Whether ideas at all analogous to these presented themselves to the mind of Lewis, we are unable to say; certain it is, however, that (his artist eye attracted by the picture before him) he stood gazing as one entranced, while his colour went and came, and his broad chest heaved with the intensity of his emotion. How long affairs might have remained in this position it is impossible to decide, had not Faust, becoming aware of his master’s presence by some mysterious canine instinct, made an unceremonious attempt to free himself from Annie’s caresses; and that young lady, raising her eyes, encountered those of Lewis fixed upon her with an expression which changed in an instant from ardent admiration to one of grave courtesy as he found that he was observed. Annie’s manner, as she rose and came forward, afforded but little clue whether or not she had noticed this change, and though her colour appeared somewhat heightened, no want of self-possession was discernible as she said, holding up the watch—
“See what I have been rescuing from the mischievous devices of Master Walter! He had actually hung my cousin Charles’ present to you round Faust’s neck in order to make him look like a gentleman, as he declared. Walter, come and answer for your misdeeds; I intend Mr. Arundel to be very angry with you—where are you, sir?” and as she spoke she looked round for her companion, but whether really alarmed at the possibility of being reproved for his mischief, or whether actuated by some reasonless caprice of his half-developed intellect, Walter was nowhere to be found; so Lewis, having thanked Annie for her care of his watch, politely held open the door for her to depart. But when kidnapped by Walter, Annie had been carrying am armful of books, and Lewis, becoming aware of this fact, could do no less than offer to take them up to the drawing-room for her. Having accomplished this feat, he was about to retire, when it occurred to him that he was bound in common civility to inquire whether she had sustained any ill effects from her alarm.
“Oh, no,” replied Annie; “thanks to your kindness and consideration, I am literally quitte pour la peur?
“I suppose,” she added hesitatingly, “you have ere this learned the sad cause of Lord Bellefield’s absence on Saturday night?” and on Lewis replying in the affirmative, she continued, “And do you believe all that the newspapers insinuate? Can my cousin have really behaved so very wickedly?”
“I called on my friend Richard Frere this morning,” returned Lewis, “and I hear from him that the main facts of the case are matters of notoriety; for instance, racing men are well aware that Lord Bellefield won a large sum of money from this unfortunate young man; nor would your cousin attempt to deny that it is so. I am not sufficiently acquainted with the fashionable London world to hazard an opinion on the subject; but Frere, who knows everybody, says the story has gained universal credence; and though by no means disposed to judge human nature severely, believes in it himself.”
“It is very, very shocking,” murmured Annie; “and I had hoped it could not be true, but papa is much incensed, and believes it fully; and I fancy you do also, although, having such just cause to dislike my cousin, you are too generous to blame him.”
“Indeed, you are mistaken,” returned Lewis kindly; for her manner confirmed him in an impression which had arisen in his mind that the distaste she had expressed to the engagement with Lord Bellefield would vanish as her anger at his neglect cooled. “Indeed, I do not think so; on the contrary, I have a strong conviction that the affair has been misrepresented and exaggerated, and that your cousin will be able to clear himself, not only to your satisfaction, but to that of General Grant also.”
“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Annie impetuously; and then, ere the words were well spoken, she continued, “No, I do not mean that. How wicked of me to say so! but, oh! it is such joy to feel that I am free—free as air!” Then observing that Lewis’s eyes were fixed upon her with an inquiring glance, though his lips framed no sound, she added with a bright blush, “Yes, you were a true prophet, Mr. Arundel,” and turning abruptly, she quitted the room.
And Lewis! Did he rejoice that the man he hated was thus crossed in his dearest wishes—thus held up to public obloquy? Strange as many will deem it, he did not. On the contrary—except on Annie’s account—he was annoyed at the turn events had taken. In the first place, although the facts were so strong that he could not reasonably discredit the reports that were in circulation, he felt a sort of instinctive belief that Lord Bellefield was not guilty of all the evil laid to his charge. He recalled the expression of his face as he had seen it on the night of the suicide; it had not been that of a man hardened in crime, who had left the victim of his betting schemes unaided in his extremity to seek refuge from dishonour in the madness of self-destruction, but rather that of a being of mixed good and evil startled by some frightful reality of life into a condition of temporary remorse. If Lewis could have realised his exact wishes at this moment, he would have desired to clear Lord Bellefield’s character by his own unassisted efforts, and as a reward, to have called him out the next morning and fought with small swords (pistols would have decided the matter too quickly to satisfy him) till one or both should have furnished subjects for the undertaker. Then his thoughts reverted to Annie—she was free, and rejoiced in her freedom, therefore she was to be won. Watch his features as the idea strikes him: first a flush of joy, crimsoning brow and cheek, fading to the pale hue of despair; then the clenched hand and compressed lips, that tell of the strong will battling with, ay, and conquering—for the will is as yet the stronger—the germs of a consuming passion. Brave young heart, tasting for the first time the full bitterness of life, angels might have wept to view thy gallant striving!
The aphorism embodying the statement that a storm is usually followed by a calm, although by no means original, is not on that account the less true; nor in tracing the course of events in the household of General Grant shall we discover an exception to this rule in the “Law of Storms.” Immediately after the incident we have related. Lord Bellefield (probably wishing to escape the disagreeable notoriety likely to be obtained by his share in the catastrophe) escorted his sister to Italy, without making any attempt to deprecate the anger of General Grant; and although the Marquis of Ashford, who greatly desired that the proposed matrimonial alliance should take place (hoping that marriage might wean his son from various expensive pursuits, of the nature whereof the reader may have gleaned some faint idea from the previous course of this narrative), made sundry attempts to effect a reconciliation, the General remained implacable. From his new position, as occasional secretary to her father, Lewis was thrown into constant intercourse with Annie, while, from the deservedly high opinion General Grant had formed of him, he was treated more as a friend than a dependant. Before Mrs. Arundel and Rose left London, Annie obtained her father’s permission to invite the latter to spend a few days with them. Rose placed the invitation in Lewis’s hand before showing it even to Mrs. Arundel. She divined that her brother would feel strongly on the subject, and determined to be guided by his wishes. He read Annie’s note in silence: it was like herself—simple, frank, and warm-hearted; it was accompanied by a few lines from the General—kind (for him) and courteous in the extreme. “Miss Arundel would confer an obligation on his daughter by allowing her the opportunity of becoming acquainted with,” etc., etc. The General had heard of Rose’s literary reputation, and looked upon her as a second Madame de Staël. A woman who had written a book appeared to his simplicity a thing as wonderful as, in these latter days, when, to speak poetically, the sun of literature is obscured by the leafy greenness of the softer sex, we are accustomed to regard a woman who has never done so. Lewis read the two notes; there was not a shadow of patronage from beginning to end at which the most rampant pride could take offence—the invitation was unexceptionable; and then a crowd of conflicting ideas rushed upon him, and he paced the apartment for once in a state of the most complete indecision. This was not a mood of mind which could ever continue long with Lewis, and pausing abruptly, he said, “I really do not see how you can well refuse, after such a very kind note from—from the General.”