Charley Stewart was silent, but Sir Piers was not altogether so blind as not to perceive how matters stood with his niece. He had observed the Lady Marcella’s manner,—was struck with her words,—and a strong conviction entered his mind that she had allowed herself to fall in love with Charley Stewart. Now his affection for Charley had waxed so strong, that, knowing the good blood that was in him, he would have rejoiced to have seen him the husband of Marcella. But feeling that it would be prudent, before giving encouragement to any such scheme, that he should privately satisfy himself as to the suspicions he entertained of an existing attachment between Charley and Rosa MacDermot, and, having failed in one attempt to lead Charley to be explicit, he privately resolved in his own mind, secretly to visit Mrs. MacDermot herself, from whom he looked to receive clearer and more ready information.
Having accordingly ridden over to her house alone, the very next morning, he soon learned from the worthy woman the whole history of the lovers. He was not a little disappointed to find that he had made so shrewd a guess, and that, to so honest and honourable a mind as his, there thus remained no fair hope of the completion of that alliance, which would have been so agreeable to him, as well as to his niece. All that he had learned from the widow regarding Charley, had only served to increase his admiration of him, and to make his regret the greater. But being now in possession of the fact, he thought it his duty to deal plainly with the Lady Marcella, and he accordingly embraced the very first opportunity he could command of speaking with her in private.
“Marcella,” said he to her abruptly, “what think ye of Charley Stewart?”
“A proper young man, I promise thee,” replied the lady, with the same want of ceremony.
“His lameness is unfortunate,—it mars his appearance much,” said Sir Piers. “And that cross scar on his cheek is any thing but ornamental.”
“Pshaw!” cried the lady; “a fico for his scar! I hope, ere he dies, to see his manly face seamed by many a deeper ornament of the same sort, gained in tough fight, man to man. And as to his lameness! shew me one that will vault into his saddle with him, or ride with him, or hold a lance with him after he is in it! Charley Stewart is a prince of a fellow!”
“All that is very true, niece,” said Sir Piers; “but methinks thou speakest of him with unusual warmth. Pray Heaven thou be’st not in love with the young man!”
“Nay, uncle, since I must needs say so, that is already past praying for,” replied Marcella, with a sigh; which, as it was the first that ever in her life escaped her, was a precious deep one.
“I am sorry to hear thee say so, niece,” said Sir Piers; “for thy case is hopeless, seeing that thou hast already a rival, to whom he is not only attached, but affianced.”
“What, uncle!” exclaimed the lady, in a supercilious tone; “dost thou think so very meanly of thy niece, as to suppose that the whey-faced orphan of a miserable man-at-arms, can have any chance with me, when I, the heiress of thy lands, choose to enter the lists?”