“Mr. Percy!” said Lord Oldborough, recalling Mr. Percy, who had risen to quit the room, “you will not leave me—Whatever you may wish to say, M. l’abbé, may be said before this gentleman—my friend.”
His lordship then opened the packet, examined the letters—read and re-directed some to the Duke of Greenwich, others to the king: the abbé, all the time, descanting vehemently on Neapolitan politics—regretting Lord Oldborough’s resignation—adverting still to his lordship’s powerful influence—and pressing some point in negotiation, for which his uncle, the cardinal, was most anxious.
Among the letters, there was one which Lord Oldborough did not open: he laid it on the table with the direction downwards, leaned his elbow upon it, and sat as if calmly listening to the abbé; but Mr. Percy, knowing his countenance, saw signs of extraordinary emotion, with difficulty repressed.
At length the gesticulating abbé finished, and waited his lordship’s instructions.
They were given in few words. The letters re-directed to the king and the Duke of Greenwich were returned to him. He thanked his lordship with many Italian superlatives—declined his lordship’s invitation to stay till the next day at Clermont-park—said he was pressed in point of time—that it was indispensably necessary for him to be in London, to deliver these papers, as soon as possible. His eye glanced on the unopened letter.
“Private, sir,” said Lord Oldborough, in a stern voice, without moving his elbow from the paper: “whatever answer it may require, I shall have the honour to transmit to you—for the cardinal.”
The abbé bowed low, left his address, and took leave. Lord Oldborough, after attending him to the door, and seeing him depart, returned, took out his watch, and said to Mr. Percy “Come to me, in my cabinet, in five minutes.”
Seeing his sister on the walk approaching his house, he added, “Let none follow me.”
When the five minutes were over, Mr. Percy went to Lord Oldborough’s cabinet—knocked—no answer—knocked again—louder—all was silent—he entered—and saw Lord Oldborough seated, but in the attitude of one just going to rise; he looked more like a statue than a living person: there was a stiffness in his muscles, and over his face and hands a deathlike colour. His eyes were fixed, and directed towards the door—but they never moved when Mr. Percy entered, nor did Lord Oldborough stir at his approach. From one hand, which hung over the arm of his chair, his spectacles had dropped; his other hand grasped an open letter.
“My dear lord!” cried Mr. Percy.