One of the Six Hundred: A Novel

loam of ages; and when the little silver-mounted coffin was carried away, Agnes Auriol, as she cast a bouquet of lily-of-the-valley on it, felt that now she had no real tie on earth, unless it was her lover, and from him even she shrank at such a time as this. She stood alone by the little grave, the only mourner there. She had thought of asking Berkeley to accompany her; but, somehow, his presence would seem a species of pollution by the grave of the pure and sinless little boy, and the face of her father seemed ever before her. Her unwelcome repentance fretted him, and without compunction he saw the agony of her spirit, and how the lustre faded from her eye, and the roses died in her cheek. Sedulously she endeavoured to conceal the sorrow that embittered her existence, as she perceived that it only served to disgust him. And as this sorrow grew, so did her strength diminish, and the hectic flush of consumption and premature decline spread over her delicate little face. He was frequently absent from her now for weeks, and those periods seemed insupportable, for the love of him had become a habit; and to break that habit seemed as if it would snap the feeble tenure of her life. He ceased, too, to supply her with money. Her former musical connections were completely broken. She was frequently without the means of subsistence save by the sale of her ornaments; and at last she had parted with all save her mother's wedding ring, which she wished to be buried with her. In January last she discovered that Berkeley was at Calderwood Glen in Scotland. She wrote to him a most piteous letter, to which, however, he accorded no reply; and at that time she must have died, had her nurse, Goldsworthy--an old and faithful servant of her father's, not discovered and brought her to this cottage near the Reculvers. When the lancers were at Maidstone, Berkeley had visited her from time to time, and pretended still his old views of marriage to amuse her, but trammelled with secrecy; and latterly he had derided her letters entirely. Moreover, she had come to the bitter and stinging conclusion that he hated her, as she possessed letters of his which legally compromised him. He who does another person an injury never forgives him for what he has endured. He alike hates and fears him; and in this spirit did Berkeley fear and hate the poor girl whom he had wronged. Such was the plain, unvarnished story of Agnes Auriol, which she related in the intervals that were unbroken by a hard, consumptive, and undoubtedly, "churchyard cough." "I have but one wish now," she added, as she lay back exhausted; "and that I cannot gratify." "Is it so difficult to achieve?" I asked, in a low voice. "There are insuperable difficulties." "And this desire?" "Is to leave this place for ever," she said, almost in a whisper, while the hot tears ran unheeded down her pale cheeks; "and--and----" "Go where?" "To look on poor papa's grave, and on dear mamma's, and then die." "No, no, do not speak in this hopeless manner," I urged, feeling that I, a young officer of cavalry, was a very unfitting comforter or adviser at such a time; and I rose to retire, for the evening was now far advanced. "This craving is so strong in the poor lamb's heart, sir, that she will be a dyin' as sure as we look on her, unless it be gratified, and athout a angel comes from heaven; I don't know how it is to be done," said Mrs. Goldsworthy, weeping noisily, like all people of her class, as she ushered me to the door, and to my horse, which was pawing the ground impatiently, with the dew on his coat and saddle. "Take her there without loss of time, my good friend," said I. "She divided her last crown with a poor fisherman yesterday, to get some comforts for his sick wife." "Good heavens! Is she then without means?" "Quite, sir; and if Mr. Berkeley----" I struck my spurred heels into the gravel at the sound of his name, and exclaimed---- "Poor girl, I shall give her the means." "You, sir?" "Yes." "Oh, sir--sir--but she'll never take it from you," said Mrs. Goldsworthy, sobbing into her apron with great vociferation. "She must; and let her remember me in her prayers when I am far away. At eight to-morrow evening I shall be here again for the last time, my worthy friend, and will supply her with what she requires." Before the nurse could reply I was in my saddle, and had closed the iron gate; but just as I rode off, I nearly trod down a man who was muffled in a poncho cloak, and who leant against the gate pillar--whether listening or asleep, I knew not; yet, had I looked more closely, I might have detected the moustached face of my quondam friend, Mr. De Warr Berkeley. For this loiterer, or eavesdropper, proved in the sequel to be no other than he. To outflank me, and to place himself, his fortune (and his debts), at the complete disposal of Lady Louisa Loftus, was now the plan--the game--of my friendly brother officer; and with what success we shall see ere long. I was full of thought while riding slowly home to the barracks on the Thanet Road; I longed for Cora's coming to unravel the mystery of Louisa's conduct, and yet dreaded to face my cousin or broach the matter to her. I was inspired with sympathy for the poor lost creature I had just quitted, and full of indulgence for her mode of life, and excuses for her fate and fall. Her singular beauty greatly aided emotions such as these, for the morbid state of her health lent a wondrous lustre to her dark blue eyes, and marvellous transparency to her lovely complexion; and I felt extreme satisfaction that it was in my power to gratify a wish that was, perhaps, her last one--to pay a pilgrimage to the resting-place of her parents. The sweet verse of honest Goldsmith occurred to me-- The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom is--to die! At the same time I thought it very doubtful whether any such catastrophe would wring the padded bosom of Berkeley. Had Agnes Auriol been a wrinkled crone, it may be a matter for consideration whether I--a young officer of lancers--would have been so exceedingly philanthropic in her cause. I hope I should. On arriving at the barracks, my first task was to despatch Pitblado by the night train to head-quarters, with a note to M'Goldrick, the paymaster, for at least fifty pounds, saying I wanted the money, and must have it by noon to-morrow. *CHAPTER XIX.* But the spite on't is, no praise Is due at all to me; Love with me hath made mad no staies Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this Twelve dozen in her place. SIR JOHN SUCKLING. Promptly, by an early train, Willie Pitblado arrived with the cash from M'Goldrick, and with that which alike puzzled and provoked me--a brief note from my friend, Jack Studhome, the adjutant, advising me that, from rumours he, Scriven, and Wilford had heard--rumours circulated insidiously, he knew not how or by whom, in the billiard-rooms we frequented, and indeed about Maidstone barracks generally--my visits to a certain romantic cottage near the Reculvers were well known. I might mean no wrong, certainly; but was it judicious or wise to get myself into a scrape with a brother officer? There was no mistaking the object of this friendly epistle of Jack's, and it filled me with fresh anger against Berkeley. Who but he could insidiously spread those reports concerning what he alone knew or could affect an interest in! I knew his subtle and crooked mode of working; and his ultimate object was undoubtedly that this rumour against me should ere long reach Chillingham Park. Yet, removed as I was from head-quarters, I could do nothing in the matter, and for the present had only "to grin and bear it." Morning parade over, in obedience to Colonel Beverley's order, I was putting the troop through a course of sword and lance exercise personally, and was so earnestly engaged in the work of the moment, that I did not perceive a dashing phaeton, drawn by a pair of spanking grey ponies, attended by an outrider in livery, on a showy bay horse, that entered the barrack-yard, and drew up close by, as if its occupants wished to observe the progress of the drill. After the lapse of a few minutes, Troop Sergeant-Major Stapylton trotted his horse forward, and said-- "Beg pardon, Captain Norcliff, but some friends of yours are waiting for you, sir." Turning in my saddle, how great was my surprise to see Lady Louisa and Cora in the phaeton, which was driven by Berkeley, who was attired in a very accurate suit of forenoon mufti. Dismounting, I sheathed my sword, threw my reins to Stapylton, and saying to my lieutenant, Jocelyn-- "Frank, like a good fellow, finish off this piece of drill for me, please," advanced at once to greet my fair friends, whose visit, I felt, was due to Cora. "How interesting this is!" said Lady Louisa, presenting her carefully-gloved little hand, with a brilliant smile, as she proceeded to imitate my last order, "Prepare to dismount! one; the lance to be raised out of the bucket, by the right hand sliding down to the extent of the arm; two--ah, I forget two; you are quite an enthusiast." Under this banter I detected, or thought so, a deep glance of anxiety and hidden meaning, more especially as she added, "You evidently think more of this drill-sergeant's work than of me." My heart was so filled with sudden joy that I knew not what I said; but I kissed Cora's hand to conceal my confusion. "And what of good Sir Nigel, Cora?" I asked. "Papa comes to England to see you go away, and to take me home," replied my cousin, in a calm voice; "home to Calderwood, when all is over." "All is over?" "I mean when the army departs." "And you are on leave, I perceive, Berkeley?" "Aw--haw--yes, for a day or so. Doocid bore the work at Maidstone," he drawled out. I was obliged as yet to dissemble, though there was an ill-concealed air of smiling triumph about my comrade that gave me considerable uneasiness. "And now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?" said Lady Louisa, tapping me on the epaulette with her parasol, and speaking with an air of mock severity. "So the rules of society are to be inverted to suit your lancer tastes; the ladies are to wait upon the gentlemen? Quartered actually in Canterbury, and yet you never came near us." "Lady Louisa," I was beginning, yet not knowing what to say, as I could never imagine that she doubted the reason of my non-appearance at Chillingham. "What am I to think of it?" she continued, smiling. Berkeley laughed. I believe the fellow thought we were on the eve of a coolness. "Remember my constitutional timidity," I urged. "Timidity in a captain of lancers!" she exclaimed, laughing. "I ventured to hope that the earl, at least, might have remembered me." "You knew that I was at Chillingham Park, it appears?" she observed, with a pretty air of pique. "Yes," said I, soothed by her glance of fond reproach; "Sir Nigel's letter told me so." "Yet you never came even once to visit us, and I longed so much to see you, for I had a good deal to gossip about concerning our residence at Calderwood." "But the earl omitted to leave a card, and your mamma never wrote; and then the rules of society!" I urged, still harping on my grievance. "The rules of fiddlesticks! When did lovers ever heed them?" she asked, in a rapid whisper, while Berkeley addressed a few words to Jocelyn, and