Part 60 (1/2)
”What is that you are crumpling up there? From whom is the letter?” said Lord Glencore, as Billy hurriedly endeavored to conceal the oft-perused epistle. ”Nay,” cried he, suddenly correcting himself, ”you need not tell me; I asked without forethought.” He paused a few seconds, and then went on: ”I am now as much recovered as I ever hope to be, and you may leave me to-morrow. I know that both your wish and your duty call you elsewhere. Whatever future fortune may betide any of us, you at least have been a true and faithful friend, and shall never want! As I count upon your honesty to keep a pledge, I reckon on your delicacy not asking the reasons for it. You will, therefore, not speak of having been with me here. To mention me would be but to bring up bitter memories.”
In the pause which now ensued, Billy Traynor's feelings underwent a sore trial; for while he bethought him that now or never had come the moment to reconcile the father and the son, thus mysteriously separated, his fears also whispered the danger of any ill-advised step on his part, and the injury he might by possibility inflict on one he loved best on earth.
”You make me this pledge, therefore, before we part,” said Lord Glencore, who continued to ruminate on what he had spoken. ”It is less for _my_ sake than that of another.” Billy took the hand Glencore tendered towards him respectfully in his own, and kissed it twice.
”There are men who have no need of oaths to ratify their faith and trustfulness. You are one of them, Tray-nor,” said Glencore, affectionately.
Billy tried to speak, but his heart was too full, and he could not utter a word.
”A dying man's words have ever their solemn weight,” said Glencore, ”and mine beseech you not to desert one who has no prize in life equal to your friends.h.i.+p. Promise me nothing, but do not forget my prayer to you.” And with this, Lord Glencore turned away, and buried his face between his hands.
”And in the name of Heaven,” muttered Billy to himself as he stole away, ”what is it that keeps them apart and won't let them love one another?
Sure it wasn't in nature that a boy of his years could ever do what would separate them this way. What could he possibly say or do that his father might n't forget and forgive by this time? And then if it was n't the child's fault at all, where's the justice in makin' him pay for another's crime? Sure enough, great people must be unlike poor craytures like me, in their hearts and feelin's as well as in their grandeur; and there must be things that _we_ never mind nor think of, that are thought to be mortial injuries by _them_. Ay, and that is raysonable too! We see the same in the matayrial world. There's fevers that some never takes; and there's climates some can live in, and no others can bear!
”I suppose, now,” said he, with a wise shake of the head, ”pride--pride is at the root of it all, some way or other; and if it is, I may give up the investigation at onst, for divil a one o' me knows what pride is,--barrin' it's the delight one feels in consthruin' a hard bit in a Greek chorus, or hittin' the manin' of a doubtful pa.s.sage in ould aeschylus. But what's the good o' me puzzlin' myself? If I was to speculate for fifty years, I 'd never be able to think like a lord, after all!” And with this conclusion he began to prepare for his journey.
CHAPTER XLVIII. HOW A SOVEREIGN TREATS WITH HIS MINISTER
”What can have brought them here, Stubber?” said the Duke of Ma.s.sa, as he walked to and fro in his dressing-room, with an air of considerable perturbation. ”Be a.s.sured of one thing, they have come for mischief!
I know that Sabloukoff well. _She_ it was separated Prince Max from my sister, and that Montenegro affair was all _her_ doing also.”
”I don't suspect--”
”Don't you? Well, then, _I_ do, sir; and that's enough,” said he, interrupting. ”And as to Upton, he's well known throughout Europe,--a 'mauvais coucheur,' Stubber; that's what the Emperor Franz called him,--a 'mauvais coucheur,' one of those fellows England employs to get up the embarra.s.sments she so deeply deplores. Eh, Stubber, that's the phrase: 'While we deeply deplore the condition of the kingdom,'--that's always the exordium to sending out a fleet or an impertinent despatch. But I'll not endure it here. I have my sovereign rights, my independence, my allies. By the way, haven't my allies taken possession of the Opera House for a barrack?”
”That they have, sir; and they threaten an encampment in the Court gardens.”
”An open insult, an outrage! And have _you_ endured and submitted to this?”
”I have refused the permission; but they may very possibly take no heed of my protest.”
”And you 'll tell me that I am the ruler of this state?”
”No, but I 'll say you might, if you liked to be so.”
”How so, Stubber? Come, my worthy fellow, what's your plan? You have a plan, I'm certain--but I guess it: turn Protestant, hunt out the Jesuits, close the churches, demolish the monasteries, and send for an English frigate down to the Marina, where there's not water to float a fis.h.i.+ng-boat. But no, sir, I 'll have no such alliances; I 'll throw myself upon the loyalty and attachment of my people, and--I'll raise the taxes. Eh, Stubber? We'll tax the 'colza' and the quarries! If they demur, we 'll abdicate; that's my last word,--abdicate.”
”I wonder who this sick man can be that accompanies Upton,” said Stubber, who never suffered himself to be moved by his master's violence.
”Another firebrand,--another emissary of English disturbance. Hardenberg was perfectly right when he said the English nation pays off the meanest subserviency to their own aristocracy by hunting down all that is n.o.ble in every state of Europe. There, sir, he hit the mark in the very centre. Slaves at home, rebels abroad,--that's your code!”
”We contrive to mix up a fair share of liberty with our bondage, sir.”
”In your talk,--only in your talk; and in the newspapers, Stubber. I have studied you closely and attentively. You submit to more social indignities than any nation, ancient or modern. I was in London in '15, and I remember, at a race-course,--Ascot, they called it,--the Prince had a certain horse called Rufus.”
”I rode him,” said Stubber, dryly.
”_You_ rode him?”
”Yes, sir. I was his jock for the King's Plate. There was a matter of twenty-eight started,--the largest field ever known for the Cup,--and Rufus reared, and, falling back, killed his rider; and the Duke of Dunrobin sent for me, and told me to mount. That's the way I came to be there.”