Thus it was that, immediately subsequent to the holy festival, the now revered Lord of Beaufort cheerfully obeyed his father's summons to London, where he found Pembroke and Lady Albina already resettled in their former residence. Having ere long met the gratulatory calls of his metropolitan friends, he daily beheld his lovely bride—lovely in mind as in person—becoming more and more "the worshipped cynosure of neighboring eyes;" not only adorning the highest circles of society, but filling his home with all the ineffable charms of a wedded life, inspired by the gentle graces of domestic tenderness.
One balmy evening in May, when he and his young countess were driving out alone together, which they sometimes did, that she might have the delight of showing to him the varied rural environs of the great and gay royal city of England, the carriage, by her direction, took its course towards Primrose Hill, then crowned by a grove of "fair elm- trees," and clothed with a vesture of green sward, enamelled with wild flowers. Thence the light vehicle threaded a maze of shady lanes and pleasant field-paths, into a rustic, newly-made road, leading a little to the north of Covent Garden. [Footnote: All this has since become Regent's Park and its dependencies, whether streets or squares.]
Mary proposed stopping a few minutes in that magnificent general garden of the town, to purchase a bouquet of early roses, to present to Sir Robert on their return from their drive.
When the carriage drew up at the entrance of the great parterre, she stepped out to select them. Having quickly combined their fragrant beauties, she put the nosegay into the hand of one of the servants to place on the seat. Being nigh the church porch, she suddenly expressed a wish to her husband, on whose arm she leaned, to walk through the church-yard, and that the carriage should meet them at the opposite gate.
Thaddeus, not being aware that this porch belonged to the church where his veteran friend had been buried, gave instant assent; and before he had time to make more than a few remarks on the pure religious architecture of the building, which he thought had attracted his tasteful bride to take a nearer view, she had led him unconsciously to the general's grave. But it was no longer the same as when Sobieski last stood by its side. A simple white marble tomb now occupied the place of its former long grass and yarrow. Surprised, he bent forward, and read with brimming eyes the following inscription:—
1795-6.
Stop, Traveller! Thou treadest on a Hero.
Here rest the mortal remains
of
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL BUTZOU,
Late of the Kingdom of Poland.
A faithful soldier to his Lord and to his country!
He sleeps in Faith and Hope!
Thaddeus for a moment felt as he did when he beheld those "mortal remains" laid there. But his own faith in that hope which consecrated this mortality to an immortal resurrection had then silently spread the balm of its full assurance overall those remembered pangs; and now, without speaking, he led his also pensive and tremulous companion to her carriage, where it awaited them, and seating her within it, clasped her to his breast. His tears, no longer restrained, poured those sweet pledges of a soul-felt approbation into her bosom that made it even ache with excess of happiness. But while the grateful voice of her husband was beginning to breathe its uttered thanks, he found the carriage stop again, in a street not far distant from the one they had just quitted. It drew up at the door of a handsome house, of an apparently contemporary structure with the church. It was the rectory of St. Paul's, Covent Garden and at its portal stood the reverend incumbent, evidently awaiting to receive his guests.
Thaddeus perceived him, and also the welcome of his position; so did his gentle wife, who with a blushing smile explained all the alterations he had observed on the respected grave, avowing that they had been done at her devoted wish, and were effected by the kind agency of that venerable man, the rector of the church, the Honorable Bruce Fitz-James. She then timidly added, (and how beautiful in that timidity!) she had something more to confess; she had ventured, after obtaining permission of the rector for the erection of the monument, to see it once during its progress, and then to promise him that on its completion her honored husband, the Count Sobieski, whose parental friend that noble dead had been, would, when she revealed her secret to him, pay a personal visit along with herself to her beneficent coadjutor, and duly express their united gratitude. She had scarcely spoken her rapid information, when its courteous object descended the portal to approach the carriage. His hat was taken off, and the snow-white hair, blown suddenly by a gust of wind across his benign brow, a little obscured his face, while he conducted the lady from the carriage up the steps of his door. But Sobieski found no difficulty in recognizing the time-blanched locks, which had been wetted by the weeping heavens in that hour of his lonely sorrow, whilst committing to the dust the remains of him whose sacred memorial he had just contemplated, raised by a wife's clear hand.
With these recollections had arisen the image of the pale, delicately-formed boy who had gazed so compassionately into his eyes while taking as he thought his last look at that humble grave; and with this bland recurrence came also the almost closing words of the solemn service, seeming again to proclaim to his heart, "I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, Write, From henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the Lord!"
With calmed feelings and perfectly recovered self-possession, Thaddeus now followed his beloved wife (his solace and his joy), led by her delighted host, into the bright-panelled parlor of the rectory, where the mutual introduction instantly took place.