The conversation proceeded in the same course for some time, and then the whole party reassembled at luncheon. The afternoon was spent in rambles in the neighbourhood, and in those various ways of killing time which we usually see practised in a country-house. To Lady Fleetwood Henry was tender kindness itself; and he soon taught the excellent lady to imagine that her "good intentions," though they had taken a droll course, had operated for his benefit, and to congratulate herself upon the result. Joshua Brown was committed to the care of Carlini; and all the servants of the house, though they did not comprehend the matter clearly, addressed Lady Anne's acknowledged brother with infinite reverence, and at every other word called him "my lord."
CHAPTER XL.
It was after dinner. The summer light had faded from the evening sky, yet there were roses in the west, and a bright star following, like a fair handmaid, upon Cynthia's footsteps through the sky. The curtains were not drawn, and the purple hue of the past day spread through the dining-room, mingling with the more powerful light of the lamps, like calm, sad memories tempering present joys.
The party at Milford Castle consisted, as the reader knows, of ten persons; and they were still seated round the table. Lady Anne was at one end; her brother had assumed the other. The dessert, such as it was at that season of the year, was still before them. The excellent wine had once gone round; the commonplace chat of the dinner-table had gradually subsided; and one of those fits of silence which very often indicate expectation had fallen upon the whole party. The one who was the most eager for the promised explanation was Sir Harry Henderson, who said, after the silence had continued for perhaps half-a-minute--
"You promised us a history, my lord--or perhaps even I might call it a romance, for certainly it savours of the romantic."
"It does, indeed," answered Henry; "but, like many another romantic thing, it is very true. I think, however, although with my dear sister and myself some painful memories may arise and some gloomy thoughts may be awakened, it will be better to read you the letter of him who knew the whole circumstances, from being the principal actor in them, rather than give you my own version of the details. I will only premise, that from this letter Lady Anne first learned that she had ever had a brother. The demonstrable proofs were found in the cabinet, which, as you have heard, was opened by her in the presence of Mr. Hargrave."
Thus saying, he rose and rang the bell, ordering, when the servant appeared, that a green box of papers should be brought him out of his room. When it had been procured, he opened it, and took out a letter from the top, containing several closely-written pages; and having looked at it for a moment, he said--
"After the death of my father, the late Earl of Milford, this letter was delivered by his executors to his daughter, Lady Anne, whom he then believed to be his only surviving child. It contained the key of the cabinet to which you have heard allusion made; and it bears, marked upon the back, 'To be opened by my daughter, Lady Anne, when she shall arrive at the age of one-and-twenty years--provided it should please heaven that she should survive me.' The letter then proceeds as follows:--
"'My dearest Child,--You must have remarked that my health has been gradually failing for some years. The medical men attribute this decay to an accident I met with, which you well remember. I myself connect it with a much more painful event, of which they know nothing. They cannot, therefore, by any drugs, remedy the disease. I am now about to unburden my whole heart, for the first time in my life, to you, for I feel that I am soon about to be called hence; and though most improbable events might occur, which would render the secret of my early life important both to yourself and others, I know you, my dearest child, well, thoroughly, entirely; and I can trust implicitly both to your heart and to your understanding. You are too dutiful and affectionate a child to blame your father severely, even if you find he has committed some errors, or to scorn his injunctions, even if you cannot always approve his conduct. Neither will I blame my own parent, although we did not live on those terms of tender confidence in which you and I have always dwelt together; but it is necessary that I should speak of his character, to account for, if not to justify, my own actions.
"'Let me tell you, then, my early history. I was my father's second son, and never was loved as my elder brother was. That brother was kind and good, and worthy of all affection; but even to him my father was usually stern, and often even violent. To me my father's demeanour was exceedingly harsh and imperious. Instant obedience to his lightest word was exacted in all things, as was perhaps right and due; but no command ever came unaccompanied by a threat, and no threat ever remained unfulfilled, if the command was, even by mistake, disobeyed. It seemed as if he wished to make fear supersede both affection and a sense of duty--and he succeeded but too well. I learned to dread him; and, even after my poor brother's death, that sad lesson was not forgotten. As his heir, I was furnished with ample means, and received a very good education; but before my brother's death I had been placed at a somewhat inferior school, where I formed a very close intimacy with a boy of the name of Hayley. You have often seen him as a man, and must recollect him. He was weak, timid, and somewhat cowardly; but I was in the custom of defending him from the attacks of older and stronger boys, and we naturally learn to love what we protect. When I afterwards went to Eton, Stephen Hayley followed me thither, and our friendship continued unabated. Even when I was sent on a tour through Europe, with a tutor, I regularly corresponded with Hayley, my new rank as Lord Mellent making not the least change in our intimacy, though he had now become a clerk in a great merchant's house. It was not long after my return, and while I was still a student at Oxford, that an event occurred, the consequences of which have chequered my golden fate with shades unalterably dark. One day, in a country village, where I had gone to study more quietly for my degree than I could do elsewhere, I saw a girl of the most surpassing beauty that can be conceived. The first meeting was merely accidental, but the second was designed; for I eagerly inquired who she was, and finding that her father was a wealthy and honest farmer, of the name of Graves, I contrived to introduce myself to him as a person wishing to purchase a horse. I soon made myself intimate in his family, and the admiration I had conceived for his daughter ripened into the warmest and truest love. She was as gentle and kind, as good and as graceful, as she was beautiful; and, even had such a thing been possible, my dearest Anne, which it was not, I would not have misled her for the world. But my position was very difficult. I knew my father's proud spirit and highly aristocratic feelings, and that his consent to my marriage with a farmer's daughter was quite out of all hope. But I loved her, and she loved me, and I told her all my difficulties. She, and she alone, knew who I was; for I had given myself out as a merchant, and the son of a merchant, to escape visits and civilities which might be burdensome. We hesitated, we doubted long; but at length passion triumphed over prudence, and she was persuaded to fly with me and unite her fate to mine. We were married in secret, and passed nearly a year in the fondest affection. All that she exacted was permission to write to her father to assure him that she was a wife. When the time approached, however, at which she was to give birth to a child, fears assailed her, and remorse for having left her parent's house. She made me promise that, if real danger occurred, I would send for him with all speed, that she might receive his pardon and his blessing before she died.