"She was returning," she said, "from Sir William Temple's dinner-party, when her coachman, whom she supposed was intoxicated, drove furiously, and the carriage coming in contact with the curb-stone at the corner of the street, overturned, was dashed with violence against the pavement, and broken to pieces." This account was corroborated by her footmen, who had miraculously escaped unhurt. Lady Hamlet then expressed her thanks at having received such prompt and kind assistance, and Doctor Meynell having pronounced it as his opinion, that if she remained quiet for a few days, she would find no disagreeable effects result from the accident, and that she might with safety be removed to her own house, Lord Albert's carriage was ordered to convey her thither. "I am happy, indeed, to think it is thus," said Lord Albert; "and that I have been of the least use is most gratifying to me."
This adventure, related in a few words, occupied an hour or more in its actual occurrence; and Lord Albert had had leisure to remark the symmetry of form and feature for which Lady Hamlet Vernon had been so long celebrated. He might have beheld Lady Hamlet for ever, rouged and dressed in public, and have passed her by unnoticed; but when he beheld her pale, dishevelled, in pain, and dependent on him at the moment for relief, he thought her exquisitely fair, and there entered a degree of romantic illusion in this accident which roused his fancy, while her sufferings touched the friendly feelings of his nature.
As he assisted her to her carriage, they passed through the room where he had been sitting previous to her arrival; the candles were still burning, and his papers lay in confusion around, the writing-box was open, in the lid of which was the portrait of Lady Adeline. Lady Hamlet Vernon pausing, complained of a momentary feeling of faintness, and threw herself on a chair close to the writing-table; her eyes in an instant were rivetted on the picture, and at the same moment Lord Albert's hand closed it from her view. There was nothing that demanded secrecy in his possessing Lady Adeline's picture. His engagement to his cousin was generally known, and his having her portrait, therefore, was no offence against propriety; but every body who has loved will understand the feeling, that the sacredness of their heart's affections is broken in upon, if an indifferent or casual eye rest upon a treasure of the kind. Lady Hamlet Vernon spoke not, but her looks testified what they had seen; while he remained confused, and seemed glad when she proposed moving again to the carriage.
"I am afraid," she said, her voice trembling as she spoke, "I am afraid my accident has been the occasion of breaking in upon your retirement, and disturbing you out of a most delightful reverie. I shall regret this the more if it makes you hate me altogether—but the fault was not mine."
"Hate you! Lady Hamlet Vernon—hatred and Lady Hamlet Vernon are two words that cannot by any accident be connected together."
"Ah! would that your words were as true as they are courteous," she replied mournfully; "but courtesies, alas! imply an interest that they do not mean. Do not, however, let me detain you, Lord Albert; it rains"— As he still lingered at the door of the carriage, which they had reached, and in which she now entered, he added, "You will at least give me leave to enquire for you to-morrow?" which was all he had time to say, as the carriage was driven rapidly away.
Lord Albert returned to his room, with a confusion of images chasing each other in such quick succession through his mind, that though he resumed his pen to finish his letter to Lady Adeline, he found it difficult to do so; and he was conscious that the few words which he added were in such a different tone, and so little in keeping with the previous part, that he finished abruptly, and, folding and sealing his letter, closed the box that contained the miniature, and throwing himself back in his chair, mused in vacancy of thought till slumber was overpowering him. Without once adverting to Lady Adeline's book, he hastened to lose in sleep the feeling of dissatisfaction which had so suddenly possessed him.
On the following morning, when Lady Hamlet Vernon arose, feeling little of the accident of the preceding evening, and having taken particular pains with her toilette, she cast a glance of complacency at her reflected image in the mirror, and, descending to her boudoir, placed herself on a sofa, spread with embroidered cushions, folded a velvet couvre-pied over her feet, ordered a table stored with books to be placed within her reach, on which also rested a guitar and a vase of flowers, and gave way to a train of reflections and feelings unaccountably called up by the occurrences of the previous evening. Lady Hamlet Vernon was a person who had read, and did read, at times; but in the present instance, when calling for her books, she intended no farther use of them beyond casual allusion to their contents, and what their appearance might avail to give an interest in regard to herself.
She lay with her arm resting on a pillow, and her ears attentively listening to every cabriolet that passed, eagerly anticipating a visit from Lord Albert. She twice looked at her watch; once she struck it, to know if its sound answered to the hour its hand designated.—"Surely," she said, with some impatience, "he must at least inquire for me?—and it is late—late for a person of Lord Albert's early habit—it is really three o'clock." At that moment a short decided knock at the door roused her attention. Her hand was on the bell in an instant, lest the servants might deny her—but in another the door opened, and not Lord Albert, but the pale and melancholy Frank Ombre entered. The revulsion from pleasure to disappointment occasioned by the appearance of this visitor, and which displayed itself in Lady Hamlet Vernon's features, was ingeniously ascribed by her to a sudden pain in her head, the consequence, she said, of her accident the preceding night; which accident she hastened to detail, and was gratified by the homage of regrets, most poetically expressed by Mr. Ombre, who remarked that the danger of this occurrence was transferred from herself to her admirers.
"The beautiful languor which it has cast over your person has produced a varied charm more inimical to our peace than even the lightning of your eyes. What a fortunate man that Lord Albert was, to be on the very spot to render you assistance! There are some persons, as we all know, who are born felicitous—they please without caring to please; they render services without thinking what they are doing, or even being interested in reality about the persons whom they serve; they are reckoned handsome without one regularly beautiful feature, and pronounced clever, superior, talented, without ever doing any thing to prove it. But in that, perhaps, lies their wisdom—one may be every thing so long as one never proves one's-self nothing."