"Come, come, Helen," said Sir Gilbert, turning towards her, "you must not look pale, my child, for this. You are not afraid that there will be any blunder, are you? and that the attorney will horsewhip the soldier?—No harm will be done, depend upon it,—except to my new horsewhip."
CHAPTER XII.
MR. CORBOLD'S ADVENTURES.
It was some time before Mr. Stephen Corbold recovered sufficiently from the effects of Helen's libation to enable him to see where he was, or to perceive that where he was, she was not. The ceremony had, indeed been a painful one; but it at least did him the good service of dispelling the effects of the wine he had taken; and after a few moments more of winking and blinking, and wiping his smarting eyes, he descended the stairs to seek his cousin, a soberer, if not a better man than when he mounted them.
Every thing was at this time in full activity on the lawn. Above two thousand people were assembled there, all more more than decently clad, and presenting altogether a very striking spectacle. Those who before dinner had been the company were now converted into spectators; many of them accommodated with seats in the shade, from whence they watched the chequered movements of the motley crowd. This cool and quiet position was in every way beneficial to those who had been tempted to heat themselves by drinking somewhat too freely of the vicar's wine. Among these Mr. Corbold introduced himself: probably, more sober than any of them,—except, perhaps, the vicar himself,—but bearing in his "altered eye," and general discomfiture of aspect, more visible traces of intemperance than any individual amongst them.
Mr. Cartwright rose to meet him with sensations of considerable alarm. He fancied, from his appearance, that he was quite intoxicated, and feared the utterance of some folly which might explain the cause of his having absented himself more fully than was at all necessary.
This idea was by no means lessened when his cousin beckoned him from the party amidst whom he sat, and gravely assured him that Miss Helen had very nearly murdered him.
"Compose yourself, cousin Stephen—compose yourself. Where have you left her?"
"Left her?—She left me, I tell you, blind, and almost suffocated. If you don't wish to have the whole county set gossiping about Mrs. Mowbray's will—your wife's will I mean,—you had better let me see that vixen properly punished, cousin. As I live and breathe I will have revenge somehow."