Gloriana; or, the revolution of 1900

by Lady Florence Dixie

CHAPTER VII.

The lights are low and softly subdued in Evie Ravensdale’s private study or sanctum in Montragee House, the blinds and curtains are drawn, the fire casts its flickering shadows on the ceiling and walls as ever and anon the little gas-jets from the coals shoot forth their vivid blaze, relapsing immediately after into smoke and gloom. The sounds of mimic warfare which they produce are the only ones which break the stillness prevailing, unless it be the low breathing of the dog Nero, which is stretched upon the hearthrug.

He would hardly, however, lie there so quietly and contentedly, if he were the only occupant of the room, for a dog’s chief characteristic is love of company, loneliness being his pet aversion.

Nor is he alone, as we shall see if we glance at the big armchair drawn up in front of the fire, and looking again, perceive that it is occupied.

The figure which sits there, is in truth very still and silent. It is laying back with its knees crossed and its arms resting on each side of the chair. Its head is slightly bent forward, and its dreamy eyes glitter in the firelight, which they are roving as if in search of an object prized but lost.

What does Evie Ravensdale see in that flickering firelight which appears suddenly to arrest his gaze? It must be some cherished object indeed, judging by the happy smile which for a few brief moments lights up the otherwise sad face, on which melancholy has stamped its mournful features. That which he sees is but a passing vision however, for the smile quickly dies away, and leaves the dark eyes searching again amidst the glowing coals, for the picture that has come and vanished. Above the fireplace, shrouded on either side by heavy curtains of old-gold plush, hangs the oil painting which represents his first meeting with Hector D’Estrange. It is only when alone that Evie Ravensdale draws those curtains aside, and then none can see the emotion which the picture arouses in him. For the memories which it awakens, albeit noble and tender, are painful, recalling, as they do, the image of her whom in life he has most cherished and now lost.

He is sitting there alone, but his mind is busy and his brain hard at work. The sudden revulsion of feeling throughout the country, aroused by the discovery of the drowned body of Lord Westray and the tragic fate of Gloria de Lara, coupled with the published declarations of Léonie Stanley, and later on the startling dying depositions of Eric Fortescue, have all combined to create this reaction in favour of the D’Estrangeite party. The Devonsmere Government, weak in composition and intellect, at once succumbed, and Lord Pandulph Chertsey, the free lance of the National party, stepped into the Duke of Devonsmere’s shoes. But Lord Pandulph was too clever and practical to attempt to govern the fiery steed of public opinion with mimic reins of power. He appealed to that tribunal which alone has the right to nominate its rulers, the people, and demanded of the country its mandate. And now the country, without demur or hesitation, has spoken out in no uncertain tone. The light of a pure and noble life has penetrated the darkness of opposition and prejudice, and has fulfilled the prophecy which in childhood Gloria de Lara predicted. The cause of right and justice has triumphed, and the reign of selfishness, greed, and monopoly has passed away.

By a glorious majority D’Estrangeism has won. The Progressists are nowhere, and the Nationals have been returned mutilated in numbers. The D’Estrangeites, recruited by sixty additional seats, declare the country’s will, and Evie Ravensdale, at the command of his sovereign, has formed a Ministry, known under the name of the Second D’Estrangeite Cabinet.

These changes have been rapid. Little more than a month has passed away since the death of Gloria de Lara resounded through the world, and already the vision which her childhood’s genius conjured up as she spoke to the waves of the blue Adriatic, and predicted victory, is on the eve of realisation. For even as it had been her first act of power to bring in a bill for the complete emancipation of women, so is it Evie Ravensdale’s intention to do likewise.

But the position is different. When Hector D’Estrange submitted his bill to the Commons, he knew that for many reasons it was doomed, the first, and foremost being that the country had not spoken, or pronounced unmistakably for or against the change. On this occasion there can be no misunderstanding however, for the Parliament returned gives the D’Estrangeites a majority over the other parties in the House combined, and in plain words declares the will of the people. But there is just this difference again. Whereas the first bill was introduced to the Commons, the second, in virtue of Evie Ravensdale’s rank, must make its début in the Lords. Will this latter assembly accept it? It remains to be seen. Yet surely in the face of the country’s mandate, the peers will submit to the people’s wishes!