know they are half afraid of you? and I cannot persuade them that a terrible magician has not assumed, for the nonce, the air and appearance of a young gentleman of distinction.’
He smiled, but could not speak. Repartee sadly deserts the lover; yet smiles, under those circumstances, are eloquent; and the eye, after all, speaks much more to the purpose than the tongue. Forgetting everything except the person who addressed him, he offered her his hand, and advanced to the group which surrounded the piano.
CHAPTER II.
The Moth and the Flame
THE next morning was passed by the Duke of St. James in giving Mr. Dacre his report of the state of his affairs. His banker’s accounts, his architect’s estimates, his solicitor’s statements, were all brought forward and discussed. A ride, generally with Miss Dacre and one of her young friends, dinner, and a short evening, and eleven o’clock, sent them all to repose. Thus glided on a fortnight. The mornings continued to be passed in business. Affairs were more complicated than his Grace had imagined, who had no idea of detail. He gave all the information that he could, and made his friend master of his particular feelings. For the rest, Mr. Dacre was soon involved in much correspondence; and although the young Duke could no longer assist him, he recommended and earnestly begged that he would remain at Dacre; for he could perceive, better than his Grace, that our hero was labouring under a great deal of excitement, and that his health was impaired. A regular course of life was therefore as necessary for his constitution as it was desirable for all other reasons.
Behold, then, our hero domesticated at Dacre; rising at nine, joining a family breakfast, taking a quiet ride, or moderate stroll, sometimes looking into a book, but he was no great reader; sometimes fortunate enough in achieving a stray game at billiards, usually with a Miss Montingford, and retiring to rest about the time that in London his most active existence generally began. Was he dull? was he wearied? He was never lighter-hearted or more contented in his life. Happy he could not allow himself to be styled, because the very cause which breathed this calm over his existence seemed to portend a storm which could not be avoided. It was the thought, the presence, the smile, the voice of May Dacre that imparted this new interest to existence: that being who never could be his. He shuddered to think that all this must end; but although he never indulged again in the great hope, his sanguine temper allowed him to thrust away the future, and to participate in all the joys of the flowing hour.
At the end of February the Montingfords departed, and now the Duke was the only guest at Dacre; nor did he hear that any others were expected. He was alone with her again; often was he alone with her, and never without a strange feeling coming over his frame, which made him tremble. Mr. Dacre, a man of active habits, always found occupation in his public duties and in the various interests of a large estate, and usually requested, or rather required, the Duke of St. James to be his companion. He was desirous that the Duke should not be alone, and ponder too much over the past; nor did he conceal his wishes from his daughter, who on all occasions, as the Duke observed with gratification, seconded the benevolent intentions of her parent. Nor did our hero indeed wish to be alone, or to ponder over the past. He was quite contented with the present; but he did not want to ride with papa, and took every opportunity to shirk; all of which Mr. Dacre set down to the indolence of exhaustion, and the inertness of a mind without an object.
‘I am going to ride over to Doncaster, George,’ said Mr. Dacre one morning at breakfast. ‘I think that you had better order your horse too. A good ride will rouse you, and you should show yourself there.’
‘Oh! very well, sir; but, but I think that——’