[CHAPTER XXXI.]
Leaving poor Diggory Falgate to find his way out of the vault as best he might, or, if he rather chose to stay there, to make what discoveries he could, we must return by the reader's good leave to some of the more important personages of our tale; premising, however, that although we have dwelt thus long upon the adventures of the worthy sign-painter, those adventures were by no means without their influence upon the fate of the other personages in their history. We must also pass over a period of several days since last we were at Langley Hall, allowing the reader's imagination to supply the few and quiet changes which time had brought about, no event of any consequence having taken place in the interim.
It was a warm and glowing evening, though Autumn had spread his brown mantle over the trees; and while fair Arrah Neil and Lady Margaret Langley sat in the old lady's usual drawing-room, with the windows open as in midsummer, Annie Walton was seated under a little clump of beeches at the back of Langley Hall, the Earl of Beverley, somewhat recovered from his wound, stretched on the dry grass at her feet.
They were happy enough to enjoy long pauses in conversation; for their mutual love, as the reader has already been given to understand, was known and acknowledged by each; and their minds, starting from one common point, would run on in meditation along paths, separate indeed, but not far distant, and then, like children playing in a meadow, would return to show each other what flowers they had gathered.
"How calm and sweet the evening is!" said the earl, after one of these breaks. "One would hardly fancy the year so far advanced. I love these summer days in autumn, dearest. They often make me look on to after years, and think of the tempered joys and tranquil pleasures of old age, calling up the grand picture of latter life left us by a great Roman orator, when the too vivid sun of youth and manhood has somewhat sunk in the sky, and we have freshness as well as warmth, though not the fervid heat of midsummer."
"I love them too," answered Miss Walton; "and I think that in every season of the year there are days and hours of great beauty and grandeur. Though I like the early summer best, yet I can admire the clear winter sky, and the dazzling expanse of white that robes the whole earth as if in ermine, and even the autumnal storm with its fierce blast, loaded with sleet, and hail, and withered leaves. But I was thinking, Francis, of how peaceful all things seem around, and what a horrible and sinful thing it is for men to deform the beautiful earth, and disturb the quiet of all God's creation with wild wars and senseless contests."
"A woman's thought, dear Annie," replied the earl, "and doubtless it is sinful; but, alas? the sin is shared amongst so many, that it would in any war be difficult to portion it out. 'Tis not alone to be divided amongst those who fight or amongst those who lead; it is not to be laid at the door of those who first take arms or those who follow; it is not to be charged to the apparent aggressor: but every one who, by folly, weakness, passion, prejudice, or hatred, lays the foundation for strife in after years, has a share in the crime. Oh! how many are the causes of war! Deeds often remote by centuries have their part; and always many an act done long before rises up--like an acorn buried in the ground and springing up into a tree--and is the seed from which after contentions spring. Even in this very contest in which we are now engaged, though we may see and say who is now right and who is wrong, yet what man can separate the complex threads of the tangled skein of the past, and tell who most contributed to bring about that state which all wise men must regret? Years, long years before this, the foundation was laid in the tyranny of Henry, in the proud sway of Elizabeth, in the weak despotism of James, in the persecution of the Papists of one reign, in that of the Puritans in another; in lavish expenditure, in vicious indulgence, in favouritism and minions, in the craving ambition of some subjects, in the discontented spirit of others, in the interested selfishness, the offended vanity, the mortified pride of thousands; in weak yieldings to unjust demands, in stubborn resistance of just claims, in fond adherence to ancient forms, in an insatiate love of novelty and change: and all this spread through generations, dear Annie, all of which have their part in the result and the responsibility."
"Too wide a range, Francis, for my weak mind to take in," replied the lady; "but I do know it is sad to see a land that once seemed happy overspread with rapine and wrong, and deluged in blood."
"To hear no more the church-bells ringing gaily," said the earl with a smile, "or to see the market and the fair deserted. These may indeed seem trivial things; but yet they are amongst those that bring home to our hearts most closely the disruption of all those ties that bind men together in social union."
"But there are in the home of every one more terrible proofs than that of the great evil," answered Miss Walton. "Never to see a friend, a brother, a father, quit our side without the long train of fearful inquiries--When shall I see him again? Will it be for ever? How shall we meet, and where? Oh, Francis! how many a heart feels this like mine throughout the land! Danger, accident, and death, at other times dim, distant forms that we hardly see, are now become familiar thoughts, the companions of every fireside; and calm security and smiling hope are banished afar, as if never to return."