It came openly, with a full understanding that she was to use it by his recommendation; her mother and brother both thought they understood the motive, which one thought very wise, and the other very characteristic.

Lord Kilcoran and Lady Eveleen also departed. Eveleen very sorry to go, though a little comforted by the prospect of seeing Laura so soon in Ireland, where she would set her going in all kinds of "rationalities--reading, and school teaching, and everything else."

"Ay," said Charles, when all were out of hearing but his mother; "and I shrewdly suspect the comfort would be still greater if it was Sir Guy Morville who was coming."

"It would be no bad thing," said his mother: "Eveleen is a nice creature with great capabilities."

"Capabilities! but will they ever come to anything?"

"In a few years," said Mrs. Edmonstone; "and he is a mere boy at present, so there is plenty of time for both to develop themselves."

"Most true, madame mere; but it remains to be proved whether the liking for Sir Guy, which has taken hold of my lady Eveleen, is strong enough to withstand all the coquetting with young Irishmen, and all the idling at Kilcoran."

"I hope she has something better to be relied on than the liking for Sir Guy."

"You may well do so, for I think he has no notion of throwing off his allegiance to you--his first and only love. He liked very well to make fun with Eva; but he regarded her rather as a siren, who drew him off from his Latin and Greek."

"Yes; I am ashamed of myself for such a fit of match-making! Forget it, Charlie, as fast as you can."

CHAPTER 11

This warld"s wealth, when I think o"t, Its pride, and a" the lave o"t, Fie, fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o"t.

--BURNS

In another week Mr. Edmonstone and his eldest daughter were to depart on their Irish journey. Laura, besides the natural pain in leaving home, was sorry to be no longer near Philip, especially as it was not likely that he would be still at Broadstone on their return; yet she was so restless and dissatisfied, that any change was welcome, and the fear of betraying herself almost took away the pleasure of his presence.

He met them at the railway station at Broadstone, where Mr. Edmonstone, finding himself much too early, recollected something he had forgotten in the town, and left his daughter to walk up and down the platform under Philip"s charge. They felt it a precious interval, but both were out of spirits, and could hardly profit by it.

"You will be gone long before we come back," said Laura.

"In a fortnight or three weeks, probably."

"But you will still be able to come to Hollywell now and then?"

"I hope so. It is all the pleasure I can look for. We shall never see such a summer again."

"Oh, it has been a memorable one!"

"Memorable! Yes. It has given me an a.s.surance that compensates for all I have lost; yet it has made me feel, more than ever before, how poverty withers a man"s hopes."

"O Philip, I always thought your poverty a great, n.o.ble thing!"

"You thought like a generous-tempered girl who has known nothing of its effects."

"And do you know that Guy says the thing to be proud of is of holding the place you do, without the aid of rank or riches."

"I would not have it otherwise--I would not for worlds that my father had acted otherwise," said Philip. "You understand that, Laura."

"Of course I do."

"But when you speak--when Guy speaks of my holding the place I do, you little know what it is to feel that powers of usefulness are wasted--to know I have the means of working my way to honour and distinction, such as you would rejoice in Laura, to have it all within, yet feel it thrown away. Locksley Hall, again--"every door is barred with gold, and opens but to golden keys.""

"I wish there was anything to be done," said Laura.

"It is my profession that is the bar to everything. I have sold the best years of my life, and for what? To see my sister degrade herself by that marriage."

"That is the real grief," said Laura.

"But for that, I should never have cast a look back on what I relinquished. However, why do I talk of these things, these vain regrets? They only occurred because my welfare does not concern myself alone--and here"s your father."

Mr. Edmonstone returned, out of breath, in too much bustle remark his daughter"s blushes. Even when the train was moving off, he still had his head out at the window, calling to Philip that they should expect a visit from him as soon as ever they returned. Such cordiality gave Philip a pang; and in bitterness of spirit he walked back to the barracks. On the way he met Mrs. Deane who wanted to consult him about inviting his cousin, Sir Guy to a dinner-party she intended to give next week. "Such an agreeable, sensible youth, and we feel we owe him some attention, he took so much pains to make apologies about the ball."

"I dare say he will be very happy to come."

"We will write at once. He is a very fine young man, without a shade of vanity or nonsense."

"Yes; he has very pleasant, unaffected manners."

"I am sure he will do credit to his estate. It is a very handsome fortune, is it not?"

"It is a very large property."

"I am glad of it; I have no doubt we shall see him one of the first men of his time."

These words brought into contrast in Philip"s mind the difference between Guy"s position and his own. The mere possession of wealth was winning for Guy, at an age when his merits could only be negative, that estimation which his own tried character had scarcely achieved, placing him not merely on a level with himself, but in a situation where happiness and influence came unbidden. His own talents, attainments, and equal, if not superior claims, to gentle blood, could not procure him what seemed to lie at Guy"s feet. His own ability and Laura"s heart alone were what wealth could not affect; yet when he thought how the want of it wasted the one, and injured the hopes of the other, he recurred to certain visions of his sister Margaret"s, in days gone by, of what he was to do as Sir Philip, lord of Redclyffe. He was speculating on what would have happened had Guy died in his sickly infancy, when, suddenly recollecting himself, he turned his mind to other objects.

Guy was not much charmed with Mrs. Deane"s invitation. He said he knew he must go to make up for his rudeness about the ball; but he grumbled enough to make Mrs. Edmonstone laugh at him for being so stupid as to want to stay hum-drum in the chimney corner. No doubt it was very pleasant there. There was that peculiar snugness which belongs to a remnant of a large party, when each member of it feels bound to prevent the rest from being dull. Guy devoted himself to Charles more than ever, and in the fear that he might miss the late variety of amus.e.m.e.nt, exerted even more of his powers of entertainment than Lady Eveleen had called forth.

There were grave readings in the mornings, and long walks in the afternoons, when he dragged Charles, in his chair, into many a place he had never expected to see again, and enabled him to accompany his mother and sisters in many a delightful expedition. In the evening there was music, or light reading, especially poetry, as this was encouraged by Mrs. Edmonstone, in the idea that it was better that so excitable and enthusiastic a person as Guy should have his objects of admiration tested by Charles"s love of ridicule.

Mr. Edmonstone had left to Guy the office of keeping the 1st of September, one which he greatly relished. Indeed, when he thought of his own deserted manors, he was heard to exclaim, in commiseration for the neglect, "Poor partridges!" The Hollywell shooting was certainly not like that at Redclyffe, where he could hardly walk out of his own grounds, whereas here he had to bear in mind so many boundaries, that Philip was expecting to have to help him out of some direful sc.r.a.pe. He had generally walked over the whole extent, and a.s.sured himself that the birds were very wild, and Bustle the best of dogs, before breakfast, so as to be ready for all the occupations of the day. He could scarcely be grateful when the neighbours, thinking it must be very dull for him to be left alone with Mrs. Edmonstone and her crippled son, used to ask him to shoot or dine. He always lamented at first, and ended by enjoying himself.

One night, he came home, in such a state of eagerness, that he must needs tell his good news; and, finding no one in the drawing-room, he ran up-stairs, opened Charles"s door, and exclaimed--"There"s to be a concert at Broadstone!" Then perceiving that Charles was fast asleep, he retreated noiselessly, reserving his rejoicings till morning, when it appeared that Charles had heard, but had woven the announcement into a dream.

This concert filled Guy"s head. His only grief was that it was to be in the evening, so that Charles could not go to it; and his wonder was not repressed at finding that Philip did not mean to favour it with his presence, since Guy would suffice for squire to Mrs. Edmonstone and her daughters.

In fact, Philip was somewhat annoyed by the perpetual conversation about the concert, and on the day on which it was to take place resolved on making a long expedition to visit the ruins of an old abbey, far out of all reports of it. As he was setting out, he was greeted, in a very loud voice, by Mr. Gordon.

"Hollo, Morville! how are you? So you have great doings to-night, I hear!" and he had only just forced himself from him, when he was again accosted, this time in a hasty, embarra.s.sed manner,--

"I beg your pardon, sir, but the ties of relationship--"

He drew himself up as if he was on parade, faced round, and replied with an emphatic "Sir!" as he behold a thin, foreign-looking man, in a somewhat flashy style of dress, who, bowing low, repeated breathlessly,--

"I beg your pardon--Sir Guy Morville, I believe!"