Julia exerted, on this occasion, but a small share of the power of voice which she possessed; yet, every one was delighted with the magical effect the then state of her own feelings gave to a pathetic air. By the time the song came to its conclusion, Sir Archibald was standing almost directly beneath the great centre lustre, just so far removed from its immediate perpendicular, as to admit of its strong flood of light streaming full on his face and figure. His attitude was still the fixed one in which he had hitherto listened, but now he seemed unconscious of the presence of any one. His perfectly white hair was made more remarkable by the brightness that shone upon it; his countenance was calm, every passion being stilled, every effort laid aside, while an expression of woe, of hopelessness, such as can proceed only from the utterly broken heart, had settled on every thus relaxed feature, and large tears, which glittered in the strong light, were silently rolling over his cheeks.
An absolute stillness reigned throughout the apartment for some moments, when, supper being announced, it was agreed, almost in whispers, that they should retire quietly to the eating room without disturbing Sir Archibald; leaving a servant at the drawing-room door to observe his movements.
CHAPTER IX.
“The hell informed passion, avarice.”
“Really,” said Lady Morven, as she lolled back in her seat at the supper table, after asking Mr. Graham to help her to some wine and water, “my nerves can’t stand such alarms! and I dare say you are quite ill too, Mr. Graham.”
“This is the first time Sir Archy has shewn symptoms of violence,” observed Lady Arandale, “hitherto he has been quite harmless, an object more of commiseration than of fear.”
“I must, I believe,” said Lord Arandale, “be under the necessity of requesting my nephew, Mr. St. Aubin, to take a few days sport with some of the neighbouring gentlemen, while Sir Archibald remains here; for never shall my door,” and he spoke with the honest energy of good feeling, “be closed against the shattered remnant, in mind and in body, which still exists of poor Oswald—the once gay companion of many a merry, many a thoughtless hour, spent, some of them beneath his own hospitable roof, where, even I, may have possibly, though innocently, contributed my share to his ultimate ruin!” Then, addressing our hero in particular, he continued, “At the age of fifteen he was his own master, and at that early period commenced the career of folly, dissipation, and gaming which led, finally, to his destruction. St. Aubin was one of the set,” he proceeded, lowering his tone; “it was he who drew him into high play, and who won from him the principal part of his estates, unfairly too it is generally believed. There was some agreement also, about the winner paying the loser’s then existing debts; but when St. Aubin got possession he sold the estates, or his interest in them, to Jews, and disappeared, leaving Oswald to answer his creditors as he might. There were informalities in the sale, it is thought; but however that is, or was, the Jews keep possession, and Oswald has not a title or paper of any kind to shew: St. Aubin, on various pretexts, had got all into his own hands. Poor Oswald’s state of mind, too, adds greatly to the difficulty of clearing up any part of the unfortunate business. In some of his ravings he declares vehemently that he staked but his own life use, and that, could he find the villain St. Aubin, and make him produce certain papers, his boy, (Oswald’s boy I mean,) would enjoy the whole property at his father’s death.”