The Disowned, Volume 7.

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CHAPTER LXVIII.

We will examine if those accidents,
Which common fame calls injuries, happen to him
Deservedly or no.--The New Inn.

FROM LORD ULSWATER TO LADY WESTBOROUGH.

Forgive me, dearest Lady Westborough, for my violence: you know and
will allow for the infirmities of my temper. I have to make you and
Lady Flora one request, which I trust you will not refuse me.

Do not see or receive any communication from Mr. Linden till
Wednesday; and on that day at the hour of twelve suffer me to meet him
at your house. I will then either prove him to be the basest of
impostors, or, if I fail in this and Lady Flora honours my rival with
one sentiment of preference, I will without a murmur submit to her
decree and my rejection. Dare I trust that this petition will be
accorded to one who is, with great regard and esteem, etc.

"This is fortunate," said Lady Westborough gently to her daughter,
who, leaning her head on her mother's bosom, suffered hopes, the
sweeter for their long sleep, to divide, if not wholly to possess, her
heart. "We shall have now time well and carefully to reflect over
what will be best for your future happiness. We owe this delay to one
to whom you have been affianced. Let us, therefore, now merely write
to Mr. Linden, to inform him of Lord Ulswater's request; and to say
that if he will meet his lordship at the time appointed, we, that is
I, shall be happy to see him."

Lady Flora sighed, but she saw the reasonableness of her mother's
proposal, and pressing Lady Westborough's hand murmured her assent.

"At all events," thought Lady Westborough, as she wrote to Clarence,
"the affair can but terminate to advantage. If Lord Ulswater proves
Mr. Linden's unworthiness, the suit of the latter is of course at rest
forever: if not, and Mr. Linden be indeed all that he asserts, my
daughter's choice cannot be an election of reproach; Lord Ulswater
promises peaceably to withdraw his pretensions; and though Mr. Linden
may not possess his rank or fortune, he is certainly one with whom, if
of ancient blood, any family would be proud of an alliance."

Blending with these reflections a considerable share of curiosity and
interest in a secret which partook so strongly of romance, Lady
Westborough despatched her note to Clarence. The answer returned was
brief, respectful, and not only acquiescent in but grateful for the
proposal.

With this arrangement both Lady Westborough and Lady Flora were
compelled, though with very different feelings, to be satisfied; and
an agreement was established between them, to the effect that if
Linden's name passed unblemished through the appointed ordeal Lady
Flora was to be left to, and favoured in, her own election; while, on
the contrary, if Lord Ulswater succeeded in the proof he had spoken
of, his former footing in the family was to be fully re-established
and our unfortunate adventurer forever discarded.

To this Lady Flora readily consented; for with a sanguine and certain
trust in her lover's truth and honour, which was tenfold more strong
for her late suspicions, she would not allow herself a doubt as to the
result; and with an impatience, mingled with a rapturous exhilaration
of spirit, which brought back to her the freshness and radiancy of her
youngest years, she counted the hours and moments to the destined day.

While such was the state of affairs at Westborough Park, Clarence was
again on horseback and on another excursion. By the noon of the day
following that which had seen his eventful meeting with Lady Flora, he
found himself approaching the extreme boundaries of the county in
which Mordaunt Court and the memorable town of W---- were situated.
The characteristics of the country were now materially changed from
those which gave to the vicinity of Algernon's domains its wild and
uncultivated aspect.

As Clarence slowly descended a hill of considerable steepness and
length, a prospect of singular and luxurious beauty opened to his
view. The noblest of England's rivers was seen, through "turfs and
shades and flowers," pursuing "its silver-winding way." On the
opposite banks lay, embosomed in the golden glades of autumn, the busy
and populous town that from the height seemed still and lifeless as an
enchanted city, over which the mid-day sun hung like a guardian
spirit. Behind, in sweeping diversity, stretched wood and dale, and
fields despoiled of their rich harvest, yet still presenting a yellow
surface to the eye; and ever and anon some bright patch of green,
demanding the gaze as if by a lingering spell from the past spring;
while, here and there, spire and hamlet studded the landscape, or some
lowly cot lay, backed by the rising ground or the silent woods, white
and solitary, and sending up its faint tribute of smoke in spires to
the altars of Heaven. The river was more pregnant of life than its
banks: barge and boat were gliding gayly down the wave, and the glad
oar of the frequent and slender vessels consecrated to pleasure was
seen dimpling the water, made by distance smoother than glass.

On the right side of Clarence's road, as he descended the hill, lay
wide plantations of fir and oak, divided from the road by a park
paling, the uneven sides of which were covered with brown moss, and
which, at rare openings in the young wood, gave glimpses of a park,
seemingly extending over great space, the theatre of many a stately
copse and oaken grove, which might have served the Druids with fane
and temple meet for the savage sublimity of their worship.

Upon these unfrequent views, Clarence checked his horse, and gazed,
with emotions sweet yet bitter, over the pales, along the green
expanse which they contained. And once, when through the trees he
caught a slight glimpse of the white walls of the mansion they
adorned, all the years of his childhood seemed to rise on his heart,
thrilling to its farthest depths with a mighty and sorrowful yet sweet
melody, and--

"Singing of boyhood back, the voices of his home."

Home! yes, amidst those groves had the April of his life lavished its
mingled smiles and tears! There was the spot hallowed by his earliest
joys! and the scene of sorrows still more sacred than joys! and now,
after many years, the exiled boy came back, a prosperous and
thoughtful man, to take but one brief glance of that home which to him
had been less hospitable than a stranger's dwelling, and to find a
witness among those who remembered him of his very birth and identity!

He wound the ascent at last, and entering a small town at the foot of
the hill, which was exactly facing the larger one on the opposite
shore of the river, put up his horse at one of the inns, and then,
with a beating heart, remounted the hill, and entering the park by one
of its lodges found himself once more in the haunts of his childhood.

CHAPTER LXIX.

Oh, the steward, the steward: I might have guessed as much.
Tales of the Crusaders.

The evening was already beginning to close, and Clarence was yet
wandering in the park, and retracing, with his heart's eye, each knoll
and tree and tuft once so familiar to his wanderings.

At the time we shall again bring him personally before the reader, he
was leaning against an iron fence that, running along the left wing of
the house, separated the pleasure-grounds from the park, and gazing
with folded arms and wistful eyes upon the scene on which the dusk of
twilight was gradually gathering.

The house was built originally in the reign of Charles II.; it had
since received alteration and additions, and now presented to the eye
a vast pile of Grecian or rather Italian architecture, heterogeneously
blended with the massive window, the stiff coping, and the heavy roof
which the age immediately following the Revolution introduced. The
extent of the building and the grandeur of the circling demesnes were
sufficient to render the mansion imposing in effect; while, perhaps,
the style of the architecture was calculated to conjoin a stately
comfort with magnificence, and to atone in solidity for any deficiency
in grace.

At a little distance from the house, and placed on a much more
commanding site, were some ancient and ivy-grown ruins, now scanty
indeed and fast mouldering into decay, but sufficient to show the
antiquarian the remains of what once had been a hold of no ordinary
size and power. These were the wrecks of the old mansion, which was
recorded by tradition to have been reduced to this state by accidental
fire, during the banishment of its loyal owner in the time of the
Protectorate. Upon his return the present house was erected.

As Clarence was thus stationed he perceived an elderly man approach
towards him. "This is fortunate," said he to himself,--"the very
person I have been watching for. Well, years have passed lightly over
old Wardour: still the same precise garb, the same sturdy and slow
step, the same upright form."

The person thus designated now drew near enough for parlance; and, in
a tone a little authoritative, though very respectful, inquired if
Clarence had any business to transact with him.

"I beg pardon," said Clarence, slouching his hat over his face, "for
lingering so near the house at this hour: but I have seen it many
years ago, and indeed been a guest within its walls; and it is rather
my interest for an old friend, than my curiosity to examine a new one,
which you are to blame for my trespass."

"Oh, sir," answered Mr. Wardour, a short and rather stout man, of
about sixty-four, attired in a chocolate coat, gray breeches, and silk
stockings of the same dye, which, by the waning light, took a sombrer
and sadder hue, "oh, sir, pray make no apology. I am only sorry the
hour is so late that I cannot offer to show you the interior of the
house: perhaps, if you are staying in the neighbourhood, you would
like to see it to-morrow. You were here, I take it, sir, in my old
lord's time?

"I was!--upon a visit to his second son: we had been boys together."

"What! Master Clinton?" cried the old man, with extreme, animation;
and then, suddenly changing his voice, added, in a subdued and
saddened tone, "Ah, poor young gentleman, I wonder where he is now?"

"Why, is he not in this country?" asked Clarence.

"Yes--no--that is, I can't exactly say where he is; I wish I could:
poor Master Clinton! I loved him as my own son."

"You surprise me," said Clarence. "Is there anything in the fate of
Clinton L'Estrange that calls forth your pity? If so, you would
gratify a much better feeling than curiosity if you would inform me of
it. The fact is that I came here to seek him; for I have been absent
from the country many years, and on my return my first inquiry was for
my old friend and schoolfellow. None knew anything of him in London,
and I imagined therefore that he might have settled down into a
country gentleman. I was fully prepared to find him marshalling the
fox-hounds or beating the preserves; and you may consequently imagine
my mortification on learning at my inn that he had not been residing
here for many years; further I know not!"

"Ay, ay, sir," said the old steward, who had listened very attentively
to Clarence's detail, "had you pressed one of the village gossips a
little closer, you would doubtless have learned more. But 't is a
story I don't much love telling, although formerly I could have talked
of Master Clinton by the hour together to any one who would have had
the patience to listen to me."

"You have really created in me a very painful desire to learn more,"
said Clarence; "and, if I am not intruding on any family secrets, you
would oblige me greatly by whatever information you may think proper
to afford to an early and attached friend of the person in question."

"Well, sir, well," replied Mr. Wardour, who, without imputation on his
discretion, loved talking as well as any other old gentleman of sixty-
four, "if you will condescend to step up to my house, I shall feel
happy and proud to converse with a friend of my dear young master; and
you are heartily welcome to the information I can give you."

"I thank you sincerely," said Clarence; "but suffer me to propose, as
an amendment to your offer, that you accompany me for an hour or two
to my inn."

"Nay, sir," answered the old gentleman, in a piqued tone, "I trust you
will not disdain to honour me with your company. Thank Heaven, I can
afford to be hospitable now and then."

Clarence, who seemed to have his own reasons for the amendment he had
proposed, still struggled against this offer, but was at last, from
fear of offending the honest steward, obliged to accede.

Striking across a path, which led through a corner of the plantation
to a space of ground containing a small garden, quaintly trimmed in
the Dutch taste, and a brick house of moderate dimensions, half
overgrown with ivy and jessamine, Clarence and his inviter paused at
the door of the said mansion, and the latter welcomed his guest to his
abode.

"Pardon me," said Clarence, as a damsel in waiting opened the door,
"but a very severe attack of rheumatism obliges me to keep on my hat:
you will, I hope, indulge me in my rudeness."

"To be sure, to be sure, sir. I myself suffer terribly from
rheumatism in the winter; though you look young, sir, very young, to
have an old man's complaint. Ah, the people of my day were more
careful of themselves, and that is the reason we are such stout
fellows in our age."

And the worthy steward looked complacently down at legs which very
substantially filled their comely investments. "True, sir," said
Clarence, laying his hand upon that of the steward, who was just about
to open the door of an apartment; "but suffer me at least to request
you not to introduce me to any of the ladies of your family. I could
not, were my very life at stake, think of affronting them by not
doffing my hat. I have the keenest sense of what is due to the sex,
and I must seriously entreat you, for the sake of my health during the
whole of the coming winter, to suffer our conversation not to take
place in their presence."

"Sir, I honour your politeness," said the prim little steward: "I,
myself, like every true Briton, reverence the ladies; we will
therefore retire to my study. Mary, girl," turning to the attendant,
"see that we have a nice chop for supper in half an hour; and tell
your mistress that I have a gentleman of quality with me upon
particular business, and must not be disturbed."

With these injunctions, the steward led the way to the farther end of
the house, and, having ushered his guest into a small parlour, adorned
with sundry law-books, a great map of the estate, a print of the late
owner of it, a rusty gun slung over the fireplace, two stuffed
pheasants, and a little mahogany buffet,--having, we say, led Clarence
to this sanctuary of retiring stewardship, he placed a seat for him
and said,--"Between you and me, sir, be it respectfully said, I am not
sorry that our little confabulation should pass alone. Ladies are
very delightful, very delightful, certainly: but they won't let one
tell a story one's own way; they are fidgety, you know, sir,--fidgety,
nothing more; 't is a trifle, but it is unpleasant. Besides, my wife
was Master Clinton's foster-mother, and she can't hear a word about
him, without running on into a long rigmarole of what he did as a
baby, and so forth. I like people to be chatty, sir, but not
garrulous; I can't bear garrulity, at least in a female. But,
suppose, sir, we defer our story till after supper? A glass of wine
or warm punch makes talk glide more easily; besides, sir, I want
something to comfort me when I talk about Master Clinton. Poor
gentleman, he was so comely, so handsome!"

"Did you think so?" said Clarence, turning towards the fire.

"Think so!" ejaculated the steward, almost angrily; and forthwith he
launched out into an encomium on the perfections, personal, moral, and
mental, of Master Clinton which lasted till the gentle Mary entered to
lay the cloth. This reminded the old steward of the glass of wine
which was so efficacious in making talk glide easily; and, going to
the buffet before mentioned, he drew forth two bottles, both of port.
Having carefully and warily decanted both, he changed the subject of
his praise; and, assuring Clarence that the wine he was about to taste
was at least as old as Master Clinton, having been purchased in joyous
celebration of the young gentleman's birthday, he whiled away the
minutes with a glowing eulogy on its generous qualities, till Mary
entered with the supper.

Clarence, with an appetite sharpened, despite his romance, by a long
fast, did ample justice to the fare; and the old steward, warming into
familiarity with the virtues of the far-famed port, chatted and laughed
in a strain half simple and half shrewd.

The fire being stirred up to a free blaze, the hearth swept, and all
the tokens of supper, save and except the kingly bottle and its
subject glasses, being removed, the steward and his guest drew closer
to each other, and the former began his story.

CHAPTER LXX.

The actors are at hand, and by their show
You shall know all that you are like to know.
Midsummer-Night's Dream.

"You know, probably, sir, that my late lord was twice married; by his
first wife he had three children, only one of whom, the youngest,
though now the present earl, survived the first period of infancy.
When Master Francis, as we always called him, in spite of his
accession to the title of viscount, was about six years old, my lady
died, and a year afterwards my lord married again. His second wife
was uncommonly handsome: she was a Miss Talbot (a Catholic), daughter
of Colonel Talbot, and niece to the celebrated beau, Squire Talbot of
Scarsdale Park. Poor lady! they say that she married my lord through
a momentary pique against a former lover. However that may be, she
was a fine, high-spirited creature: very violent in temper, to be
sure, but generous and kind when her passion was over; and however
haughty to her equals charitable and compassionate to the poor."

"She had but one son, Master Clinton. Never, sir, shall I forget the
rejoicings that were made at his birth: for my lord doted on his
second wife, and had disliked his first, whom he had married for her
fortune; and it was therefore natural that he should prefer the child
of the present wife to Master Francis. Ah, it is sad to think how
love can change! Well, sir, my lord seemed literally to be wrapped up
in the infant: he nursed it and fondled it, and hung over it, as if he
had been its mother rather than its father. My lady desired that it
might be christened by one of her family names; and my lord
consenting, it was called Clinton. (The wine is with you, sir! Do
observe that it has not changed colour in the least, notwithstanding
its age.)"

"My lord was fond of a quiet, retired life; indeed, he was a great
scholar, and spent the chief part of his time among his books. Dr.
Latinas, the young gentleman's tutor, said his lordship made Greek
verses better than Dr. Latinas could make English ones, so you may
judge of his learning. But my lady went constantly to town, and was
among the gayest of the gay; nor did she often come down here without
bringing a whole troop of guests. Lord help us, what goings on there
used to be at the great house!--such dancing and music, and dining and
supping, and shooting-parties, fishing-parties, gypsy-parties: you
would have thought all England was merrymaking there."

"But my lord, though he indulged my lady in all her whims and
extravagance, seldom took much share in them himself. He was
constantly occupied with his library and children, nor did he ever
suffer either Master Francis or Master Clinton to mix with the guests.
He kept them very close at their studies, and when the latter was six
years old, I do assure you, sir, he could say his Propria quae maribus
better than I can. (You don't drink, sir.) When Master Francis was
sixteen, and Master Clinton eight, the former was sent abroad on his
travels with a German tutor, and did not return to England for many
years afterwards; meanwhile Master Clinton grew up to the age of
fourteen, increasing in comeliness and goodness. He was very fond of
his studies, much more so than Master Francis had been, and was
astonishingly forward for his years. So my lord loved him better and
better, and would scarcely ever suffer him to be out of his sight."

"When Master Clinton was about the age I mentioned, namely, fourteen,
a gentleman of the name of Sir Clinton Manners became a constant
visitor at the house. Report said that he was always about my lady in
London at Ranelagh, and the ball-rooms and routs, and all the fine
places; and certainly he was scarcely ever from her side in the
pleasure parties at the Park. But my lady said that he was a cousin
of hers, and an old playmate in childhood, and so he was; and
unhappily for her, something more too. My lord, however, shut up in
his library, did not pay any attention to my lady's intimacy with Sir
Clinton; on the contrary, as he was a cousin and friend of hers, his
lordship seemed always happy to see him, and was the only person in
the neighbourhood who had no suspicion of what was going on."

"Oh, sir, it is a melancholy story, and I can scarcely persuade myself
to tell it. (It is really delicious wine this-six-and-twenty years
old last birthday--to say nothing of its age before I bought it.) Ah!
well, sir, the blow came at last like a thunderclap: my lady, finding
disguise was in vain, went off with Sir Clinton. Letters were
discovered which showed that they had corresponded for years; that he
was her lover before marriage; that she, in a momentary passion with
him, had accepted my lord's offer; that she had always repented her
precipitation; and that she had called her son after his name: all
this, and much more, sir, did my lord learn, as it were, at a single
blow."

"He obtained a divorce, and Sir Clinton and my lady went abroad. But
from that time my lord was never the same man. Always proud and
gloomy, he now became intolerably violent and morose. He shut himself
up, saw no company of any description, rarely left the house, and
never the park; and, from being one of the gayest places in the
country, sir, the mansion became as dreary and deserted as if it had
been haunted. (It is for you to begin the second bottle, sir.)"

"But the most extraordinary change in my lord was in his conduct to
Master Clinton: from doting upon him, to a degree that would have
spoilt any temper less sweet than my poor young master's, he took the
most violent aversion to him. From the circumstance of his name, and
the long intimacy existing between my lady and her lover, his lordship
would not believe that Master Clinton was his own child; and indeed I
must confess there seemed good ground for his suspicions. Besides
this, Master Clinton took very much after his mother. He had her
eyes, hair, and beautiful features, so that my lord could never see
him without being reminded of his disgrace; therefore whenever the
poor young gentleman came into his presence, he would drive him out
with oaths and threats which rang through the whole house. He could
not even bear that he should have any attendance or respect from the
servants, for he considered him quite as an alien like, and worse than
a stranger; and his lordship's only delight seemed to consist in
putting upon him every possible indignity and affront. But Master
Clinton was a high-spirited young gentleman; and, after having in vain
endeavoured to soothe my lord by compliance and respect, he at last
utterly avoided his lordship's presence."

"He gave up his studies in a great measure, and wandered about the
park and woods all day and sometimes even half the night; his mother's
conduct and his father's unkindness seemed to prey upon his health and
mind, and at last he grew almost as much altered as my lord. From
being one of the merriest boys possible, full of life and spirits, he
became thoughtful and downcast, his step lost its lightness, and his
eye all the fire which used once quite to warm one's heart when one
looked at it; in short, sir, the sins of the mother were visited as
much upon the child as the husband. (Not the least tawny, sir, you
see, though it is so old!)"

"My lord at first seemed to be glad that he now never saw his son,
but, by degrees, I think he missed the pleasure of venting his spleen
upon him; and so he ordered my young master not to stir out without
his leave, and confined him closer than ever to his studies. (Well,
sir, if it were not for this port I could not get out another
sentence.) There used then to be sad scenes between them: my lord was
a terribly passionate man, and said things sharper than a two-edged
sword, as the psalms express it; and though Master Clinton was one of
the mildest and best-tempered boys imaginable, yet he could not at all
times curb his spirit; and, to my mind, when a man is perpetually
declaring he is not your father, one may now and then be forgiven in
forgetting that you are to behave as his son."

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