Book: My Novel, Volume 7.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> My Novel, Volume 7.




"No; but the cursed bill-brokers--"

"Always renew to a young man of your expectations. And if I get into an
office, I can always help you, my dear Frank."

"Ah, Randal, I am not so bad as to take advantage of your friendship,"
said Frank, warmly. "But it seems to me mean after all, and a sort of a
lie, indeed, disguising the real state of my affairs. I should not have
listened to the idea from any one else; but you are such a sensible,
kind, honourable fellow."

"After epithets so flattering, I shrink from the responsibility of
advice. But apart from your own interests, I should be glad to save your
father the pain he would feel at knowing the whole extent of the scrape
you have got into. And if it entailed on you the necessity to lay by--
and give up hazard, and not be security for other men--why, it would be
the best thing that could happen. Really, too, it seems hard upon Mr.
Hazeldean that he should be the only sufferer, and quite just that you
should bear half your own burdens." "So it is, Randal; that did not
strike me before. I will take your counsel; and now I will go at once
to Limmer's. My dear father! I hope he is looking well?"

"Oh, very. Such a contrast to the sallow Londoners! But I think you had
better not go till dinner. He has asked me to meet you at six. I will
call for you a little before, and we can go together. This will prevent
a good deal of /gene/ and constraint. Good-by till then. Ha! by the
way, I think if I were you, I would not take the matter too seriously and
penitentially. You see the best of fathers like to keep their sons under
their thumb, as the saying is. And if you want at your age to preserve
your independence, and not be hurried off and buried in the country, like
a schoolboy in disgrace, a little manliness of bearing would not be
amiss. You can think over it."

The dinner at Limmer's went off very differently from what it ought to
have done. Randal's words had sunk deep, and rankled sorely in the
squire's mind; and that impression imparted a certain coldness to his
manner which belied the hearty, forgiving, generous impulse with which he
had come up to London, and which even Randal had not yet altogether
whispered away. On the other hand, Frank, embarrassed both by the sense
of disingenuousness, and a desire "not to take the thing too seriously,"
seemed to the squire ungracious and thankless.

After dinner the squire began to hum and haw, and Frank to colour up and
shrink. Both felt discomposed by the presence of a third person; till,
with an art and address worthy of a better cause, Randal himself broke
the ice, and so contrived to remove the restraint he had before imposed,
that at length each was heartily glad to have matters made clear and
brief by his dexterity and tact.

Frank's debts were not in reality large; and when he named the half of
them, looking down in shame, the squire, agreeably surprised, was about
to express himself with a liberal heartiness that would have opened his
son's excellent heart at once to him.

But a warning look from Randal checked the impulse; and the squire
thought it right, as he had promised, to affect an anger he did not feel,
and let fall the unlucky threat, "that it was all very well once in a way
to exceed his allowance; but if Frank did not, in future, show more sense
than to be led away by a set of London sharks and coxcombs, he must cut
the army, come home, and take to farming."

Frank imprudently exclaimed, "Oh, sir, I have no taste for farming. And
after London, at my age, the country would be so horribly dull."

"Aha!" said the squire, very grimly--and he thrust back into his pocket-
book some extra bank-notes which his fingers had itched to add to those
he had already counted out. "The country is terribly dull, is it? Money
goes there not upon follies and vices, but upon employing honest
labourers, and increasing the wealth of the nation. It does not please
you to spend money in that way: it is a pity you should ever be plagued
with such duties."

"My dear father--"

"Hold your tongue, you puppy. Oh, I dare say, if you were in my shoes,
you would cut down the oaks, and mortgage the property; sell it, for what
I know,--all go on a cast of the dice! Aha, sir--very well, very well--
the country is horribly dull, is it? Pray stay in town."

"My dear Mr. Hazeldean," said Randal, blandly, and as if with the wish to
turn off into a joke what threatened to be serious, "you must not
interpret a hasty expression so literally. Why, you would make Frank as
bad as Lord A-----, who wrote word to his steward to cut down more
timber; and when the steward replied, 'There are only three sign-posts
left on the whole estate,' wrote back, 'They've done growing at all
events,--down with them!' You ought to know Lord A-----, sir; so witty;
and--Frank's particular friend."

"Your particular friend, Master Frank? Pretty friends!" and the squire
buttoned up the pocket to which he had transferred his note-book, with a
determined air.

"But I'm his friend, too," said Randal, kindly; "and I preach to him
properly, I can tell you." Then, as if delicately anxious to change the
subject, he began to ask questions upon crops and the experiment of bone
manure. He spoke earnestly, and with gusto, yet with the deference of
one listening to a great practical authority. Randal had spent the
afternoon in cramming the subject from agricultural journals and
parliamentary reports; and like all practised readers, had really learned
in a few hours more than many a man, unaccustomed to study, could gain
from books in a year. The squire was surprised and pleased at the young
scholar's information and taste for such subjects.

"But, to be sure," quoth he, with an angry look at poor Frank, "you have
good Hazeldean blood in you, and know a bean from a turnip."

"Why, sir," said Randal, ingenuously, "I am training myself for public
life; and what is a public man worth if be do not study the agriculture
of his country?"

"Right--what is he worth? Put that question, with my compliments, to my
half-brother. What stuff he did talk, the other night, on the malt-tax,
to be sure!"

"Mr. Egerton has had so many other things to think of, that we must
excuse his want of information upon one topic, however important. With
his strong sense he must acquire that information, sooner or later; for
he is fond of power; and, sir, knowledge is power!"

"Very true,--very fine saying," quoth the poor squire, unsuspiciously, as
Randal's eye rested on Mr. Hazeldean's open face, and then glanced
towards Frank, who looked sad and bored.

"Yes," repeated Randal, "knowledge is power;" and he shook his head
wisely, as he passed the bottle to his host.

Still, when the squire, who meant to return to the Hall next morning,
took leave of Frank, his heart warmed to his son; and still more for
Frank's dejected looks. It was not Randal's policy to push estrangement
too far at first, and in his own presence.

"Speak to poor Frank,--kindly now, sir--do;" whispered be, observing the
squire's watery eyes, as he moved to the window.

The squire, rejoiced to obey, thrust out his hand to his son.

"My dear boy," said he, "there, don't fret--pshaw!--it was but a trifle
after all. Think no more of it."

Frank took the hand, and suddenly threw his arm round his father's broad
shoulder.

"Oh, sir, you are too good,--too good." His voice trembled so that
Randal took alarm, passed by him, and touched him meaningly.

The squire pressed his son to his heart,--heart so large, that it seemed
to fill the whole width under his broadcloth. "My dear Frank," said he,
half blubbering, "it is not the money; but, you see, it so vexes your
poor mother; you must be careful in future; and, zounds, boy, it will be
all yours one day; only don't calculate on it; I could not bear that,
I could not, indeed."

"Calculate!" cried Frank. "Oh, sir, can you think it?"

"I am so delighted that I had some slight hand in your complete
reconciliation with Mr. Hazeldean," said Randal, as the young men walked
from the hotel. "I saw that you were disheartened, and I told him to
speak to you kindly."

"Did you? Ah--I am sorry he needed telling."

"I know his character so well already," said Randal, "that I flatter
myself I can always keep things between you as they ought to be. What an
excellent man!"

"The best man in the world," cried Frank, heartily; and then, as his
accents drooped, "yet I have deceived him. I have a great mind to go
back--"

"And tell him to give you twice as much money as you bad asked for? He
would think you had only seemed so affectionate in order to take him in.
No, no, Frank! save, lay by, economize; and then tell him that you have
paid half your own debts. Something high-minded in that."

"So there is. Your heart is as good as your head. Goodnight."

"Are you going home so early? Have you no engagements!"

"None that I shall keep."

"Good-night, then."

They parted, and Randal walked into one of the fashionable clubs. He
neared a table where three or four young men (younger sons, who lived in
the most splendid style, Heaven knew how) were still over their wine.

Leslie had little in common with these gentlemen, but he forced his
nature to be agreeable to them, in consequence of a very excellent piece
of worldly advice given to him by Audley Egerton. "Never let the dandies
call you a prig," said the statesman. "Many a clever fellow fails
through life, because the silly fellows, whom half a word well spoken
could make his claqueurs, turn him into ridicule. Whatever you are,
avoid the fault of most reading men: in a word, don't be a prig!"

"I have just left Hazeldean," said Randal. "What a good fellow he is!"

"Capital!" said the Honourable George Borrowell. "Where is he?"

"Why, he is gone to his rooms. He has had a little scene with his
father, a thorough, rough country squire. It would be an act of charity
if you would go and keep him company, or take him with you to some place
a little more lively than his own lodgings."

"What! the old gentleman has been teasing him!--a horrid shame! Why,
Frank is not extravagant, and he will be very rich, eh?"

"An immense property," said Randal, "and not a mortgage on it: an only
son," he added, turning away.

Among these young gentlemen there was a kindly and most benevolent
whisper, and presently they all rose, and walked away towards Frank's
lodgings.

"The wedge is in the tree," said Randal to himself, "and there is a gap
already between the bark and the wood."




CHAPTER XXII

Harley L'Estrange is seated beside Helen at the lattice-window in the
cottage at Norwood. The bloom of reviving health is on the child's face,
and she is listening with a smile, for Harley is speaking of Leonard with
praise, and of Leonard's future with hope. "And thus," he continued,
"secure from his former trials, happy in his occupation, and pursuing the
career he has chosen, we must be content, my dear child, to leave him."

"Leave him!" exclaimed Helen, and the rose on her cheek faded.

Harley was not displeased to see her emotion. He would have been
disappointed in her heart if it had been less susceptible to affection.

"It is hard on you, Helen," said he, "to be separated from one who has
been to you as a brother. Do not hate me for doing so. But I consider
myself your guardian, and your home as yet must be mine. We are going
from this land of cloud and mist, going as into the world of summer.
Well, that does not content you. You weep, my child; you mourn your own
friend, but do not forget your father's. I am alone, and often sad,
Helen; will you not comfort me? You press my hand, but you must learn to
smile on me also. You are born to be the comforter. Comforters are not
egotists; they are always cheerful when they console."

The voice of Harley was so sweet and his words went so home to the
child's heart, that she looked up and smiled in his face as he kissed her
ingenuous brow. But then she thought of Leonard, and felt so solitary,
so bereft, that tears burst forth again. Before these were dried,
Leonard himself entered, and, obeying an irresistible impulse, she sprang
to his arms, and leaning her head on his shoulder, sobbed out,

"I am going from you, brother; do not grieve, do not miss me."

Harley was much moved: he folded his arms, and contemplated them both
silently,--and his own eyes were moist. "This heart," thought he, "will
be worth the winning!"

He drew aside Leonard, and whispered, "Soothe, but encourage and support
her. I leave you together; come to me in the garden later."

It was nearly an hour before Leonard joined Harley.

"She was not weeping when you left her?" asked L'Estrange.

"No; she has more fortitude than we might suppose. Heaven knows how that
fortitude has supported mine. I have promised to write to her often."

Harley took two strides across the lawn, and then, coming back to
Leonard, said, "Keep your promise, and write often for the first year.
I would then ask you to let the correspondence drop gradually."

"Drop! Ah, my Lord!"

"Look you, my young friend, I wish to lead this fair mind wholly from the
sorrows of the past. I wish Helen to enter, not abruptly, but step by
step, into a new life. You love each other now, as do two children,--as
brother and sister. But later, if encouraged, would the love be the
same? And is it not better for both of you that youth should open upon
the world with youth's natural affections free and unforestalled?"

"True! And she is so above me," said Leonard, mournfully.

"No one is above him who succeeds in your ambition, Leonard. It is not
that, believe me."

Leonard shook his head.

"Perhaps," said Harley, with a smile, "I rather feel that you are above
me. For what vantage-ground is so high as youth? Perhaps I may become
jealous of you. It is well that she should learn to like one who is to
be henceforth her guardian and protector. Yet how can she like me as she
ought, if her heart is to be full of you?"

The boy bowed his head; and Harley hastened to change the subject, and
speak of letters and of glory. His words were eloquent and his voice
kindling; for he had been an enthusiast for fame in his boyhood, and in
Leonard's his own seemed to him to revive. But the poet's heart gave
back no echo,--suddenly it seemed void and desolate. Yet when Leonard
walked back by the moonlight, he muttered to himself, "Strange, strange,
so mere a child! this cannot be love! Still, what else to love is there
left to me?"

And so he paused upon the bridge where he had so often stood with Helen,
and on which he had found the protector that had given to her a home, to
himself a career. And life seemed very long, and fame but a dreary
phantom. Courage still, Leonard! These are the sorrows of the heart
that teach thee more than all the precepts of sage and critic.

Another day, and Helen had left the shores of England, with her fanciful
and dreaming guardian. Years will pass before our tale re-opens. Life
in all the forms we have seen it travels on. And the squire farms and
hunts; and the parson preaches and chides and soothes; and Riccabocca
reads his Machiavelli, and sighs and smiles as he moralizes on Men and
States; and Violante's dark eyes grow deeper and more spiritual in their
lustre, and her beauty takes thought from solitary dreams. And Mr.
Richard Avenel has his house in London, and the Honourable Mrs. Avenel
her opera-box; and hard and dire is their struggle into fashion, and
hotly does the new man, scorning the aristocracy, pant to become
aristocrat. And Audley Egerton goes from the office to the parliament,
and drudges, and debates, and helps to govern the empire in which the sun
never sets. Poor sun, how tired he must be--but not more tired than the
Government! And Randal Leslie has an excellent place in the bureau of a
minister, and is looking to the time when he shall resign it to come into
parliament, and on that large arena turn knowledge into power. And
meanwhile he is much where he was with Audley Egerton; but he has
established intimacy with the squire, and visited Hazeldean twice, and
examined the house and the map of the property, and very nearly fallen a
second time into the ha-ha, and the squire believes that Randal Leslie
alone can keep Frank out of mischief, and has spoken rough words to his
Harry about Frank's continued extravagance. And Frank does continue to
pursue pleasure, and is very miserable, and horribly in debt. And Madame
di Negra has gone from London to Paris, and taken a tour into
Switzerland, and come back to London again, and has grown very intimate
with Randal Leslie; and Randal has introduced Frank to her; and Frank
thinks her the loveliest woman in the world, and grossly slandered by
certain evil tongues. And the brother of Madame di Negra is expected in
England at last; and what with his repute for beauty and for wealth,
people anticipate a sensation. And Leonard, and Harley, and Helen?
Patience,--they will all re-appear.

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