Part 8 (1/2)

Felix Lorraine and Mr. Vivian Grey. The sudden departure was accounted for by the arrival of ”unexpected,” &c. &c. &c. There was no hope; the green post-chariot was at the door, a feeble promise of a speedy return; Julia's eyes were filled with tears. Vivian was springing forward to press her hand, and bear her to the carriage, when Mrs. Felix Lorraine seized his arm, vowed she was going to faint, and, ere she could recover herself, or loosen her grasp, the Manvers were gone.

CHAPTER XI

The gloom which the parting had diffused over all countenances was quite dispelled when the Marquess entered.

”Lady Carabas,” said he, ”you must prepare for many visitors to-day.

There are the Amershams, and Lord Alhambra, and Ernest Clay, and twenty other young heroes, who, duly informed that the Miss Courtowns were honouring us with their presence, are pouring in from all quarters; is it not so, Juliana?” gallantly asked the Marquess of Miss Courtown: ”but who do you think is coming besides?”

”Who, who?” exclaimed all.

”Nay, you shall guess,” said the Peer.

”The Duke of Waterloo?” guessed Cynthia Courtown, the romp.

”Prince Hungary?” asked her sister Laura.

”Is it a gentleman?” asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine.

”No, no, you are all wrong, and all very stupid. It is Mrs. Million.”

”Oh, how delightful!” said Cynthia.

”Oh, how annoying!” said the Marchioness.

”You need not look so agitated, my love,” said the Marquess; ”I have written to Mrs. Million to say that we shall be most happy to see her; but as the castle is very full, she must not come with five carriages-and-four, as she did last year.”

”And will Mrs. Million dine with us in the Hall, Marquess?” asked Cynthia Courtown.

”Mrs. Million will do what she likes; I only know that I shall dine in the Hall, whatever happens, and whoever comes; and so, I suppose, will Miss Cynthia Courtown?”

Vivian rode out alone, immediately after breakfast, to cure his melancholy by a gallop.

Returning home, he intended to look in at a pretty farm-house, where lived one John Conyers, a great friend of Vivian's. This man had, about a fortnight ago, been of essential service to our hero, when a vicious horse, which he was endeavouring to cure of some ugly tricks, had nearly terminated his mortal career.

”Why are you crying so, my boy?” asked Vivian of a little Conyers, who was sobbing bitterly at the floor. He was answered only with desperate sobs.

”Oh, 'tis your honour,” said a decent-looking woman, who came out of the house; ”I thought they had come back again.”

”Come back again! why, what is the matter, dame?”

”Oh! your honour, we're in sad distress; there's been a seizure this morning, and I'm mortal fear'd the good man's beside himself.”

”Good heavens! why did not you come to the Castle?”

”Oh! your honour, we a'nt his Lords.h.i.+p's tenants no longer; there's been a change for Purley Mill, and now we're Lord Mounteney's people. John Conyers has been behind-hand since he had the fever, but Mr. Sedgwick always gave time: Lord Mounteney's gem'man says the system's bad, and so he'll put an end to it; and so all's gone, your honour; all's gone, and I'm mortal fear'd the good man's beside himself.”

”And who is Lord Mounteney's man of business?”