This was a very considerate and proper speech. Thus did the Earl of Smatterton liberally repay the compliments which he had received from his medical friend and adviser. It should also be remarked, that the expression which his lordship has used more than once is rather a singularity. He dwelt very much upon the lateness of the hour. Now it was notorious, that in London there was scarcely a single house where night was turned into day and day into night so entirely as in Lord Smatterton’s: but in the country his lordship set a most excellent example of early hours. For, as he very wisely observed, agricultural pursuits require daylight; the poor people in the country cannot bear the expense of candles, and therefore it is highly proper to set them the example of early hours. This was certainly very considerate of his lordship; and for this considerateness he was duly praised by his physician. It is truly astonishing that anybody should ever be censorious, for there is much more to be got by praising than by blaming one’s fellow-creatures.
The physician took a handsome fee and a polite leave; and Colonel Crop just at that moment entered the saloon, having finished his evening’s entertainment at Neverden Hall. To him also was communicated the intelligence of the sudden decease of the worthy rector of Smatterton. And as soon as he heard the information, he said:
“Poor man, I am sorry for him: has he left a family?”
He had not left a family, or, if he had, Colonel Crop would have been very sorry for them too. The hour of rest was arrived, and more than arrived. But Lord Spoonbill enjoyed not the sweets of repose. His mind was torn by conflicting thoughts, and harassed by bitter reflections and self-reproaches. He thought of the mean transaction of the morning and the solemn scene of the evening. For awhile he had a fancy that the principle of virtue was the ascendant feeling of his soul, and he thought that he would not pursue the scheme which he had commenced. He looked at the letter which he had intercepted, and had some faint notions that he should cause it to reach its destination. At all events, he would not be so mean as to open the letter; that was an offence of which he had never been guilty. He consigned the letter to the flames. He thought of Dr Greendale, and he was all virtue and penitence. He thought of Penelope, and considered that it would be a pity for so amiable, and intelligent, and affectionate a creature to be sacrificed to such a dull, plodding, commercial man as Robert Darnley. At length, wearied by a multitude of thoughts, he fell asleep. But ever and anon his rest was broken by painful and frightful dreams. He was grasping the hand of a lovely and interesting one, and was using the language of passion and persuasion, and he looked up to catch the smile of beauty and the languishing look of love—and there were before him the glassy eye, and the quivering lip, and the ghastly looks of death. He felt upon his head the hand of blessing, and then there rung in his ears the horrid language of execration. He saw the mild and venerable form of the pious friend of his early youth, and he heard from his lips the sentiments of devotion and the promises of hope; and then the face was distorted by pain, and the voice was all the harshness of reproach and the keenness of condemnation. Gradually this agitation of the spirits subsided, and the wearied frame sunk into calmer rest; and when the day-light shone into his apartment, and the morning sun awakened the song of the birds, the darkness and gloom of the night were forgotten, and the mind of the young patrician recovered its wonted insensibility and apathy to all that is good and generous. The emotions of the past night were ridiculed, and thus the character received an additional impetus to that which is bad.
CHAPTER VII.
On the following morning the news of Dr Greendale’s sudden death reached the neighbouring village of Neverden. Mr Darnley was deeply concerned at the intelligence, and prepared to pay an immediate visit to the afflicted widow to offer such consolation and assistance as circumstances might require. On his way from home he went through Neverden park, and called at the hall to acquaint his patron baronet of the dismal intelligence just received. Sir George met Mr Darnley at the door of the house, and thus the rector was saved the trouble of alighting. Another trouble was also saved him, namely, that of communicating the news to the baronet: for as soon as the worshipful magistrate saw Mr Darnley, he bawled out at the top of his voice:
“Good morning, Darnley, good morning. Bad news from Smatterton; poor Greendale’s dead. What will become of the poor widow and his pretty niece? Very sudden indeed. I always thought he would go off so. Will you alight? I suppose you are going over to Smatterton. Do you know who is to have the living? It is a pretty good thing, I believe.”
This was a mode of address not at all in unison with the feelings of Mr Darnley, though quite in keeping with the character and habits of Sir George Aimwell. Not that Sir George was by any means destitute of feeling. It is very likely he might have been as much concerned at the loss, as others who might express themselves more pathetically; but, as the proverbial expression has it, it was his way. This expression is an apology for anything, and for everything, and more especially for all breaches of decorum and violations of propriety. It is quite enough to say, “he means no harm, it is his way.” It was a way however which Mr Darnley did not approve and dared not rebuke; for he had so high a respect for rank, as one of the glorious blessings of our constitution, that he could never violate its sacredness by making it the subject of reproof, otherwise than by indirect and general hints. Mr Darnley was a strict, but not a sturdy moralist. To the questions of Sir George he returned such answers as he was able to give, and, bowing politely, was about to continue his ride, when the baronet called out to him again:
“Well, but I am sorry for the doctor, poor fellow. I was going to send him some game this morning, though we had but a bad day’s sport yesterday. I shall send you a brace or two of birds, Darnley.”
Mr Darnley made his acknowledgments for the baronet’s liberality, and pursued his journey, meditating on the various subjects and thoughts which such events as these usually excite in such minds as his. When he arrived at Smatterton, at the very entrance of the village he saw symptoms of a general calamity. The old men were standing in little groups, and looking serious, and talking with great earnestness on the subject of their loss: and when they saw Mr Darnley ride past they drew aside and made more serious reverence than usual; and, while they uncovered their silvery heads and bowed to the clergyman, there was in their looks an expression which seemed to ask for some more acknowledgment of their homage than the return bend of the head; they seemed to implore him to address them. And, as he was a man of discernment and observation, he stopt his horse and spoke to an old, a very old man, who was leaning on a stick which trembled under his pressure, and said: