Part 41 (1/2)

When Harcourt had finished the reading of that letter we have presented in our last chapter, he naturally turned for information on the subject which princ.i.p.ally interested him to the enclosure. It was a somewhat bulky packet, and, from its size, at once promised very full and ample details. As he opened it, however, he discovered it was in various handwritings; but his surprise was further increased by the following heading, in large letters, in the top of a page: ”Sulphur Question,” and beginning, ”My Lord, by a reference to my despatch, No. 478, you will perceive that the difficulties which the Neapolitan Government--” Harcourt turned over the page. It was all in the same strain. Tariffs, treaties, dues, and duties occurred in every line.

Three other doc.u.ments of like nature accompanied this; after which came a very ill-written scrawl on coa.r.s.e paper, ent.i.tled, ”Hints as to diet and daily exercise for his Excellency's use.”

The honest Colonel, who was not the quickest of men, was some time before he succeeded in unravelling to his satisfaction the mystery before him, and recognizing that the papers on his table had been destined for a different address, while the letter of the Princess had, in all probability, been despatched to the Foreign Office, and was now either confounding or amusing the authorities in Downing Street. While Harcourt laughed over the blunder, he derived no small gratification from thinking that nothing but great geniuses ever fell into these mistakes, and was about to write off in this very spirit to Upton, when he suddenly bethought him that, before an answer could arrive, he himself would be far away on his journey to India.

”I asked nothing,” said he, ”that could be difficult to reply to. It was plain enough, too, that I only wanted such information as he could have given me off-hand. If I could but a.s.sure Glencore that the boy was worthy of him,--that there was stuff to give good promise of future excellence, that he was honorable and manly in all his dealings,--who knows what effect such a.s.surance might have had? There are days when it strikes me Glencore would give half his fortune to have the youth beside him, and be able to call him his own. Why he cannot, does not do it, is a mystery which I am unable to fathom. He never gave me his confidence on this head; indeed, he gave me something like a rebuff one evening, when he erroneously fancied that I wanted to probe the mysterious secret. It shows how much he knows of my nature,” added he, laughing.

”Why, I'd rather carry a man's trunk or his portmanteau on my back than his family secrets in my heart. I could rest and lay down my burden in the one case,--in the other, there's never a moment of repose! And now Glencore is to be here this very day--the ninth--to learn my news. The poor fellow comes up from Wales, just to talk over these matters, and I have nothing to offer him but this blundering epistle. Ay, here 's the letter:--

”Dear Harcourt,--Let me have a mutton-chop with you on the ninth, and give me, if you can, the evening after it.

”Yours,

”Glencore.”

”A man must be ill off for counsel and advice when he thinks of such aid as mine. Heaven knows, I never was such a brilliant manager of my own fortunes that any one should trust his destinies in my hands. Well, he shall have the mutton-chop, and a good gla.s.s of old port after it; and the evening, or, if he likes it, the night shall be at his disposal.”

And with this resolve, Harcourt, having given orders for dinner at six, issued forth to stroll down to his club, and drop in at the Horse Guards, and learn as much as he could of the pa.s.sing events of the day,--meaning, thereby, the details of whatever regarded the army-list, and those who walk in scarlet attire.

It was about five o'clock of a dreary November afternoon that a hackney-coach drew op at Harcourt's lodgings in Dover Street, and a tall and very sickly looking man, carrying his carpet-bag in one hand and a dressing-case in the other, descended and entered the house.

”Mr. Ma.s.sy, sir?” said the Colonel's servant, as he ushered him in; for such was the name Glencore desired to be known by. And the stranger nodded, and throwing himself wearily down on a sofa, seemed overcome with fatigue.

”Is your master out?” asked he, at length.

”Yes, sir; but I expect him immediately. Dinner was ordered for six, and he 'll be back to dress half an hour before that time.”

”Dinner for two?” half impatiently asked the other.

”Yes, sir, for two.”

”And all visitors in the evening denied admittance? Did your master say so?”

”Yes, sir; out for every one.”

Glencore now covered his face with his hands, and relapsed into silence.

At length he lifted his eyes till they fell upon a colored drawing over the chimney. It was an officer in hussar uniform, mounted on a splendid charger, and seated with all the graceful ease of a consummate horseman.

This much alone he could perceive from where he lay, and indolently raising himself on one arm, he asked if it were ”a portrait of his master”?

”No, sir; of my master's colonel, Lord Glencore, when he commanded the Eighth, and was said to be the handsomest man in the service.”

”Show it to me!” cried he, eagerly, and almost s.n.a.t.c.hed the drawing from the other's hands. He gazed at it intently and fixedly, and his sallow cheek once reddened slightly as he continued to look.

”That never was a likeness!” said he, bitterly.

”My master thinks it a wonderful resemblance, sir,--not of what he is now, of course; but that was taken fifteen years ago or more.”

”And is he so changed since that?” asked the sick man, plaintively.

”So I hear, sir. He had a stroke of some kind, or fit of one sort or another, brought on by fretting. They took away his t.i.tle, I'm told.

They made out that he had no right to it, that he wasn't the real lord.