CHAPTER LIII
THE COMING OF DALLAS
“Go on, Dallas,” said Gordon.
He was standing in his study, its windows thrown open to the stifling air, the blinds drawn against the pitiless sun that beat hotly up from the sluggish Arno and loaded the world with fire. In the parched orange-trees in the garden cicalas shrilled and from the dusty street came the chant of a procession of religiosi, bearing relics and praying for rain.
The man who sat by the table wore the same kindly, scholarly face that Gordon had known of old, though his soft white hair was sparer at the temples. To make this journey he had spent the last of a check he had once received for six hundred pounds. His faith in Gordon had never wavered. Now, as he looked at the figure standing opposite, clad in white waistcoat and tartan hussar-braided jacket of the Gordon plaid, young and lithe, though with brown locks grayed, and with eyes brilliantly haunting and full of a purpose they had never before possessed, his own gaze misted with hope and wistfulness. He had had an especial object in this long journey to Italy.
“Hobhouse is still with his regiment,” he proceeded. “He’ll be in Parliament before long. We dined together just a month ago to-night at White’s Club. Lord Petersham is the leader of the dandies now. Brummell left England for debt.”
In that hour’s conversation Gordon had seen faded pictures fearfully distinct. He seemed to be standing again in his old lodgings in St. James Street—a red carnation in his buttonhole—facing Beau Brummell and Sheridan. He remembered how he had once let the old wit down in his cocked hat at Brookes’—as he had long ago been let down into his grave! He smiled painfully while he said with slowness:
“Three great men ruined in one year: Bonaparte, Brummell and I. A king, a cad, and a castaway!” His eyes were fixed on the empty fireplace as he spoke, but what they saw was very far away.
“How is Murray?” he asked presently.
“I visited him a fortnight before I left. He had just published the first part of ‘Don Juan’.”
Gordon winced. “Well?” he asked.